A Thoroughly Compromised Lady
Luck was in short supply all around. The Danby rout was fully engaged by the time Jack arrived. He’d meant to come earlier in hopes of stealing a moment with Dulci before she was surrounded. He’d wanted to set the record straight about their most unfortunate interruption the prior evening. It was not how he imagined their reunion. But business had conspired against him. He’d spent the afternoon discreetly following Calisto Ortiz to an empty warehouse in a seedy part of Southwark.
The unplanned adventure had been enlightening, posing several interesting questions, such as why a man of Ortiz’s station would be down at the docks. Ortiz’s behaviour had been telling as well. There was no doubt that whatever had taken place in the warehouse upset Ortiz greatly. As to what that might have been, Jack could only speculate. Although he’d explored the warehouse after Ortiz’s departure, he’d found nothing more than the same empty, Spanish-stamped crates that had upset Ortiz. By the time he’d reported his news to Gladstone and picked up his newly tailored waistcoat of deep periwinkle blue, afternoon had swiftly turned into evening, leaving him hard pressed to find time for a much-needed bath and toilette before setting out for the night.
There was no hope of catching Dulci alone, a fact attested to by the sea of blue surrounding her four men deep. Squaring his shoulders and setting aside the cares of the day, Jack cut through the crowd of admirers to place himself in front of her. He made a courtly leg. ‘It appears I’ve more than fulfilled my commission, Lady Dulcinea.’ Jack gestured to the various hues of blue assembled about her. ‘I do believe I’ve saved the economy for a day.’
Dulci laughed and waved her fan, a painted affair that matched the pale blue hues of her gown. ‘Tailors’ apprentices across the city are in your debt, Wainsbridge.’
‘Certainly that’s worth a dance.’ Jack offered a charming grin and held out his hand.
There was the sound of grumbling. A few voices were raised in complaint: ‘He’s stealing all the best dances.’ ‘He danced with her last night.’
Dulci squashed the protests with a smile. Between her gown and that smile, she looked like an angel come to earth as she moved to take his hand. Her beauty never ceased to entrance him. But Jack knew better than to be misled. If Dulci Wycroft was any kind of angel, she was an avenging one. Before he could make his peace with her, she was going to make him pay. Would she start with the wager or the interruption from last night?
‘This deep periwinkle is an improvement, Jack.’ Ah, it was to be the wager. ‘Still, it’s a far cry from what you used to wear. I remember in Manchester you had an evening coat with diamond buttons. Brandon said you wore it to his betrothal ball. Whatever happened to all those shirts with yards of lace for cuffs?’
‘I burnt them,’ Jack answered succinctly. ‘I have not played the fop for years now. Such a façade does not suit a king’s adviser.’
‘It did once. You used to say people were unguarded in their conversation because they assumed a fop had stuffing for brains.’ There she went, probing again for the things he could not tell her.
‘I’m an adviser, not a spy. A man with stuff for brains is not a man who is ultimately respected. Playing the fop had rather obvious limitations after a while for an adviser.’ Jack kept his answers abrupt.
‘How long do you suppose we have before we’ll be interrupted by a government summons tonight? Do you think we might make it through this dance?’ Dulci quipped, with an edge to her voice that warned Jack he was not entirely forgiven.
Damn Gladstone and his interference. But Jack would not make excuses about who he was and what he did. He turned them sharply at the top of the ballroom and decided it was time to change the conversation to something lighter.
‘I’m surprised you’re angry over the interruption last night, Dulci. You were the one who didn’t want to go out to the garden in the first place. Admit it, you like my kisses.’ What was he doing? He was flirting with her as if he meant to take this interlude further. Which of course you do, his conscious prompted honestly. Admit it, the experiment last night failed. The kisses at Christmas weren’t an isolated incident. You burn for her.
‘They’re pleasant enough when there’s nothing better to do,’ Dulci teased knowingly.
‘Is there usually something better to do?’ Jack challenged with a grin, liking the way her smile lit her face when she teased him, liking the confident, bold way she flirted. But he had to tread carefully here. Dulci could not be handled like the experienced married women of the ton. She was far finer than that and she’d expect far more than they if he led her down that path.
‘There was today.’
‘No more dangerous wagers in the moonlight, I hope.’
What he really hoped was that she hadn’t spent any more time with Calisto Ortiz. He knew, of course, where Ortiz had been later in the afternoon, but that didn’t preclude Ortiz having made an earlier call. From what Jack witnessed of the man on two occasions now, he wanted Ortiz as far from Dulci as possible.
‘This morning I worked with my fencing instructor.’
Jack’s eyebrows rose slightly at this. They rose further after the next pronouncement.
‘Then, this afternoon, I picked up some new additions to my collection of artefacts from the new world. Your part of the world, actually. Somewhere near Venezuela, or maybe Guiana.’
‘What collection is this?’ An alarm rang somewhere deep inside him at her reference, but it would be premature to jump to conclusions.
Dulci’s excitement was evident in the sparkle of her eyes as she explained. ‘Zemis, tribal fertility fetishes and other assorted items of interest. They’re from the Arawak tribes.’
Alarm was no longer premature. The Arawaks lived on the south-eastern border near the Essequibo River. His well-trained face must have betrayed him momentarily because Dulci peered at him sharply.
‘Have I shocked you?’
Very little shocked Jack after his travels. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t be terrified. His mind rushed to assimilate the information. This was far worse than his earlier concern over her involvement.
Last night he’d merely been concerned because she’d become a bystander who could be implicated, someone known to all three men: she was a woman in whom Ortiz was showing marked interest; she was the woman Gladstone had once aspired to marry; she was someone he’d paid recent social attentions to and that could put her at risk by association once Ortiz worked out his interest in the Venezuelan delegation. If Ortiz chose to strike out, Dulci would be a likely target.
But now her eccentric hobby had suddenly catapulted her into the forefront of the action. It begged the question whether Brandon had any idea what Dulci did with her time; first fencing and now this gadding about town collecting artefacts that were most likely stolen.
Was this merely coincidence or did Dulci actually possess the cargo Ortiz had been searching for? The dance was ending, but he could not return her to her court without knowing more. A strong urge to possess and protect her surged. He told himself the feeling was out of a sense of duty. With Brandon absent from town, it was his job to act as a surrogate protector. His more honest side didn’t accept that lie for a moment. Something far deeper was at work here and it scared him.
‘I had no idea your interests ran in that direction,’ Jack said benignly, subtly ushering her towards the verandah.
‘I have you to thank for my interest. After your work with Schomburgk, I turned my attentions from the Egyptian excavations to the New World. After all, these artefacts are from living tribes. They’re clues to a way of life that is taking place right now, not thousands of years ago. I find that much more fascinating. I see you’re surprised. There’s a great deal you don’t know about me, Jack.’ Dulci laughed up at him, but not unkindly.
‘Then tell me more,’ Jack flirted, the coldness receding a bit. He was back in control now. He had a strategy. He would take her outside and quiz her thoroughly until he had his answers, kiss them out of her if need be. He’d probably kiss her anyway whether he needed to or not. ‘Where did you come by these artefacts?’
‘A Spanish importer named Vasquez has been supplying me with items over the past two years.’
A new type of alarm coursed through Jack, not all of it having to do with his concern over the current situation. Good lord, didn’t the woman know the risks? Didn’t she realise how easy it would be to buy stolen goods? The Americas were rife with men of questionable repute who looted tribal grave sites or stole religious icons from the natives in the hopes of selling them back home to unsuspecting purchasers.
Those were the honest men.
The dishonest men simply passed off imitations and forgeries as the real thing.
‘I hope you’re careful, Dulci,’ Jack said. ‘There are men who’d take advantage of a woman in that market.’
Dulci’s reply was glib and self-assured. ‘Oh, I am careful, I always take my gun.’
Jack gripped Dulci’s arm, fear returning anew. ‘Your gun? Where do you go?’ He hadn’t meant his comment in that way. He’d meant it as a warning about the quality of goods she was dealing with. But now, his concern grew exponentially. Clearly this Vasquez did not call safely at her home with his wares.
‘To the wharves, of course, Jack.’ Dulci fixed him with an incredulous look. ‘Where else does one retrieve goods from ships?’
Oh God, oh God, this was getting worse by the moment. ‘And today, Dulci? Did you go to the docks today? Where?’
Dulci’s brow furrowed in puzzlement. She pulled her arm away. ‘What is this, Jack? You didn’t even know I collected until a few moments ago and now you’re suddenly full of chivalrous concern for my well-being. I’ve been doing this far longer than you realise.’
It would do no good to worry Dulci. He’d be unable to tell her anything useful if she asked and that would only serve to anger her. Jack shrugged and dispatched a quick half-truth. ‘There’s been some concern about activity at the docks lately, that is all. It’s been rougher than usual.’
‘I went to Southwark and all was fine. Although I will admit that it was a section that was more run down than the usual areas I frequent. The artefacts are splendid. Their arrival is quite timely with the Venezuelan delegation in town. I am looking forward to showing them to Señor Ortiz. He may know something more about them than what I can find in the libraries. I want to write an article for the Royal Geographic Society about them.’
No! All of Jack’s instincts rebelled at the notion of Dulci showing Ortiz. But he could not overtly steer her away from the man without raising suspicions or looking like a jealous suitor. Neither was an appealing prospect. Well, he’d just have to get there first.
‘I’d like to see your collection. I can serve in Ortiz’s place. Perhaps I’ll recognise some of the items and be able to shed some further light on them. I have an inspiration—let’s take a night off from all this social whirl. I’ll call tomorrow evening after dinner. We can fence and I’ll tell you if your instructor is any good. Afterwards, we can go over the collection.’
It was an audacious request. A gentleman never called on a lady at such a time and Jack was inviting himself. If it had been anyone else, his intentions would be clear. But Dulci was also a family friend. He was trading on that connection quite liberally with the request.
‘Do you think you can best me, Jack?’ Dulci’s eyes twinkled with challenge at the mention of fencing. ‘You might be in for another surprise.’
Chapter Five
The enormous chandelier lit up the Stockport House ballroom. Dulci cut the air with an experimental slice of her rapier, upsetting the lazy waltz of the dust motes in the streams of light. Satisfied with the balance of her weapon, she slid a button over the point and tossed another button to Jack. ‘Too bad we can’t put a button on the sharp edge of your wit. Everyone was talking last night about how you fairly skewered Señor Ortiz the night before with your linguistic prowess.’
Jack slid the button over the rapier point. ‘Are you defending him, Dulci?’
‘Only because you were acting like a dog in the manger.’ Dulci took another practice slash.
‘I disagree.’ Jack executed a lunge against an unseen opponent. ‘I was clever and he’d been ogling your bosom far too long to be appropriate.’
Dulci made an arcing slash. ‘Is there an appropriate amount of time for that? Perhaps some kind of hidden gentleman’s rule?’
‘About bosom ogling?’ Jack lunged, stretching his leg muscles, thinking for a moment before responding. ‘Yes, no more than two seconds and then one’s eyes must revert back to the lady’s face and not stray again. That way, she’ll wonder if you ever looked in the first place. Of course, if one’s partner is especially well endowed in that region and one is very skilled, one can sneak a few more glances by adopting a contemplative look during conversation and drop one’s eyes without a move of the head. But I wouldn’t recommend it for everyone, it takes a lot of practice to perfect.’
‘That’s perfectly appalling,’ Dulci scoffed. ‘You don’t have a rule, you have a whole treatise!’
‘Makes one wonder what other hidden rules govern the lives of gentlemen, doesn’t it?’ A wicked gleam lit Jack’s eyes. He raised his rapier in a fencer’s salute. ‘En garde, my dear.’
En garde indeed! How was she supposed to concentrate after that? They fell into first position. Jack thrust forwards and Dulci parried with expert ease out of reflex, struggling to drag her thoughts back from the conversation.
Jack made a daring lunge and caught her rapier arm out of position. Dulci tried to recover, but was not fast enough to deflect the strike.
‘Touché. Round one to me.’ He winked. ‘You weren’t concentrating. Perhaps it was my exquisite physique that distracted you.’
Dulci flashed Jack a withering look and determinedly took up her position. ‘I’m just not used to seeing you in such light colours.’ In truth Dulci did find it something of a novelty to see Jack in a plain white shirt and tan breeches. Such clothing didn’t hide anything and her imagination was embellishing heavily, firing her already active imagination to indecent levels. She’d end up skewered by her own blade if she wasn’t careful.
He looked almost normal, standing in her ballroom wearing regular clothing. Except for the fact that there was nothing ordinary about Jack regardless of what he wore. It didn’t matter if he was the diamond-buttoned fop or the sombre gentleman, Jack drew people to him by the sheer force of his personality, a unique blend of the light and sharp witted, underneath which lurked a dangerous intelligence that men respected and women yearned to possess.
She was no different in that regard. Dulci wished she could unlock the secrets of his mind. But Jack was a guarded man, a puzzle she had yet to solve, which probably explained why he was standing in her ballroom fencing with her, when she was supposed to be mad at him.
‘Are you going to engage any time soon?’ Jack drawled, scolding her for wool gathering.
‘I was wondering why is it that you’re here when I’m supposed to be upset with you.’ Dulci took the offensive and pressed him hard with a series of attacks.
‘Do you have an answer?’ Jack asked with a sharp riposte that bought him back some ground.
‘None that I like.’ Dulci flicked her wrist and delivered a complicated stroke that nearly disarmed him. She grimaced in disappointment. That move always worked on other opponents. Jack must have wrists of steel to successfully deflect it.
Jack groaned. ‘That’s hardly a resounding endorsement.’
A smile twitched at her mouth. Dulci felt a laugh coming on that would surely disable her. ‘Don’t make me laugh, Jack. You’re not fighting fair.’
Jack grinned deviously and Dulci knew she had to hurry if she meant to win before she burst into laughter and dropped her guard. Dulci feinted, parried two more quick strokes, then suddenly changed hands. Her left wasn’t her strongest arm, but she was counting on the surprise giving her a few seconds’ advantage.
This time her tactic worked. Dulci claimed the round four strokes later.
‘Nicely done,’ Jack commented, graciously ceding the round. ‘I underestimated you. I didn’t know you’d developed your left arm.’
Dulci ran a towel along the length of blade, wiping it clean out of habit rather than need. ‘Turnabout’s fair play. I underestimated you in the first round. No one has successfully deflected the move I used towards the end.’ Dulci paused, the easy conversation catching her off balance. It was a moment between equals. Eyes met and held. Jack was on the move, crossing the small distance between them.
‘You could do better with it. Let me show you a stronger way to deliver that blow.’ Without waiting for permission, Jack slid behind her, his hand covering hers on the hilt of her rapier, his other arm about her waist, drawing her against him as he directed her into position.
The nearness of their bodies swamped Dulci with an acute sense of intimacy. She was so close to Jack she could actually smell him right down to identifying the brand of gentleman’s soap he’d used for his toilette: an almond scent sold at an exclusive store on Bond Street.
She could identify other things, too: the fact he was five inches taller than she; that she could use the hollow of his shoulder to rest her head and in turn he could use the top of her head to rest his chin; the surprising strength of his arm. Beneath his clothing, Jack possessed a remarkably fit body, built to a fencer’s perfection: lean and trim, deceptively muscular, with narrow hips and long legs. An ideal build for stealth and speed, two useful tools an épéeist relied on regularly.
Dulci’s face heated at the direction of her thoughts. She was thankful Jack was behind her. She didn’t want Jack thinking she could be had too easily like his strawberry actress. Besides, this was all meant to be a purely academic exercise between fellow fencers. But with Jack one could never tell. Jack had the ability to turn the most mundane gestures into a seductive prelude to all sorts of pleasurable sins. After all, they’d only gone out to the garden for a harmless walk.
Jack’s hips shifted against her back, his voice soft at her ear in a most non-academic tone. On purpose? Dulci wondered. ‘Let’s take a step forwards and try it now with the steady wrist, no flicking this time.’
They moved together, stepping and striking. ‘There, do you feel how much stronger the blade’s position is without the flick at the end? Good. Whoever taught you that was more interested in showmanship than real prowess.
‘Now, try it against me.’ Jack left her and picked up his own foil. She felt strangely abandoned without the warmth of Jack, the feel of Jack, behind her. Dulci was half-tempted to ask him to show her the move again. The only thing stopping her was her pride. Such a trick was a ploy other women would use. She would not stoop, hard as it was.
Dulci gamely readied herself and engaged. This time the move worked and Jack found himself disarmed in short order.
‘Very good,’ Jack applauded, his admiration obvious, as was his approval. Overt approval was not something she was used to. Men might admire her, and she knew very well that many did. But admiration was not the same as approval. It had taken her a long time to understand the nuances that separated the two.
Men who considered themselves modern and above the traditions of their station might enjoy privately fencing with her, might take pleasure in discussing her collection of histories and artefacts, might even applaud her personal studies from a distance. All of that was well and good in their minds until it came to marriage. A man could admire such traits from afar, but no man wanted to be shackled permanently to a woman who possessed those traits. It had taken six marriage proposals for her to fully understand.
But Jack was different. She supposed it was because he’d openly declared himself not the marrying kind and she could trust him to stand by that declaration unlike Gladstone, her sixth miserable proposal. Gladstone had declared no more than friendship and respect for her and then surprised her with a marriage offer accompanied by a list of demands regarding the things she’d need to give up as his viscountess.
In those terms at least there was no risk of such a misunderstanding with Jack. She understood Jack perfectly. Rumour could be trusted in this regard: he offered a moment of physical pleasure, no promises attached. A relationship would last only as long as Jack’s work didn’t encroach. In many ways, a relationship with Jack was over before it started. A woman who gave herself to Jack would have to be happy with whatever she could salvage. In the long term, Dulci doubted she could do such a thing. But it hardly mattered. She wanted only the experience he offered and then they could go their separate ways.
The thought haunted her throughout their work out. Dulci was glad for the excuse of exercise. She could pretend the flush on her cheeks was from their exertions.
They worked a while longer on footwork and various techniques until both were well exercised from their efforts. Dulci stopped and wiped her face with a towel. ‘I’m finished, Jack. How about you? I’ll have a tea tray sent to my collections room. We can eat a little supper and I’ll show you the new batch of artefacts. I’ve just begun cataloging them. You can see for yourself that I’ve not been hoodwinked into buying fakes.’
The collection room far exceeded any of Jack’s preconceived expectations. Two adjoining drawing rooms had been devoted to Dulci’s work, the dividing doors between them pulled back to maximise the space; tall windows overlooking the back garden let in copious amounts of light during the day. Where the light was best, a long work table sat against a wall, strewn with stones, statues and wood carvings. Bookcases were laden with atlases and treatises from the Royal Geographic Society. Free-standing curio cabinets with glass shelves stood about the room, compelling the visitor to wander, stopping to look at each treasure.
And they were indeed treasures, Jack noted, studying each case in turn. It was impossible to tell how honestly anyone had come by the items, but they were authentic. He could rest easy on that account. Dulci had not been misled into purchasing frauds. He stopped to eye a splendid lapis-lazuli-and-gold Egyptian collar. ‘These are very fine items, Dulci.’
He studied a cabinet containing a set of bronze elephants with jewelled eyes. ‘From India?’
Dulci moved to stand beside him. ‘From a maharajah. An old friend brought them back for me a few years ago.’
‘Is that wistfulness I hear?’ Jack asked, tossing her a sideways glance. ‘Would you like to go to India some day?’
‘I’d like to go anywhere.’ Dulci ran an idle hand over a mask, tracing the contours. ‘India, Egypt, the Americas. There’s a big world out there—’ Dulci waved a hand ‘—and I’ve seen so very little of it.’
A footman entered with the trays and Dulci crossed the room to direct the setting out of the tea and supper on a vacant table. Jack studied her as she gave instructions, her dark hair hanging in a thick braid down her back, the shapely curve of her hips in the tight fencing trousers she wore.
A stab of jealousy went through him. He was an only child and had never acquired an appreciation for sharing. Had Gladstone seen her dressed thusly? Probably not, Jack reasoned. No man could see Dulci turned out in tight trousers and white shirt and blithely let her go. He could feel himself rising appreciatively at the provocative sight of her backside. On the other hand, maybe Gladstone, traditional bastard that he was, had seen Dulci like this and promptly run the other way. Gladstone wouldn’t know what to do with a woman like Dulci.