But the hell of it was that he did.
He nodded to the hotel employee he’d set to guard Mac’s door, gesturing the man discreetly out of the way, and knocked.
The door cracked open an inch. A familiar brown eye peered through the slit, blinked, and vanished. The door swung wide to reveal Mac in her shirt and trousers, her expression caught between a foolish grin and the threat of an imminent tirade.
But Liam wasn’t watching Mac. He examined Perry’s face, waiting for the first shock of recognition.
“Miss MacKenzie,” Liam said, “may I present my colleague and partner in adventure, Mr. Peregrine Sinclair.”
* * *
Mac hadn’t known what to expect, but this had been pretty far down on her list of likely occurrences.
She should have seen it coming. Liam had kept her prisoner here, making sure she didn’t run away if she, Perry’s partner in crime, decided that she’d be better off gone than stuck waiting for the inevitable confrontation.
The confrontation that was about to take place.
Perry walked in first, giving Mac an all-too-brief moment to study the man who stood at the eye of the coming storm.
Peregrine Sinclair.
Mac locked her knees and ordered herself to stay firmly on her feet. She would have liked nothing better than to indulge in a few blessed seconds of incredulity, awe, and general stupefaction. She was standing in a hotel room in 1884 with her own great-great-grandfather, for God’s sake. She had known this moment would come, but the reality was a little more overwhelming than she’d anticipated.
Perry’s thin, handsome features were marked with the unmistakable Sinclair stamp. He was young and alert and bore all the elegance of born-and-bred aristocracy, from his neat tie and flawlessly trimmed mustache to his highly polished shoes and brass-headed walking cane. He was, in fact, the perfect image of a Victorian gentleman.
He was also either a man without a heart, utterly unscrupulous and ruthless in pursuit of his goals—or a relatively innocent party to a nasty misunderstanding. And Liam, just behind him, was watching Mac’s face keenly.
“Miss MacKenzie,” Perry said, doffing his hat. His hair, like Mac’s, was nearly black, and his brown eyes were watchful. “I haven’t had the pleasure.”
His accent was properly British and softly precise. He looked Mac over, taking in her jeans and shirt and short hair with a calculation that left nothing unremarked.
“I’m, uh, pleased to meet you,” Mac said, offering her hand. Perry took it, his clasp warm and firm.
Liam pushed passed him into the room and shut the door. “Not quite the tender reunion I’d expected,” he said caustically.
Perry released her hand and looked at Liam. “Now that we’re here, may I ask what this is all about?”
Liam’s eyes were dark as slate, and the muscles in his jaw bunched and released. “So the game continues, Perry?”
“Perhaps if you’d clarify the rules,” Perry said. “I gather I’m supposed to know this young lady?”
“Then you deny it.”
“Meaning no disrespect,” Perry said, casting a swift glance at Mac, “but I’d remember such an acquaintance.”
“And you, Mac?” Liam said. Suddenly he was close behind her. “You haven’t met Mr. Sinclair before?”
Mac turned to face him. “Unfortunately, I’ve never met your friend in my life, and he’s certainly never met me.”
The mockery faded from Liam’s gaze. “Don’t play his game, Mac. I only want the truth. Whatever it is, I won’t hold it against you.”
“Unusual attitude on your part, old man,” Perry said. Liam wheeled on him, fists clenched.
“Hold it!” Mac wedged herself between them. “I’m not exactly thrilled at being a pawn in this little chess match. So let’s get this straight, shall we?” She glared at Liam. “I don’t suppose you’ve told him why you brought him here, have you?” She turned an equally fierce gaze on Perry. “And you have absolutely nothing to feel guilty about—except for the fact that you left Liam in the jungle. Is that right?”
The two men looked at each other, one convincingly puzzled and the other close to explosion. Perry’s expression cleared. “Liam said he met someone in the jungle,” he said to Mac. “He gave no details. Apparently you know about our unfortunate argument. But I don’t understand how you are involved—”