“The wine?”
“That it was drugged,” Liam said.
“Drugged?” She felt a little dizzy and reached for the mahogany bedpost. The wine had been meant as a signal that she wasn’t succeeding—a signal she’d never given, botched when the waiter had walked in without being summoned.
“The wine was drugged?” she repeated.
He looked up at her, his shirttail loose at his waist. “You didn’t know,” he said. “You tried to drink it after I did.”
Good grief. Mac had a vague memory of pouring herself some wine, so confused by her own emotions that she’d only wanted to drown them. Liam had smacked the glass from her hand.
And she’d thought it was out of anger.
“Perry,” Liam said, striding to the window. “He masterminded it all. It wasn’t enough for him that Caroline saw us together. He wanted me out of the way, and he didn’t care if you were hurt in the doing of it.” He stared out at the city. “I know you met me at the Poodle Dog on his advice.
“But you didn’t know about the wine. Or the carriage. The axle could have broken anytime once we started to race.” His fingers worked into fists on the windowsill. “You could have been killed.”
“I… heard of the accident,” Mac said, still struggling with shock. “You weren’t hurt—” She moved toward Liam and stopped herself. “You think that Perry set up the accident and this drugged wine, and I was working with him?”
“Damn it, Mac!” He swung to face her. “He’s used you, deceived you just as he did me. You were a handy tool, no more.” He made a low, bitter sound. “I had him investigated before our last expedition, when he began to show interest in Caroline. He wasn’t merely a younger son cut off from his family’s fortune, as I first suspected. He worked for the British government before I met him. As a spy—probably an assassin. He had no scruples. I went to Guatemala to warn him away from Caroline.”
Mac shivered and sat down on the bed. A spy? It certainly explained Perry’s ability to get information and disappear so effectively. But an assassin…
“I don’t believe it,” she said, preparing herself for a hopeless argument. “I don’t believe that he tried to kill you, whatever his past. Yes, I met him—at the ball. And he was the one who told me about the carriage accident. I don’t know how he found out about it, but he didn’t have to volunteer the information. Especially if he considered me disposable.” She concentrated on keeping her words calm and level and logical. “He knew you’d consider the accident proof that he was behind the attempt in the jungle, and he predicted how you’d react. But I chose to trust him. I wish I could give you a better reason than gut feeling and instinct.” She waited for the lash of Liam’s scorn and disbelief. “If I thought for a moment that he really meant to hurt you—”
“You’d what?” He examined her face intently.
She swallowed and looked down at her lap. “Isn’t there something else you should be worrying about—like who’s really trying to kill you?”
His footsteps whispered on the carpet. “Do you mean the tongs, Mac? You overheard my meeting with Chen in the Gresham library.”
“Yes. Enough to know you were on your way to do something dangerous.” She sat up straighter, hoping for information. “I know the tongs are criminal organizations that practically run most of Chinatown, but—”
“They deal in human cargo, Mac. Girls brought illegally from China, bribed and coerced into leaving their homes, too young to fight or to know what they’re getting into.” He strode across the room and back again with brittle anger. “Children ruined by men who see them as commodities, whores to be used until they die of disease or violence or despair. A very profitable enterprise.”
The passion in his voice was more eloquent than any mere explanation could have been. Mac was almost humbled by it. This was a part of himself he kept hidden, a part that had revealed itself only in his obsessive desire to protect Caroline—and sometimes Mac. A part she still didn’t understand.