Part 8 (2/2)
Jack steeled himself. None of that mattered. If he stayed, she would begin to expect such things, and he was not about to let her think he was something he was not.
”When will you return?” she asked.
He paused by the fireplace to stir the embers back into flames. ”Tomorrow.” He replaced the poker in the stand by the fire. ”Sleep well.” He walked toward the door.
”Jack?”
He paused, his hand on the k.n.o.b. ”Yes?”
”You really do have no heart.”
His jaw tightened, but he offered no defense.
”You always seem to hate that name, Black Jack,” she said bitterly. ”Yet here you are, striving to prove
it true.”
”I am what I am. I am exactly what I was before you married me, and I'll still be that after.”
Her eyes flashed. ”I have expectations, too. I do not wish to be left in this house alone all the time. I
would like to see London while I am here.”
”Of course, sweetheart. I am sure the coachman knows the way to Anstley's Amphitheatre.”
Ignoring the angry set of her mouth, he bowed. ”Meanwhile, I bid you good night.” He slipped from the
room and shut the door, quickly making his way to the foyer. ”My lord.” Devonsgate stood at the bottom of the stairs. Jack eyed the coat that was carefully hung over the butler's arm. ”You knew I would be going out.” ”You always do, my lord.” ”Yes. I always do, don't I?” ”Yes, my lord. Once you have, ah-” The butler's gaze strayed up the stairs, then back, a faint touch of color in his high cheekbones. ”Once you have awakened from your nap, you inevitably go to one of your clubs, leaving your companion sleeping.”
”I didn't realize I was so predictable.”
”We are all creatures of habit, my lord.” The butler helped Jack into his coat.
”And my habit is to visit gaming h.e.l.ls and buy gifts for unsuitable women,” Jack said. ”What a wonderful set of habits, to be sure.”
The rumble of thunder sounded in the distance, and a sharp wind whistled, so stiff that it rattled the
heavy door.
Jack sent a harsh glance up the staircase before b.u.t.toning his coat to his neck. ”I will need a hat, Devonsgate. I believe a storm is brewing.”
”That's impossible, my lord. I was outside earlier, and it was clear-”
A flash of lightning lit the foyer before disappearing into a loud crack of thunder.
”Heavens! That sounds ominous.”
Itwas ominous. Devonsgate just didn't know how much.
Jack took a deep breath, the familiar scent of lilac tickling his nose. d.a.m.n Fiona. He placed his hat firmly
on his head. He would go out and have a good time, no matter what. What was a little rain, anyway?
”What ill luck, that it should rain right now,” Devonsgate said, eyeing the front windows with misgiving.
”That is the way things seem to be going for me lately. Ill.Very Ill.”
”I have heard many times that you live a charmed life, my lord. There are many who envy you.”
And why not? He had wealth, properties, and unlimited opportunities to do whatever he wished. He was
indeed fortunate. So why did he feel as if he stood on the brink of a great cliff, a strong wind pus.h.i.+ng him forward, toward the edge?
Jack's gaze wandered past the butler, back up the stairs to the shadow of his bedroom door. For a long time, he stood there, staring. Then, with a muttered imprecation, he turned on his heel and left for the waiting carriage.
Chapter Seven.
The White Witch was used to seeing fair men, but none so fair as the MacLean. Och, they are bonny lads and la.s.sies, those MacLeans. OLDWOMANNORA OFLOCHLOMOND TO HER THREE WEE GRANDDAUGHTERS ONE COLD NIGHT Preston House was situated on the edge of May-fair. Built of white brick and decorated with stylish bra.s.s sconces and ornate trim work, it was as understated and quietly elegant as the dinner parties and soirees Lord and Lady Preston hosted. The location was a favorite of the bon ton and it was not unusual for Preston events to end with a leisurely breakfast for some of the more hardy guests. Tonight, the bright lights of the house were barely visible from Jack's carriage, dimmed by the rain that beat mercilessly upon the roof. The coachman pulled up to the front door, and Jack jumped out, not waiting for the footman to appear.
The rain slashed at him as he raced up the steps, head down against the onslaught. He reached the portico, protected from the rain by a large overhang. d.a.m.n Fiona for this deluge. He knew it was her; the faint scent of lilacs fanned his ire. How dare she attempt to dissuade him from seeking his amus.e.m.e.nts? It simply made him more determined to enjoy his freedom, and the sooner she realized that, the better for everyone.
Still grumbling to himself, Jack took off his coat and shook it.
A footman opened the door immediately. ”Ah, Lord Kincaid! Welcome to-” The man caught sight of the rain and blinked, plainly shocked.
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