Pride and Pleasure (9 page)

Not enough to wed him, but she didn’t see any benefit to reiterating that point. She was enjoying tea with her uncle far too much to ruin it by being unnecessarily contrary. She gestured at his plate in a silent urging to eat.

“Good girl,” he praised. “How is Mr. Bond’s investigation progressing? Is he equally unconcerned by large statues nearly crushing you?”

Just the sound of Jasper’s name caused the tempo of her heartbeat to alter. “No. He was upset enough for both of us. If there’s anything nefarious to be uncovered, he will find it. He would also like to meet with you.”

“Yes, yes. Tell him to come by whenever is convenient for him. If he waits for me to remember to make an appointment, we shall never meet. I doubt I’ll be of much help, however. I have never been with you when you’ve been accosted.”

“He is investigating beyond the present,” she explained. “He wishes to exclude anyone who might hold resentment toward you, Mother, or Mr. Chilcott.”

“Ah, so . . . well, that’s a reasonable avenue of inquiry.”

They ate in companionable silence for a time, during which Eliza considered his comment about having a permanent companion. Up until now, she thought repasts such as she shared with Melville were all she needed. They rarely spoke while eating, and she enjoyed that. She hadn’t considered how the silence might be deafening if she was the only one to fill it. There was a large difference between sitting quietly with someone else and sitting alone. She realized there was a certain comfort in knowing one could speak if one wanted to and chose not to, rather than being unable to speak because no one was there to listen.

“What troubles you, my dear?”

“Nothing, my lord.”

“I am aware denial is a common female response. But you are too direct for such evasions.”

Eliza shook her head. “I’ve found it best to hold my tongue, if choosing to do otherwise is guaranteed to lead to fruitless argument.”

“Ah . . . Your mother. You will have to speak of her sometime.”

“I don’t see why.”

“Perhaps then,” he mumbled around a bite, “you will stop thinking of her before making decisions.”

“I do not—” she started to protest, then fell silent when he shot her a look. He was right, as always.

Eventually, Melville drifted back to his notes and Eliza slipped off the stool with the intent of moving upstairs. The day’s post caught her eye and she scooped it up, carrying it over to the small, shallow basket where Melville kept his mail. It was nearly overflowing. She shook her head. She’d long ago learned to separate Melville’s personal correspondence from the rest—so that outstanding accounts were paid in a timely manner—but clearly he was also neglecting to keep in touch with those who reached out to him.

“What will it take,” she asked, as she added to the pile, “to motivate you to whittle this down?”

“What?” He looked up at her, then down at the basket. “Good God.”

“My thoughts exactly.” She pulled five off the top and brought them to him. “Can we start with these?”

He sighed. “If you insist.”

Eliza kissed his cheek. “Thank you.”

“Ha.” He snorted. “You are exacting your pound of flesh for Montague.”

She was laughing as she left the room.

 

Jasper leaned back in his chair and drummed his fingertips on the desktop. “How long was he there?”

“About an hour,” Aaron said, holding his hat to his chest with both hands. He stood just inside the doorway of Jasper’s study, rocking back on the heels of his boots. “Perhaps a little longer.”

“You know why Montague paid that call,” Westfield prompted from his usual spot on the settee.

“No, I do not. She refused him,” Jasper bit out.

“All the more reason to gain Melville’s support. Don’t be obtuse, Bond. Women bow to familial pressure to marry men they don’t want. It happens all the time.”

Jasper’s fingers curled into his palm.

“Do you believe Montague is responsible for Miss Martin’s troubles?” the earl asked.

“I cannot be certain one way or the other.”

“What will you do now?”

“Speak to her.” How had she taken the news? How far would she go to make Melville happy?

The thought of Eliza with Montague did horrible things to him.

It was a new sort of torment to be unable to see her now, to be barred from her company by rules and dictates he’d ignored for years.

Straightening, he uncovered his inkwell and stabbed a quill into it. He dashed off a quick note, powdering the ink with fine-grained sand before folding. Then he sealed the whole and waved it at Aaron. “Take this to the Melville residence.”

Aaron approached and collected the missive.

“Miss Martin may need you after she reads it. Linger to be sure and if so, assist her. When you’ve finished with that,” Jasper went on, “I want you to look into a Mrs. Pennington, who runs a newly opened shop on Peony Way. Pink-striped awning out front, lovely blonde inside. There is something not right with her. Find out what it is.”

“Will do, Bond.”

After the young man left, Westfield stood and walked to the console to avail himself of Jasper’s brandy. “It’s unfortunate Montague made so bold a move. Had it been anyone else paying addresses, you could have killed two birds with one stone by encouraging her to marry the gentleman—Montague would be barred from Miss Martin’s fortune, and you could wipe your hands clean of the business by entrusting her safety to her future husband. Assuming you would be able to ascertain that her betrothed was not our culprit, of course.”

“Of course.” The thought didn’t improve Jasper’s mood at all. In fact, it worsened with the understanding that foiling Montague and successfully completing his assignment had fallen behind his desire to possess Eliza.

“It might also explain why he sent along the missive today,” Westfield continued. “The assurance that he would be buying back the marker to his mother’s property was prompted by something.”

“Like his father, he is arrogant to the point of idiocy.” Unless Montague had something else shoring up his confidence. . . Jasper would research the possibility posthaste.

“What do you expect you can accomplish by talking to Miss Martin?” Westfield asked, turning to face him. “Does she trust you to play matchmaker as well as suitor?”

Jasper snorted.

“You are so touchy lately, Bond,” the earl complained. “Perhaps you should take the evening off and indulge yourself at Remington’s for a few hours.”

“Montague can have any heiress he wants. Why is he so determined to have this one? Someone clearly on the shelf and possessed of a rare temperament? Someone who’s told him she does not want him?”

“Perhaps that’s the lure.” Westfield sank into a chair in front of Jasper’s desk. The earl looked both comfortable and bored, two states of being that were unknown to Jasper. “A woman can be a bloody nuisance when she is overly fond of a man. If Miss Martin is inclined to spend much of her time in the country, Montague could have all of the benefits of marrying an attractive yet mature heiress, with none of the detriments. I know you find it hard to believe, Bond, but sometimes there are sound reasons for doing something. Not everything in this world is motivated by some evil plan.”

“It is with Montague.”

“Are you quite certain the son is so like the father? Or does that matter to you?”

Jasper stood. “Quite certain.”

“Look on the bright side. Perhaps Montague’s move will speed things up a bit with your investigation. Now there’s a more immediate timeline for the culprit to work against.”

“It’s a sorry thing indeed when the reason for celebrating is that a madman could now be feeling desperate enough to act rashly.”

Westfield sipped his libation and watched Jasper carefully. “You are like a caged beast. There is such an air of disquiet about you. I have never seen you this way before. Is ruining Montague so important to you?”

It took Jasper a long moment to answer. He didn’t want to share his state of mind; it was too personal and intemperate. “Have you ever wanted something so badly you couldn’t imagine not having it?”

“Like what?”

“Anything at all.”

“There was a gelding once.” Westfield held his glass between both palms, warming the liquor with his body heat. “At Tattersall’s. I underbid. I stewed for weeks afterward. If I had the chance again, I would not be so cautious.”

“Had you ridden it?”

“No. But I watched him be put through his paces. I examined him myself. Beautiful animal. I knew the moment I saw him that we would suit beautifully together.”

“Do you still regret the loss?”

The earl shrugged. “On occasion. Not often. It was some time ago. I tell myself surely there was something wrong with the beast and I’m fortunate to have avoided being saddled with it. Otherwise, fate would have seen fit to give him to me.”

“I don’t believe in fate. I believe we make our own destiny.” Jasper rubbed his jaw, absently noting that he should shave again. It was early evening and his skin was no longer smooth. It might burn Eliza when he kissed her.

If
she came . . .

“Certainly my situation is nothing like yours,” Westfield said. “Your need is rather like a thirst, is it not?”

“Thirst . . . yes.” It was clear the earl was mistaking Jasper’s lust for Eliza for a lust for vengeance. Jasper chose not to correct the assumption. “That’s apt.”

Unfolding from the chair, the earl polished off the last of his brandy. “I will continue to assist you in your quest for revenge, Bond. You are not alone in this endeavor, whether you appreciate that or not.”

How well the earl knew him to comprehend that he disliked being dependent upon anyone. “You’ve done more than enough. The marker for Montague’s property is my greatest wish realized.”

“I’m merely your mask.” Westfield’s smile was grim. “You are the one who has interceded in every investment that might have saved him. You are the one who funded the seasoned gamblers capable of winning against him. You are the one who has worked tirelessly for years to earn enough to squander a fortune to ruin him. Remind me never to anger you, Bond. You aren’t a very nice fellow to those you dislike.”

“You are too honorable a man to do anything that would completely alienate me.” With a smile, Jasper tossed the earl’s words back at him, “Whether you appreciate hearing that or not.”

“Good God, don’t make that statement within earshot of others, please.” The earl looked at the clock. “Should I return at ten o’clock to begin our shadowing of Miss Martin?”

Jasper considered the time. It was shortly after five. “Let’s make it eleven, shall we?”

“You will hear no complaints from me,” Westfield said as he made his egress. “I’ve spent more time with you over the last few days than I have with a woman. No offense, but you aren’t nearly as charming.”

“I should hope not,” Jasper muttered, following the earl out to the hall en route to his rooms upstairs.

“I beg you to follow my lead and consider indulging in some female companionship yourself. It would be a relief to find you less surly this evening.”

Jasper paused with his foot on the bottom step, absorbing the now familiar thrum of anticipation he felt whenever time with Eliza approached. “Don’t feel the need to be excessively timely,” he said over his shoulder, before ascending the staircase two steps at a time.

“This coming from a man who is a stickler for punctuality?” Westfield called after him. “I believe you have caught the Melville madness.”

Jasper thought that was apt, too.

Eliza wondered what the house looked like from the front. Alighting from the carriage in the mews afforded her only a backside glimpse of Jasper’s home.

The young man who couriered Jasper’s note to her urged her expeditiously through an iron gate and along a cobblestone pathway bisecting a garden that was immaculate, if uninspired. She was still absorbing the severity of the rear lawn when Jasper appeared. A shiver of delight moved through her.

He filled the doorway leading into the house, his broad shoulders and tall frame backlit by the interior candlelight. His stance was wide, allowing light to shine between his legs, detailing the length and power of his thighs. He was fully dressed, but the expert fit of his breeches left nothing to the imagination. For the first time, she found the sight of a man’s body inflaming. From the moment she first laid eyes on him, she’d felt a disturbing and significant physical response to his proximity. It intensified daily, encouraged by every heated look and every casual touch.

“Eliza.” There was something intimate about the way he said her name.

She gained the first stair leading up from the garden and he held his hand out to her. It was gloveless and looked so strong and capable. She decided she loved his hands.

She tugged off her glove before she accepted his assistance, wanting to feel the warmth of his skin. A frisson of heated awareness moved up her arm. His grip tightened for a moment, as if he felt it, too. Looking up at him from beneath the hood of her cloak, she noted the stark austerity of his handsome features. He seemed so somber. So grave.