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leaned against the pillar once more. His heart thudded against the cage of his ribs. “I haven’t gone anywhere.”
    Her skirts hissed over the black marble floor as she turned to fully face him. “Do not play that game with me. You’ve shut him out, all of us out, and…” She drew herself up with a deep breath and, when she spoke again, it was with a forced lightness as if she were trying to spare him pain, despite her ire, which made Jack feel all the worse. Her words skipped over him like stones across a frozen lake. “Do what you must. I will not crowd you. Ian says we mustn’t.”
    Perfect. He might as well have been two inches tall then.
    “But know that we are here for you, Jack.”
    Jack grunted. She ignored him, a wicked and irate gleam turning her eyes crystal blue. “And I had better not hear that you are being rude to Miss Chase. I love that girl, quiet thing though she is.”
    Jack wouldn’t have defined Chase as quiet. Though, in retrospect, she was not particularly animated; unless, of course, she was goading him.
    Where was Chase anyway? Daisy would have sent her an invitation.
    “I have not been rude to her,” he muttered, trying not to chafe at the lie he’d just told.
    Daisy harrumphed. “Are you behaving in your usual manner?”
    “Don’t see how else I’d behave.” God save him from loose-lipped, well-meaning females.
    She made the noise again. “Then you are being rude.”
    Jack glared, and she had the temerity to buss his cheek. “Well, of course,
we
love you as you are.”
    “Who loves whom?” Ian strolled up and wrapped himself around his wife like ivy, but his attention locked onto Jack. His expression was wary, as if he expected Jack to bolt and sought a way to prevent it.
    Jack cursed. God save him from his whole family. Being near Ian set Jack’s nerves on end. He hated the disconnect between them but nothing seemed to ease it. Jack watched the dancers instead of meeting Ian’s eyes. Piss and shit.
    “We are discussing why Jack feels the need to be rude—pardon,” she gave Jack an exaggerated nod of deference, “
excessively
rude to Miss Chase.”
    Ian’s grin was all teeth, and most of them sharp. “That is simple. Because he wants to tup her.”
    “Bloody hell,” Jack snapped, “is there a moment in which you do not think of tupping?”
    Ian laughed. “And Jack the Prude returns. It might do you well to think of tupping now and then,
mo mhac
.” He’d spoken with lightness, a typical Ian jest, but the moment the words were out, he paled. Jack froze too, ugly, thick feelings sliding like sludge through his chest. There was too much knowledge in Ian’s eyes.
    Jack whipped about, needing to get away, but not before seeing Ian’s expression fall.
    “Jack…” Ian began. His disappointment and regret, and the soft plea in his voice, worked a shaft of pain into Jack’s chest. He knew he was hurting Ian and Daisy by keeping his distance. Especially Ian. But he could not stand to look upon him for too long. Not when it was Ian who first comforted him when he’d been rescued. Not when the man knew what had been done to him. The familiar tight, suffocating feeling stole over him.
    “No worries,” he said over his shoulder, even as his abdomen tightened in regret. “I’m late for work.”
    It was another lie, and they all knew as much. But they let him flee.

Chapter Six

    B ook in hand, curled upon the couch with a soft cashmere rug tucked about her, was a delightful way to end the day. Mary did not want to think about Jack Talent, or the case, or anything at all. What she wanted now was to immerse herself in another world until she drifted off into a dreamless sleep.
    Yet she found herself not reading but floating from her body. With detached calm she hovered above herself. So still, eyes open wide but glassy. Precisely how she would look in true death. The thought no longer bothered her. If death came, it came.
    Not wanting to dwell on morbid thoughts, she