"Then the next question we ask is why she lied?" Ruel murmured. "And where the gentleman is at present."

"And why you've had three whiskeys in a row since you walked in the door," Ian added mildly.

"I was thirsty." He smiled recklessly. "And it's good Scotch Whiskey. You should approve. Isn't everything even remotely touching on Glenclaren worthwhile?" He threw himself in the chair. "Wonderful, splendid Glenclaren. Tell me, have you heard from Maggie lately?"

"You know I have not."

Ruel lifted his glass to his lips. "No doubt she's still nursing her father and being the dutiful daughter. As I remember, MacDonald made Maggie's life hell on earth. I always thought he was malingering just to tie Maggie to his bedposts and keep her slaving."

"So did I. He has no liking for the idea of giving Margaret to a man with little means."

"Haven't you ever been tempted to push the old bastard over the edge?"

"Frequently."

"And?"

"It's a mortal sin. We can wait."

"Shall I do it for you?"

Ian's eyes widened.

"Shall I?" Ruel repeated.

"You're joking."

"Am I?" Ruel wondered himself if he had made the offer only to shock Ian or if he actually meant it. He was in a mood for violence, and MacDonald's nagging, torturous enslavement of his daughter seemed to him to be far worse than the mortal sin of which his brother spoke. "How do you know?"

"I know you."

"Not anymore."

"It's only the liquor speaking." Ian shifted his shoulders uneasily. "Now, stop talking nonsense."

"As you like." Ruel took another drink. "Tell me if you change your mind."

"Why are you like this tonight?"

"Like what?"

"Wild."

"It's the nature of the beast."

Ian shook his head. "You're on edge. Why?"

"I'm not on—" Why deny it when Ian wouldn't believe him anyway? He had hoped the liquor would dull the sharpness of the jealousy, anger, and pity Jane's words had aroused and had not lessened since he left her. He wanted to strangle—who, for God's sake? Patrick, Kartauk, those men who had made her childhood a nightmare? Oh, what the hell. He poured another drink. "I saw the gold door tonight."

"And?"

"It's a splendid depiction of the Garden of Paradise . . . with Abdar's face as the head of the serpent."

"What? Are you sure?"

"It's very subtly done, but you can't miss the resemblance."

"An exquisite abomination." Ian chuckled. "I believe I'm beginning to like this Kartauk. The man has a sense of humor."

Ruel's reaction had been the same, and he had been fighting it since the instant he had seen that devilishly sly serpent. "The maharajah must not be overly fond of his son if he permitted that particular bit of humor."

"That was Colonel Pickering's opinion, if you remember."

"They're delivering the locomotive to the station tomorrow, and Jane said the maharajah will be there. Why don't you go down with the colonel and see if you can't get an introduction?"

"An excellent idea. You're giving up looking for Kartauk?"

"I didn't say that, but it's always wise to explore every avenue." He started toward the door, taking his glass with him. "Though, from what I saw of his taste in art in his car tonight, I sincerely doubt if the maharajah and you will have much in common."

"This must be a great day for you."

Jane turned to see Ian MacClaren standing a few feet away and felt her spirits rise as she saw his warm smile. "Good afternoon, Lord MacClaren."

"Ian." He took a step closer, his tall figure blocking out the crowd of chattering men and women milling around the small station house. "What are you doing hiding in here? I would have thought you'd want to be out on the platform, basking in the maharajah's approval."

"I did my part by supervising the transfer of the locomotive from the boat." Her glance went to Patrick, who was standing on the platform beside the maharajah and gesturing to the brass cowcatcher on the front of the locomotive. "Patrick's better at this kind of thing than I am. Is Ruel with you?"

"No, he's laboring on your behalf at the site. I came with Colonel Pickering." Ian nodded at a big man with steel-gray hair and an impressive array of medals decorating his uniformed chest. "Have you met him?"

"No, but Patrick has mentioned him. He's been very helpful using his influence with the maharajah."

"That's what Ruel hoped would happen today, but I don't believe we're going to have any luck." He smiled. "Getting that behemoth of a locomotive here must have been no easy task. You deserve a reward. Come with me to the buffet table and let me get you a glass of fruit juice."

"No!" She took an involuntary step back. "I mean, I'm not thirsty."

"In this heat? You have to be thirsty." Ian took her gently by the elbow. "Come along and we'll ..."

"No." She jerked her arm away. "I said I wasn't thirsty." He was staring at her with such bewilderment she finally said, "Can't you see? I don't belong there. They all look at me as if I were some strange creature." She lifted her chin. "Not that I care."

His gaze went over the loose shirt and denim trousers she wore. "You appear neat and clean. I'd be honored to escort you."

"Cleanliness isn't enough. They can see I'm different." She turned on her heel. "I can't waste any more time here. I have work to do. Good day, Lord MacClaren."

"Ian," he said again. "I don't believe formality is appropriate when I've given you the shirt off my back."

She looked at him, stricken. "Oh, dear, I forgot. I meant to return it. I'm sorry, Lord—" She stopped as she met his gaze. "Ian. I'll give the shirt to Ruel tomorrow to return to you."

"No hurry." He fell into step with her as she left the station house, effortlessly cleaving a path for her through the crowd on the platform. "You're not going to the site today?"

She shook her head. "It's too late now. It would be sundown by the time I reached the gorge. I'm going to the supply yard and check to make sure a shipment of rails came in with the locomotive."

"Then permit me to escort you." He made a face. "I'm clearly not going to be able to arrange an introduction to the maharajah in this mob, and I may not be as ferocious as my brother, but my sheer size sometimes deters aggressors."

"I don't need protection." She paused. "And I'm not certain Ruel's purpose is really to protect me. Sometimes he reminds me of a great cat ready to pounce."

"Tiger pad softly, tiger burn bright," he murmured.

"I beg your pardon?"

"It's a line from an old Scottish poem. It rather suits Ruel, don't you think?"

"Yes." She smiled. "A Scottish poem? I didn't think there were any tigers in Scotland."

"We have our share of the two-legged variety. My illustrious ancestor, Alexander MacClaren, was one of that ilk. The rascal could have given Ruel lessons." Ian glanced at her soberly. "And I believe you're wrong. I'm sure Ruel does wish to protect you. Even if he doesn't realize it himself."

"I've never met anyone who appears to know more what he's doing than your brother," she said dryly.