Pride and Pleasure

  “I shall leave Miss Martin in your capable hands,” he said.

  “You might consider occupying your hands with a visit to the upper floor of Remington’s,” Aaron suggested. “To take the edge off.”

  The prod to partake in the more carnal offerings at his favorite gentlemen’s club came from keen observation. Although Aaron’s observant nature was one of the reasons why Jasper had employed him, it was damned inconvenient when aimed in his direction. “Watch her. Not me.”

  He turned about in search of another familiar figure. As luck would have it, he didn’t have far to look.

  The gentleman Jasper sought was en route to him, weaving through the many riders with one hand lifted to his hat brim in perpetual greeting. Gabriel Ashford, ninth Earl of Westfield, was a gazetted rake of prominent family and fortune, which ensured that an inordinate number of female stares were directed his way. Although his exploits were known to include nearly every vice, there were no signs of dissipation marring the features that incited some women to swoon. He looked fit and lean, and his easy smile was on full display.

  As Westfield drew near, his countenance changed subtly. The façade he wore so well slipped a little, revealing the true man beneath. A good and kind man whom Jasper had taken into his confidence. A gentleman he considered a friend.

  “Good afternoon, Bond.”

  Jasper tipped his hat. “My lord.”

  “I saw you eyeing Montague.” Westfield drew abreast of Jasper’s mount. “Are you worried he’ll get his hands on Miss Martin’s fortune and settle his debt?”

  “Actually, it was Miss Martin who held my interest.”

  “Ah…I failed to collect that elusive bluestockings were to your taste.”

  “Paying clients are always to my taste.”

  “Interesting.” Westfield’s brows rose. “Why does Miss Martin require your services?”

  Jasper spurred his horse into motion. The earl followed suit.

  “What do you know of her and her kin?” Jasper asked.

  “The Tremaine brood is unquestionably an odd lot, which makes them fiendishly easy to gossip about. The males are known to be brilliant to the point of madness, and the females are blessed with that stunningly beautiful shade of hair. Miss Martin seems to have inherited a bit of both traits in addition to her sizeable fortune. As for her parents, Mr. Martin was a man of trade and Lady Georgina was known to be charming and vivacious. Although Miss Martin seems as indifferent to men as her mother was appreciative, I’ve wondered if a deeper resemblance between them is simply untapped. Intriguing to contemplate.”

  “Are you saying her mother was indiscriminate?”

  “Lady Georgina was known to have a fondness for the social company of men. Does that mean she took many to her bed?” Westfield shrugged. “I cannot say. However, she married Martin immediately following her presentation. She would have had her pick of peers, but instead jumped into matrimony with a commoner. Why, unless it was a love match? And if it was a love match, I doubt she would stray.”

  “What do you know of Mr. Martin?”

  “I know his death was shocking to many. He was said to have a vigorous constitution. He was built like a laborer and often pitched in as one when the opportunity presented itself. A servant found him dead in his office when he failed to appear for supper. A weak heart was blamed.”

  Jasper decided he would have to dig further back, before Eliza’s present-day suitors, to see if the trouble plaguing her had begun long before now.

  Westfield inclined his head at a passing acquaintance. “Many have speculated that the vagaries of the family he married into might have hastened him to his grave. His due, so to speak, for his lofty marital aspirations. After his passing, Lady Georgina married again, to another commoner.”

  A woman of high passions and a lack of prejudice. Did Eliza carry those inclinations? How delicious if she did…

  Jasper shook off the tangential thought. “Miss Martin has a stepfather?”

  “Had. Lady Georgina and Mr. Chilcott were killed together in a carriage accident before Miss Martin’s first Season. The poor girl has been sorely afflicted with tragedy.”

  Did she grieve? Jasper wondered. Had she always been so detached from others or was that a recently acquired safety mechanism?

  “Now tell me,” the earl said, “what has Miss Martin engaged you to do?”

  “She has cause to fear for her safety.”

  Westfield’s brows rose. “Truly? Who would want to injure her? She’s worth more alive than dead.”

  “She believes someone—perhaps an overzealous suitor— is trying to goad her into marriage as a means of protecting herself. I haven’t yet decided if she’s correct, but hearing about her parents’ untimely demise only incites further concern.”

  “How diverting,” the earl said. “Can I assist you in any way?”

  “I was hoping you would ask.” Jasper reached into his pocket and withdrew the small book containing Eliza’s social calendar. It was an unavoidable fact that there were some doors he needed a peer to open. “I must attend as many of these functions as possible.”

  The earl flipped through the small bound pages with one hand. “I see I will have to refrain from arranging a liaison tomorrow evening, so I can squire you about.”

  “I appreciate your sacrifice,” Jasper drawled.

  “I should hope so.” Westfield’s tone was droll. In truth, he enjoyed participating in Jasper’s work when the circumstances allowed. He was even known to become somewhat of a pest, if Jasper went too long without enlisting him for some task or another. “See you at ten?”

  “Perfect.”

  Eliza had just pulled on a dressing gown and settled in front of her vanity mirror when a knock came to her boudoir door. When bade to enter, a white-capped maid stepped in and curtsied. “His lordship asks for you, miss.”

  “Thank you.”

  Frowning, Eliza watched the servant back out of the room. She’d enjoyed tea with her uncle just an hour before, listening fondly as he spoke at length and with great animation about his latest botanical experiments. Once, their solarium had been filled with comfortable chaises and short bookcases. Now, it housed rows of long tables supporting various potted plants. Eliza didn’t mind the loss of her former favorite reading spot, appreciating how the experiments in the glass space exposed his lordship to sunlight and fresh air.

  What would cause him to ask for her now, at an hour when she was beginning preparations for the evening’s social events? Perhaps he had an epiphany of some sort or something of a celebratory nature to share? He once woke her before sunrise because a splicing experiment yielded unexpectedly delightful results.

  She stood and pulled a comfortable house gown out of the wardrobe. Then she called for her abigail, Mary, who entered the room from the bathing chamber and assisted Eliza in securing the row of buttons following the length of her spine. Despite skipping her chemise and stays, it took long moments to become presentable. Eliza tied a quick ribbon around her unbound hair and considered herself ready enough.

  “What will you wear tonight?” Mary asked.

  “Lay out three of your favorites.” Eliza opened the door to the gallery. “I’ll pick one when I return.”

  She often left the selection of clothing to her abigail. It didn’t matter what Mary chose—Eliza always picked the gown on the farthest right. Her dresses were all impeccable, if unremarkable, having been created by a seamstress who was in high demand for her skill. The modiste had originally protested Eliza’s selection of colors that, while fashionable, did little to emphasize the hue of her hair. But eventually the hopelessness of the objections became patently clear, and Eliza was spared from hearing them. She felt it was only fair to avoid giving anyone the notion she was attempting to entice or set a lure. Since the most popular shades were pastels and she looked best in darker colors, there was no excuse for her to dress with self-flattery in mind.

  She left the room and headed directly to th
e family parlor on the same floor. The door was ajar. A fire crackled merrily in the grate, and his lordship paced before it in his usual state of dishabille—mussed hair, lopsided cravat, and unevenly buttoned waistcoat sans coat.

  Eliza entered with a brisk stride. “My lord?”

  He faced her with a distracted smile. “I’m sorry to disturb you, my dear, but you have a visitor.”

  She glanced down at her hastily composed presentation. “A visitor? Downstairs?”

  “Good evening, Miss Martin.”

  Jasper’s voice. A shiver coursed down her spine at the sound. Pivoting, she found him standing behind the door. His gaze was narrowed, his face austere. He was dressed in the same riding garments he had been wearing when she’d seen him in the park, but his cravat was less crisp and the outside of his boots bore traces of scuffing.

  As they did every time she saw him, her thoughts skidded to a halt. It took her the length of several heartbeats to remember to speak.

  There was no hiding the way her breath hitched when she greeted him. “Mr. Bond.”

  Chapter 4

  “Behave yourself as promised, young man,” Melville said, before hurrying from the room. Clearly, he was eager to return to whatever he’d been doing before being interrupted. The door was left open, but Eliza doubted such measures would impede a man like Jasper if he was of a mind to act scandalously.

  “You have my word, my lord,” Jasper said softly.

  There was a pregnant pause after the earl departed. Jasper raked her with a heated gaze, from top to toe and back again. Then he averted his head, exposing a clenched jaw and rapid pulse. Eliza realized he was aware she’d skipped undergarments in her haste. He knew she was unbound and unfettered.

  And it was adversely affecting him.

  His reaction to her was creating a corresponding reaction to him. The tempo of her heartbeat increased.

  Eliza covered her discomposure by moving to the settee and sitting. Smoothing her floral skirts with restless hands, she looked at Jasper’s savagely masculine profile and said the first thing that came to mind. “I apologize for not being more presentable.”

  “How can I accept an apology”—his gaze slowly returned to her face—“for something that brings me such pleasure?”

  She swallowed hard, hating that her mouth was so dry. His eyes followed the working of her throat. A thick, hot current of awareness flowed through her. It was difficult to see him there in the private room where only family and close friends gathered. An intimacy was established by his presence. She felt exposed without the stricture of her stays. Vulnerable in a way she’d never known before.

  Forcing her hands to be still, she said, “I saw you this afternoon.”

  She didn’t confess that she’d been smitten by the sight of him in his rakishly angled hat.

  He nodded. “You should be cautious around Montague.”

  “I sincerely doubt he is the culprit.”

  “Why?”

  “He is an intelligent man. He must be aware of more productive ways to win my hand. In fact, he said as much to me today. He believes he understands me now and presented himself as a sound investment. He’s come to the conclusion that appealing to my reason is far more likely to yield the results he hopes for than attempting to engage my emotions.”

  Jasper’s chest lifted and fell deeply. “The man gambles obsessively.”

  “Those who lose to him do so by their own choice. His skill is widely lauded. They know what they risk by playing against him.”

  “Up to this point,” he murmured, “I considered you remarkably reasoned.”

  Eliza’s chin lifted. “You are provoking me.”

  “I’m being frank.” He approached, but his gait lacked the seductiveness she’d come to anticipate. Instead, it was determined. “Is Montague your favorite of your suitors?”

  “I enjoy his lordship’s company,” she answered carefully. “However, I enjoy most every gentleman who comes calling. I would avoid anyone whose companionship I didn’t find agreeable. In fact, I warned Lord Montague this afternoon to be careful not to become troublesome.”

  He paused on the opposite side of the low table. “What would prompt you to make such a statement?”

  “He has become impatient to wed and claims he is determined to have me. His approach—while unique—did not sway me, but I seem to have become something of a curiosity to him.”

  “The Quality is ever in pursuit of relief from boredom. After all, it’s so tedious to be blessed with the wherewithal to do anything one desires.”

  There was an undertone to his words that set Eliza on alert. Jasper wasn’t simply voicing an offhand observation.

  Exhaling harshly, he altered direction toward the grate, his boots thudding softly across the well-worn rug. Resting a forearm on the mantel, he stared into the glowing coals. His dark hair gleamed with vitality. The strands sweeping forward to frame his temples and brow were uniquely appealing despite the popularity of the style. Burnished by firelight, Eliza found the lines of his large body to be magnificent. He was exceedingly male, like a glass filled overfull. She wondered how women managed a sip without spilling all over themselves.

  Not a poetic thought and definitely an unseemly one, but she chose not to delude herself. She was attracted to him. His mere presence made her highly conscious of her own femininity.

  “Why are you here?” she asked, twisting to face his back.

  There was a long hesitation, then he said, “Your father’s death. Did it come as a surprise to you?”

  “Yes.” Eliza’s fingers linked together in her lap.

  Jasper looked at her over his shoulder. “You answered too swiftly. I need you to be honest with me, if I’m to succeed.”

  The way he stared at her gave her pause.

  “Very well,” she amended. “I was surprised and not. I knew he was unwell, but I believed he had an affliction of the mind. Not the body.”

  “Affliction of the mind, you say? Was he lacking reason?”

  “He wasn’t mad. Although I sometimes thought my mother was determined to drive him to it.”

  He focused more intently on her. “Explain.”

  “He was unhappy, which contributed to an excessive fondness for strong spirits, but I did not collect how sick he’d become until it was too late. Why do you ask?”

  “You lost both of your parents too early. I must be certain their fate isn’t linked to your present situation in some way. Are you quite confident your father’s death was natural in cause?”

  “It was expected,” she qualified. “I wouldn’t call it natural. As you said, he died before his time.”

  “And your mother’s death? Are you confident it was an accident?”

  “The only surprise about her demise was how long it took to happen,” she said sharply.

  “Eliza…” Jasper came to sit beside her.

  The air around her became charged with his energy.

  I never feel so alive as I do when I am the object of a man’s desire, her mother had said, while spinning like a giddy girl with her skirts held in each hand. The blood sings, Eliza. The heart races. It is the most glorious feeling in the world.

  Why did Jasper have to be the man to awaken such reactions in her? Why did he have to prove, just by breathing, that she wasn’t immune to needing someone after all? She was so disappointed to realize there were indeed some shades of pleasure that could be colored only by another hand.

  His dark eyes were warm with concern. “Please understand, I only wish to be thorough. Your safety is of the utmost importance to me.”

  She nodded, believing the sincerity in his tone. A lock of her hair was dislodged by the movement, slipping free of her hastily tied ribbon to slide over her shoulder.

  He stood. Holding out a hand, he assisted her to her feet. “Turn around.”

  As Eliza pivoted, she disturbed the air, allowing the primitive scent that clung to him—horses and leather, tobacco and bergamot—to tease her se
nses. She jumped slightly at the feel of his fingers against her nape. Awareness of him swept outward, flowing across her skin like warm water. He lifted the curl from her shoulder and rubbed it between his fingers.

  “Like fine silk,” he murmured. He loosened the ribbon securing her hair, returned the errant lock to its former place, and retied the whole more securely.

  Her gaze darted around the room, hyperaware of her surroundings. Everything was rendered in brilliant clarity, from the crystals hanging from the many ornate candlesticks to the inlaid mother-of-pearl glimmering from the tops of the end tables.

  In the swirling confusion, she grasped the first thought that came to her. “Are you one of those gentlemen who has an unusually strong interest in red hair?”

  “I have an unusually strong interest in you.” He pressed his lips to the bare skin between her shoulder and throat.

  “Jasper,” she whispered, shocked by the violent quiver that moved through her. “What are you doing? Why did you come now…tonight…when I’ll be seeing you tomorrow?”

  His hands fell to his sides. “I saw the way you looked at Montague. What he said made you see him in a way you haven’t before.”

  Eliza faced him. He was more than a head taller, but his frame curved toward her in a way that made their proximity searingly intimate. As if he was about to twirl her into a waltz.

  Her heart beat a little faster. Her breathing quickened. “I don’t understand.”

  He cupped her chin and tilted her face upward. “You looked at him the way you look at me.”

  “That’s impossible.” Montague incited none of this turmoil.

  “I need you to regard me in the same manner with which I regard you.”

  She was arrested by the way he looked her over. So intent. With a gaze that was fierce. Fervent. His fingertips followed the path of his perusal. Touching her forehead. Tracing her brows. Following the bridge of her nose.

  Eliza, in turn, studied him unabashedly. His features were so perfectly formed, beautiful in their symmetry but masculine in their lines. It was such a pleasure to look upon him; he made her want to stare.