A Thoroughly Compromised Lady (4 page)

He seemed far too eager to get rid of her after the demanding note requiring an immediate meeting.

‘I would prefer to see the rest of the contents,' Dulci said, proceeding to empty the crate and offering an exposition on each piece she extracted. ‘This is likely to be an amulet, this would be a
metate
, they used it for grinding seeds…' She spoke absently, more to herself than for the edification of Señor Vasquez.

Dulci dusted off her hands and surveyed the artefacts, seven in all. She was cognisant of the fact that Señor Vasquez had checked his watch twice while she'd unloaded the crate. He was clearly expecting someone else, or perhaps hoping to avoid the expected visitor. The collection was certainly splendid, but, while it was exciting to her, she had not forgot the urgency of Vasquez's summons. ‘Is this everything?'

‘All but this final item.' Vasquez handed her a worn leather book the size of a journal.

She eyed him speculatively. ‘Saving the best for last?'

Vasquez placed a hand over his heart. ‘I seek only to please you,
señorita
. I know how much you like to read. Look here, there's even a few maps, very detailed.'

Dulci thumbed the pages, noting the drawings of strange plants and places. ‘An explorer's journal? Perhaps a missionary's log?' Dulci asked. It was written in English and she immediately thought of Jack. The journal would make a fine gift for him, a remembrance of his own work in that region a few years back. Not that
he deserved such a gift after last night, she reminded herself.

‘I can only guess,
señorita
. My English is not good enough for reading,' Vasquez hedged. ‘I am a mere importer.'

Dulci was instantly suspicious. There was nothing ‘mere' about Vasquez. The Spaniard was rich, his wealth made from the lucre of Spanish interests in South America. ‘How did you come by this book?'

Vasquez shrugged gallantly. ‘It was in the same crate as the statue. It was on the last ship. I unpacked it and thought of you, that is all.'

Nothing was ever that straight for ward. When it was, it was time to start asking the hard questions. ‘Are the artefacts stolen?' Dulci cocked her head to one side in an assessing tilt. She'd done business with Vasquez before. He'd proven to be a reliable con tact, visiting London twice a year from Spain. Still, something didn't seem quite right.

‘Of course not, I am a legitimate importer. Such chicanery would damage my reputation,' Vasquez argued, putting on an offended air at the suggestion.

‘If they're not stolen, then why the urgency? We had an appointment tomorrow morning. What difference can a day make?'

‘Ah, yes,
señorita
, please forgive me for worrying you. I must leave for home on the morning tide instead of leaving later in the week as I had planned. It is a personal matter. I did not want to leave without meeting with you.' He lowered his voice conspiratorially. ‘There are others who were interested in the artefacts. I am to meet with them tonight. But I confess I wanted you to have first pick.'

Dulci nodded, her concern ebbing slightly in the wake of his explanation. The man was a con sum mate salesman. No doubt he'd arranged all this to increase his price. Urgency was a well-proven ploy for adding spice to a negotiation. ‘I'll pay one hundred pounds for the crate and the journal.'

‘One hundred pounds?
Madre de dios
, but I could not part with them for such a sum.' He pro tested neatly. ‘Surely you under stand,
señorita
, the effort to transport such goods across the Atlantic and bring them to London?'

Dulci's tone was brisk. ‘Surely
you
under stand, I am in no mood to haggle like a fishwife in the market. I am late for a much-anticipated lecture and you are fully cognisant of the fairness of my price.'

‘Because you are my favourite, I will indulge you.' Vasquez relented with an exaggerated shrug. ‘A hundred pounds,
señorita
.'

Dulci gave a curt nod. ‘Deliver the crate to my town house promptly and you'll receive instructions for payment. If you are quick, you'll have no trouble getting your money before you sail. As always,
señor
, it is a pleasure.'

Vasquez bent over her hand. ‘The pleasure is most assuredly mine.'

 

The pretty
señorita
had barely exited the building before he began rapidly packing up the artefacts. The sooner this crate was out of his hands, the better. He had not told her any lies: the artefacts were not stolen and he did have an urgent personal need to sail tomorrow—he valued his health. Having those artefacts found in his possession would endanger that health greatly.

It had recently come to his notice through his vast networks that someone highly placed in the Venezuelan government wanted them in deadly earnest. The artefacts didn't look particularly dangerous or valuable, just stone and wood carvings, most of them done with a crude skill at best.

It didn't matter. They could have been jewel studded and he'd still have wanted to be rid of them. Originally, he'd thought to make a tidy profit on them, but whoever wanted them had not wanted to purchase them. There'd been no interest in a business transaction. Whatever the reason, these items had not been meant to be seen by others. The possessor of these artefacts, for reasons he could not as certain, was as good as dead. The artefacts were out of his hands now. He was safe. He'd been careful to erase any mention of them in his ship's manifesto and if his London warehouse was searched, they would find nothing that traced the artefacts back to him.

He didn't worry overmuch about the artefacts being discovered in the eccentric Señorita Wycroft's possession. If the artefacts couldn't be traced to him, they couldn't be traced to her. He supposed it was entirely possible the objects could be found through other avenues, but that would be a random hap pen stance completely out of his control. In all probability, the artefacts and whatever they hid would fall into obscurity, displayed inside a nice glass curio case in the
señorita
's town house. His ethical con science, such as it was, was clear. Señor Vasquez closed the lid on the crate and breathed a much-desired sigh of relief.

C
alisto Ortiz aimed a frustrated kick at an empty packing crate and swore in a fluid torrent of Spanish for all to hear. There was inept and then there was outright in competence. His men had bungled the job again. How hard was it to retrieve a map no one knew existed? Yet his men had failed to recover it in Venezuela after the map-maker had mistakenly packed it with his other archaeological finds for shipping back to Spain. Here in London, the map had slipped from their grasp a second time. After having tracked it to an importer named Vasquez, Ortiz had thought his work was nearly done. He simply had to run Vasquez to ground and claim the map. But he was too late. The warehouse was deserted, but only freshly so. The crates were empty and bore the markings of Spanish freight. They also looked new, lacking the dirt and gouges that often accompanied crates over time.

Calisto Ortiz barked out new orders to his men.
‘Search the docks, maybe the ship hasn't sailed yet. Search the taverns and inns for Vasquez too.'

The men rushed to do his bidding, leaving him alone in the warehouse. Calisto upended a crate and sat down upon it, heaving a sigh. He cared less about finding the ship than he did about finding Vasquez. Vasquez was fast becoming a valuable link in this game for two reasons. The first reason was of a practical nature. If he didn't find Vasquez and hence the map, it would mean the map was loose in London. The search would take on a needle-in-the-haystack quality.

The second reason was more symbolic. Vasquez was moving fast. By all reports the ship had only been in London a short time ahead of his own arrival and now it was potentially gone, the warehouse cleared out. Vasquez knew he had something dangerous and he'd come to London to pass it on to someone, to unburden himself. It meant the map was no longer a well-guarded secret. The mission had now taken on two goals: retrieve the map
and
silence those who knew about it.

Ortiz ran his hands through his dark hair, breathing deeply to calm his racing mind. He had to take one step at a time, one assumption at a time. Until he found Vasquez, he had no way of knowing if Vasquez understood the value of the map. It could be that Vasquez only knew he had something of dubious worth, but didn't know what it was. Along with the map, there were figurines,
zemis
and
metates
. Then of course, he'd have to hunt down whomever Vasquez had sold the items to.

He had to be prepared for best-and worst-case scenarios, the best being that the map had passed from hand to hand without anyone detecting its importance. The worst was that Vasquez did know the significance of the
map and had sold it for a nice profit to someone who'd appreciate the map's value in the discussions that would soon open up between the Venezuelan delegation and the British government in regards to the questionable border Venezuela shared with British Guiana.

Calisto knew he played a dangerous double game, not only with the British but with the Venezuelan government as well—not that the latter would mind if they came out the victor. Some would claim the map was a forgery, but Calisto preferred to think of the map merely as potentially biased. He wouldn't be the first person in history to sponsor a map-maker to tweak the boundaries a bit here and there. In all reality, the interior of British Guiana was so under explored, who could say where the borders really were?

It would take years to disprove the boundaries on his map and ownership was nine-tenths of the law, as the saying went. In the meanwhile, Venezuela would be in possession of a very lucrative piece of land containing riches untold and he and his uncle would be wealthy men.

Everything would work out. He was a man who knew how to cover his tracks and follow all necessary leads. His men were hunting down Vasquez right now. There was nothing more he could do at the moment. He flipped open his pocket watch. He had just enough time to change and dine before the Danby rout. With luck, the delectable Lady Dulcinea would be in attendance without her surly polyglot friend.

 

Luck was in short supply all around. The Danby rout was fully engaged by the time Jack arrived. He'd meant to come earlier in hopes of stealing a moment with Dulci
before she was surrounded. He'd wanted to set the record straight about their most unfortunate interruption the prior evening. It was not how he imagined their reunion. But business had conspired against him. He'd spent the afternoon discreetly following Calisto Ortiz to an empty warehouse in a seedy part of Southwark.

The unplanned adventure had been enlightening, posing several interesting questions, such as why a man of Ortiz's station would be down at the docks. Ortiz's behaviour had been telling as well. There was no doubt that whatever had taken place in the warehouse upset Ortiz greatly. As to what that might have been, Jack could only speculate. Although he'd explored the warehouse after Ortiz's departure, he'd found nothing more than the same empty, Spanish-stamped crates that had upset Ortiz. By the time he'd reported his news to Gladstone and picked up his newly tailored waistcoat of deep periwinkle blue, afternoon had swiftly turned into evening, leaving him hard pressed to find time for a much-needed bath and
toilette
before setting out for the night.

There was no hope of catching Dulci alone, a fact attested to by the sea of blue surrounding her four men deep. Squaring his shoulders and setting aside the cares of the day, Jack cut through the crowd of admirers to place himself in front of her. He made a courtly leg. ‘It appears I've more than fulfilled my commission, Lady Dulcinea.' Jack gestured to the various hues of blue assembled about her. ‘I do believe I've saved the economy for a day.'

Dulci laughed and waved her fan, a painted affair that matched the pale blue hues of her gown. ‘Tailors' apprentices across the city are in your debt, Wainsbridge.'

‘Certainly that's worth a dance.' Jack offered a charming grin and held out his hand.

There was the sound of grumbling. A few voices were raised in com plaint: ‘He's stealing all the best dances.' ‘He danced with her last night.'

Dulci squashed the protests with a smile. Between her gown and that smile, she looked like an angel come to earth as she moved to take his hand. Her beauty never ceased to entrance him. But Jack knew better than to be misled. If Dulci Wycroft was any kind of angel, she was an avenging one. Before he could make his peace with her, she was going to make him pay. Would she start with the wager or the interruption from last night?

‘This deep periwinkle is an improvement, Jack.' Ah, it was to be the wager. ‘Still, it's a far cry from what you used to wear. I remember in Manchester you had an evening coat with diamond buttons. Brandon said you wore it to his betrothal ball. Whatever happened to all those shirts with yards of lace for cuffs?'

‘I burnt them,' Jack answered succinctly. ‘I have not played the fop for years now. Such a façade does not suit a king's adviser.'

‘It did once. You used to say people were un guarded in their conversation because they assumed a fop had stuffing for brains.' There she went, probing again for the things he could not tell her.

‘I'm an adviser, not a spy. A man with stuff for brains is not a man who is ultimately respected. Playing the fop had rather obvious limitations after a while for an adviser.' Jack kept his answers abrupt.

‘How long do you suppose we have before we'll be interrupted by a government summons tonight? Do you think we might make it through this dance?' Dulci
quipped, with an edge to her voice that warned Jack he was not entirely forgiven.

Damn Gladstone and his interference. But Jack would not make excuses about who he was and what he did. He turned them sharply at the top of the ballroom and decided it was time to change the conversation to something lighter.

‘I'm surprised you're angry over the interruption last night, Dulci. You were the one who didn't want to go out to the garden in the first place. Admit it, you like my kisses.' What was he doing? He was flirting with her as if he meant to take this interlude further.
Which of course you do
, his conscious prompted honestly.
Admit it, the experiment last night failed. The kisses at Christmas weren't an isolated incident. You burn for her.

‘They're pleasant enough when there's nothing better to do,' Dulci teased knowingly.

‘Is there usually something better to do?' Jack challenged with a grin, liking the way her smile lit her face when she teased him, liking the confident, bold way she flirted. But he had to tread care fully here. Dulci could not be handled like the experienced married women of the
ton
. She was far finer than that and she'd expect far more than they if he led her down that path.

‘There was today.'

‘No more dangerous wagers in the moon light, I hope.'

What he really hoped was that she hadn't spent any more time with Calisto Ortiz. He knew, of course, where Ortiz had been later in the afternoon, but that didn't preclude Ortiz having made an earlier call. From what Jack witnessed of the man on two occasions now, he wanted Ortiz as far from Dulci as possible.

‘This morning I worked with my fencing instructor.'

Jack's eyebrows rose slightly at this. They rose further after the next pronouncement.

‘Then, this afternoon, I picked up some new additions to my collection of artefacts from the new world. Your part of the world, actually. Somewhere near Venezuela, or maybe Guiana.'

‘What collection is this?' An alarm rang somewhere deep inside him at her reference, but it would be premature to jump to conclusions.

Dulci's excitement was evident in the sparkle of her eyes as she explained.
‘Zemis
, tribal fertility fetishes and other assorted items of interest. They're from the Arawak tribes.'

Alarm was no longer premature. The Arawaks lived on the south-eastern border near the Essequibo River. His well-trained face must have betrayed him momentarily because Dulci peered at him sharply.

‘Have I shocked you?'

Very little shocked Jack after his travels. But that didn't mean he couldn't be terrified. His mind rushed to assimilate the information. This was far worse than his earlier concern over her involvement.

Last night he'd merely been concerned because she'd become a by stander who could be implicated, someone known to all three men: she was a woman in whom Ortiz was showing marked interest; she was the woman Gladstone had once aspired to marry; she was someone he'd paid recent social attentions to and that could put her at risk by association once Ortiz worked out his interest in the Venezuelan delegation. If Ortiz chose to strike out, Dulci would be a likely target.

But now her eccentric hobby had suddenly catapulted her into the forefront of the action. It begged the question whether Brandon had any idea what Dulci did with her time; first fencing and now this gadding about town collecting artefacts that were most likely stolen.

Was this merely coincidence or did Dulci actually possess the cargo Ortiz had been searching for? The dance was ending, but he could not return her to her court without knowing more. A strong urge to possess and protect her surged. He told himself the feeling was out of a sense of duty. With Brandon absent from town, it was his job to act as a surrogate protector. His more honest side didn't accept that lie for a moment. Something far deeper was at work here and it scared him.

‘I had no idea your interests ran in that direction,' Jack said benignly, subtly ushering her towards the verandah.

‘I have you to thank for my interest. After your work with Schomburgk, I turned my attentions from the Egyptian excavations to the New World. After all, these artefacts are from living tribes. They're clues to a way of life that is taking place right now, not thousands of years ago. I find that much more fascinating. I see you're surprised. There's a great deal you don't know about me, Jack.' Dulci laughed up at him, but not unkindly.

‘Then tell me more,' Jack flirted, the coldness receding a bit. He was back in control now. He had a strategy. He would take her outside and quiz her thoroughly until he had his answers, kiss them out of her if need be. He'd probably kiss her anyway whether he needed to or not. ‘Where did you come by these artefacts?'

‘A Spanish importer named Vasquez has been supplying me with items over the past two years.'

A new type of alarm coursed through Jack, not all of it having to do with his concern over the current situation. Good lord, didn't the woman know the risks? Didn't she realise how easy it would be to buy stolen goods? The Americas were rife with men of questionable repute who looted tribal grave sites or stole religious icons from the natives in the hopes of selling them back home to unsuspecting purchasers.

Those were the honest men.

The dishonest men simply passed off imitations and forgeries as the real thing.

‘I hope you're careful, Dulci,' Jack said. ‘There are men who'd take advantage of a woman in that market.'

Dulci's reply was glib and self-assured. ‘Oh, I am careful, I always take my gun.'

Jack gripped Dulci's arm, fear returning anew. ‘Your
gun
? Where do you go?' He hadn't meant his comment in that way. He'd meant it as a warning about the quality of goods she was dealing with. But now, his concern grew exponentially. Clearly this Vasquez did not call safely at her home with his wares.

‘To the wharves, of course, Jack.' Dulci fixed him with an incredulous look. ‘Where else does one retrieve goods from ships?'

Oh God, oh God, this was getting worse by the moment. ‘And today, Dulci? Did you go to the docks today? Where?'

Dulci's brow furrowed in puzzlement. She pulled her arm away. ‘What is this, Jack? You didn't even know I collected until a few moments ago and now you're
suddenly full of chivalrous concern for my well-being. I've been doing this far longer than you realise.'