“I’m getting married,” I said. “And it needs to be aboveboard and acknowledged by the right people.”
His brows rose. “Christ. Should I congratulate you? Or offer condolences?”
I clapped my hand on his back. “Decide at the wedding—you’ll be our witness.”
I was in another bar.
We were fighting for twelve inches of space, the stretch of mahogany overtaken by dozens of patrons at Shepheard’s famous establishment. Leo had insisted he knew where to find the army chaplain, one Henry Poole, who apparently liked his beer pale and bountiful. When he dragged me back to Shepheard’s, the image of my future wife swam across my mind, clear as if she were standing before me. Dark curls that wouldn’t be tamed, alchemical eyes shining gold, lit by an insatiable curiosity. She was probably plotting sneaking out of the hotel without her uncle noticing. Even now, she could be learning Ricardo’s schedule or asking for the aid of an employee.
One never knew when it came to Inez.
“Buy him another before asking,” Leo said in Spanish from out of the corner of his mouth.
I flicked my gaze in his direction. How did he know I learned Spanish? While in the military, I had learned some phrases but nothing like how I spoke or understood the language now. It seemed like I wasn’t the only one who had kept tabs.
He took a sip of his drink and shrugged noncommittally. Then he jerked his chin in the direction of the army chaplain. He stood at my elbow, a smile tugging at his mouth as he took in the riotous scene in the lavish space. I’d been here before, many times, often on a job for Ricardo. Many people came by the famous watering hole, intent on a good time and not much else.
Henry leaned forward and shouted his order for all three of us at the bartender, who nodded briskly while also taking the order of half a dozen other people. I admired the competent multitasking. The chaplain glanced over, grinning. I got the sense he didn’t have too many friends and was eager for camaraderie. I had expected him to be stodgy, uptight, and ill-humored.
But he was jovial and chatty—truly bizarre for a Briton—and nearly drunk. He smiled too much and was the too-trusting sort, poor sod. The bartender pushed three more glasses toward us, filled to the brim, and I hesitated.
I had drunk two already.
“Is the gun absolutely necessary?” The chaplain hiccupped. “We aren’t in any danger here, surely.”
“I never go anywhere without it,” I said.
Leo bent and stuck his nose close to the weapon attached to my hip. “You still have his revolver? After all this time?”
“Whose?” Henry asked, eyeing it with interest.
“General Gordon’s,” Leo said in a hushed voice, before raising his glass in a solemn salute.
“TheGeneral Gordon?” Henry asked in an awed whisper. “That’shisgun?”
I nodded tightly, reaching for the glass. Without another thought, I took a long drag of the liquor.
“But how did you get it?” the chaplain sputtered. “I heard he was decapitated—”
“Another round?” Leo broke in.
“We just got our drinks,” Henry protested.
“Something tells me we’ll want another,” Leo said, with an uneasy glance in my direction. He knew the full history of my disreputable time in the military, of course. I had been thrown out, with no time to say my piece or my goodbyes to the rest of them. Not that I cared—except, perhaps at times, for the way I had disappeared on Leo.
But even then, I had a feeling he would have understood, despite never being able to publicly take my side. It didn’t matter anymore, because he was here now.
“Bottoms up, as they say,” Henry said, between hiccups.
We raised our glasses. In for a penny, in for a pound.
As they say.
What bloody time was it? Leo’s face blurred in front of me. The singing had gotten louder. Lord,so loud. But I had won us more inches at the bar. Victory.
“Didn’t you have to ask Henry something?” Leo roared in my ear.
“Jesus,” I said, wincing.
