A Thoroughly Compromised Lady by Bronwyn Scott

deterred. He merely gave a Latin shrug and sighed. He sat back in his chair and ran a hand through his dark hair. ‘Ah, so that’s how it is with Wainsbridge. He is a man who keeps his work as his mistress. What called him away tonight? Was it business with a ship? A new cargo? Investments? Perhaps a new property to consider?’ There was an insult in the enquiry—the idea that a real gentleman had no work.
    Dulci shrewdly assessed the Spaniard, careful not to give away too much with any admissions. He was flirting for a purpose and he had boldly guessed far too much about her and Jack. What did he want? Revenge for the insult Jack paid him a few nights ago? She would not know if she turned him away. Dulci rose and smoothed her skirts. ‘The Mayfield gardens are decent, Señor, and their roses are considered quite fine. I could show you, if you wished. Do you grow many roses in Venezuela?’
    â€˜I would love a look. I am an avid botanist myself when I am home. I have an extensive green house.’ Ortiz offered his arm. ‘Is Wainsbridge a botanist?’
    Dulci laughed, a real laugh this time, nothing like thelaughter she’d conjured up to please her dance partners. The very idea of Jack puttering with rose clip pings in a hothouse bordered on hilarious. Jack could not be caged by walls. His green house was the whole wide world.

Chapter Eight
    T he library was dark and empty, a stark contrast to the vibrant ballroom. A small lamp burned on the fireplace mantel, offering the only light. Jack shut the door and clicked the lock into place. ‘What do you need that could not possibly wait?’ He began.
    â€˜I would watch your tone with me if I were you,’ Gladstone grumbled, making his way to the sofa. ‘You’re supposed to be tailing Ortiz. You’ve abandoned your post. I shudder to think what you’ve been doing instead.’ But it was evident Gladstone had a pretty good idea. He spat in disapproval, anger and envy etched into every word.
    Jack did not care for the man’s insinuation, no matter how true in fact, but not true in emotion. What he’d done was certainly not as des pi cable as Gladstone implied. There was no shame in what had transpired between he and Dulci. There was no dishonour in honest sex between a man and a woman.
    Even in the dark, Jack could find Gladstone’s lapels.He gripped them, hauling Gladstone to the wall. ‘You will not impugn Lady Dulcinea’s honour with such disgraceful aspersions.’
    â€˜You forget yourself, sir,’ Gladstone growled, struggling in Jack’s grasp.
    â€˜I do not forget a woman’s honour, which is more than I can say for you.’ Jack let go and stepped back. He’d like to pummel the man with his fists for the crass thoughts. ‘Do you have real news, or is this one of your jealous ploys?’
    If there was nothing to report, Jack would pummel the man, all thoughts of propriety and decorum be damned. He’d been disappointed to be pulled away from Dulci so soon. He’d known it would happen but he’d hoped for a dance or two before Gladstone caught up with him.
    They’d had two private days together, two days of protection for Dulci while he thought it all out, although she didn’t know that. He couldn’t risk not connecting with the outside world any longer. He needed to learn what might have occurred during his absence. Lacking information left him less capable of protecting her.
    Gladstone shrugged, straightening his jacket. ‘As it happens, I do have news. While you were “otherwise engaged”—’ he gave Jack a hard look ‘—a Spaniard was fished out of the Thames with his throat cut, a nasty piece of work.’ Gladstone ran a hand over his mouth as if remembering the ghastly corpse.
    â€˜Normally, I’d not pay attention to such a crime, unfortunate as it is. Bodies wash up all the time from suicides to