Icarus watched Miss Trentham crouch alongside Cuthbertson. “I can hear when people tell lies,” she said, in a conversational tone. “And you have told a number of lies this morning, Colonel Cuthbertson.”
Cuthbertson lifted his head and glared at her.
“You didn’t tell Maria about the rendezvous because she was afraid, did you?”
Cuthbertson wheezed, and said nothing.
“Tell me, Colonel. Or I shall let Icarus hit you again.”
“Bitch,” Cuthbertson muttered.
Icarus took a jerky step forward, hands clenched.
“It would be best if you answered my question, Colonel. As you can see, Icarus has a short temper. Maria wasn’t afraid, was she?”
Cuthbertson pressed his bloody lips together.
“Was she?”
Icarus took another step forward.
Cuthbertson didn’t cringe from him, but he did speak: “She was afraid at first, but I told her we outnumbered the French, they didn’t stand a chance. That settled her down. She spread her legs willingly enough.”
“In that case, why did you tell her about Reid and his scouts?”
“She wanted to know how I knew we outnumbered them. I said we had scouts out.”
“Why did you tell her the time and place of Reid’s rendezvous?”
Cuthbertson didn’t reply. He wiped his bloody mouth with one hand.
“Answer her,” Icarus said, in a gravelly voice.
Cuthbertson glanced at him, and away. He said nothing.
Enlightenment came suddenly. “You were showing off, weren’t you? Puffing yourself up. Trying to impress her.”
Cuthbertson wiped his mouth again, ignoring the question.
Icarus took a step forward and took the colonel by the nape of his neck and shook him hard.
“I would answer him, if I were you,” Miss Trentham said.
Cuthbertson wrenched free. He glared up at Icarus. “So? What if I was? She was a tasty bit of luncheon; thought I might have her for supper, too, if she was willing.”
Icarus squeezed his eyes shut. He held on to his temper with effort. Men were dead—good men—because Cuthbertson had bragged to a whore?
“What else did you tell Maria?”
Icarus opened his eyes and stared down at Cuthbertson. Rage was a wolf in his chest, pacing, gnashing its teeth. I want to rip off his head.
“Nothing.”
“Colonel, may I remind you that I can hear when you lie? And that Icarus has a very short temper.”
Cuthbertson set his lips together and rubbed the back of his neck and glowered up at Icarus.
“What else did you tell her?” Miss Trentham’s voice was relentless.
“I told her how many men we had,” Cuthbertson said sullenly. “And where they were to be placed.”
Icarus squeezed his eyes shut again. I’m going to kill him.
“One of the ridges had no men stationed on it. Did you tell her that?”
Icarus opened his eyes.
“Yes,” Cuthbertson said, even more sullenly. “Not that it mattered! The French never got near it. Wellesley blocked them in time.”
Icarus turned away. It was either that, or pound Cuthbertson into the carpet.
“And why did you leave the army?” Miss Trentham asked. “It wasn’t because you wanted to.”
Icarus turned back.
Cuthbertson took a handkerchief from his pocket and pressed it to his bleeding mouth.
“Why?” Miss Trentham asked again, a steely edge to her voice.
“Wellesley made me,” Cuthbertson said, the words muffled by his handkerchief. “Said he had a good mind to press for a dishonorable discharge. Said it was my fault Reid and his men were caught.”
“He what?” Icarus said.
Cuthbertson scowled at him from behind the bloody handkerchief.
“He knew about Maria?” Miss Trentham asked.
“He knew she was missing, gone to the French. The whole damned village was in a clamor about it. And he knew I’d been with her. Didn’t believe me when I said I hadn’t told her anything.”
An astute man, Wellesley.
“Why was the village in a clamor?” Miss Trentham asked.
Cuthbertson lowered the handkerchief. “Because she was some alderman’s widow, or whatever they call it over there—and she ran off to be with a French officer.”
Icarus had a flash of memory, so intense it almost made him grunt: the town square in Vimeiro in the baking heat of August. For a brief instant, he actually smelled Vimeiro, actually tasted it on his tongue. The memory unfolded in his mind: he saw three women come out of the church, stepping from shadow into sunlight, widows dressed in black. The youngest of them had drawn his eye, dark-eyed and voluptuous, with milky skin and a ripe, wine-red mouth and lustrous black hair beneath her mantilla. Hell, she’d drawn every man’s eye.
“What happened to Maria?” Miss Trentham asked.
“Dead, I hope. Bitch cost me my colonelcy.”
No, you cost yourself your colonelcy.
“The general forced you to resign your commission?” Miss Trentham asked.
Cuthbertson glowered at her, and dabbed his mouth with the handkerchief. “Said he was cleaning out his house. Got rid of me and Dunlop and Grantham. Twenty-five years of service, and he threatened me with a dishonorable discharge!” His tone was aggrieved.
“He should have done more than threaten,” Icarus said flatly. “He should have had you court-martialed. I’ll repair that omission.”
“Court-martial?” Cuthbertson snorted, and lurched to his feet. “I’d like to see you try.”
“You will. Why else do you think I’m here? You’ll get to dance on the end of a rope. And I shall have the pleasure of watching.”
Cuthbertson wasn’t intimidated. He curled his split lip in a sneer. “Wellesley’s fucking golden boy. I’m sorry the French didn’t kill you, too.”
They did kill me.
Cuthbertson turned to the table, picked up his napkin, pressed it to his bloody mouth. “All this fuss over a couple of worthless Portuguese—”
“I wouldn’t say that, if I were you,” Miss Trentham said coldly.
Cuthbertson ignored her. “Worthless Portuguese! What’s another damned peasant dead?”
“Three scouts,” Icarus said, between his teeth. “And a cavalry officer.”
Cuthbertson snorted. “That boy with his ridiculous mustachios? Lord, if I didn’t laugh every time I saw him—”
Icarus hit him, right in the middle of his sneering, smirking face.
Cuthbertson tumbled backwards over the table, tried to catch his balance, and hit the floor with a yelp. Icarus followed him to the floor, driving his fist into the man’s face again and again—
“Icarus!”
Icarus halted with his fist pulled back.
“Don’t kill him.”
Icarus hissed out a breath. Rage bellowed in his chest. He flipped Cuthbertson over on his stomach and sank his fingers in the man’s overlong hair, grinding Cuthbertson’s face into the carpet, pressing hard. “Pereira is dead because of you—and he didn’t die easily. They completely broke him. Because of you.” He was sobbing with rage, or maybe with grief. How dared Cuthbertson dismiss Pereira as a joke? “He was a courageous soldier, and he deserved a better death!”
Cuthbertson struggled weakly, gurgling in his throat.
Icarus leaned down and snarled in the man’s ear: “You were never a soldier. You’re nothing more than a mutton-monger, following your cock, betraying men who trusted you for the sake of a quick fuck.” He ground Cuthbertson’s face into the carpet with that last word, pressing with all his weight.
“Icarus!” There was a stern note of warning in Miss Trentham’s voice.
Icarus released Cuthbertson and pushed to his feet, swinging away from her, striding to the window. He was shaking—shaking as violently as he did after his nightmares—and hot tears were running down his face. He scrubbed them away roughly and tried to catch his breath, tried to capture his composure.
He turned around and watched Cuthbertson roll painfully over and push up to sit. The colonel fingered his gory nose, and spat blood. “You son of a bitch. Don’t think I won’t lay charges—”
“Do,” Icarus said, his voice harsh. “Because I intend to lay charges against you. You’re going to face a court-martial. For Pereira and my three scouts, you’re going to hang.” He crossed to Cuthbertson. “On your feet.”
“Must we take him with us?” Miss Trentham asked. Her voice was neutral, but his ears caught the undertone of distaste.
Icarus hesitated, and glanced at her, and then down at the colonel. Revulsion rose in his throat like bile. Letty Trentham deserved many things, but an hour spent in Cuthbertson’s company in the close confines of a carriage definitely wasn’t one of them.
He crouched, so he was eye to eye with Cuthbertson. “I’ll be back for you this afternoon. You’d better be here. Understood?”
Cuthbertson inhaled a wheezing breath and spat at him. The bloody spittle landed on the man’s own waistcoat.
“I’ll take that as a yes.” Icarus showed his teeth in a smile. “It would be useless to run; you’ve got no money.”
He stood and crossed to the door, pulling the key from his pocket. His fingers were shaking so badly he couldn’t insert it in the lock.
Miss Trentham wordlessly took the key and unlocked the door.