“Already?” Jack stepped aside to let his friend enter.
“Say, what happened to your face?” Hudsyn squinted at Jack in the dim light of the paraffin lamp. “Did someone thrash you?”
“It’s nothing.” Jack touched the bruise Brandt had left on his cheek. “I fell, that’s all.”
“Well, you ought to be more careful.” Hudsyn shivered. “Heavens, it’s freezing in here. These summer storms are a nuisance. One minute the sun is shining, and the next, we are drenched to the bone. Where’s your shirt? Do you wish to die of pneumonia?”
“I fell asleep in the parlor beside the fire,” Jack said. “It was warm.”
“Well, let’s get it started again, shall we? I require a warm fire and a stiff drink to celebrate.” Hudsyn marched down the hallway toward the parlor. Jack followed, praying Ottilie would stay upstairs and out of sight.
Hudsyn strode into the parlor and made for the fireplace. “Dash it!” He said as his foot collided with a half-empty glass of beer. He bent to pick up the glass and sniffed it. “Did you fall asleep or pass out in front of the fire?” Jack laughed, but his stomach churned. How could he have been so stupid as to compromise both Ottilie’s reputation and his friendship with Hudsyn?
“Got any more of this?” Hudsyn held up the glass.
“Yes, but I thought you wanted something stronger. I can get you a brandy.”
“Excellent,” Hudsyn said. “I’ll restart the fire.”
Jack set the lamp next to the fireplace and went to pour Hudsyn’s drink. When he returned, a warm orange glow enveloped the room, and Henry stood with a puzzled look. He eyed the two empty glasses, the picnic basket, and the blanket.
“Say, I’m not interrupting anything, am I?”
“No.” Jack’s muscles tensed. He strode back to the cabinet and poured himself a whiskey. He squeezed his eyes shut. The evening was a blur. He remembered kissing Ottilie in the park and bringing her home. She’d changed out of her wet clothing, and they’d eaten sandwiches by the fire. They’d kissed. He remembered as much. But had he done more than kiss her? His brain couldn’t recall.
“Are you all right, Bastin?”
“It’s my head.” Jack spun around and handed Hudsyn the whiskey glass.
“Drank too much?” Hudsyn suggested. “That’s likely what facilitated your fall as well.” He sipped his whiskey. “I need to be careful. I haven’t had so much as a sniff of alcohol in two weeks.”
Hudsyn surveyed the room again. “Are you really alone?”
“Of course, I am. I was writing.”
Hudsyn bent down and picked up a gold hair pin dotted with tiny red stones. “What’s this then?”
Jack shrugged. “I don’t know. Perhaps it belongs to Mrs. Wilson.” As soon as the words slipped out of his mouth, he knew he had made a fatal error. “Or someone,” he added.
Hudsyn raised his eyebrows. “Does it belong to Mrs. Wilson?”
“How should I know?”
“Well, a man can get lonely.”
Jack hit Hudsyn on the shoulder. “Sorry to disappoint you, my friend. But I was alone all evening before I fell asleep.”
“All joking aside, I think you’re hiding something from me, Bastin. You haven’t forgotten about our three-month challenge, have you?”
“Of course not. I’ve sworn off women to concentrate on my writing, the same as you have done.”
“If you are serious, you should get yourself a set at Albany. No women allowed.”
“I’m fairly certain prostitutes are allowed.”
“Do you have a prostitute hiding somewhere? Because this looks very much like”—Hudsyn stopped—“Ahh, I see. There she is you old dog. Younger than your usual type, I must say.”
“What?” Jack grew cold, and he swayed slightly on his feet. He turned slowly to see Brandt’s new housekeeper saunter into the parlor completely naked.
