“You’ve got it all wrong.” He leaned against the door and folded his arms. “That tends to happen when one eavesdrops and makes assumptions.”
“Eavesdrops? Is that what worries you? Or is it that I saw you the way your friends are accustomed to seeing you—with a naked strumpet draped on your arm?” She swooped down, snatched her clothing off the floor and moved toward the door, but Jack didn’t budge.
“Are you planning to keep me against my will?”
“Of course not,” he said evenly. “I’m only asking you to listen. Then you may go wherever you like.”
“How gracious of you.” She turned her face from his but stayed rooted to the spot, keen to hear his attempt to explain himself.
“As I am sure you heard from your position on the landing,” Jack began, “Hudsyn finished his collection of poems and wanted me to have a celebratory drink with him. He was so excited that he marched into the parlor before I could stop him. So, he saw the picnic basket and the empty glasses. After we relit the fire, he picked up one of your decorated hairpins from the floor and accused me of entertaining a woman. I played innocent and tried to shrug it off, but he wasn’t convinced. And I was terrified he would recognize the hairpin as one of yours. Then Lulu appeared. She must have overheard our conversation when she came up the basement stairs because she sauntered into the parlor completely disrobed and pretended to be my mystery woman. I panicked and went along with the charade. I think Lulu was trying to help.”
“Help?” Ottilie’s voice rose with indignation. “What interesting servants you have in this house, Mr. Bastin. Wherever do you find them?”
“I already told you Brandt hired her. She keeps his bed warm, not mine. I don’t want anything to do with her.”
“You’re blaming your valet?” Ottilie said, incredulous. “Do you truly think me such a fool? I saw you embrace her. She stood naked in your arms, and you did not seem the least perturbed. In fact, you stood there conversing with my cousin as though nothing was amiss.”
Jack stepped away from the door and ran his hands through his hair. “Believe what you want. I’ve been honest with you, but if you insist on calling me a liar, so be it. You can sleep in my bedchamber, and I will stay downstairs.”
“Your bedchamber! How dare you? I will not stay in this house tonight, and I shall certainly not sleep in your bed. As soon as I am dressed, I’m going back to Berkeley Square. And tomorrow, I plan to catch the first train to Canterbury.”
“You can do whatever you like tomorrow, but tonight you shall stay here. It’s far too late to venture out alone, and you already sent word to your aunt that you would not be returning to Berkeley Square. It will look mighty suspicious if you bang on her bolted doors, begging to be let in well after midnight.”
“None of that is your concern, so I fail to see why you care.”
She moved toward the door, but he stepped forward and caught her by the shoulders. “That’s precisely my problem. I do care! And I don’t think I’m able to stop.”
Ottilie stilled, and Jack brushed a strand of hair from her face. “Listen carefully because I’m only going to say this once more. Lulu is waiting for Brandt, not me. She keeps his bed warm, not mine. You can choose to believe me or not, but what I’m saying is the truth.”
Ottilie raised her eyebrows. She wanted desperately to believe him but doubt still plagued her thoughts. “And your valet sleeps upstairs, does he?”
Jack dropped his hands from Ottilie’s shoulders and exhaled. “Brandt isn’t my valet. He’s my business partner and my friend. No, that’s not correct. He is more than a friend. He’s like a brother to me, and he’s the only family I have. I wouldn’t be alive today if it wasn’t for him.”
“I don’t understand. Why does he pretend to be your valet?”
“It’s complicated,” Jack said.
Ottilie dropped her clothing on a nearby lounge chair. “I’ve spent the evening kissing you wearing little more than my undergarments, yet I know nothing about you. You’re a complete mystery to me.” She covered her face with her hands.
He shrugged. “People get married without knowing much of anything about each other. Title and wealth, that’s usually all the information they require before tying themselves to someone for life.”
She dropped her hands from her face. “Not me.”
He reached for her. “What is it you want to know?”
Still frustrated, she twisted out of his reach. He turned and clasped his hands behind his neck, flexing his back as if trying to release the tension from his body. Ottilie’s stared at the scar that marred his otherwise perfect skin. She inched forward and ran a finger along his raised lesion. She wanted to know who hurt him and why. She’d revealed her vulnerability, and she needed him to do the same.
He turned suddenly, and she jerked her hand back in fright.
“That’s a long story,” he said, and strode to his whiskey decanter.
Ottilie chewed her lip as she watched Jack fill and drain his glass with an unsteady hand.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to—”
He poured a second glass and swallowed another mouthful of whiskey. “Don’t be.” He cleared his throat and turned to face her. “I want to tell you.”
Women always asked about his scar; it was a natural curiosity. And he had told all manner of tales to satisfy their fantasies—he’d received it during his years as a pirate, on a spying mission, rescuing a young lady from a gang of outlaws, and so on. But never had he told anyone the truth. Never had he admitted to being bullwhipped like an animal by a vicious master. That reality wasn’t quite so heroic or romantic.
