Stranger in My Arms(94)

Lara began to enjoy the sight of her uncle’s apoplectic countenance.

With the faintest of smiles, she turned to the lord chancellor. “I will submit to any physician of your choosing, my lord, if you so desire.

I have nothing to fear.”

Sunbury regarded her with a long, measuring glance, and though his face was grave, an answering smile appeared in his gray eyes. “That won’t be necessary, Lady Hawksworth. It seems congratulations are in order.”

“Excuse me,” came Lonsdale’s dry voice. “I hate to puncture Lady Hawksworth’s pretty story, as I enjoy a good tale as much as the next fellow. However, I can prove in less than a minute that this man is a fraud-and that our charming Lady Hawksworth is a liar.”

The lord chancellor’s thick gray eyebrows lifted.

“Oh? And how may that be accomplished, Lord Lonsdale?”

Lonsdale paused for theatrical effect. “I have information that will surprise all of you, secret information about the real Lord Hawksworth.”

“Let us have it, then,” Sunbury replied, passing the pocket globe from one heavy palm to the other.

“Very well.” Lonsdale stood and made a show of straightening his satin waistcoat. “The real Hawkswdrth and I were not only the closest of friends, but also fellows in an exclusive society. The scorpions, we call ourselves. I don’t feel it is necessary to explain our purpose except to say that we have certain political aims. Although each of us has taken an oath to keep our affiliation a secret, I feel compelled to reveal it, and thereby prove that this so-called Hawksworth is an impostor. You see, just before he left for India, Hawksworth and the rest of us had a certain mark placed on the inside of the left arm. A permanent mark made with ink embedded beneath the skin. I have this mark, and so do the others. Only the true Earl of Hawksworth would have it.”

“And this mark, I suppose, is shaped like a scorpion?” Sunbury inquired.

“Precisely.” Lonsdale made a move to shed his coat. “If you’ll allow me but a minute or two, my lord, I will show you the mark-” “That won’t be necessary,” the Lord Chancellor said dryly. “It would be more to the point for Lord Hawksworth to display his arm.”

All gazes turned to Hunter, who pinned Sunbury with a mutinous glare.

“There’s no need,” he muttered. “I’m not Hawksworth.”

The lord chancellor returned his hard stare without blinking. “Then verify it by removing your shirt, sir.”

“No,” Hunter said through his teeth.

The flat refusal caused Sunbury’s color to rise.

“Shall I have it removed for you?” he asked gently.

Lara breathed hard in agitation. She couldn’t remember having seen any kind of mark on Hunter’s arm. The thought that one small patch of ink would send all her hopes and dreams plummeting… She clenched her fists in her skirts and twisted them tightly. “I give you my word the mark is there,” she cried.

The lord chancellor smiled sardonically. “With all due respect, Lady Hawksworth, in this instance I would prefer solid proof to your word.”

He returned his gaze to Hunter’s face. “The shirt, if you please.”

Arthur began to laugh in wild glee. “Now you’re done for, you damned charlatan!”

The lord chancellor began to reprove him for the profanity, but his attention was soon diverted as Hunter stood. Scowling, Hunter set his jaw and stared at the floor, and pulled his coat off, yanking hard at the sleeves. Discarding the coat, he began on the buttons of his black waistcoat. Lara bit her lip in silent anguish, trembling as she saw dark color spread over Hunter’s averted face. He set aside his waistcoat and pulled his shirt free of his breeches.

Midway through the fastenings of the shirt, he paused and looked at the lord chancellor. “I’m not Hawksworth,” he growled. “Listen to me for one damned minute.”

“Make him continue,” Arthur snapped. “I insist on it.”

“You may speak your piece, sir,” Sunbury informed Hunter, “after I examine your arm. Proceed.”

Hunter didn’t move.

Enraged by the hesitation, Arthur sprang forward, grabbed a loose fold of the shirt, and yanked at it until they all heard the screech of rending linen. The shirt tore away, shreds hanging from the cuffs to reveal a lean body rippling with muscle, the tanned skin marked in places by scars not unlike the old hunting wounds her husband had suffered while pursuing boar and other wild game. Transfixed by the sight of Hunter’s body, and the dreadful knowledge of what was about to happen, Lara held her breath.

Arthur shoved Hunter toward the lord chancellor.

“There,” he sneered. “Show him your arm, you lying bastard.”

Hunter’s fist clenched as he raised it behind his head and lifted his arm.

From where she was sitting, Lara had a perfect view. There, a few inches above the patch of dark hair that furred his armpit, was a small design of a scorpion inked in blue.

Lonsdale, who had come around to see, staggered backward in amazement.

“How can it be?” he asked hoarsely, his gaze darting from the mark to Hunter’s taut face. “How the hell did you know?”

Lara’s mind was occupied by the same question.

She pondered in bewildered silence, until it occurred to her that the only way he could have reproduced the scorpion design was if he had seen it in her husband’s journals.