She opened her mouth to protest, but before she could utter a word, Jason let go of her arm and grabbed her wrist. When she found herself following him up the sweeping staircase toward the second floor, she abruptly halted in the middle of the stairs and tried to pull out of his grasp.
He stopped two steps above her and looked down. “What?”
“Where are you taking me?”
“Why?”
Her pulse jumped erratically as her mind flashed on an image of her mother. She straightened and refused to cower of show the fear that was causing her heart to pound and her throat to dry up. “You’re dragging me upstairs like some . . . cave dweller, and you want to know why I asked?”
Because I’m afraid you’ll leave while I change, J.T. thought. Because if it’s a quick tumble and cash you want, I don’t want you out on the streets searching elsewhere.
“All I want you to do is look over my late father’s clothes and choose something for me to wear for dinner tonight.” He held up his hands in imitation of a man with a gun aimed at his ribs. “Honest. No bad intentions. Just pick something out and I’ll see that you get home.”
After the way he had surprised her with his kiss, Jade was not certain she could trust him, no matter how honest he appeared. “Are you certain that’s all?”
“No. I’m asking because I would like you to stay a little while longer, Jade.”
Seconds passed as they stood on the stairs, gazes focused on each other. She could never remember a time when anyone specifically wanted her for herself. Her grandfather wanted to protect her and to broaden her education—he needed someone to carry on after he was gone. Her mother had always used her as a support, as a shoulder to cry on whenever she was in despair. Babs had been her friend, but she had involved Jade in all of her schemes. Her father had never wanted her at all.
Now this man, a man the likes of which she had never seen, a man who could alternately be rough and gentle, was asking her to stay a while longer—asking merely because he wanted to be with her a while longer.
“All right,” she said softly. “I’ll stay until Mister Van Buren arrives, as long as you promise you’ll take me home then.”
He nodded, and took the stairs two at a time, trusting her to follow him. His spurs blinked silver in the lamplight as Jade slowly followed him up the stairs.
JADE RAN HER hand over the smooth, curved footboard of the oversized sleigh bed in the master suite. The mahogany bed was highly polished and swathed in a plush, royal blue velvet spread that matched the swagged draperies at the long windows that lined the walls. She studied the bed, the focus of the huge room, and although she had heard of the beds that resembled horse-drawn cutters, she had never actually seen one before.
Not only the huge bed, but the entire master suite was pretentious. She walked around the room, her feet moving over the thick Turkish carpet without a sound. A scrolled hat rack stood beside the double-door wardrobe that was filled with an ample selection of clothing, all of which appeared to be new. Nervous in such questionable surroundings, Jade took a seat in one of the tufted armchairs gathered about a pedestal table in a corner of the room.
She then proceeded to tap the toe of her shoe in rhythm to her fingertips as she absentmindedly drummed them against the tabletop. There was nothing in the room that hinted of the personality of its former resident, but Jason’s few possessions were scattered about. None of them blended with the luxurious surroundings. A battered guitar was propped against the wall near the doorframe, while a sagging, raveled satchel slumped like a tired traveler near an ornately carved umbrella stand. His boots were where he had tossed them, the toes curled slightly upward. The heels were sadly worn. He had draped his saddlebags over a chair in the corner.
She tried to still the nervous flutter that had taken up residence in the vicinity of her midriff. The intimate sounds of a man shaving—of Jason shaving—the razor stropping against the strap, water slopping in the basin, the occasional humming of an unrecognizable tune, were sounds that she had never listened to before. They seemed twice as loud in the cavernous master bedroom adjacent to the bath, and twice as intimate as they would have been had they belonged to any other man.
Jade crossed her arms protectively before she recognized the defensive gesture for what it was and hastily uncrossed them.
It had taken her years to learn to stand up to her father, and now, in a few hours, her newfound courage had been shaken. But this time her fear was not the result of verbal abuse, but of uncertainty. Everything Jason Harrington did was perplexing when she compared him to the only two men she had ever known well—her father and grandfather. Callous and volatile were words she would use to aptly describe her father. Academic and absentminded best suited her grandfather. She searched for words that might apply to Jason Harrington and decided she needed far more than two. Curious, spontaneous, and overwhelming all came to mind.
Perhaps his unabashed honesty and his polite request for her to “please wait right here” were the reasons she had not bolted from the room after she carefully studied the wardrobe of the late Mr. Harrington and selected the clothing Jason should wear to dinner. Now, as she sat uneasily on the edge of the chair and pondered her immediate attraction to this arresting stranger, she tried to dismiss the intimate sounds issuing from the dressing room and bath.
Unable to quell the nervous flutter in her midsection, Jade jumped to her feet and walked to the window. Drawing aside the heavy draperies, she gazed down on the darkened grounds, the long drive, the ornate iron gates guarding the boundary to Harrington House. In the distance, a golden glow haloed the tall gas lamps that lined the street. Now and again, a carriage rolled past the gates, the rhythmic clip-clop of horses’ hooves barely audible from inside the mansion.
A splash of water alerted her to the fact that Jason was still washing, but surely he would be finished soon. Once again she glanced at the oversized bed where she had laid out what she considered proper attire for an evening on the town: black trousers, vest, matching coat, a white linen shirt with a wing-tipped collar, and a black silk tie. Diamond shirt studs had been carefully tucked into a lacquer box in the top dresser drawer. Jade had found them easily and set the box alongside the clothes.
As she rubbed the rich black wool of the formal jacket between her fingers, she wondered how much the exquisitely tailored clothes would alter Jason’s rough good looks.
Determined not to have him find her in the room when he reappeared, Jade turned, intending to quietly slip downstairs and await him in the sitting room off the foyer. Instead, she found herself face-to-face with Jason.
Clean shaven, his strong, square jaw was now smooth, his wavy dark blond hair still damp but tamed into place. He was remarkably handsome. More so than any man she had ever seen in her life. Bare to the waist, he towered over her, his thumbs hooked casually in the pockets of his low-riding denims. His chest was wide, the muscles well defined beneath a mat of dark blond hair that veed down to a line that divided his taut abdomen before it disappeared into his waistband.
Embarrassed at her own unabashed perusal, stunned at the half-naked state he so casually assumed, her gaze dropped to the floor. He was barefooted. Jade would never have guessed that the mere lack of shoes would make a big man seem somehow vulnerable.
“I was just going downstairs to wait for you.” She let her gaze plumb the light blue depths of his eyes. Her throat suddenly dry, she tried to swallow. “I’ve laid out a suit that should do well for dinner. That does, of course, depend on where you are going to dine.”
He took a step toward her, lessening the slight distance between them. A smile quirked the corners of his lips. “I don’t have any idea.”
Jade felt the blood rush to her cheeks. “I think I’ll wait downstairs.”
Without another word, she turned and fled the room. Jason’s spontaneous laughter echoed behind
her.
GETTING DRESSED took him longer than he expected, what with fiddling with the small studs that were meant to hold the tuck-fronted shirt closed and then trying to squeeze his feet into a pair of his father’s dress shoes. Frustrated, sweating, and grumbling to himself, Jason finally shoved his own weathered boots back on and gave up on buttoning his collar. He carried the blasted thing downstairs where he expected to find Jade waiting impatiently.
Instead, he found her sound asleep in the dimly lit sitting room off the foyer. He paused in the doorway, content to study her in silence. She had tried, it seemed, to assume a proper, ladylike position in the center of the settee. Her skirt was carefully spread out around her. It took up all the space about her on the small piece of ornately carved and elegantly upholstered furniture. He assumed she meant for him to sit elsewhere before exhaustion had claimed her. Now she was slumped over, the feathers of her once jaunty hat askew. He was looking about the room for something to use to cover her with when he heard the sound of a carriage on the drive.
Jason hurried to the front door, careful not to step too heavily across the foyer and awaken his sleeping guest. He opened the door just wide enough to step outside, and waited in the darkness to greet his father’s attorney. The air held the tang of salt and moisture. Not a star was visible.
Matthew Van Buren was not what J.T. had expected. At the very least, he thought the attorney would have been a few years older. Instead, he found himself greeting a well-dressed man a few years younger than himself.
“Van Buren?”
“That’s right.” The sandy-haired lawyer sized Jason up from behind wire-rimmed spectacles, and then smiled as his new employer shifted his shirt collar and a handful of studs from his right hand to his left. “Your father always called me Matt.”
“Thanks.” Jason nodded. “Friends back home call me J.T.”
They shook hands in greeting and Van Buren waited expectantly to be invited in. Jason cleared his throat and glanced at the door.
“You find everything you need?” Van Buren asked.
Jason raked his hands through his hair. “Yeah, fine.”
The silence lengthened awkwardly between them.
“Well . . . ” the attorney tried again, obviously uncomfortable with the odd situation as his client kept him standing on the front steps without explanation. “If you’re ready, we can go.” He looked doubtfully at Jason and then at the buggy that loomed at the bottom of the stairs.
“Actually, I’ve decided not to go. I hope you don’t mind.” Jason inhaled, intrigued by the sea-scented air. “I’m a lot more tired than I thought. Just got in a few hours ago, and after unpacking, well . . . ” He shrugged and left the rest unsaid.
Matt Van Buren looked disappointed, then he brightened. “Of course, if that’s what you want. You’re certain you’d rather stay in?”
Jason rocked forward on his toes, then back on his heels. “Sorry, but I feel like turnin’ in early,” he assured Matt as he stretched. He knew as sure as he was standing there that the woman asleep on his settee would be furious when she discovered he had sent away her promised means of transportation, but at the moment that threat did not bother him at all.
“Well then.” Matt left to retrieve a tall bottle from the buggy seat and then returned and handed it to Jason. “Here’s a welcome gift. Tomorrow will be soon enough to go over everything.”
Relieved, Jason reached behind him for the door handle, pushed open the door, and stepped back inside. “Not too early.”
Matt looked curious but managed to smile in return. “Not before nine, then.” He turned to leave, and Jason began to close the door before Matt had cleared the porch. When the lawyer paused on the bottom stair and turned, Jason found himself holding his breath.
“So you found the groceries I had sent over?” Matt asked.
“Yep. Just right. Plenty left, thanks.” Jason smiled, one hand on the door, the other on the frame.
“Good night then, J.T.,” Matt called out as he climbed up onto the buggy and took up the reins.
“Adios.”
Jason closed the door and leaned against it. He let out a sigh of relief and then walked toward the sitting room.
THE WHALEBONE corset bit into the underside of her breasts and forced Jade awake. She shifted, then wondered why she had gone to bed fully dressed. When she opened her eyes, she realized she was not in her room at the Barretts’s but sprawled face down on the settee in Jason Harrington’s parlor. Without uttering the groan that welled up inside her, Jade cautiously peered around, hesitant to move. A timid fire was burning low in the fireplace directly across from her. It emitted a low light, barely enough to silhouette the man sitting on the floor with his back resting against a chair.
Jason. She watched him as he sat staring into the fire, uncertain whether to move and call attention to herself just yet or not. Inwardly she chided herself for getting into such a predicament as she continued to study him in silence. The tableau was such a peaceful one, the aura surrounding him one of such quiet contemplation and contentment that Jade was loath to disturb him. Nor was she eager to call attention to herself or her situation.
She became aware of the satin-smooth finish of the cushion beneath her cheek just as she realized the scene—one of a striking man in quiet contemplation before a fire—was something she had never witnessed before. Of course, she had always imagined such a blissful setting, had even dreamed childish dreams that one day she would awaken and find herself part of a normal, loving family. But upon awakening, her dreams would always be shattered as reality became a home filled with anger and dissension.
The firelight played upon a man at ease with himself and his surroundings. He appeared larger than life in this room filled with fragile, elegant furnishings. His presence gave her the feeling that somehow the outdoors had been brought inside. He stared into the fire so intently she wondered what he was seeing, what he was feeling, and suddenly she needed to know. Jade began to straighten, then she saw him move. He picked up a half-finished champagne bottle on the floor beside him. Her breath caught and held as he lifted it to his lips and swallowed a goodly portion.
The quiet moment of reverie fled as Jade recognized fear brought on by her experiences of the past. At least when Francis Douglas had been drunk she had known what to expect. Was Jason drunk? And if so, what could she expect?
Jade realized how very alone she was. Her gaze flickered to the darkened corners of the room and back to Jason again. Shadows filled the place, along with an ominous silence broken only by the sound of a tall case clock that stood just inside the doorway. She gauged the distance to the door and knew it would be impossible to slip away unnoticed. The rustle of the voluminous ruffles and yards of fabric gathered into her skirt would give away her every move.
Her heart pounded in her ears. Her mouth was dry, but Jade knew she could not feign sleep forever. Nor could she stay in this house with him any longer.
Before she could bring herself to sit up and straighten her clothing, before she drew another breath, Jason turned toward her. In the dim light of the fire, she saw him smile.
His voice was soft, his tone as warm as the flames behind the grate. “Have a good sleep?”
Jade pushed herself upright and used her hands to examine the damage she had done to her hair. “I . . . yes . . . I have to go.”
“It’s raining.” His words were uttered in so low a tone she could barely hear him.
“Did you say raining?”
He turned and uncrossed his booted feet. With a nod he confirmed it. “Yep. Has been for about an hour.”
Jade groaned. As she took in his casual position, the open neckline of his shirt and missing collar, she wondered aloud, “What happened to Mister Van Buren? Shouldn’t he have been here by now?” She stood, shook out her skirt and overskirt, tried to straighten h
er bustle without calling attention to it, and then rearranged the drooping feathers that bobbed before her eyes.
“I guess he took a notion not to come.”
“Well, I guess then you better take a notion to take me home, or else I’m walking out the door by myself. What time is it?”
“It’s nearly eight o’clock.”
Jade’s eyes widened. “I slept for two hours?”
“You must have needed it.”
She thought of the day she had had to endure and knew it was no surprise that she had fallen asleep. In no mood to put up with more, she wondered why Babs had not come back to get her, or at the very least sent her driver around to pick her up. She glanced at Jason again and frowned.
“You have no intention of taking me home, do you?”
“No.”
He had not moved. She might have panicked if it hadn’t been for the innocent smile curving his lips and the lazy way he rested his arm on the chair behind him. He did not quite fit the image of a man who was about to ravage her.
Jade tried to recall what happened in the one dime novel she had read abroad, but none of the heroine’s adventures came to mind. She decided to ask him outright.
“If you aren’t taking me home, then what exactly do you intend?”
“I intend to find out what you want from me. What are you really doing here, Jade Douglas?”
She hated the fact that her eyes filled with tears. She’d be damned if she let this man make her cry. Nor could she tell him the truth—that the whole idea had been part of Babs’s crazy scheme, how she had refused to go along with it but then she’d literally been dumped on his doorstep because she had trusted her friend. An explanation would lead to a discussion of her dire straits, and her problems were her own—not his, not anyone else’s. She would find a way out of her predicament, and if she had to, she would give up the collection rather than prostitute herself.
Jade Page 7
