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‘Thank you kindly for the compliment.’
‘You know what I mean, Kirstin.’
She could tell him it was the same for her, but it was hardly what The Procurer would call a salient fact. Instead, she finally allowed herself, for just a fleeting second, to touch his hand. ‘You realise the odds suggest that, even if we find the girls, they may not be unscathed.’
Cameron flinched. ‘You take a very grim view of the situation.’
‘I find that it is better to err on the side of pessimism.’
‘Sparing yourself the possibility of disappointment? So you prefer to stack the odds? Isn’t it against your mathematical principles to do so?’
This time it was she who flinched. That Cameron had recognised her was not really surprising. That he recalled anything at all of their conversation though—now, that was unsettling. She didn’t want him to remember her, unguarded, confiding, such an aberration of her character before and since. As to her mathematical principles, she had discovered for herself that life was no respecter of those. ‘It is not a question of disappointment, rather one of preparing to deal with the worst,’ Kirstin said.
Cameron slumped back on the sofa, looking quite exhausted. His eyelids fluttered closed. His lashes were coal black, shorter than hers, but thicker. Though he had shaved this morning, there was already a bluish shadow on his chin. A lick of hair stood up from his brow, marring the smooth perfection of his crop and in doing so managing to make the perfection of his countenance even more breathtaking. In repose, his lips looked sculpted. They had been soft, the first time he’d kissed her. Gentle. Persuasive. She had tried other kisses since, but none compared with the memory of his, so she’d stopped trying. At her age and in her circumstances she ought to be past wanting any kisses. Looking at Cameron’s mouth, those perfectly moulded lips, Kirstin found to her horror that she was wrong.
She looked away hastily as he opened his eyes. ‘You are understandably weary. We will continue this conversation later, when I am settled in my own suite.’ She made to get to her feet, but he was too quick for her, grabbing her wrist.
‘I am tired, and the many dire possibilities regarding what fate befell Philippa and Jeannie, her maid, are grim indeed. I’ve contemplated them, Kirstin, trust me. But life has a way of defying the odds. I will find them. I have to find them, because failure is not an option. So we will keep searching until we do. Those are my terms. Under The Procurer’s rules, you are obliged to adhere to them. Go away, unpack, think about it. And if you aren’t willing to make that commitment, then you can pack up again and go.’
* * *
Cameron closed the door on Kirstin, and immediately rang the bell. He needed strong coffee, and a good deal of it. If ever there was a time for ordered thoughts, calm thinking, it was now, and his head was all over the place. Retreating to his bedchamber, he splashed cold water over his face, automatically smoothing back the cow’s lick in his hair. His face gazed back at him in the mirror as he rubbed himself dry with a towel. He looked a good five years older than his thirty-five years, thanks to the tribulations of the last week, while Kirstin seemed hardly to have aged at all since he’d first met her.
A knock on the door heralded his much needed coffee. He sat down to inhale the first cup in one scalding gulp and immediately poured another, the perfect antidote to the flowery water that passed for tea in this hotel. Though Kirstin had seemed to enjoy it, and by the way she’d oh-so-delicately sniffed the leaves, it would seem she considered herself a bit of a connoisseur. What age would she be now? Thirty-one, -two? It didn’t seem possible, but he clearly remembered her telling him the night they met that she was twenty-five.
She had changed. She had not aged, precisely, there were no lines marring the perfection of her skin, but there was something about her, an edge to her that hadn’t been there before. Experience, he supposed—though what kind? She was not married. It could not possibly be for want of being asked. More likely her very obvious desire to do no one’s bidding but her own had kept her single. Bloody hell, but she was as prickly as a hedgehog. It would take a brave man to get anywhere near her. She’d been very different that night. Excited, anxious, elated, frightened in turn. In extremis.
As had he been, for very different reasons—emotionally battered, the hopes which had been so recently raised, quite devastated. He’d barely had a chance to come to terms with what he’d read in that letter, only to be told that there could be no coming to terms, no answers to his questions. Not ever. The future had taken on a bleakness he’d not known since childhood. Kirstin had been like a beacon of light, smiling at him across the coach. He couldn’t exactly credit her for turning his thinking around, but she’d been a respite that night, and her enthusiasm, her desire to embrace her future—yes, some of that had rubbed off on him. He’d used the memory of their moment out of time as a talisman in the months that followed. It had sustained him through some dark times.
What would she say if he told her so? She’d be too dumbfounded to say anything, most likely. They had quite literally been ships that passed in the night. She had made it very clear this afternoon that she didn’t want to remember anything about it. Yet still she had come here, at The Procurer’s behest, knowing she’d be meeting him. Was she simply indifferent, intent upon doing a job for which she would be handsomely rewarded? She was expensively garbed. She had done well for herself, which wasn’t surprising. He’d never met any woman, before or since, quite like her. She was exactly what he needed. What’s more, he was confident that she’d do exactly what she promised, everything in her power to help him. If she chose to stay.
Cameron cursed. He shouldn’t have issued her with an ultimatum, it was guaranteed to rile a woman like her, so reluctant to take orders from anyone! Yet he’d been right to say what he did, and he had the right, it was written into his contract with The Procurer. If he must have an accomplice, and he was long past the stage where he refused to acknowledge he did, then his accomplice must be wholeheartedly committed to finding Philippa and her maid. Whatever state they found them in, they would find them.
He poured himself the treacly residue of the coffee. There was a plate of biscuits on the tray. He bit into one, screwed up his face, coughing as he forced it down. Coconut. He couldn’t think of a flavour he detested more, though he must be in a minority, judging by the small fortune he’d made importing the dried version of it in the last year. If they were using it here for the biscuits, it must be getting even more popular. He made a mental note to ask his agent to organise another shipment, then he retrieved his leather-bound notebook from the stack of business papers and set his mind to reviewing his notes. Every little detail mattered, Kirstin had said. When she returned, when she accepted his terms, as she must do, for he could not fail at this first hurdle, then he would be as well-prepared as it was possible to be. Unlike all those years ago.
December 1812, Carlisle
The snow, Cameron saw with relief, was turning to rain outside the window of the private salon. On top of everything else, missing his ship from Liverpool would be the final straw. These last few weeks, since that life-changing letter had finally reached him, having followed him halfway round the world and back again, he felt as if he’d been through the mill. And in the end it hadn’t turned out to be a life-changing letter after all. Not a new chapter in his life, but a book closed for ever.
‘Ach!’
It wasn’t like him to be so fanciful. Leaning his head against the thick window pane, he screwed his eyes shut in an effort to block out the memory, but the words echoed in his head all the same.
You cast a blight over my childhood. You were responsible for making my father’s life a misery. I don’t want to see you or hear from you ever again.
It hurt. Devil take it, but it hurt. All the more because he hadn’t had a clue, until he’d met her, of just how unrealistic his hopes had been. The desire to belong he’d buried so deep for so many years had resurfaced. He wasn’t sure he was up to the task of digging a new and final grave for it.
‘Mr Dunbar? Excuse me, but perhaps you’d rather take your dinner alone after all. You don’t look like a man fit for company.’
Cameron opened his eyes, turning away from the window. Miss Kirstin Blair was hovering in the doorway, a vision of loveliness in a grey wool travelling gown, looking not at all discomfited by his obvious distress, but instead eyeing him in what he could only describe as an assessing way, as if he were some conundrum she wished to resolve.
‘I’ve not changed my mind.’
‘There’s no need to be polite,’ she said. ‘An idiot could see that you are troubled.’
He couldn’t help but laugh at this. She had a very singular way of expressing herself. He held out his hand. ‘Come away in, please. I won’t pretend that I’ve not got a lot on my mind, but I can say in all honesty that now you’re here I’ll be able to forget about it for a while. I’ve ordered dinner. Will you take a glass of sherry while we wait for the food to arrive?’
‘Thank you, I will.’
She sat herself down on one of the chairs by the fireside, stretching her boot-clad feet towards the hearth with a contented sigh. He’d known her for an extraordinary beauty from the moment he’d set eyes on her. Without her bonnet to shade her face, her cloak to conceal her figure, by the bright glare of the candelabra on the mantel Cameron could not detect a single flaw. Yet she had none of the airs of a beautiful woman, that assumption they all shared that they would be looked at and admired. He couldn’t believe, however, that she was oblivious to her charms.
He handed her a glass of rather cloudy sherry, taking the seat opposite her. She inspected the drink, taking a suspicious sniff and immediately setting the glass aside.
‘I would advise against it, Mr Dunbar. It is either the dregs of a keg, or the leavings of a decanter left open too long. It will be revoltingly sweet, if I am not mistaken, for the sugar has crystallised.’
‘I’m sure you are right, Miss Blair,’ he answered, ‘but it is all they have, and I am in sore need of a drink.’
‘You’ll be in sore need of a restorative in the morning if you drink too much of that muck.’
‘I’ll take my chances. Believe me, I’ve drunk a great deal worse. I have not your delicate palate.’
‘Obviously not.’
There was a glimmer of a smile in her eyes that brought to mind what it was that had first drawn him to her when he’d first boarded the coach. ‘You prefer your sherry to match your wit, Miss Blair.’
‘If you mean dry, then you are quite correct, Mr Dunbar.’
He laughed, tipping back the glass and swallowing the contents whole. It was, as she had predicted, far too sweet, and quite disgusting, but it served its purpose and warmed his gullet.
He poured himself another. ‘I hope the wine I’ve ordered will be more to your taste.’
She raised a sceptical brow. ‘Do you know anything at all about wine?’
‘I ought to. I do a deal of trade in it.’
‘Then I must presume your customers are not particularly discerning.’
‘Aye, well, it’s true. I reckon most of them prefer quantity to quality.’ He settled back in his chair, making no bones about studying her. She did not flinch, she did not blush, she returned his gaze evenly. ‘What are you doing, travelling alone on the public coach, may I ask?’
‘You may, but I’d far rather you told me first what you think I’m doing?’
‘By using my powers of deduction, as you did? Is that a game you like to play, Miss Blair?’
‘I do, though it’s usually a game I play for my own amusement.’
‘Ah, now, there you’ve given me another clue, though a surprising one. A woman as beautiful as you cannot possibly lack company.’
‘True, if I was inclined to value company because the company valued only my face, and nature must take the credit for that.’
‘A great deal of credit, if you don’t mind my saying so.’
‘It is simply a matter of ratio and proportion. What Luca Pacioli called de divina proportione and Leonardo da Vinci used to great effect. Of chin to forehead. The spacing of the eyes. The alignment of the ears with the nose. The symmetry of a profile. If any of those factors vary from the optimum, then beauty is skewed. My face has no variation, thus it is, mathematically speaking, perfectly beautiful. I hope you are not going to make the obvious mistake of assuming, however, that what is on the outside reflects what is on the inside?’
‘Nor am I going to join the ranks of your admirers who, I assume, make the mistake of feigning interest in what goes on behind that perfect visage. Lovely as it is, and I will not deny that I do find you very lovely, would you believe me, Miss Blair, if I tell you that it was rather your air of—it is not aloofness exactly. I’m not sure how to put it, but you strike me as one who coolly observes, if that makes sense?’
To his astonishment, she blushed, and, judging from the way her hand flew to her cheek, she was just as astonished as he. ‘My father taught me that observation and deduction are the key cornerstones of any scientific field.’
A tap at the door announced that dinner was served. As the servants set the table with steaming dishes and decanted the wine, Cameron took the opportunity to study his dinner guest. She had spoken impassively, but he was not fooled. His inadvertent compliment had touched her, and her discomfort touched a chord in him.
His own dark looks had been the source of endless whippings in his early years, an unnecessary effort to forestall any vanity taking root. Taking their lead from those who had wielded the whip, his peers had turned on him, forcing him to become tougher, to use attack as the best form of defence. As an adult, when those same dark looks had attracted a very different kind of attention from women, he’d been first incredulous and then—yes, just as Miss Kirstin Blair was now—he had resented it. No one looked beyond his appearance. Save this most surprising woman, now helping herself from the dish of mutton stew with undisguised hunger.
‘Dare I ask if you wish to try the wine?’ Cameron poured her a half-glass and handed it to her.
She took a cautious sip and nodded her approval. ‘It is not that I am a connoisseur, as you suggested,’ she said, smiling at his obvious relief, ‘it is simply that I have a very sensitive palate.’
‘Another gift from nature. Is there no end to her bounty?’
Miss Kirstin Blair chuckled. ‘I have no talent for drawing, no ear for music and no patience for fools.’
‘You can’t blame nature for that.’
She considered this as she took another sip of wine. ‘It is an interesting question, isn’t it? How much we are formed by nature and how much we form our own nature. Would I be mathematically inclined were it not for my father? I would like to think so, but since I cannot wipe my mind clean and start afresh it is impossible to be certain. Do you take your business acumen from your own father, Mr Dunbar?’
‘I doubt it,’ Cameron replied shortly.
‘He was not business-minded?’
‘I have no idea.’ Nor ever would have now. The vast wasteland that was his heritage would remain empty for ever.
Kirstin Blair was studying him above the rim of her wine glass dispassionately. ‘I seem to have the knack of inadvertently touching on what you least wish to discuss,’ she said. ‘Though it seemed a natural enough question, given the direction of our conversation…’
He was obliged to laugh. ‘As I recall, our conversation began with you asking me to tell you what I have deduced about you.’
‘Yes, I did, so feel free while I help myself to some of this excellent capon.’
‘Firstly, you are not afraid to defy convention, since we’ve already committed several social faux pas, two complete strangers, dining alone together.’
Her eyebrows shot up. ‘Really? You think me a rebel?’
‘Not exactly.’ Cameron pushed his half-finished plate to one side. ‘You do not, I think, set out to be different, but your combination of clear thinking and the expression of that thinking without any attempt to moderate it makes your personality even more singular than your looks.’
‘Singular? That is not, I think, a compliment. It might be construed as meaning odd.’
‘It’s the unvarnished truth, just as you prefer it. Am I right?’
‘You are.’ She propped her chin on her hand. ‘Tell me more.’
‘You cannot be too much in the habit of socialising, else this habit of yours, of speaking your mind, would have been curbed—unless you are in the habit only of socialising with similar-minded people.’ Cameron frowned at this. ‘Since you’ve told me that you take your mathematical inclinations from your father, then I wonder if he is perhaps a professor at the university in Edinburgh?’
Her half-smile faded. ‘Was.’
‘Oh, I’m so sorry.’
Kirstin shook her head, looking studiously down at the table to avoid his eyes. ‘He had been ill for some time and died peacefully in his bed, as he wished to do, a month ago.’
She met his eyes again, almost defiantly, making Cameron think the better of offering his condolences. ‘I presume,’ he said instead, ‘that this loss is the reason for you setting out on this new life of yours, then? You have no other ties to keep you in Edinburgh?’
Her expression softened, and he knew he’d said the right thing. ‘Very good. My mother died when I was a child. I’ve no other kith or kin. Go on.’
But Cameron shook his head. ‘I’ll quit while I’m ahead, if you don’t mind. Aside from guessing your age, which I’d say was three or four and twenty…’
‘I’m twenty-five.’
‘There, you see, I should have held my tongue. As to this new life of yours, that you’re excited about and afraid of in equal parts, all I can say is that it must be something like yourself—unconventional—and nothing so predictable as a post as a governess or a teacher. Unless you’ve found an institution which accepts female mathematicians?’
‘I did not even attempt to look. Aside from the fact that few men believe women capable of understanding even the most rudimentary forms of logic, I do not have any formal qualifications. Being a female. It is a vicious circle.’
‘Aye, I can see that it is.’
‘I’ll tell you the truth,’ Kirstin said. ‘I’ve no complete idea myself of what this new life of mine will be, save that it will be, as you said, unconventional. You are an excellent observer.’
‘A high compliment, coming from one such as yourself.’
‘Are you teasing me?’
‘I wouldn’t dare.’
She laughed at that. ‘Beneath that very handsome exterior—and don’t pretend you don’t know how very handsome you are—there lurks a personality which could, I suspect, be very intimidating if you chose. I think you would dare almost anything, Cameron Dunbar.’
‘Do you now?’ he said, taken aback by this. ‘You don’t seem particularly intimidated, if I may say so.’
‘No, but that is because you have not tried to intimidate me, being in need of my company to distract you.’
‘And because I’ve taken a liking to you, let us not forget that. I’ve never met anyone like you.’
‘The feeling is entirely mutual.’
‘Do you believe in fate?’
‘It is not a logical concept.’
‘No, but sometimes we humans defy logic.’
Kirstin smiled at that. ‘You think it was fate which brought us together today?’
‘If it was mere chance, then it was a very fortunate one. I would not have liked to miss this opportunity to get to know you, however briefly.’
‘And you have,’ Kirstin said, ‘or do—know me, I mean—better than most of my acquaintance, even though we’ve barely met and are no sooner getting acquainted than we must part. It must be getting late.’
