A Thoroughly Compromised Lady (18 page)

It had succeeded, to say nothing of her deft footwork beneath the table. He was so aroused by the time she left the men to brandy and cigars, Jack had forgone the cigar and swallowed Carmichael-Smythe's fine brandy in one fell gulp. It was no surprise the verandah had turned into a lovers' interlude instead.

Now, everything hinged on tomorrow night. There'd be no chance to tell her tomorrow morning. In the morning, he was off to pound the first nail in Ortiz's political coffin. That was the other news he'd meant to share. He'd located the map-maker. In the morning, he'd pay the man a visit and gain his confession by whatever means necessary.

The door behind him opened again and Robert Schomburgk stepped out, taking up a silent post beside Jack. ‘You didn't tell her, did you?'

‘No.'

Robert had the good grace to leave the easy rejoinder alone. ‘It's a beautiful night.' Robert breathed in a healthy lungful of air.

‘I hadn't noticed.'

He was in different to the sweet smell of hyacinth and the special warmth of a tropical night, to the flickering lantern lights bobbing on ships in the distance and the stars glistening overhead in the night sky.

Even if he wasn't in different, he still could not have pierced the darkness and seen the rowboat lowered from the big ship anchored at the mouth of the harbour and
rowed by a tall, dark-cloaked man towards the Demerara river on the west side of town.

Calisto Ortiz had arrived.

M
orning sun shone warm through the windows of the breakfast room. Dulci helped herself to the dishes on the sideboard containing English specialties and the lovely pyramid of fresh fruits unique to this part of the world and so readily available. This was fast becoming her favourite time of day. She rose early here to ride before the sun became too hot. Afterwards, she was still the only person abroad in the house and had the luxury of eating in quiet, alone with her thoughts.

She had not realised how much she enjoyed the private time. In London, the town house usually teemed with various Wycrofts. This Season had been something of an exception in that regard. Her four sisters and Brandon were all otherwise occupied. Dulci plucked a kiwi from the colourful pyramid. Jack had posted a letter from her when they docked in Spain. Surely it would have reached Brandon by now and he would know she was well and that she was with Jack. She'd wanted to dispel the initial panic he would no doubt have felt in
the wake of Jack's hurried note from the ship when they departed.

A servant stepped forwards to pour tea for her as she settled at the empty table. What would he say about his sister carrying on with his best friend? It wasn't that Brandon would mind them falling in love and having a traditional courtship. Jack was as good as a brother already to Brandon. The sticking point was whether or not Brandon would insist on the relationship being honourable in society's eyes. He would insist on marriage.

She and Jack had to be free to make their own terms with one another. She did not want Jack coerced and she certainly didn't want herself coerced.

Dulci buttered her toast and bit into it with relish, savouring the simple pleasure of toast with butter melting across the surface. It would be the only simple thing today. She'd known in advance the day would be complicated, full of last-minute preparations for the ball. Any day of such an event was bound to be so. Lady Carmichael-Smythe wanted her to help oversee all the particulars. There would be flowers and food, deco rations and details. But then there would be tonight. There would be dancing and Jack. She would be at her charming best in order to hold his attention. Tonight he could not bury himself in business and pretend to ignore her. Tonight she would make sure he gave pursuit. A glimmer of a smile hovered on her lips. Footsteps sounded on the hardwood floor outside the room. Dulci quickly schooled her features, concentrating hard on her eggs.

‘Good morning, Dulci.' Jack sounded surprised, his step faltering. ‘I'd not expected to see anyone up so early given the long day ahead. I thought everyone would be sleeping a little later to marshal their strength for the big
night.' Jack helped himself to some eggs and sausage and settled across from her at the table.

‘I went riding. I like to ride in the morning. It's better for seeing the birds. There's such a marvellous variety here. The colours are extraordinary.' Jack was being awfully convivial, almost too friendly.

‘Why are you up so early?' She was starting to suspect he'd hoped to be alone. Alone or undetected? ‘Are you skulking about?'

‘I have some early business to see to,' Jack answered vaguely. Now he was being evasive and trying to sound friendly about it.

She would indulge him and redirect the conversation. He was definitely up to something he didn't want her to know about. If he didn't want her to know, then he'd definitely not tell her if she asked him outright. It did no good to keep probing.

‘Lady Carmichael-Smythe is excited about the turn-out for the ball. You'll be able to meet a lot of people tonight. Maybe one of them will know about the map-maker who helped Ortiz,' Dulci said.

Jack nodded and added a few desultory comments to the conversation. He excused himself after a few minutes, clearly eager to be off.

Dulci let him go, giving him a three-minute head start. She raced upstairs to her room and rummaged through her dresser drawer, beneath lacy undergarments until her hand met with the cold steel of a small pistol. She smiled to herself and slipped it into her skirt pocket. It had not been difficult to find a weapon at the market. The bizarre bazaar had lived up to its reputation. Right next to a fabric merchant, there'd been a small arms
dealer happy to assist her. It had been one of the first things she'd purchased.

Careful not to be seen, Dulci peered out her window from behind a frothy curtain. Her room commanded a view of the drive and she was able to spot Jack trotting down the lane and turning on to the road, away from town.

That was her cue. Dulci raced down the stairs to the stable. The groom offered to bring her usual mare and Dulci saddled the horse in short order. ‘Where did Viscount Wainsbridge say he was going?' She ignored the strange looks the groom gave her. She'd only brought the horse back an hour ago.

The groom shook his head. ‘He didn't say.'

Definitely not a pleasure ride, then. Dulci's instincts were on high alert. How dare Jack ride off without telling her? It was almost certain he'd uncovered something about their mission. When she caught up with him, she was going to be very angry. She was tired of being nothing more than an accessory. Jack was acting as if this was his mission alone. He'd conveniently forgot her artefacts had been destroyed, her house had been burgled, her very person had been the target of a failed kid nap ping effort. She had not endured the hard ships of the voyage, forsaken her home and risked her reputation to be treated like a fragile bauble.

Dulci set out after Jack, picking up his cloud of dust moving down the dry dirt road. She kept a careful distance, not wanting to give herself away with the noise of an approaching horse or by sight.

The ride was not a long one. Whoever Jack was seeking, they lived only a little way out of town. Jack turned down a narrow lane choked with weeds and dismounted
in front of a dilapidated shack with a sagging porch. Dulci was surprised the building didn't collapse at the merest flick of a finger. She kept her distance, watching the steps take Jack's weight with some amazement. At the door, Jack bent swiftly to his boot and loosened something there. She could not see what precisely, but she had her guesses. Dulci's hand closed reassuringly over the little gun in her pocket. In her experience, there was only one thing gentlemen kept in their boots and that was knives. Jack expected trouble.

No one came to the door and Jack stepped aggressively inside, drawing the knife from his boot, con firming her suspicions. From her distance, it was hard to see the exact dynamics of the situation, but it appeared no one was home. At least now it was safe to dismount. She hastily picketed her horse at the entrance to the lane. She didn't dare risk riding into the dirt space in front of the shack. This wasn't a place that saw many visitors and Jack's horse would surely whinny and give away her arrival.

Dulci crept forwards, keeping her form below window level, although she doubted the broken panes afforded much view of any newcomers.

There was a yell and Jack swore loudly. There was a loud crash from inside. Jack was introuble. Dulci's heart raced. She gave up any pretence of subtlety. She pulled out her gun and ran up the steps with a roar of her own, hoping to take any attackers by surprise.

But the surprise was all hers. Jack was alone in the shambles of the room. Broken furniture lay on the floor along with smashed crockery.

They spoke at once.

‘You're not hurt?'

‘What are you doing here?'

Jack strode towards her, forceful hands on her shoulders, anger emanating from his body in waves. He roughly propelled her towards the door. But it was too late. A slow wafting un pleas ant smell caught her nostrils, her eyes fell on an awkwardly positioned object—no, not an object. A body.

Dulci screamed her shock, her horror growing as she connected the smell to the body lying under the debris of broken furniture. She pummelled at Jack's chest with her fists irrationally in her horror, fighting his attempts to bundle her out of the shack.

‘Dulci, breathe, darling,' Jack counselled once they gained the yard. ‘It's all right.' Of course it wasn't.

‘I thought you were in danger. I heard you shout.' Dulci gulped in great breaths of air.

Jack's anger was fading as the shock of the encounter wore off. ‘What are you doing here, Dulci? This is no place for you, it's too dangerous as you can very well see.'

Dulci felt her balance returning. ‘You were being so secretive at breakfast. I knew something was up. You could have needed me.'

Jack's jaw clenched. ‘I was trying to keep you safe. I would have asked you to come if it was appropriate.'

Dulci's earlier anger rose in the wake of her passing shock. ‘I don't need to be kept safe, Jack. I want to be part of this. It was my house that was broken into, my artefacts that were destroyed. You are not the only one Ortiz has put in jeopardy. I cannot be swept aside and ignored, although God knows you've tried.'

Jack's face clouded. ‘Do you know who that man was?'

Dulci shook her head.

‘The map-maker.' Jack took her none too gently by the elbow and led her to his horse. ‘This is the man who did the map for Ortiz. He's dead, just recently. Probably murdered in the night. I was just a few hours too late.'

Dulci didn't have to be told what that meant. ‘Ortiz is here,' she whispered, looking about their surroundings as if the man would pop out of the bushes.

Jack nodded. ‘He's here and he'll be looking for us.'

‘We won't be hard to find.' In a city the size of Georgetown, anyone would be memorable and people like she and Jack stood out like diamonds among coals. ‘What should we do?'

‘We go back to the governor's house and dance.'

‘There you go with your simple plans again. Run. Walk. Dance.'

‘We'll hide in plain sight. There's nothing Ortiz can do while we're at the governor's. He's on British soil here. No one will be very sympathetic to his claims. When he's here, he hunts alone. He must be very covert. He hasn't the prestige of his position.'

‘He's desperate, Jack,' Dulci put in as they walked the lane towards her horse picketed on the road.

‘Necessarily so, my dear. What man sails halfway around the world and sets aside his comforts on a whim?'

Dulci shot him a sidelong glance. ‘You do.'

‘As I said, a desperate man.' Jack boosted her up into the saddle, squeezed her leg and checked her stirrup. ‘Stay close to me on the way back in case Ortiz is in the area.'

It was the first time, fleeting though it was, that she'd truly sensed Jack's concern over the task facing him.
All through the weeks on board ship, the few weeks here in Guiana, he'd seemed so confident, so much on the offensive. It had never occurred to her that Jack was worried about completing his mission. Jack always seemed confident, always seemed in charge.

Silence surrounded them as they walked their horses towards the Carmichaels'. Only the occasional bird call interrupted the still ness of the morning. ‘Are you leaving soon, Jack?' Dulci ventured. ‘I think you must be. If Ortiz is here, you cannot wait to finish the map.'

Beside her, Jack drew a deep breath. ‘I meant to tell you last night. Robert and I leave tomorrow. He's already delayed his departure a week to accommodate me.' One more thing he'd been doing without consulting her. Dulci's heart sank. She'd hoped, even believed, she'd meant more to him than this. She'd wanted to be his partner in this.

‘I want to go with you.' It was a fruit less request, Jack's answer a foregone conclusion.

‘Absolutely not. The dangers of the forest, the rivers, are enough even without Ortiz thrown into the equation, Dulci. Now that he's here, what's to stop him from following me into the jungle? At least by following me, he can't be following you at the same time.'

‘I can take care of myself.'

‘In London. Among a court of gentlemen. Yes, you do very well. There's none better under those circumstances. These cir cum stances are vastly different.'

Dulci opened her mouth to protest. But Jack silenced her with an imperious wave of his hand. ‘The discussion is over, Dulci.' She'd been dismissed like a petulant child. By him.

The man she thought she loved.

 

Dulci was still in an unmitigated temper by the time evening approached. Her disappointment, her anger at Jack, had simmered all day. To be honest, she was angry with herself, too. She'd hoped for more from Jack. Perhaps not marriage, or the things women traditionally expected from men. But she'd thought he respected her, admired her, even loved her. Now she saw that she was merely tolerated for her novelty. In some regards she was no different than the other women Jack had affairs with.

The realisation hurt. The shoe was definitely on the other foot. She was not used to being the jilted suitor in this scenario. Is this what her suitors had felt when she'd refused them? Now more than ever, she had to stiffen her spine. Jack had made his position clear. It would do no good to break down now.

Lady Carmichael-Smythe's maid came to help her dress and do her hair. Dulci let her string a length of pearls through her coiffure. She let the maid slide the lovely lavender gown over her head and slip her feet into matching slippers with tiny bows.

She would go to the ball and she'd go looking and acting like a queen, graciously bestowing her favours on her court. She would dance, and she would laugh and she would spare Jack the knowledge that her heart was breaking.

 

He would do it tonight. He would put his cards on the proverbial table and say the words, ‘I love you.' He wanted her to know before he left. Beyond that, he could promise nothing.

Jack stood at the base of the sweeping stairs of
Carmichael House with Robert, admiring the bunting draping the banister, nodding to the women who traipsed up and down the stairs to the retiring room to check hems before the dancing started. In his mind, he knew how childish his mental bet was. It was like the silly ‘if this, then that' arguments he had with himself growing up. If the clouds passed the church steeple before the church bells stopped ringing, then his father wouldn't be angry over his late return for dinner. If he did well at school, then his father would love him. Foolish arguments all.