A Fine Passion (Bastion Club 4)

Jack frowned more direfully. “I haven’t been doing anything—anything medicinal—at least not that I’m aware of.”

“Ah, yes.” Pringle squinted at a scalpel, then polished harder. “Take it from me, you’ve definitely been doing something medicinal, but I agree you might not have realized how effective some activities c

an be. For instance, Turkish baths, or certain herbal ointments, or even perfumes, although you probably haven’t been using those.” With a grin, Pringle continued to recite common habits that were known to alleviate head pain.

Jack listened, eliminating all; most seemed as likely as the perfumes.

Until Pringle airily concluded, “And then there’s the old standby, sexual release.”

Jack blinked. “That works?”

“An ancient remedy, doesn’t work for all head pain, and works best when indulged in before the pain actually sets in. I’ve always imagined it works by way of some pressure-release mechanism.”

Jack was rapidly thinking back, aligning his interludes with Boadicea and the recent absence of his headaches. “How fascinating.” He realized Pringle was watching him, an amused light in his eye. Jack grinned; he straightened from the desk, then winced as his head throbbed. “Thank you.” He extended his hand to Pringle. “For your excellent advice.”

Pringle grinned back and shook Jack’s hand. “A few more weeks of rest interspersed with your patent remedy, and I predict your headaches will be consigned to your past.”

Jack left the surgery and turned his feet toward Montrose Place. As he had no recourse to his patent remedy that evening, he’d have to make do with fresh air. He wondered what Clarice would say to their interludes qualifying as medicinal acts.

The thought of her reaction brought a smile to his face, and made him forget his throbbing head for the short while it took him to reach the club.

The headache hit with a vengeance in the early evening. Surrendering to the savage pain, to the nauseating sensations every time he tried to move, to the excruciating agony when he tried to think, Jack retired to his room and his bed before Deverell returned.

It was more important that he be alert and functioning in the morning; consulting Deverell could wait. As Jack crawled under the cool sheets and laid his head on the pillow, he prayed Dalziel wouldn’t send for him that evening.

Dalziel didn’t. He did, however, appear downstairs before Jack had had breakfast the next morning. Despite the comfortable bed and his best intentions, he hadn’t slept well, but at least his headache had subsided to a level at which he could listen and talk. Muttering beneath his breath over the early hour—it wasn’t even nine o’clock—Jack followed Gasthorpe down to the first floor; Gasthorpe had conducted his unnerving guest to the library. Jack paused, eyeing the door. “Bring coffee. As soon as you can.”

Gasthorpe bowed. “Immediately, my lord.”

Jack opened the door and went in. Closing it, he took a moment to study the tall figure standing before the long windows overlooking the back garden. Dalziel—they had yet to ferret out his real name—shared many characteristics with the men he’d commanded. He was much the same height as Jack, with a similar, fractionally leaner, build. Finer build, finer bone structure, finer, more austere features—that was really all that separated him physically from his men. In menace, however, Dalziel had them all trumped. In his presence, anyone with the slightest ability to sense danger was inevitably on full alert.

Releasing the doorknob, Jack let the latch click and watched Dalziel turn from the window to face him. As if he hadn’t, until then, been aware Jack was there.

Jack inwardly scoffed. Put simply, Dalziel was the most dangerous man he’d ever met. His ex-commander was the ultimate epitome of the predatory warrior lords the Normans had left scattered throughout England.

“Good morning. I won’t ask what’s brought you here.” Jack waved Dalziel to an armchair and subsided into its mate, fighting to keep any hint of his headache from his face.

“Indeed.” Dalziel’s tone stated he wasn’t the least happy about the matter in question. His dark eyes examined Jack’s face. “I greatly fear that your friend, James Altwood, has become embroiled, entirely innocently, in a scheme to discredit me.”

“You?” Jack frowned. This was Dalziel; it would be a waste of time to question his statement; if he said that was so, it was. “What scheme? And how did James come to be drawn into it?”

Dalziel steepled his fingers; his gaze fixed beyond Jack. “At this point, I can only speculate, but I imagine the scheme has come about because, as I’m sure you and the other members here are aware, I’ve been searching for one last traitor, who for various reasons, none unfortunately within the realm of hard fact, I believe remains undetected, unrepentant, and unpunished, buried within the higher echelons of power.”

A knock preceded Gasthorpe carrying a tray.

Dalziel waited until the coffee had been dispensed and Gasthorpe had left, then met Jack’s gaze. “Just what connections this man might have, and what type of power he wields, whether simply that of money, or alternatively status or governmental position, I don’t know. However, I’ve tripped over too many inconsistencies over the past years not to suspect he exists. Unfortunately, to date, that’s all I have—my suspicions.”

Jack narrowed his eyes, sipped. “So you believe this scheme has come about because he, whoever he is, doesn’t appreciate your entertaining such suspicions?”

Dalziel nodded. “An apt enough way to put it.”

“But at present, this scheme—its existence, just like that of your last traitor’s—is pure conjecture on your part?”

Dalziel’s lips twisted in a very wry grimace. “Precisely. What I believe has occurred is that, knowing I’m still searching for him, the real traitor set out—initially at least—to give me a scapegoat, someone I might confuse for him, remove, and so deem my job done.”

“And retire?”

Dalziel inclined his head. “For all of us, the war is past, and it’s time we returned to the civilian world and our responsibilities therein. This traitor thinks to appease me by feeding me some other prey in his stead.”