Kitabı oku: «Come the Night», sayfa 7

CHAPTER SEVEN

THE BLUNTNESS of the question left Ross stammering. “She…I…” He gave himself a hard mental shake. “What makes you think I loved her?”

Griffin looked at him as if he’d said something stupid. Ross wished he were back in his own apartment, with a cheap bottle of whiskey and a stained wall to throw it at.

“It wouldn’t have worked,” he muttered.

“Yet she’s here.”

Too much had already been said. Ross opened one of the French doors to the garden and walked out, leaving Grif to his speculations.

The garden smelled strongly of roses, both new and fading. The moon was high and very bright. He wandered aimlessly for a while, across the rolling lawn and then down to the boathouse that stood near the dock. The scent of salt water was so strong that he almost didn’t realize that Gillian was already there.

Gillian, yes. But she waited for him on four legs instead of two, and the moonlight caressed sleek golden fur and sparkled in slanted lupine eyes.

Ross stopped, transfixed by memory and Gillian’s magnificence. She was more glorious in her maturity than she’d been that first time he’d caught her in wolf shape, but he felt that same sense of shock and realization, understanding that certain puzzles had been solved and mysteries explained. No one, not even the most superstitious human, could have looked at her now and doubted that she was beautiful.

And untouchable. Untouchable because she was what she was, and he could never Change and stand at her side as partner and true equal.

He turned to leave. A low whine brought him to a halt. He didn’t move again until he heard her return from the boathouse on two human feet.

“Ross.”

She wore a dress cut much shorter than she seemed to prefer—one of Allie’s, no doubt—and flat pumps a size too large. Her legs were bare, and her hair hung loose below her shoulders. She looked so unlike the Gillian he’d met two days ago that he could do nothing but stare.

She glanced down at herself. “I suppose I look rather a mess,” she said.

She spoke like a girl with her first beau, doubting her own ability to attract the interest of any male. Ross thought of the golden wolf and struggled not to laugh at the desperate irony of it.

“No,” he said roughly, blurting out the first words that came into his head. “You look beautiful.”

His pronouncement had an unexpected effect. Gillian’s face flushed red, and she smoothed her skirt as if she could somehow make it extend farther down her legs. “I thought I would be alone,” she said.

“I’ll leave.”

“No.” She brushed her hot cheeks with her fingertips. “That isn’t necessary. I was about to return to the house.”

“Don’t.” He realized he’d taken complete leave of his senses, and he didn’t care. “Stay.”

Gillian took an awkward step, stumbled, then caught herself just as Ross reached her. He grasped her arm and felt her muscles tense. The scent of her hair and skin swirled around his head, far sweeter than any rose.

If Gillian had behaved true to form, she would have extracted herself from his grip immediately. Instead, she laughed. The sound was almost girlish, nervous and bright.

“I’m not usually quite so clumsy,” she said.

“I know.” He glanced around and noticed a bench near the boathouse, set where the lawn gave way to the beach. He eased her down, though it was clear she didn’t need his help. She sat with her back straight and her hands folded at her knees, gazing out at the dark, choppy water.

Ross continued to stand, half-afraid he would send her running off again if he tried to share the bench with her. A little afraid of himself, too.

“Toby’s asleep?” he asked.

“He soon will be, if he isn’t already,” she said. “I didn’t realize it was possible to exhaust him.”

The ease of her speech, like her laugh, set Ross back on his heels. He’d expected her to be warier after meeting Allie and Grif; Allie could come on pretty strong, especially in comparison to someone as reserved as Gillian. Maybe he seemed less threatening in comparison.

“I guess you don’t feel very comfortable with the Durants,” Ross said. “I’m sorry it turned out this way.”

Gillian raised her hand in a brief, dismissive gesture. “Mrs. Durant is an unusual woman, but quite charming,” she said. “Mr. Durant is very pleasant company.”

“Yeah.” Ross figured that it didn’t matter if she was lying just be to be polite, as long as it helped her cope. “I guess this place has one advantage. You’re a lot safer Changing here than in the city.”

“I hadn’t thought about it.”

“But you’ve been living in the countryside. You must find Manhattan pretty confining.”

She cast him a distracted look. “We…seldom find occasion to Change at Snowfell.”

It was such a strange comment that Ross wasn’t sure how to respond. “I thought Changing was the most important thing for your people.”

“It is.” She answered so quickly that she hardly seemed to realize what she’d said until the words were spoken. “I…Of course there is a great deal more.…It is simply…” Her shoulders went up in a defensive posture, and Ross had a sudden, inexplicable flash of insight.

“You don’t really like it, do you?”

She would have bolted from the bench if Ross hadn’t stood in her way. Her scent heightened with some strong emotion.

“If I didn’t ‘like’ it,” she said tightly, “why would I do it here?”

Ross had nothing but pure conjecture on his side, yet he couldn’t let it go. “I don’t know,” he said. “Maybe being around people who’ve broken the rules means you have to remind yourself who you are and what you’re supposed to believe.”

“I know what I am.”

“But are you so sure what you believe?” He leaned over her. “What was it like when you went back to Snowfell, Gillian? What made you this way?”

Waves licked at the beach and receded again, whispering derision at Ross’s stupidity. She would never confide in him, not while he treated her like an enemy.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

Gillian met his gaze, her hazel eyes searching his as if she thought he was mocking her again. “Why, Ross?”

“Why what?”

“Why are you doing this?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

She got up, dodged him and walked to the edge of the water. “What do you really want? It isn’t money. You’re in no position to keep Toby, even if you were to steal him from me.”

He flinched. “I told you I wouldn’t take him from his mother.”

“If you truly thought it was in Toby’s best interests…” She turned to face him. “Wouldn’t you? Wouldn’t you do anything?”

“If you’re asking if I care about Toby, I do. That doesn’t mean I’m out to cause you pain.”

“Then the man I once knew isn’t entirely gone.”

“Twelve years is a long time. It changes some things, but not everything.”

“Yes. Some things never change.” She buried the toe of her pump in the damp sand. “Am I such a terrible mother?”

Seeing this side of Gillian—this doubt and fear, this vulnerability—unmanned Ross more than anything else she could have done. “Jill…”

“Do you hate me, Ross?”

He wouldn’t in his wildest dreams have expected her to ask such a question. “For God’s sake,” he said hoarsely. “I don’t hate you. I never—”

But that wasn’t true. He had hated her, no matter how much he’d tried to deny it. He just hadn’t realized how much until the hatred was gone.

For it was gone, and he didn’t know what do with the empty space it had left inside him.

Unable to find the words, he took Gillian’s shoulders, pulled her toward him and kissed her.

If she’d struggled, if she’d pulled away and slapped his face, he wouldn’t have blamed her. She did neither. She softened in his arms, as pliant and responsive as she’d been as a girl of eighteen. The distinctive scent of arousal filled his senses, threatening to overwhelm him. He retained enough self-control not to demand too much, so Gillian gave freely in return, locking her arms around his shoulders, accepting the thrust of his tongue with a soft groan of pleasure.

That was when Toby found them.

He made hardly a sound, but Ross smelled him instantly. So did Gillian. She lurched backward, uncharacteristically clumsy once again, and pressed her palm to her mouth. Ross felt as if someone had punched him in the gut.

“Mother,” Toby said, his mouth quivering as he fought to conceal an expression he didn’t want them to see. “Father.”

“What are you doing here?” Ross demanded, aware that Gillian was still struggling to regain her composure. “Why aren’t you in bed?”

“I couldn’t sleep.” He hunched a little under Ross’s glare. “I heard voices outside.”

Sure he had, the little devil. He’d probably been looking for a chance to escape his room ever since he’d heard his mother leave the house.

“You’re going back right now,” Ross said. “March.”

“I’ll take him,” Gillian said.

Her voice held no trace of the softening she’d shown since Ross had met her on the beach. Her face was strained and pale.

She’d probably like to shoot herself right about now, Ross thought. How’s she going to explain this to Toby?

And how was Ross going to explain it to himself? When he’d left the house, kissing Gillian had been the furthest thing from his mind.

“Do you still love her?” Griffin had asked. Hell, it had nothing to do with love. Ross still found Gillian attractive—more than that, he’d been forced to admit he still wanted her. And her response had told him that the attraction and the wanting were mutual.

Maybe she’d had other lovers since her husband’s death, but he was beginning to doubt it. Having made the mistake already, she wouldn’t have chosen another human, and he had a hunch that English werewolves weren’t casual in their sexual relationships, even among themselves.

Then there was the way she’d kissed him, tentatively at first, then with an intensity that hinted at passion long denied.

Even though she and Ross had made love only once in London, Gillian had been uninhibited, almost wild in her physical expressions of desire. It was the side of her that had convinced him, in his naiveté, that she might abandon her old life and return with him to America.

He wouldn’t make the same mistake twice. Most likely Gillian would never come within touching distance of him again; she wouldn’t want Toby getting any more ideas. But even if she did, it wouldn’t mean anything except that she was still capable of wanting him.

Ross walked away from the boathouse at a fast clip, hoping to get his wayward body back under control. Gillian would know if he went into the house still in a state of arousal. He just couldn’t let her have that kind of power over him. And in spite of what he’d told her, he had yet to make up his mind about Toby. How could he, when he’d barely had time to talk to the kid?

Fresh out of answers, he walked for a good two hours, following the road that ran parallel to the ocean. He passed a dozen fancy mansions, some bigger than Griffin’s. It was ironic. He remembered when Griffin had been dead set on marrying off his younger sister, Gemma, to some human guy from high society. Grif had wanted to forget the animal side of himself. Events had finally compelled him to accept his werewolf nature. Could Gillian accept her son’s human blood?

Hell, he’d been a cop. Still was, whatever anyone else said. In the end, he had to rely on facts. Maybe he’d jumped to the wrong conclusions about Gillian’s fears for Toby, seeing and hearing only what he expected instead of what really existed.

She loved Toby too much to make him suffer for being part-human.

She’d never loved Ross that much.

Another couple of days and I’ll be sure. Then I’ll know I did everything I could.

Everything but forget.

It was near dawn when Ross returned to the house. He heard Allie moving about and took the stairs quietly, wanting to dodge more probing discussions. A couple of hours’ shut-eye would wipe the last confusion out of his head.

But it wasn’t going to be quite that simple. He could smell Gillian even from several rooms away, hear the faint movements she made as she stirred in her bed. When he finally did manage to sleep, his dreams were full of her, full of the sounds of her cries as he made love to her, the feel of her nails scraping his back and the brush of her hair across his face.

The first thing he did when he woke was to take a long, cold dip in the bathtub. It didn’t do a damned bit of good. And short of hiding in his room, he couldn’t avoid Gillian any longer once it was over. He went downstairs to the modern kitchen where Gillian, Toby, Allie and Griffin were eating eggs, bacon and toast.

“Boy, I’ll be glad when Starke is back,” Allie said, polishing off her last bite.

“You don’t like my cooking?” Griffin asked, pretending offense.

“You can cook?”

Griffin showed the tips of his teeth, and Allie laughed. Gillian gazed at them with a strangely bereft look on her face.

She’s never seen this kind of thing before, Ross thought. He still knew almost nothing about her parents or her life at Snowfell, and she hadn’t had enough of a marriage to develop the kind of easy, bantering devotion that Grif and Allie shared.

He was glad of that, and he despised himself for it.

He sat down and buttered a piece of cold toast, returning Allie’s cheerful greeting. Gillian was absorbed in studying the intricate floral pattern of the tablecloth. Toby watched Ross out of the corner of his eye and pushed the remnants of his egg around on his plate with his fork.

“I want to thank you again for your hospitality,” Gillian said to Allie and Griffin. “Toby and I will be returning to Manhattan this morning.”

“No need to rush,” Allie said. “You’re welcome to stay here as long as you’re in New York.”

“That is very kind of you, Mrs. Durant, but we will shall be returning to England very soon.”

Ross felt Griffin’s gaze. He’s wondering if I’m just going to let my son and his mother walk out of my life.

No one should know better than Griffin how little Ross was cut out to be a father. But Grif still clung to some of his old-fashioned ideals. Maybe he thought Ross should fight to keep them, the way Grif had fought for Allie when she’d tried to run away from his love.

But that’s the difference, Grif. That little emotional complication so many people set such store by.

Ross managed to stay away from Griffin while Gillian went upstairs to freshen up. Allie had insisted that Gillian keep the dress she’d borrowed; Gillian accepted with courteous gratitude that didn’t quite hide her reluctance. She remained ill at ease when Griffin insisted on driving her, Toby and Ross to the train station, and she kept her legs pressed firmly together after they boarded the train, as if she feared being mistaken for a woman of loose morals.

Ross laughed under his breath, earning a curious glance from Toby, who was sitting beside his mother. What would you think if you knew the things going through my mind, Jill? Or are the same things going through yours?

He wrenched his thoughts from the shapely curves of her calves and ankles and the scent of her skin, turning his mind toward deciding what he should do next. He was still chewing over the possibilities when the train arrived at Penn Station. He whistled down a taxi, bracing himself for the discomfort of sharing an enclosed space with Gillian. He knew that she felt the same tension, but she managed not to show it except when she told him it wasn’t necessary for him to escort them into the hotel.

Ross ignored her suggestion. The air was so thick in the lift that he wondered how the elevator boy, human though he was, could possibly fail to sense the charged atmosphere. And maybe he did, because the kid looked almost relieved when the doors opened onto the third floor.

Ross let Gillian and Toby precede him into the hall, so at first he didn’t notice the guy waiting at the door to their suite.

“Ethan!” Gillian exclaimed, rushing ahead to meet him. “Hugh told me you’d called. It wasn’t necessary for you to worry about us.” She half turned toward Ross, her movements a little too jerky. “Lord Warbrick, I believe you have met Mr. Ross Kavanagh. Mr. Kavanagh, Viscount Warbrick of Highwick.”

“I remember,” Ross said coldly. “A lord, huh? I’m impressed.”

Warbrick pretended not to hear. “What are you doing?” he demanded, his gaze locked on Gillian’s. “Do you know what this man is? What he’s done?”

Toby darted away from his mother and stood in front of Ross as if he anticipated trouble. He probably wasn’t far wrong. Ross clenched his fists at his sides, knowing what was to come.

“He’s a criminal,” Warbrick said, his cultured voice taut with anger. “He just barely avoided a trial, but everyone in this city knows that he committed murder.”

AT FIRST Gillian didn’t seem to understand him. Ethan wasn’t surprised; it wasn’t something she would want to accept if she’d already come to trust Kavanagh enough to leave the hotel in his company.

But Gillian had never been lacking in intelligence, in spite of her poor judgment regarding Kavanagh. She searched Ethan’s eyes, her own growing increasingly bleak.

“Toby,” she said, “please go to your room, close the door and wait for me.”

Toby didn’t move. “Why are you saying such bad things about my father, Uncle Ethan?” he demanded.

Gillian seized Toby’s wrist in an iron grip. “You will go to your room and wait,” she said.

“Go on,” Kavanagh said, his voice gentle as he spoke to the boy. “It’ll be okay, kid.”

Jaw set, Toby allowed himself to be steered into the room. Gillian followed him, leaving the door open behind her.

Ethan closed it. “I’ll give you one opportunity, Kavanagh,” he said, staring into the American’s hostile brown eyes. “Leave now. Make no further attempt to contact either Mrs. Delvaux or the boy, and I shall not summon the police.”

Kavanagh’s smile was as unpleasant as his weather-beaten face. “On what grounds?” he asked. “What’s the matter, couldn’t take what I dished out?”

Ethan returned the smile with interest. “My mistake was in not dealing with you as you deserved from the very beginning. But do not misunderstand. I will do anything to protect Mrs. Delvaux from you, just as she will do anything to protect her son. Whatever you may have done to win her trust, it will not be enough. You will not get what you want from her.”

With an easy, deliberately insolent motion, Kavanagh propped his shoulder against the wall. “How do you know what I want, Warbrick?”

“There can be only one reason why a man like you would pursue a woman he hasn’t seen in twelve years. Apparently I didn’t offer you enough.”

“Pursue?” Ross said, biting off the word. “She came to me. So did Toby.”

“He is correct, Ethan,” Gillian said from the doorway. “I suggest we continue this conversation inside.”

“That would be most unwise,” Ethan said, taking firm hold of his temper. “I assure you that I was not exaggerating when I named Kavanagh a murderer.”

Gillian’s gaze moved from Ethan’s to Kavanagh’s, level and unafraid. “Considering that Toby and I spent all day with Mr. Kavanagh and emerged unscathed,” she said, “I hardly think we are in immediate danger. Will you come in, Mr. Kavanagh?”

Ross stepped away from the wall and strode past without a second glance, all bluster and bravado. Ethan keenly felt Gillian’s rebuke. He had made the mistake of framing his first warning as a reprimand, a self-indulgence he would not repeat, just as he would no longer count on anyone else to do the necessary work as he had so foolishly relied on Bianchi.

He went into Gillian’s suite. Kavanagh was already at the sideboard, pouring a glass of brandy.

Drink, by all means, Ethan thought. Poison your mind. Give me yet another advantage.

Gillian glanced at Kavanagh, her frown revealing her concern. Ethan clenched his teeth. It wasn’t possible that she should still find this lowbred mongrel attractive.

“I ask you to speak softly,” Gillian said, standing behind the sofa with her hands resting on its low back. She didn’t need to explain further; Toby was doubtless trying to hear what was going on among the adults. Ethan realized he’d been rash to accuse Kavanagh in front of the boy. Amazingly enough, the American had already won some measure of Toby’s loyalty.

“Perhaps you had best be seated, Gillian,” he said.

She stayed where she was. “What is this about, Ethan?” she asked softly.

“I’ll tell you what this is about,” Kavanagh said, positioning himself so that he stood at an equal distance from both Ethan and Gillian. “Your friend is going to tell you that I murdered a gangster’s moll and was kicked off the force.”

Shock and horror would have been a natural reaction to such an announcement, but Gillian’s expression never altered. Ethan silently cursed Kavanagh for trying to assume control of the conversation.

“He didn’t tell you, did he?” Ethan asked.

“I didn’t tell her because it isn’t true,” Kavanagh said. He took a step toward Gillian. “I was kicked off the force. But I didn’t murder anyone. Someone set things up to make it look like I killed the girl. They never found enough evidence to bring it to trial.”

“So he claims,” Ethan said. He’d heard the subtle trace of fear in Kavanagh’s voice. The American must know that Gillian would be far more likely to believe an old friend than a man with whom she’d once had a passing fling.

And, Ethan realized, Kavanagh cared for Gillian’s opinion. As ridiculous as it seemed, he apparently wanted more from her than money.

Ethan breathed very slowly to control his rage. He would gladly have killed Kavanagh on the spot, but he knew the American’s jealousy could be turned to his advantage. Though it was extremely unfortunate that Kavanagh had been permitted to spend time alone with Gillian and Toby, there was considerable satisfaction in knowing that the American regarded Ethan as a threat.

“The prosecutor believed him to be guilty,” Ethan said, deliberately calm. “Public opinion was against him. Simply because the authorities lacked the necessary proof—”

“It was a setup,” Kavanagh repeated. “I made enemies on the job.” He spread his hands in an almost pleading gesture. “There are a lot of powerful people in New York, people who don’t like cops who can’t be bought. The guy I was investigating…he had connections in the mayor’s office. The girl was my contact in the boss’s organization. If they found out about her, it would have been easy for them to kill her and make it look like I did it.”

Ethan laughed, drawing Gillian’s gaze. “A guilty man always has excuses,” he said. “Someone else is always to blame.”

Kavanagh tightened his hands into fists. “In this case,” he said, “someone else is. Someday I’m going to prove it.”

Ethan ignored Kavanagh and kept his attention focused on Gillian. “Ask him why even his closest colleagues turned against him,” he said. “Men who had trusted him with their lives. They were fully convinced of his guilt.”

“Not all of them,” Ross said. “There was pressure from above to get rid of me.” He jerked a thumb in Ethan’s direction. “Ask him why he wants you to believe I’m guilty. Ask him why he tried to deny that Toby is my son and then tried to buy me off.”

Gillian spoke as Ethan gathered his answer. “I never asked you to lie for me, Ethan,” she said.

“I have no regrets for attempting to interfere,” Ethan said. “If deception had allowed me to find Toby and keep Kavanagh away from—”

“But it didn’t work,” Kavanagh said. “I tossed him out, and that’s what the little pipsqueak doesn’t like. Isn’t that right, Warbrick? Or is it just that you can’t stand the competition?”

Ethan looked him up and down. “There is no competition,” he said. “Mrs. Delvaux has no interest in two-penny scoundrels.”

With a swift, sharp motion Kavanagh started toward him. Gillian moved just as quickly, blocking Kavanagh’s path.

“That’s enough,” she said, speaking in the same way she had to Toby minutes ago. “I have heard accusations, but no evidence to support them.” She stared at Kavanagh. “If you had told me…” She gave her head an almost imperceptible shake. “It would have been better if you had been honest, Mr. Kavanagh.”

Kavanagh was the first to look away. “I should have told you,” he muttered. “But I didn’t do it, Jill. And I didn’t want Toby to think—”

“I think you had better leave,” Gillian said.

Ethan swallowed his smile. Even if he had planted sufficient doubt in Gillian’s mind, he must not assume victory too quickly. Gillian wasn’t herself. Her judgment was still questionable.

“So you’re just going to believe this guy?” Kavanagh asked, the muscles of his jaw so tight that the words emerged like bullets.

Her eyes turned cold. “Ethan Warbrick has been a friend for many years,” she said. “He has never deceived me.”

“What are you going to tell Toby?”

“I don’t know.”

Kavanagh spun on his heel and charged for the door. He stopped with his hand on the knob.

“You’re too smart to make your decision based on one guy’s claims, even if he is an ‘old friend,’” Kavanagh said. “You’ll want to get the whole truth, if only for Toby’s sake. When you need it, you know where to find me.”

He opened the door and strode into the corridor. For long moments after he had gone, Gillian stood facing the door.

“Is it true?” she asked finally.

Ethan thought better of approaching her. “He avoided trial only because of a technicality,” he said.

“But he didn’t go to trial. He wasn’t found guilty.”

“He wouldn’t be the first criminal to escape justice.”

She turned to look at him, her back pressed against the door. “You hate him. Why? Because he refused your bribe?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Gillian. He’s hardly worth hating. But he must not be allowed to deceive you further. Whatever hold he has on you—”

“He has no hold on me.”

The reply was too vehement. Ethan took a seat in one of the chairs. Gillian was disturbed, more so than he had seen her in a long while. As of course she must be, nearly losing her son and then being forced to deal with a man she had wisely rejected years ago.

As for what awaited her in England…

I will protect you. We shall never be parted again.

“Has he threatened you?” he asked. “Even if he were to attempt to make a legal claim on Toby, he would find no allies in this city.”

“He hasn’t threatened me.” She walked away from the door, started toward the window and came to a stop, her gaze sweeping around the room as if she had lost something of importance. “He only wanted to see Toby. To make certain he was…” She inhaled deeply. “Toby was with him when I went to his apartment. He had already developed an attachment.”

“But surely there can’t be any question about the necessity of separating him from Kavanagh.”

“Of course not.” She drifted back to the sofa and sat down, poised, as always, but oddly distracted. “That would have been the case even had you not told me…” Suddenly her eyes focused on his face. “Whatever you believe, I cannot accept that Ross committed murder.”

“How can you make such a claim, Gillian? Spending a single day with a man like Kavanagh is no basis for trust.” A new, creeping suspicion formed a hard knot in his chest. “What did you do with him? Where did you go?”

“To an amusement park, and then to the home of his friends on Long Island.”

“Friends? It is difficult to believe he has any left.”

“One of them was a werewolf. I don’t think he’d believe anything of what you’ve told me.”

Ethan wanted to shake her. He pressed his hands against the arms of the chair. “Kavanagh clearly possesses a certain cleverness. Perhaps a few others have been taken in.”

“Others such as myself?”

He leaned forward, holding her gaze. “It can’t be that you still retain some affection for this man?”

She straightened, as if throwing off an intolerable weight. “You need have no fear for me. I am quite safe.”

“Then we must make immediate plans to leave for England.”

“I—I must think.” She rose again and walked to the sideboard. Ethan had never seen her drink, yet she examined the bottles on display as if she considered them a real temptation. “Where is Hugh?”

The change of subject didn’t please Ethan, but he sensed that she could not be pushed any further at the moment. “Your brother said that he was going out today when I spoke to him yesterday evening.”

“Where?”

“He declined to say. Considering his tastes, he’s likely to be making the rounds of the clubs and speakeasies.”

“At this hour of the morning?”

“Many are open all day and night.”

“Apparently he wasn’t worried about Mr. Kavanagh.”

“You know as well as I how little your brother can be relied upon.”

Gillian seemed poised to argue, but it was only her reflexive desire to defend a member of her family. All her life she had tried to deny the Maitland men’s fatal flaws: Sir Averil’s vicious unpredictability and Hugh’s utter fecklessness. She had protected Hugh since girlhood, accepting blame for his heedless pranks, never protesting when Sir Averil doted on his son and treated her as a possession of less value than his best Thoroughbred mare.

Hugh received all the credit for anything she accomplished. And he must on no account be treated as the overgrown child he was.

In time you will recognize the truth, Ethan thought. You will see Hugh for the wastrel and poseur that he is. Then you will have no need to defend him ever again.

“I must find him,” Gillian said, oblivious. “Can you show me these clubs?”

“That would be impossible. There must be hundreds in this part of Manhattan alone.” He stood. “We shall simply have to make arrangements without him.”