‘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