Bliss closed her eyes for a moment. Feeling faint. She’d forced this showdown, and she was losing it. “And Peony?”

“She’s me friend, Duchess,” Jamie said, looking exasperated. “If it weren’t for ’er, I’d ’ave been dead a dozen times over. So if you’re askin’ me to turn me back on ’er, I’ll ’ave to tell you no.”

Bliss’s pride was in shreds. “I see,” she said. Before leaving the room she and Jamie would never share, she pressed the emerald ring into his hand.

Chapter 17

JAMIE TOSSED BACK THE LAST OF HIS WHISKEY AND SET THE GLASS down hard on the bar. “You an Australian, mate?” he asked the man next to him. “You talk funny.”

The bloke looked wet behind the ears. He still had bad skin, and his hair stuck out every which way. Jamie’s question made him smile, and he nodded as the barkeeper refilled both their glasses.

“I won’t ’old it against you,” Jamie said, feeling magnanimous. “I ’ave a brother that’s an Aussie.”

Having made this pronouncement, Jamie sighed and assessed his glass. He’d lost count of how many drinks he’d consumed since he and Bliss had parted company in the lobby; he’d headed straight for the pub while she’d gone back to the suite.

“Ever been to Australia?” the stranger asked.

That innocent question brought the place back to Jamie’s mind so strongly that he could feel the bark of that tree against the insides of his wrists and smell the scent of his own blood. He shivered, as though a chill wind had caught him naked. “Aye,” he said. He couldn’t talk about that part of his life, not when he’d been weakened by whiskey. “I ’ave a brother there, like I told you.”

“So you did. What business is he in?”

Jamie looked at the stranger curiously. He was a nosy little bleeder, he’d say that for him. “Shippin’, sugarcane—that kind of thing.”

The small man nodded. “I don’t believe I’ve introduced myself. I’m Walt Davis.”

Jamie had already bought the bloke several drinks and considered him something of a mate. Still, it was good to know what handle a man went by. He nodded and concentrated on his whiskey.

Davis cleared his throat. “You in some kind of trouble, Mr. McKenna?” he asked.

It wouldn’t occur to Jamie until much later to wonder how Davis had known his name when he hadn’t offered it. He nodded and signaled to the barkeeper. “The worst kind, mate. The worst kind.”

“Woman trouble,” Davis said knowingly.

“Aye,” Jamie agreed.

“Mistress?”

Jamie shook his head solemnly. “Wife.”

“Oh,” Davis replied with proper sympathy.

“Can’t make ’er ’appy no matter what I do,” Jamie complained. “If I say ’stay put,’ she’s got to go. If I say ’go,’ she stays put.” He paused and shook his head, marveling at the enormity of his dilemma. “I buy ’er a ’ouse, she won’t live in it. I give ’er a ring, she won’t wear it.”