HerOutlandishStranger (19 page)

* * * * *

He came back too soon. She looked up from the bed where she
folded her underlinens. “Why do you return?” she asked.

“I will make sure you have all the money you need. For the
rest of your life.”

“But you’ll leave me and this baby you made.”

He didn’t bother to answer. It hadn’t really been a
question. But the misery on his face only made her angrier. If he would not
marry her, she was right to break the ties. It was too humiliating for her and
for her baby to remain in his presence.

“Well.” She stood and briskly returned to her task.

He stepped into the room and looked around. “You’re
packing?”

“I shall go to London,” she said. “I can’t think what else I
should do.”

“We’ll go together,” he said.

“I don’t require your aid,” she began.

“You promised. More than that you swore.” He wasn’t
triumphant or smug. In fact his expression was grim.

She longed to tell him what he could do with those promises
made when she had no idea of the truth. But then again, why should she allow
him to stroll away with no burdens on his shoulders?

“Very well,” she said at last. “But if you think you and I
will so much as touch each other—”

“I know,” he said, almost a whisper. “I understand. It’s why
I didn’t say anything for so long. I’m sorry I was selfish.”

“Don’t tell me you’re sorry. It won’t help,” she snapped.

His grim expression softened. “No, I don’t expect anything
will.”

Chapter Fifteen

Jazz hated London. The stench of raw sewage in the streets
and of unwashed humans in the crowds threatened to overwhelm him. Even the
river reeked horribly. At least the blasted uncle’s neighborhood was not so
crammed with humans and horses that every molecule of air was forced out. On
the other hand, the massive blank-faced white townhouse seemed too intimidating
to hold mere humans.

Jazz frowned at Liza. Her new maid, Molly, whom they’d hired
at the last inn, must have caught sight of his frown for she inched away from
him.

“Want me to go first?” he asked after a long, awkward
silence.

Eliza studied the door for a moment, refusing to look at
Jas. “No, I thank you,” Eliza said and marched up the broad stone stairs, her
back straight and her head at a proud angle that would make her ex-governess
nod with approval. For some reason, she was astonished to find herself here, in
front of this house about to bid Jas goodbye. Despite everything, Jas had
stayed firm in his resolve that she go to her uncle’s house.

She knew she had no choice in the matter, for if Jas would
not keep her with him, she could not think of any acceptable alternatives. She
longed to box Jas’ ears, or read him yet another dreary lecture on abandoning
pregnant women, but she knew that he had never given any sign that he’d
changed.

She imagined he might listen to her scolding, all the while
sorrowfully nodding his agreement with her assessment of his despicable
character, but at the end he would still gently and inexorably push her toward
her uncle and a life without him. If she had fallen into believing her own
dreams that he’d marry her, or at least stay with her, she had no one to blame
but herself. He’d shown himself constant, both in his resolve to protect her in
the Peninsula and to abandon her in London.

The butler’s eyes widened noticeably when he saw who had
rapped at the door. “Miss Eliza!” he gasped. “Please, come in. His lordship is
out just now, but will be very pleased to see you. I-I will fetch Master John.”

The butler, Cooper, escorted them to a parlor to wait while
he fetched Eliza’s cousin. He paused briefly at the door to discreetly ogle
Eliza’s stomach. Eliza settled, still straight-backed, on the edge of a stiff
chair. Jas refused to sit but motioned the maid to a couch. She ducked her head
and scuttled over to an out-of-the-way chair in a corner. A clock ticked on the
mantel but otherwise they waited in silence.

A few minutes later an exquisite young gentleman sauntered
into the room. A stiff, elaborately tied neck cloth swathed his throat. He wore
a delicate primrose jacket with buttons the size of full-grown mice, a floral
waistcoat and skin-tight, pale yellow inexpressibles. Though he was full grown
in height, his weight had not caught up and he had the air of a well-decorated
bean pole.

Eliza barely recognized Cousin John. She wondered at the
look of disdain on his face. His manner made it clear he’d heard from Cooper.
He made no greeting but merely whipped out a quizzing glass and looked Eliza up
and down.

“The prodigal lamb has returned,” he said slowly. “With a
soon-to-arrive bundle I see. Was the father a Spaniard? Or perhaps even a
Frenchie?”

“John?” she asked weakly. “I don’t understand. You have ever
been my friend in the past, even during the most trying times.”

He gave a dramatic sniff. “But I was convinced of your
innocence, Cousin. I feel quite a fool defending you in the past when you
arrive in such a condition.”

Jas snarled. The looking glass came up and turned in his
direction. But Jas didn’t pay attention to Eliza’s cousin. “Shall we go, Mrs.
Peasnettle? You do not need to be offended by this…” He paused. “This
stiff-necked fribble.” Eliza almost smiled. Jas was so obviously proud of his
ability to use cant.

John dropped the glass. “Mrs. Peasnettle? What a name. And
what a champion you have dragged into our parlor. Is this Peasnettle himself?”

Eliza stared at her cousin. She wondered if she could turn
around and leave. No. She would rot before she asked Jazz to take her away. If
he didn’t want her, she could think of nowhere else to go. She swallowed hard,
pushing back tears. Once she felt sure she could speak, she’d find out why John
acted so detestably.

She didn’t have to speak after all. “That’s enough
disrespect from you, sir,” Jas growled. “Your cousin spent weeks tramping
through the Spanish countryside to return to your family. She is a respectable
woman, Master John.”

“I didn’t give you permission to address me by my Christian
name, sir.”

“I will stop addressing you as a child when you stop
behaving like a child.” Jas examined him with a thin-lipped, disdainful
expression.

Eliza, upset though she was, couldn’t help wondering where
Jas had learned to communicate contempt with a glance. The ice water of his
gaze was enough to depress anyone.

John’s face flushed with fury. “How dare you insult me in my
own home?”

Eliza spoke calmly with only a hint of a quaver in her
voice. “Cousin John, I hope you will excuse me. I shall not take up any more of
your time. I believe I feel rather faint. I beg of you, will you please ask
Cooper to show me to a room where I might rest for a spell? And a place for my
maid?”

While the red-faced John strode to the bell-pull, she turned
to Jas. Calm again, she stared at a place above his shoulder, unwilling to meet
his searching gaze. “Sir, you were very kind to escort me. You’re released from
any further efforts on my behalf.” For a brief instant, their eyes met and she
looked away.

“I will remain in London,” he said. “I have business to
attend to and I’ll make sure you have my direction if you need my help.” As he
spoke, he aimed a threatening glare at John.

She wanted to tell Mr. White that if he would go away from
her he must stay away, but as always in regard to him, she was too weak. She
only nodded.

* * * * *

Jazz didn’t know what to do with himself, so he decided to
see if he could draw out Steele. He wandered through the streets, keeping an
eye open for the pickpockets, cutthroats and other scoundrels whom he’d heard
about from the CR. No one tried to grab at his wallet, which he thought a pity.

He wanted to pummel someone. Where was Steele when he needed
him?

He had enough money from his profitable and joyless bets to
seek out some higher-class acquaintances. If he could get into the clubs, or
where ever it was the gentlemen gathered, and find this Sandton. If the man
were poor, he’d give him some money somehow. If Sandton proved to be worthless,
he’d beat some worth into him. Jazz caught himself relishing the picture of
pounding a man who resembled Cousin John. Of course he’d have to learn to
restrain himself, but Jazz thought he’d like to have a try.

He scanned the crowd in an open-stall market for Steele and
smiled at his longing for bloodletting. Liza would be scandalized. He’d never
shown this angry side of himself. Hell, he’d never had this side before, at
least not in his memory. He aimed a vicious kick at a partially eaten apple and
wished he could have let the dreadful John know she had a defender. If only he
had some kind of CR device he could put in the uncle’s house so he could make
sure she was well.

No, he needed more than CR contact when it came to Liza. He
wasn’t used to being away from her. It felt as if he’d had an arm lopped off.
When he heard and saw mysterious scenes around him, such as women bearing
baskets and yelling out unintelligible phrases, he wanted to be able to turn to
her and ask her to explain. Instead he found he had to pull out the CR. And its
explanations never proved amusing or insightful.

He quickly learned that when he loitered, people of all ages
and sorts approached to sell him their services, their goods or themselves.
He’d almost strode past a huge brick building that looked like any impressive
government building when he noticed the very strange figures carved over the
gate. Then he heard screams floating from inside.

The dreadful sounds stopped him in his tracks and he stared
through shabby iron gates. A filthy man leaning against the fence showed a
toothless grin and began speaking slowly and sounding rather like a CR
informational guide. “You’ve found it, sir. Bedlam, home of the poor
unfortunates. I used to make a few coppers letting folk come for a glimpse at
’em.” The man spat in the dust. “I can still give you a tour.”

Jazz managed a polite refusal. He walked away quickly. For
more than an hour he wandered until he noticed the man with a straight back
lurking near a cabbage seller’s wagon. Steele at last. Or rather so soon.

Almost a relief to find the man, although it should have
frightened him that Steele located him after less than two days in London. He’d
have to remain on his guard—or better, end the matter now. A quiet little side
street scuffle perhaps? Jazz trotted up to the waiting man who turned and
walked as if they were companions joining up at a prearranged meeting. Off to a
coffeehouse together. Or a pub.

“Where’ve you been?” Jazz asked as he fell into step next to
him, not too close and paying attention to his hands. “Did you make yourself
sick with your own batch of bugs?”

“You lived.” Steele’s hand moved to a badly hidden knife.
Jazz waited for the attack, but Steele kept walking. “You have to have cheated.
I suspected you would.”

“I think you have too.” Jazz went on the far side of the
costermonger pushing a cart of potatoes rather than squeeze close to his enemy.
He felt his own knife, the comforting familiar handle and well-sharpened blade.
He risked making a hole in his jacket by sliding it from the holder.

When he rejoined Steele on the pavement he asked, “You’re
not following any DHU plan, are you?”

“You’ve returned her to her relations. And yet you’re still
here. Don’t you think your mission is done?”

Damn the man. He refused to give the one important
answer—did he work alone or did the whole agency want Jazz dead? Jazz remained
silent.

Steele said, “I think you’re trying to escape.”

“Do I succeed? You’re high enough in the agency to know my
fate, aren’t you?”

“I know, of course.”

Jazz suddenly understood Steele had no idea.

“I wonder which you think would be worse for you,” Steele
said. “Facing your death here or returning to where the people know what you
are.”

“Okay, got it. I don’t like either of your ideas, but I’m
planning to do the first, you dim bonk. I’ll finish here and return.”

Steele was silent for a moment. His grip on the knife
shifted but he didn’t attack. “I’ve been too impatient. I’ll wait. I’ll watch.”

He’d moved closer. “The one thing I don’t understand. The
dark-haired man. Does she speak of him?”

“Huh?” A shiver ran down Jazz’s spine as he met the man’s
intense stare. Maybe that moment at Bedlam had infected Jazz with another sort
of germ. Steele’s dark eyes glittered with a fever Jazz suspected was madness.

Steele didn’t look away. “The father of her child. What does
she say about him?”

The agent didn’t know the truth. He hadn’t been told why it
had to be Jazz White who traveled to Spain.

Jazz forced himself not to display any surprise. He locked
eyes with Steele and steadied his breath. “She recalls almost nothing.”

“And you saw him?”

This answer mattered, he reminded himself. Slow steady
inhalation, exhalation, his hand not twitching on the pommel. “No. I was too
busy panicking and recovering from travel. Dark- haired…I expect he was a
Spaniard.”

Steele looked away at last. He rubbed a grubby hand over his
growth of beard. Jazz was so close he heard the scrape of it even over the
noise of the busy street. “Yes,” Steele muttered. “I hope so.”

Without another word, he turned and went the other
direction, walking fast. Jazz decided not to break into a run on the crowded
London street. Restraining himself from chasing after his enemy felt unnatural,
but he already knew pursuit had been part of his programming.

His blood chilled with speculation about those last
questions. What would Steele do if he knew the truth about Eliza’s baby? Surely
the man wouldn’t harm her or the baby. He was a da’
agent
. A man who’d
taken an oath. He wouldn’t hurt Eliza or the future. But that glittering,
strange light in his eyes…and those quiet words.
I hope so…

The rest of what Steele said made no sense either, Jazz
thought sourly as he watched Steele round a corner. Honestly, why wouldn’t he
want to go back? No one told him he was supposed to allow himself to be killed
while in the duty of the DHU. Hauling along the forbidden objects from his
mother might mean he’d face prison, but that threat didn’t fill him with any
dread.

Probably Jazz had only imagined Steele’s strange humors as
they’d say in this time. No doubt Steele only meant to force him to return from
a place no one knew his crimes to a lifelong shunning because he wore the scar
that created fear and resentment. Blah, blah, blah, thought Jazz. It only made
him weary now, not ashamed.

Jazz had had enough sightseeing. He found a hotel,
Grisham’s, and obviously scandalized the attendants at the desk when he pulled
out a fistful of guineas. They were not so scandalized, however, that they
refused to give him a room, and a fine one at that. He was shown to the room
and immediately requested a quill and paper. After a fair amount of dribbling
and blotting, he managed to pen a note to Liza, telling her his direction. Then
he wedged off his boots and flopped onto the bed. The hotel seemed almost
silent after the din of the streets—almost as silent as his home of the distant
future. He had stayed so long in inns that it felt strange not to hear the
post’s horn as it came or left, or the shouting of the porters and waiters.