A Fine Passion (Bastion Club 4)

“I gave the coachman directions.” After a moment, she realized she hadn’t answered him and glanced at him. “To Benedict’s Hotel in Brook Street.”

Jack blinked. He’d assumed when she’d mentioned putting up at a hotel that she’d meant Grillons, that bastion of all things proper; he couldn’t have risked visiting her there. Benedict’s was another matter entirely. From what he’d heard, it was an extremely exclusive establishment catering only to the highest echelons of the aristocracy. It didn’t have rooms; it had suites.

When the carriage pulled up before the elegant facade in Brook Street, and he escorted Clarice inside, it was immediately apparent by the subtle-yet-obsequious welcome that she was a known and honored guest.

“We’ve held your usual rooms for you, my lady.” The dapper concierge relegated his desk to an underling and came to conduct Clarice upward himself. “Naturally, anything—anything at all—that I or my staff can do to assist you during your stay, we’ll be only too delighted to do.”

Leading the way up the main stairs, as wide as in any ducal residence, the concierge went to a door just along the sumptuous gallery, inserted a key, then threw the door wide. He bowed Clarice in.

Strolling at her heels, Jack paused to glance around, taking note of the side stairs visible at the end of one corridor. His gaze returned to the concierge’s face and found it encouragingly blank; the staff at Benedict’s clearly knew who paid their piper. With a slight smile, Jack inclined his head and moved past the concierge into the room.

It was a luxurious suite, the first room a large, well-appointed sitting room, the bedroom leading off it via an ornate arch. A gilt-framed mirror filled the wall above the marble mantelpiece; gilt sconces in the form of cupids hung on the walls. Despite their fine fabrics, both chaise and chairs looked well stuffed and inviting, and all the woodwork glowed. Two long windows looked out onto Brook Street; Jack moved across to glance out as Clarice swept into the bedroom, directing the footmen who had arrived with her trunk.

Like a well-trained butler, the concierge harried the footmen out, then bowed and departed. Jack turned as Clarice came to join him. She met his eyes, then looked out at the street. “Now we’re here, what next?”

He followed her gaze; it was midafternoon, and Brook Street was awash with carriages ferrying matrons from one afternoon tea to another. “There’s not much we can accomplish in what’s left of today. Unless you want to approach your family?”

“Late afternoon is hardly a good time to call unexpectedly, not during the Season. Everyone will be rushing to get ready for their evening’s engagements.”

He nodded. “I’m hoping for some word from my ex-commander. I told him I’d be at the club from tonight. I should be there in case he contacts me.” He would also meet Deverell there and alert him to their likely need for his services.

Clarice faced him. “Perhaps an early night would be best, then we can commence our campaign refreshed in the morning.”

He studied her dark eyes, wondered if she, like he, was considering ways and means…but he’d yet to reconnoiter, to confirm that he could come and go from her room without risking scandal, that the hotel was as accommodating as it appeared. “That probably will be best.”

“Very well.” She hesitated, then placed a hand on his chest and stretched up. She’d intended to kiss his cheek but he turned his head and his lips met hers.

His arms slid around her; he drew her to him, against him, and let the kiss slide into that realm of heated sensuality they both craved. When he raised his head, they were both breathing more rapidly; her eyes were darker, softly glowing with stirred passion as she pushed back and eased out of his arms.

“I’ll…” To his delight, she had to blink to refocus her wits. “I’ll call on my brother in the morning. Best to catch him before he goes out.”

“I’ll call here at noon. We can discuss our outcomes to that point and plan our next foray over luncheon.”

She nodded graciously, softly smiling. “Until tomorrow, then.”

He stepped back, bowed elegantly, and left her while he could.

Circling the gallery, he took the secondary stairs down, and confirmed that they led to a small foyer with a door giving onto a narrow side street. He checked the lock; it posed no barrier to one such as he. Hands in his greatcoat pockets, he strolled through the ground floor, committing the layout to memory, then exited the building by the front door, inclining his head to the concierge as he passed that worthy’s desk.

Benedict’s was, indeed, an excellent hotel.

On the pavement, Jack halted and took stock. He had no doubt Dalziel would interpret the events thus far as he had. His ex-commander would be in touch as soon as was practicable; he didn’t need to chase him. However, bearding the Bishop of London would necessarily need to wait until after Dalziel and Jack had discussed matters. There was little he could do until then.

Frowning, he let himself consider the pounding gradually building in his skull. He’d been steadfastly ignoring it for the past hour. Experience suggested it wouldn’t go away, not for the rest of the day, and, indeed, would likely become worse. What bothered him most was that the pounding hadn’t been this bad for weeks.

Pringle’s surgery was in Wigmore Street, only two blocks away. Jack turned his feet in that direction. At this hour, the surgeon would be in; he could use a little reassurance.

“You’ve made excellent progress!” Pringle turned away from Jack, propped on the edge of Pringle’s desk and still blinking owlishly in the aftermath of the magnesium flare Pringle had used to check his pupils.

“I’m really most impressed.” Pringle started putting away the numerous devices he’d used to test Jack’s responses. “Whatever you’ve been doing has been just the ticket. I would never have imagined you’d be this much improved in, what? Just over two weeks?”

Jack nodded, and massaged his temple. “But it’s back. Why?”

“You’ve just arrived in town. Did you ride?”

Jack shook his head. “Carriage. Two days on the road.”

“Well, there you are.” Pringle started polishing other implements; he’d seen Jack immediately his last patient had left. “A jolting carriage over that distance would give anyone a sore head—in your case, a pounding one. Just don’t do it again until you’re fully recovered. To ease the ache, I’d suggest doing whatever it is you’ve been doing recently. It’s clear that works for you.”