by Dahlia Rose
“You always marched to your beat, son,” Uncle Brewster said and clapped him on the shoulder. “So, where is this woman who is going to be part of the McTavish family?”
Jasper spotted her going up the stairs and said softly, “Her.”
His uncle followed Jasper’s gaze and she looked back and caught the both staring. Zeva gave him a wink before continuing her assent out of the ballroom.
“Oh dear,” Jasper heard his Uncle Brewster murmur with worry in his voice.
He didn’t care, he already knew that the McTavish clan would revolt at his choice, but he wasn’t worried. He could tell from their conversation she would be able to handle her own. Title or not, none of them could hold a candle to Zeva. Her strength and beauty enamored him. This wasn’t about what they wanted but who he wanted. Zeva would be his wife.
Chapter Two
“This looks like a nice thing to wear,” Zeva murmured to herself.
She looked in the mirror at her choice of clothes and wondered if she should change. She has having dinner—well, fish and chips with a duke. Screw it, I’m not changing, she thought as she looked at her jeans and the soft pink sweater she wore. The wide neck sloped off the shoulder revealing the black wide strap of the camisole top she paired with it, revealed her smooth skin. He had asked her out, not the other way around, and she wasn’t in the habit of changing for anyone. After making sure her ponytail was high and smooth, Zeva slipped on her boots and stepped from her apartment onto the stone steps.
She locked up and headed out into the D.C. night to meet Jasper. The Four Carriages Irish Pub was in her neighborhood and it was an easy walk. Jasper was standing outside right at eight o’clock as she walked up. He leaned casually against the stone doorway with his hands in his pockets. He was talking to the bouncer at the door and Zeva took the time to assess the duke. His hair was dark as a raven’s wing. While it was longer than the military cuts she was accustomed to seeing, it suited his angular jaw. He was tall. She was at least five four without heels and he was at least six two. Jasper had broad shoulders, and he was wearing a black evening jacket, the kind with light brown leather at the elbows.
His slacks were the color of the leather patches on his coat. He was definitely handsome, but his motives were still unclear and because of her last few years in D.C. she trusted very few people. He looked towards her and met her gaze. As she walked up a slow smile crossed his face. Zeva’s heart gave a little jump in her chest and she wondered what the heck that was about. She wasn’t one to get flutters of excitement, she was too damn jaded about this world.
“Hello Sargent, you look simply smashing as usual,” Jasper said warmly.
Zeva gave him a smile. “You’d reverse that thought quickly if you saw me in uniform.”
“I doubt that very much,” Jasper said and turned, extending the crook of his arm to her. “Shall I escort you inside?”
“Are you always this formal?” she asked, linking her arm through his.
“I could say my mum taught me good manners, but that’s not the case,” he commented mildly. “Let’s just chalk it up to me having a respect for women.”
“Okay, let’s do that,” Zeva said. She wanted to ask more about his life but they had just met and it wasn’t her place.
She always liked the inside of the pub she chose. The Four Carriages emblem was made of bronze and attached over the bar. It was always shining, as if Ralph the bartender and owner got up every day and polished it until it gleamed. The pub was mahogany throughout and kept immaculately cleaned, not a speck of dust in sight. The red suede booth had no stains or anything and the food was amazing. Zeva would know because sometimes when she came home late and had no inclination to cook, Ralph’s wife Joan’s shepherd’s pie and chicken was comfort food and gave her life.
The older bartender was short and bald at the top, with the rest of his scraggly white hair combed as neatly as possible. He had worn a white shirt and tie for as long as she remembered. In fact, all his staff wore black pants and white shirts with ties. Ralph once told her if they respected how they looked, they would respect his business and the customers. Since she’d never had a problem, Zeva would say his assessment was correct. His wife Joan was plump and just a bit taller than her husband, and Zeva adored them both.
“Sargent, look at you, and on a Sunday no less,” Ralph said warmly. His gray mustache waggled as he smiled.
“I know, I know, my uniform is much better,” Zeva teased. She stood on the brass rail that wrapped around the lower part of the bar and leaned over to kiss his bald head.
“Careful now, if Joan sees you she may find out about our secret love affair,” Ralph teased.
“I already told her and she says I can keep you because you snore,” Zeva replied with a wide grin.
Joan, with her hair in a bun and wearing the same uniform covered with an apron, came out of the kitchen just as Zeva was speaking.
“She’s right, I told her she can have you. I’ll import a fine Irish stud from home,” Joan said and gave Zeva a wink. She looked from Zeva to Jasper. “I may not have to, I see you’ve brought me one.”
Zeva laughed. “Ralph, Joan, this is Duke Jasper McTavish.”
“Aye, I know who he is. I saw him on the news last night,” Joan said. “Plus, I worked for your grandmother long ago, a very long time ago before we moved to America.”’
Jasper looked surprised. “Gran? You mean when she still lived in Kildare?”
“Aye, before they married her off in forty-two I was her maid on the estate,” Joan answered. “I wasn’t willing to travel to England and leave my Ralph so I paid my severance and along with what he saved we moved here.”
“Small world,” Jasper mused. “It’s lovely to meet you. I would have loved to know Gran in her younger years. Mum wasn’t the nicest to her near the end...”
“You have your grandmother’s eyes, kind eyes,” Joan said. “But enough of that, let’s get you two a table and some of our amazing food into you, not to toot my own horn. Ralph, you pour them a pint of Guinness each, will you?”
“Yes, task master,” Ralph groaned and Joan swatted at him with her white towel. He grabbed her in a big hug and kissed her cheek amidst her girlish giggling.
“Come on, Jasper, let’s get to a booth before they get any friskier.” Zeva’s voice held humor as she took his hand and led him away.
They found a booth and slid in across from each other, and Jasper looked back to the still playful older couple.
‘They are what it’s all about,” he said. “I would love to have that forty years from now, looking at the same face and having that connection each day I wake up.”
“They amaze me. When I moved here, the first day I came in in my uniform, they treated me like I was their child,” Zeva said. “It is such a coincidence, she knew your grandmother.”
Jasper nodded. “Yes, it is. I would love to hear more. I hope I can pop back around to this place before I leave and bend her ear a bit.”
“You have five days. You know where it is now and you can come visit anytime.” Zeva smiled. “Oh, and your accent became thicker with a bit of Irish when you spoke to them.”
“Really, you were listening to my accent,” Jasper drawled. A waitress came over and brought their Guinness and two menus with a smile.
“Don’t get a big head about it.” Zeva pulled her drink over. “It’s nice, that’s all.”
“Your voice is nice too, it’s like a good Scotch with a bit of an after bite.” Jasper took a sip of his own drink. “That’s a bloody good pint.”
“This is the best place ever,” she replied. “Are you saying that my voice is harsh?”
Jasper shook his head. “By no means, let me explain. There is this whiskey from Belgium, it’s called prickly peach, it starts out sweet and you catch a hint of peach Saison...”
“What’s a Saison?” Zeva asked.
“It’s a fruity pale ale and it’s added to the whiskey,” Jasper explained. “You
take a sip after it’s been aged and you get this burst of fruit and whiskey flavor and then a tart bite at the end. That’s your voice—sweet with a hint of a bite to let people know you’re not to be crossed.”
She inclined her head. “Okay, I’ll give you that as a compliment.”
“It was meant to be one,” Jasper answered.
As they sipped their drinks, they scanned the menus and chose their dinner order. She convinced Jasper to share an order of Buffalo wings with her as an appetizer. He decided on the shepherd’s pie due to her raving about it, and Zeva picked the lobster ravioli. Their food came out quickly and piping hot, and as they ate they chatted about nothing and everything. Zeva found herself loving the simple conversation, but in the back of her mind she sensed an agenda. She chalked it up to her wariness of men in the political mecca of the United States. By the end of the night and after a few pints and great conversation, she looked at the time and it was past ten. Looking around she saw many of the patrons were already gone.
“We should get going. Ralph and Joan won’t rush us but they close around ten-thirty, and I’ve got to be at work for eight in the morning,” Zeva said.
“I didn’t even notice how late it was,” Jasper said. “I should check in with my uncle, make sure he actually ate and didn’t drink his meal.”
“He’s an alcoholic?” Zeva asked pulling out her wallet.
“No, yes, kinda, well, it’s a long story,” he answered and covered her hand with his. “The tab is mine to pay. I invited you out tonight.”
“I have no problem sharing the cost,” Zeva said.
“Certainly not.” His voice held a hint of outrage, and he pulled money from his pocket. From what Zeva could tell he left a substantial tip.
She held up her hand. “Fine, you win, thank you for a lovely evening.”
“I shall walk you home,” Jasper announced as they stood.
“I just live down the street a bit, I’ll be okay. I can wait with you while you get a cab,” she offered. “I can protect myself if necessary.”
“It’s dark and I wouldn’t feel right letting you walk alone,” he insisted. “We can call me a taxi from in front of your place.”
“Deal.” She took his hand and shook it briskly.
When he laughed, she found she liked the rich sound that came from his lips. In fact, Zeva found she liked many things about Duke Jasper McTavish. He was the most down to earth person she’d ever met.
“One second, I would like to speak to Joan before we leave,” Jasper requested.
“Sure thing,” Zeva said easily as they passed the bar. “Hey Ralph, is Joan still around or has she gone upstairs?”
“You leaving so soon,” Ralph teased. “She is in the back.”
“May I speak with her please,” Jasper said politely.
“Sure thing,” Ralph answered as he went into the back of the pub to get his wife. Joan came out wiping her hands with a towel and smiled at them both.
“How can I be of service?” Joan asked.
“I was hoping I could come back and talk to you about my Gran,” Jasper asked tentatively. “You seemed to have a good relationship with her, and I was hoping you could tell me more about her life. My mother doesn’t speak of her. To be honest, my mother is nothing like Gran and by the time I came along... well, she wasn’t a good mum. Gran was my world, and she left me the manor I live in now where I craft my wood pieces.”
“So you carve like your great uncle?” Joan beamed.
Jasper leaned against the bar. “I had an uncle who carved? Please tell me I can come back. It’s like I was meant to be here and know you. Our paths crossed for a reason.”
Joan gave him a gentle smile. “Come see me tomorrow afternoon around one, we can go for a walk and talk.”
“That would be perfect, thank you,” Jasper said gratefully.
“Just don’t be stealing my woman, son,” Ralph said severely but gave a wink.
Jasper put his hand over his heart. “Her honor shall be protected, sir. Besides, I think my interests lie elsewhere.”
On those words, he gave Zeva a look. Again the damn butterflies invaded her body and she cursed them silently. Joan and Ralph shared a secret look and a smile.
“Well, on that note, time to walk me home,” she said quickly.
“Good. She thinks she is a badass and we worry about her walking home alone,” Joan said. “Night to you both, see you tomorrow Jasper.”
“Goodnight and thank you, Joan,” Jasper said.
“Night guys,” Zeva said and gave a small wave.
Ralph’s bouncer, who also happened to be his cousin’s son, was going inside as they left and held the door open for them. Walking back the way she came she was definitely aware of the man next to her as they strolled through the September night.
“Seems they have a lot going on with your family,” Zeva said curiously.
“I’ll tell you about it sometime,” Jasper said, and she heard the reservation in his voice.
“You sound like you think if you tell me I’m going to run screaming into the night,” she said in a quiet tone.
“I’m hoping you won’t,” he replied.
“I’m curious to what your end game is and why you are interested in me?” She stopped outside the steps and turned around. “This is my place.”
“See me tomorrow night, after work,” he said.
“Don’t you have any diplomatic stuff to do?” Zeva asked.
“No, I apparently was given the invitation and my mother accepted on my behalf.” Jasper cupped her cheek and looked down at her. “I think I am very glad she did.”
“What do you want from me, Jasper?” Zeva asked. His touch was warm against her skin, and she noted how big his hand was framing her cheek.
A smile spread across his face before he asked, “Right now, would a kiss be too much to request?”
“Not at all,” Zeva murmured and lifted her head.
She’d be lying if she said she hadn’t been wondering what it would feel like to have his lips on hers. Zeva was not disappointed. When his lips touched hers, she felt not a simmer of attraction but an instant flare of pure heat. She opened her mouth beneath his, inviting, daring him to taste her. Jasper groaned and moved his hands down to her waist and pulled her closer as he dipped his tongue into her mouth. Zeva echoed his moan, completely amazed that she felt such an immediate desire for a man she hardly knew. But her body acted like it had known him all her life, and by God she wanted him. He pulled away reluctantly and she sighed in disappointment, wanting the kiss to go on.
“I’ll guess I’ll see you tomorrow,” Zeva said with a smile.
“I’m glad you will, we can talk more then,” Jasper said.
“Going to tell me what you and Joan talk about?” she teased.
“You can come with us if you want,” Jasper replied and the offer floored her.
“I was kidding, Jasper, you don’t have to tell me your family business,” she said quickly.
“I want you to know.” Jasper gave her a hard kiss. “So tomorrow then?”
“I’ll be home at eight, I’ll make you dinner,” Zeva invited and pointed to the doorway “It’s a three level duplex apartment. My bell is the one on the bottom and my apartment entrance is private.”
“I’ve never had someone make me dinner before,” Jasper said.
She raised an eyebrow at him. “What about the servant wenches at the manor?”
“Again, too many romance novels. I live alone, I don’t have a staff nor do I want any.”
“I’ll make you an American feast.” Zeva smiled. This time it was she who kissed him long and deep until they were both breathing heavy. “See you tomorrow, duke.”
He grinned at her before walking to the curb. Jasper hailed a passing cab and soon he was inside and looking at her through the rear window of the yellow car. The kiss and the attraction they shared was an interesting development. He wasn’t like the cocky assholes she’d dated since bein
g in D.C., that was for sure. Zeva walked up the steps to her apartment door, unlocked it, and went inside. She was still curious about his motives, but Zeva had never backed away from anything in her life. If Jasper turned out to be an asshole with some dark intention she would fix it in her way. Till then, she was willing to see where it went.
* * * *
Jasper could feel Uncle Brewster’s worried gaze as he moved around the hotel suite. It wasn’t that his uncle was concerned about him, per se. No matter what, Uncle Brewster was deathly afraid of his sister and not completing what she wanted. No matter how much bravery he showed, it was like his uncle wore a metal collar made of his sister’s domineering intentions. Jasper shook his head sadly, knowing that this woman was his mother and in a way she had trapped his uncle into an existence of servitude. Jasper had refused to be bullied by her from the time he understood she was toxic.
“Stop looking like the world is coming to an end, Uncle Brewster,” Jasper said calmly.
He was dressed and ready to go meet Joan for a walk to the park and later see Zeva. He wouldn’t tell his uncle too much, because if his mother called, his dear uncle would spill the beans.
“I just think you could be spending time looking for a suitable Duchess,” Uncle Brewster stammered.
“Who said I wasn’t?” Jasper asked mildly. He took a sip of the tea that was on the breakfast tray sent by room service.
“Jasper, please consider what your mother is saying,” Uncle Brewster pleaded. “We need the income to sustain the family.”
Jasper gave him a direct stare. “No. Cornelia wants the income you can and have sustained, Uncle. You let her destroy your life and turn your daughters into clones of herself.”
“Your mother needs money. She called this morning.” Uncle Brewster sighed. “There is to be a gala in London and she needs to buy dresses for her and the girls.”
“Why in the bloody hell are you telling me?” Jasper asked angrily. “Let me be clear, Uncle, they are not getting a penny of my hard earned money. They can live quite nicely on the stipend left after my father’s death. I even forfeited my share so she would shut up with the whining about it being such a dreadful pittance. She called you to have you ask me, didn’t she?”
