Pride and Pleasure (5 page)

What was she to say to Jasper, who was waiting in the parlor to escort her about town for the day? She sighed and turned away from the cheval mirror. Perhaps it would be best to leave the opening of discussion to him. A man such as Jasper Bond must be familiar with such circumstances.

She descended to the ground-level floor with studiously controlled speed, her hand coasting along the top of the wooden handrail to support less than steady steps. She was still chastising herself for deliberately selecting a pale yellow gown, one of the few pastel colors that suited her. It hadn’t been laid out on the far right. What did she hope to gain by encouraging Jasper’s interest?

On the other hand, what did she have to lose?

“Mr. Bond,” she said as she entered the parlor, steeling herself for the sight of him and finding the effort ineffective. When her brain stopped, her feet followed suit by abruptly halting their forward movement. She stumbled.

In the process of standing, Jasper was agile enough to lunge forward and catch her by the elbows. He steadied her with a frown. “Eliza.”

“Thank you.” She pulled free and stepped back, needing some distance to catch her breath.

How dangerously handsome he was. The fine cut and quality of his dark green velvet coat and the beautiful silver-threaded embroidery in his pale green waistcoat enticed the eye to linger and admire. His fawn-colored breeches hugged powerful horseman’s thighs, a sight that made her feel things she oughtn’t. But that was merely the packaging. It was the man inside the trappings who so appealed to her. The magnetism he exuded. The sense that at any moment something extraordinary would happen. The phantom tingling of her lips that brought heated reminiscences of his kiss to mind.

She looked away, seeking the clock to distract herself.

“You’re early.” She startled herself by feeling . . .
pleased
by that.

“You wreak havoc on a man’s schedule,” he said with a slight smile to soften the sting.

The tiny warmth in her chest blossomed.

“You look lovely, Eliza.” His voice lowered. “I wanted a few moments of your time before I’m restrained by decorum.”

“You will be restrained by
me,
young man.”

Eliza turned as Regina, Lady Collingsworth, entered the room like a whirlwind. She was a guinea-blond matron with piercing blue eyes and cherry-red cheeks. A sweet and pleasant woman for the most part, she was capable of a great force of will, and she took in Jasper’s appearance with a steely glance.

Wagging a closed fan at him, she said, “You are a pretty fellow, Mr. Bond. Accustomed to testing your boundaries and finding little resistance, I bet. But I will not tolerate such nonsense. You’ll behave yourself. If you want the right to be naughty, you will have to provide more than charm and a smile.”

The top of her ladyship’s head barely reached Jasper’s shoulder, but there was no doubt she could manage him.

Eliza quickly introduced them. “Her ladyship and her son, Lord Collingsworth, will be escorting us today.”

Jasper sketched a faultlessly elegant bow. “A pleasure, Lady Collingsworth.”

“Let us see if you feel the same by the end of the afternoon.”

In short order they were on their way, comfortably seated in Lord Collingsworth’s barouche with the men on one side, and Eliza and Regina on the other. Eliza studied the two gentlemen from beneath the shade of her wide-brimmed hat, attempting to resolve in her mind why she should be so attracted to one man above all others. Was it because Jasper seemed to be equally attracted to her? If so, perhaps the simplest solution was to discuss it with him and see if he wouldn’t be willing to be less overt. He’d given no serious indication that he was doing anything more than being very, very thorough about his work. And she knew she wasn’t the sort of female who incited raging passions in men.

The thought had a depressive effect on her sprits.

Determined to be less maudlin, she moved her attention to Lord Collingsworth. The epitome of aristocratic excellence, his lordship was tall and slender with stern lips and an aquiline nose. His hair was as light as his mother’s, but he lacked her liveliness. Collingsworth had lost both wife and unborn child a year ago, and the light of joy that once filled him had died along with them. His grief was reflected in the somberness of his clothing and the rarity of his smiles. Eliza was still trying to comprehend why the things that brought him happiness before his marriage were no longer capable of doing so now. Yes, he’d lost what Lady Collingsworth had brought to him, but surely he retained the interests he’d had as a bachelor?

Clearly, she was missing something required to reason out the answer. She was becoming resigned to the notion that she would never be capable of understanding romantic natures.

Jasper’s boot tapped against the side of her foot. She met his gaze with raised brows.

Look at me,
he mouthed with darkened eyes.

Did he not understand how difficult that was? Of course he didn’t. He did not feel overheated and confused when he looked at her. He didn’t struggle to understand why the act of pressing their lips together had created overwhelming feelings in other parts of the anatomy.

Frustrated, she crossed her arms and looked at the passing carriages.

The toe of his boot touched her ankle, then slid up along the back of her lower calf.

Eliza froze. Her lungs seized, holding her breath. A shiver moved up her leg to unmentionable places. Wide-eyed, she glanced at him.

Jasper winked. As indignation welled up within her, his tongue traced the curve of his lower lip in a slow, sensual glide. Her breath left her in a rush. Instantly and viscerally she recalled the feel of that talented tongue against her lips and in her mouth, thrusting deep and sure in imitation of a far more intimate act.

Her breasts grew heavy and tender. The beat of her heart quickened and her skin tingled from her head to the place where his boot stroked her. It suddenly struck her that Jasper was deliberately arousing her. In the middle of the day. In the center of town. Seated inches away from two other people.

His hand lifted to an unsecured button on his coat. Strong fingers grasped it, the pad of his thumb rubbing leisurely against the outer curve. She watched, mesmerized, imagining him touching her skin that way. On the curve of her shoulder, perhaps. Or somewhere else.

He would know the best place to focus that caress.

The thought of his skill thrilled her.

Her face heated. She shifted restlessly on the squab, hoping to find a more comfortable position and worsening her predicament instead. She clutched her throat, rubbing it to facilitate her breathing. She felt as if she might pant, as if her stays were too tight and she might soon become dizzy.

Jasper’s gaze settled on her gently heaving breasts. She knew she should look away and collect herself, but she could not. Her brain writhed in dismay, horrified that her body would so completely fail to function properly for no other reason than that Jasper Bond was undressing her in his mind. She knew he was remembering her as she’d been last night. Partially dressed. Easily bared.

The barouche slowed to a stop.

“Here we are,” Lady Collingsworth said with customary cheerfulness.

Jasper broke the connection first, his head turning toward Somerset House. Eliza looked down, watching as his foot withdrew from beneath her skirts.

How she made the journey from the carriage to the interior of the edifice was a mystery to her. By the time she recovered the full use of her mental and physical faculties, they were entering the Exhibition Hall. Light poured into the large room from the arched windows high above the hall floor. The walls were covered in paintings, the gilded frames butting against each other, occupying every tiny bit of space.

As they neared the center of the room, Jasper slowed their progress to a standstill. Eliza looked at him, surprised to find him staring raptly at the images before him. His head was tilted back to the point that the rear of his hat brim nearly touched his back.

Eliza took stock of the room’s other occupants, noting that the nearest individual was a few feet away. She leaned nearer to Jasper and whispered his name.

“Hmm . . . ?”

“Do you remember saying you would answer any question I asked, so long as it pertained to the present?”

“Yes.” He did not cease his enthralled perusal of the art. “Ask me anything.”

She cleared her throat. “Do you . . . want to . . . mate with me?”

He jolted so violently, the reaction shook her, too. His wide-eyed gaze darted to hers. “Eliza.”

“I do not see why you should look so astonished,” she said, “after kissing me last night, and considering your actions during the ride here.”

His gaze warmed. A smile curved his lips. He relaxed, focusing completely on her. “Forgive me. Your choice of wording combined with our location took me aback.”

“I didn’t expect to have to discuss such things with you,” she muttered. “I apologize if I say things incorrectly. But I must know if you can refrain from provoking me. Does the thoroughness of our presentation have to be established with the tactics you’ve utilized thus far or—”

“—or do I indeed want to
mate
with you?” Jasper’s smile widened. “Is that what you want to know?”

Eliza nodded briskly, feeling anxious even though her question was perfectly sound considering their circumstances.

He squeezed her hand where it rested on his forearm. “You are wondering if I’m manipulating the performance I want out of you, or if my blood is so hot for you I cannot bear for you not to feel similarly?”

She averted her gaze. Described in that way, her query sounded ridiculous. Jasper was a dazzlingly handsome man. Even now, as she looked around the room to avoid his stare, she found a number of women ogling him or casting surreptitious glances in his direction at regular intervals. He could have any woman he wanted. One who was charming and flirtatious. Knowledgeable.

Eliza turned her attention to the man who intruded on their conversation. “Sir Richard,” she managed. “How lovely to see you here.”

Sir Richard Tolliver was an average man, neither young nor old, neither tall nor short, neither portly nor lean. His hair was a soft brown and his eyes a gentle green. He was quiet and unassuming, one of the least aggressive of her suitors.

“You remember my sister, Miss Amanda Tolliver,” he said, with a sidelong glance at Jasper.

“Yes, of course. Good to see you, Miss Tolliver.” Eliza made the appropriate introductions offhandedly. But when Jasper bowed over Miss Tolliver’s hand and the young lady blushed to the roots of her lovely dark hair, Eliza found her mood altering drastically.

Sir Richard offered a tight smile. “I see now why you declined my invitation to escort you to the exhibition, Miss Martin. I did not understand you had a prior engagement.”

Eliza realized with some surprise that he was upset. He felt slighted, although that hadn’t been her intent. She’d simply been aware that accepting his offer of escort would lead to spending hours in the company of someone with whom she had nothing in common. She thought it best to spare them both the awkwardness.

That was not, however, the explanation she could give. Conversing in society had little to do with truth. It was more about keeping everyone’s feelings as neutral as possible. For many, the truth was not a neutral topic.

She was considering how she could reply in an acceptable manner when Miss Tolliver batted her thick lashes at Jasper. Eliza froze with her mouth partially formed around a word. Suddenly she knew precisely how Tolliver felt, and how little sound reasoning had to do with it.

What a morass the art of courting was.

“Will I see you tonight at the Lansing rout, Sir Richard?” she asked.

“If you will be there, Miss Martin, I will certainly attend.”

“If you are obliged, I should like to save the first waltz for you.”

Tolliver’s sudden grin lit up the room. Eliza was slightly frightened by its fervency.

“What about you, Mr. Bond?” Miss Tolliver asked. “Will you be at the Lansing rout? Shall I save a place on my dance card for you?”

Eliza felt Jasper’s forearm tense beneath her fingers. When he said nothing, she realized he didn’t know how to reply. The truth he’d shared so readily with her was not one he wished to share with others.

“Mr. Bond was injured yesterday,” she lied. “His horse was ill-mannered and stepped quite harshly on his foot. While he can walk, dancing is out of the question for now.”

“Oh. I’m so sorry to hear that.” Miss Tolliver did indeed look crestfallen. “I hope you recover quickly, Mr. Bond.”

Jasper nodded and bid the siblings farewell. He led Eliza away with a briskness that belied the injury she’d invented for him. He drew to a halt when they reached a corner and glared at the painting in front of him.

His foot tapped against the floor. “The dance you gave to Tolliver was mine.”

Eliza was confused. “But you do not dance.”

“Moments ago,” he said in a low, biting tone, “you were asking if I wanted to be inside you and the next, you’re encouraging another man’s obvious interest in you.”

Astonished by the physical response she had to his choice of phrasing, she stared at the painting he was directing his ire at and tried to piece an explanation together.

“I was not encouraging him,” she said carefully. “I was commiserating with him. I collected that he was perturbed and perhaps felt . . . marginalized.”

Jasper glanced at her with a sardonically raised brow. “You know how he feels, but not how I feel. Care to explain why?”

“Miss Tolliver is clearly taken with you, and she’s lovely and charming. As many times as we’ve met before, today was the first time I resented those qualities in her.”