She nodded.
“Hang on. I see Sir Richard coming our way. You can discuss this with him yourself.”
Jack’s muscles tightened. He wasn’t ready to reveal himself to his uncle. “I am afraid I have another engagement, and I must take my leave now. But rest assured, I will think about it and let you know if I am interested in seeing the house.”
“Surely you can spare a moment or two. He is—”
“I am afraid not.” Jack bowed to the ladies and turned abruptly. As he did, he brushed shoulders with his uncle; a bitter shiver ran down his spine, but he kept his head down and forced himself to continue walking. The time to confront his uncle had not yet arrived.
*
“Mr. Bastin.” LadyBuntley’s voice sounded behind Jack as he stepped into the hallway.
He stopped and turned.
“A word before you go, if you please.”
“Of course. I am sorry to depart in such a rush—”
Lady Buntley leaned toward Jack and spoke in a low voice. “I will forgive you if you promise to tell that divine valet of yours, I’ll be waiting for him at our meeting place tomorrow afternoon. Lord Buntley will be spending the day at his club.”
“Of course.” Jack straightened his shoulders and tried to calm himself, although his mind seethed with violence at the thought of his uncle. “And before I forget, I told Lady Astyr you would accompany us on a ride in Hyde Park. I hope you don’t mind.”
“Anything for you, my dear. But I must say, I find this whole situation rather mystifying. What prompted this interest in Lady Astyr? I thought you preferred a more mature woman.”
Jack forced a smile.
“What is the matter, Mr. Bastin? You seem out of sorts.”
“Headache,” Jack mumbled. “I need to go home and get some rest. I’ll give Brandt your message.” He kissed her hand. “Thank you again, my lady.”
Jack strode outside, his lungs ready to burst with rage. He may well have stormed back inside and ripped out his uncle’s throat had he not glimpsed Brandt waiting for him across the street. Jack blinked at the silhouette of his friend. Brandt leaned casually against a gas lamp with his ankles crossed and the brim of his black cowboy hat tipped low over his forehead. One hand rested in his coat pocket, and the other held a smoldering cigar to his lips.
The image took Jack to his early days in Texas. He was sixteen and indentured to a brute named Wardell, who used a bullwhip to keep cattle and people in line. The month-long journey from England had been tortuous, but it had been luxurious compared to the horror he’d witnessed on Wardell’s sugar plantation. When he’d stepped into the fiery sugar mill with its scalding, spitting furnaces and burnt flesh smell, he’d known he’d reached the eighth level of Dante’s inferno. Instinct had urged him to run.
And Wardell stopped him with his 10-foot bullwhip. It landed on his back with the full force of the devil’s practiced arm, and he went down faster than a tree struck by lightning. When he awoke, dazed and raw with pain, lying face-down and shirtless on a mattress, Brandt was there.
“Hurts like the dickens, doesn’t it?”
Jack lifted his head an inch, and every nerve in his body sang.
“There’s wire in that blacksnake of his. That’s the reason it cuts so deep.”
Jack blinked the speaker into focus. He could still see Brandt’s tanned face peering at him from where he sat cross-legged on the floor across from him.
“I know ’cause he done it to me too.” Brandt ran a finger over a raised welt that snaked from his jaw down his neck.
“He struck you in the face?”
“Nah, he only caught my jaw ’cause I turned as he cracked the whip. See, I’ll show you.” Brandt swiveled around. Only a year older than Jack, he already had a man’s body—powerful and muscular from his work on the ranch. His scar snaked from the bottom of his jaw around his neck and down the length of his back.
“Wardell’s too much of a coward to do anything to a man’s face.” Brandt spun back to face Jack. “He likes to beat folks when their backs are turned or after he ties them up good and helpless.” He ran his hand through his mop of sun-streaked hair. “Ain’t nobody safe with his back turned on Wardell’s land. He’s real proud of the scars he leaves on folks. An’ that’s his mistake.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, I ain’t ever going to forget what he done to me. An’ one day, I’m going to do the same to him.”
“What are you waiting for?” Jack shifted his body and winced.
