Leo let out a crack of laughter. “You said so in the bar, idiot.”
For fuck’s sake. There was no help for it now—Inez and I would have to marry sooner. If there was anyone who wanted to mess up my life, it would be the man who reported me to the military judge.
It was only after I said goodbye to Leo that I felt someone watching from the top of the stairs. I tipped my head back, mouth dry, eyes blurring. I stumbled on the first step and barely managed to stay upright. The figure looked familiar.
It took a minute for the shape to crystallize, the lines becoming sharper. It was a young woman, her expression hard to read. It might have been incredulous horror. She turned, walking briskly away, tying the sash of her dressing gown tight around her slim waist. Dark curls swaying around her shoulders. I recognized her at last.
Inez.
CAPÍTULO DOS
The sight of Whit drunk had speared me through. I paced my hotel room, hands flapping, wondering at what I’d seen and what it meant. I had gone to look at other exits, hoping to find another way out of Shepheard’s other than the main entrance that everyone used, and had seen him standing in a crowd ofsoldiers. Something I’d never thought was possible, given how he felt about his time in the militia. Not to mention whatIpersonally felt about them. But there he had been, smiling easily, staggering a little, and clearly enjoying himself. Then he spoke to someone of rank, dressed in a decorated uniform, and the sight had turned my stomach.
I couldn’t make sense of it.
Whit wanted nothing to do with the military. That’s what he had led me to believe. He didn’t want any reminders of what had happened, and so I could hardly see him engaging in a pleasant chat. And why would any British soldier or captain engage in conversation with one of theirs who had been dishonorably discharged?
I’d left the balcony doors open, needing fresh air. The moon showed her face, the night still and quiet. I ought to have climbed into bed, but my heart pounded hard against my ribs. There was a time when I couldn’t trust Whitford Hayes. When I’d believed the worst of him. But he’d shown me a hidden side of himself, and I’d had to adjust my earlier assumptions.
He made me feel safe.
Except when I saw the way he was tonight, drunk and merry with the militia, a niggling sense of dread wound its way through my heart.
What if I’d been right about him all along?
“Wake up, Inez.”
I shifted under the sheets, blinking against the pillow. That had sounded like Whit. I turned, squinting through the heavy gauze of the mosquito netting. ItwasWhit.
“Look who’s being inappropriate now,” I said when I could find my voice.
Usually that might have earned me an amused smile or even a chuckle. But Whit’s blurry frame remained silent and motionless.
“What time is it?” I asked.
“Early,” came his curt voice. “Will you come out of there?”
“Something tells me I’m not going to like what you’re going to say.”
“Probably not.”
I sighed as my stomach tightened into unruly knots. Whit pulled the mosquito netting aside, and I murmured a quiet thank-you as I slipped out from under the bedding. My nightgown was loose and long, and I tugged at it, self-conscious and shy. Whit held himself back, his expression remote and guarded. He was wearing the same clothes as the night before. He smelled like whiskey, cloves, and peat in a swirl of smoke. I wondered if he had seen his bed, or if he had stayed up with his soldier friends the rest of the night.
“I saw you in the lobby.”
A muscle in his jaw ticked. “I know.”
“Who were those men?”
Whit shrugged. “No one of import.”
I tipped my head to the side, considering. Obviously, they were in the militia, and he had clearly known them. What I ought to have asked was why he went out drinking with them, when he was presumably busy with the preparations for our wedding. I had barely seen him since he had laid out exactly what he wanted me to do. His own to-do list had been extensive. He had made it seem like it would take a miracle to pull off a wedding in such a short period of time, all while keeping it from my uncle.
“Have you slept?”
Whit waved off my question. I took a step closer, noted the spidery red veins in his bloodshot eyes and the line of tension in his clenched jaw. His usually clean-shaven face had not seen a razor in the last twenty-four hours. Once again, I felt a prick of alarm. He seemed tense and nervous.
He was going to call off the wedding. I was sure of it.
