A Fine Gentleman

by Sarah M. Eden

“The dress is Sorrel’s,” she quickly admitted. “I didn’t have anything appropriate to wear to dinner.”

  Jason didn’t say anything.

  Mariposa shifted uncertainly. Where she had once been indifferent toward Jason, she had come to long for his approval. If only he would say she looked pretty or that he was pleased to be in her company again. Anything would be better than the awkward silence between them.

  “Sorrel was kind to let me borrow the dress.” Mariposa could think of nothing else to say.

  Jason’s brows drew together, his expression not striking her as particularly pleased. “She ought to have chosen something else.”

  A lump formed in her throat, though she pushed it down. “You do not like it?”

  He shook his head empathically. “I do not like it at all.”

  A gentleman who had caringly held a woman in his arms while speaking kind reassurances to her ought not to insinuate mere hours later that she looked hideous. No matter how true he might feel the sentiment was, it was cruel to actually speak it.

  He had been so wonderful these past days. Why must he return to being cross and difficult?

  She had kept her emotions under control for the better part of the afternoon. One less than complimentary comment from him and the stinging had returned to her eyes. “Blast you, Jason,” she muttered. She refused to cry again. “Con vuestro permiso,” she offered her host and hostess. Head held high, she spun on her heel and made a quick retreat. She took the stairs swiftly, determined to reach her bedchamber, where the isolation would allow her a moment to reel in her agitation and growing despondency. She would have herself under control again before facing the world.

  She’d only just reached the upstairs corridor when someone suddenly appeared in front of her. How in heaven’s name had Jason arrived there before her? “How did you—?”

  “Back stairs,” he answered and swiftly spoke again, leaving her no opportunity for further comment. “Before you rage at me or cry or”—he looked at her with a wariness that bordered on panic—“or anything like that, let me explain.”

  His obvious conviction that she hovered on the edge of an emotional breakdown was nearly humorous enough to make her smile.

  “I am a man,” Jason said.

  “Yes, I’ve noticed.”

  “Noticed, perhaps, but I do not think you completely comprehend the significance of that in this particular situation.”

  She took an unsteady breath, still too near to tears for any degree of stability.

  Jason pressed on, his demeanor obviously the one he assumed when arguing in court, his hands clasped behind his back. He appeared properly somber and authoritative. “As a man, I am prone to say things that are universally misunderstood by women, particularly by women. Men say something, and at some point between our mouths and your ears, it twists around itself and transforms into something inexplicably insulting. We can’t help ourselves. I am absolutely certain it is an inborn flaw.”

  “That is rather tragic.” Mariposa retained enough of her sense of humor to manage an appropriately exaggerated response. Unfortunately, she also remained too overset by all that had happened to prevent her next breath from shaking with long held-back emotion.

  Jason inched closer, eyeing her with palpable uncertainty. “The mere hint of tears, you understand, only makes the problem worse. We sense their approach and invariably panic. Not knowing what else to do, we generally begin talking again and are deeply in trouble in no time.”

  Mariposa felt like a pendulum swinging between amusement and despair. “You said you didn’t like my dress.”

  Jason shook his head. “I never said I didn’t like it.”

  “You most certainly did. You said, ‘I do not like it at all.’”

  Jason leaned against the wall near her. “But I didn’t mean I didn’t like it.”

  That made no sense. “I do not understand.”

  “My point exactly.”

  She stepped closer to him. “Then you do like it?”

  He folded his arms across his chest. “That is not a simple yes or no question, Mariposa.”

  Now he was just being difficult. She propped her fists on her hips.

  Jason shook his head. “Do not slaughter me. As I said, men can’t help digging themselves into holes too deep for escape.” He smiled at her, and she lost the last remaining bit of her heart to him. How could she possibly help herself? The high-in-the-instep Jason had all but disappeared. Though she did not always understand him, and he still at times ruffled her feathers, the Jason who had emerged from that staid exterior was inarguably lovable.

  “Have I thanked you, Jason, for coming with me to Scotland?”

  He kept smiling, leaning casually against the wall. The man was ridiculously handsome standing there as he was. “You have. Many times.”

  “I meant, have I thanked you enough? You have been a godsend. I cannot begin to imagine what I would have done without you, not only in the mail coach but here as well. After not finding my . . . my . . .”

  He abruptly moved away from the wall and to within easy arms’ reach of her. “I meant what I said about tears. You’ll send me into a panic.”

  She meant to say something, a witty reply of some kind, but Jason lightly touched her face, and she found words entirely impossible. He held her face tenderly in his hand. Each breath caught in her throat. She was certain he was inching closer to her.

  “Mariposa?”

  Somehow she managed to push out a “Yes?”

  “I . . .” The word trailed off even as he moved closer. Only a scant inch or two separated them.

  His hand slid from her cheek to cup her chin at precisely the moment his other arm wrapped around her. Mariposa’s pulse pounded hard in her neck, ears, and chest. Jason leaned toward her excruciatingly slowly. The moment seemed to stretch and pull as though each second became an hour. She stood as still as she could manage, all her thoughts focused on that instant in time, afraid if she so much as breathed, it would vanish.

  Jason suddenly stopped with his lips a mere breath from hers. His posture grew instantly rigid. He dropped his arms to his sides. “What am I doing?” he muttered, his voice as quiet as a whisper.

  Mariposa wanted to grab hold of him to keep him there. Even before he pulled away, she knew he would. He had meant to kiss her, but something had changed his mind.

  “I’m sorry,” was all he said before turning on his heels and walking away. He didn’t entirely abandon her but stopped at the far end of the corridor, his back to her.

  For a moment, Mariposa stood frozen in place, unsure of what had happened. She hesitantly moved closer to where he stood. “Jason?”

  No answer came.

  “Jason?” She spoke a little louder.

  “I lost my head for a moment. I’m sorry.”

  He was sorry for nearly kissing her? Or sorry he hadn’t? She could hear the strain in his voice but couldn’t say what exactly had put it there. Maybe she’d been too forward or . . . or something. “Did I do something wrong?”

  “No.” The word sounded curt, his voice rigid. Though he would not admit it, he was obviously perturbed.

  “If I did something to upset you, I am sorry.”

  He spun around and faced her, tension clearly written in every line of his face. “Blast it, Mariposa. Why must you constantly apologize? That’s all you’ve done since leaving London. It makes a fellow feel so deucedly guilty all the time.”

  She hadn’t seen that outburst coming. “You would rather I didn’t apologize?”

  “Not when you have nothing to apologize for.”

  “But you are angry with me,” she said. “Does that not warrant an apology?”

  “No, it does not.” His taut jaw gave the words an edge.

  “I do not understand you, Jason Jonquil.” Her own frustration was b
eginning to bubble.

  “My anger . . . anyone’s anger with you is not your fault, Mariposa. You need never apologize for what is not your fault, just as you need never blame yourself when things happen for which you do not bear responsibility.”

  His admonition had merit, yet her experiences had taught her a different lesson. “Anger makes dangerous people more dangerous. Apologizing nullifies them.”

  “I am not dangerous.”

  “I know. I do.” Now she felt “deucedly guilty.” “Old habits do not die easily. I know no other way to respond when a person is angry with me.”

  “I am not angry with you.” His voice had taken on something of a growl.

  “Well, you certainly sound angry,” she snapped.

  “It’s not you.” He ran a hand through his hair, a gesture clearly indicative of his growing irritation but one she had never seen him employ before. Worse yet, he didn’t look at her—his eyes shifted about as though he were determined to not so much as glance in her direction. “It’s that ridiculous dress and that perfume and this blasted empty corridor.”

  “Do you wish me to leave?” She asked the question, though she feared the answer.

  He nodded slowly and with emphasis. “Yes. I need you to leave.”

  His words sliced through her like a knife. Still, she knew how to retain her dignity even in the most harrowing of moments. She straightened her shoulders and assumed her most impassive expression. “Very well,” she said. “You will be pleased to know I had planned to depart in the morning anyway. I will simply stay out of your path for the remainder of the evening.”

  He stood between her and the stairway. She did not know the house well enough to make her way to the back stairs he’d used. Leaving required she pass him. Mariposa kept her chin up and her posture confident. She refused to fall apart, no matter how many pieces her heart had broken into.

  She forced herself to move with a fluidity that belied her growing desire to flee with all possible speed. As she passed the place where he stood, she kept her gaze forward, not looking at him, just as he had worked so hard not to look at her. A hand on her arm, however, prevented her from passing. She pointedly ignored the frisson of awareness that accompanied his gentle but firm touch.

  “You are leaving?” His voice held equal parts surprise and concern.

  How utterly confusing could one man be? He could not insist that she go in one breath and then sound perplexed at her departure with the next. “In the morning.” She kept it at that. Long, drawn-out speeches tended to break down her defenses when she felt as painfully vulnerable as she did in that moment.

  “When did you decide this?”

  He did not release her arm, nor did she turn back to look at him. She simply couldn’t. Her heart was breaking, her mind spinning with his constant contradictions.

  “Earlier today,” she said. “Too much has happened, too much disappointment and upheaval.” She took a breath to calm herself. “When a person has been through so much, home beckons with increasing urgency.”

  “Home?”

  “Well, London. That is the closest I have to a home now.”

  His hand slipped away from her arm. She hazarded a glance in his direction and found him with brows creased in apparent thought. His distant expression told her she’d been all but forgotten already.

  “As I said, I will be leaving tomorrow, so you need not worry about being further assaulted by my ridiculous dress or putrid perfume or—”

  He took a single step, placing himself directly in front her. “I want you to try very hard not to misunderstand this. It is rather important, in fact, that you don’t.” He brushed his fingers gently along her cheek.

  How many ways could he possibly torture her in a single conversation? Her heart picked up pace even as she told it quite firmly not to get its hopes up. As usual, her heart paid little attention to her.

  “I have discovered this evening that an empty corridor is not the wisest place for two people to be when you are one of those people and I happen to be the other. The dress you have chosen is, in a word, stunning. And your perfume is intoxicating. And the temptation to kiss you in this isolated and wholly private location is, as I have demonstrated once already, too great to resist. Yet doing so flies in the face of everything I have been taught about decorum and propriety and gentlemanly behavior. I have my failings, but being an honorless cad is not one of them.”

  How his admission lightened her heart! “One would almost think you don’t find me entirely repulsive, Jason.”

  He smiled a touch crookedly as he stepped back. “Fishing for compliments?”

  With a smile of her own, she said, “Perhaps a little.”

  “Then I will tell you that I do not, in fact, find you entirely repulsive.”

  Her smile grew at the welcome show of levity. “That was not precisely what I had in mind.”

  “There is a time and a place for flowery words,” Jason said.

  Mariposa sighed. “And an empty corridor is not that time nor place.”

  He took hold of the doorknob leading to the bedchamber directly behind him, his bedchamber, in fact. “I’ll ask you to please give my excuses to my brother and sister-in-law. I will not be joining them for dinner.”

  “But—”

  “I need to pack.”

  “Pack?” He hadn’t said anything about leaving. Did he intend to go with her in the morning? Perhaps he felt the need to see her home.

  “And”—his determined look cut off anything further she might have said—“I need you to promise me you will not take the mail coach back home but will wait a couple of days and return with Philip and Sorrel. They can take you to the Park to collect Abuela and see to it that you have a proper carriage and footmen to return you to London.”

  For a moment, she could not seem to sort his words out. She was to wait a few days. But he was still leaving in the morning? “You are not waiting?”

  He shook his head. “I have some business awaiting me that cannot be further delayed.”

  Of course. He likely had clients he’d neglected in order to protect her from her own madcap scheme. That explanation felt far safer than assigning his precipitous departure to a lack of desire to spend several days in a carriage with her. It also rang far more true. He had said he did not dislike her. In fact, she felt rather certain he liked her quite a lot.

  He half sighed, half chuckled. “You wear a very particular expression on your face every time you are debating over which dire explanation lies behind something I have said to you.”

  She wouldn’t have to argue with herself so often if he weren’t so very confusing.

  Jason reached out and took hold of her hand, raising it to his lips without moving so much as an inch closer to her. “Yesterday you said you trusted me. I hope you meant that.”

  “I do not trust easily.”

  “I know.” He let her hand slip from his. “All I ask is that you try.”

  She nodded.

  “Farewell, then,” he said. “For now.”

  “Ve con dios,” she answered quietly.

  He closed his door. She brushed her cheek with the back of her hand, remembering all too vividly the light kiss he’d placed there. She did not know with complete certainty why he was leaving so suddenly, but she would do her utmost to trust him.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Jason arose early the next morning, intent on beginning his journey as quickly as possible. Stepping inside the small dining parlor where every meal was served in this small house, he found he was not the first to seek out his morning meal. He gave his brother a quick nod before taking up a plate and beginning to fill it from the sideboard.

  “For a dandy, you keep very early hours.”

  Philip’s eyes opened wide, and he took in a sharp breath. “If word of this reaches Town, my reputation will be
in tatters.”

  Jason would have rankled at the reaction only a few days earlier. Mater had encouraged him to discover the person his brother was beneath the mask of frivolity he wore. “You might both be surprised by what you discover,” she had said. Jason looked forward to telling her how very right she had been.

  Philip pushed his empty plate aside but did not move to leave. “Mariposa told us last evening that you are leaving us this morning.”

  “Yes.” Jason took a seat at the table. “I have clients in need of my presence.”

  Philip leaned back in his chair. “I have been a spy for years, Jason. I know when someone is lying to me.”

  “Father once said something similar to me when I attempted to tell him a fib.” Jason smiled to himself at the memory. “‘I’ve spent years with your older brothers,’ he said. ‘I can sort out when one of you is lying.’”

  “Lud, he certainly could. Nothing slipped past him.”

  Jason pointed at Philip with his fork. “The Jonquil Freers of Prisoners managed that a few times.”

  Philip chuckled quietly. “We had some larks, didn’t we? Those were good years.”

  Snippets of his childhood swam through his thoughts. Memories of his father, which he’d worked so hard to keep tucked away, joined the others. This time, however, they brought comfort instead of strictly pain.

  “Where are you actually going when you leave here today?” Philip pressed.

  “I have a theory about Mari’s family.” Jason pushed the food around his plate, his mind spinning once more. “I don’t know if I am right or even leaning in the right direction, but I need to follow it through.”

  “You know where they might be?”

  He shook his head. “It is only a theory, and a thin one at that, but I have to pursue it.”

  “Does she know?”

  Jason had debated that aspect of the situation for long hours the night before. “I have seen her hopes dashed and her heart broken. If this proves to be yet another dead end, it will only bring her more pain.”

  “Her ability to detect a lie is likely as keen as mine, having spent years as a spy as well. How do you mean to explain your absence to her?”