As she moved restlessly against his hand, he began to use his teeth on her nipple, and she felt herself hurtling toward something. Another finger joined the first, and she felt a pleasant fullness as he stroked his thumb up over her most sensitive part and Hermione was no longer able to control herself. With a cry of rapture she let herself go and bucked her hips against Jasper’s hand in a frenzy of ecstasy, unwilling and unable to curb her movements against the tide of her orgasm.
When she came back to herself, Hermione was collapsed against Jasper’s chest, his hand stroking over her back.
She made to pull away, but he held her fast.
“I’m so mortified,” she said against his neck cloth, hiding her face there lest he see the truth of her words in her eyes.
“No need for mortification on my account,” he said in a low voice, that she could feel where their chests met. “That was, I think, the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”
She pulled back to see if he was telling the truth.
He met her gaze with a raised brow. “I would never lie about a thing like that,” he said, kissing her lightly.
Men were strange creatures, she thought, shaking her head. “If you say so,” she said.
“I hope that your enthusiasm means you’ve decided that we should, indeed, be wed,” he said when she sat back on her haunches to look at him fully.
She would have responded, but a loud knock on the front door reminded her that they were in her father’s office. And worse, the door was unlocked.
With a gasp, she turned in his lap, ignoring the strangled noise Jasper made when she sat a bit more firmly than necessary on his groin, and leaped to her feet.
Pulling the sleeves of her gown up over her shoulders, she glared as Jasper rose and pulled his waistcoat down and flipped the tails of his coat out. His cravat, she feared, would never be the same again.
“I think we’ll do,” Jasper said with a nod.
Hermione hurried over to the chair by the window where she picked up a book on animal husbandry and began to read. Jasper stood before the bookcase and scanned them as if searching for the map to a long-lost treasure.
“And I tell you that his lordship is not home and I will not disturb Lady Hermione, sir,” they heard Greentree say to the unwanted visitor in his most condescending of tones.
“I know what you’re saying, sir,” the visitor said in a thick East End accent, “but I’m going to see her ladyship whether you like it or not.”
They heard the butler mutter something, but soon enough a knock sounded on the door of the library.
“I beg your pardon, my lady,” said Greentree from the other side of the door—which doubtless meant he knew very well what had gone on behind the unlocked door earlier—“but there’s a man here to see you and he won’t be turned away.”
“Send him in, Greentree,” Jasper said in his loftiest tones.
When Hermione glared at him he shrugged, unrepentant. She would give him a piece of her mind over his heavy-handed manner later, she vowed silently.
“I’m from Bow Street, my lady,” said the man who stepped into the room, his belly preceding him. “I only need a moment of your time, if you please.”
At the mention of Bow Street, Hermione’s heart raced. Could he be here about Saintcrow? She glanced at Jasper but he kept his gaze on the runner.
Swallowing, she schooled her features into a mask of calm. “Very well, sir. Greentree, please have a tray of tea and biscuits brought to us.”
“Yes, my lady.”
Her stomach in knots, Hermione gestured for the runner to have a seat.
“Now, sir,” she said once she’d taken a seat in an armchair near the fire. “What may I do to help you?”
“Mr. Isaiah Rosewood, my lady,” said the man with a low bow. “At your service.”
“And I’m the Earl of Mainwaring,” said Jasper from where he’d stood silently as the man from Bow Street got his bearings. “I was just here visiting my fiancée when you arrived.”
She saw now why Jasper had taken the opportunity to give orders to Greentree for the runner to be admitted. It wasn’t because he wished to overrule her, but instead had been a chance to show the Bow Street runner that he was in charge here.
It was perhaps a sad commentary on the status of ladies in their present society, but still, she was more than happy to have Jasper’s protection when she felt the runner’s speculative gaze upon her.
Something she felt even more strongly when he said, “I am here seeking information, Lady Hermione, about a gentleman of your acquaintance. Lord Saintcrow. I understand you were involved in an altercation with the fellow yesterday?”
Again she looked to Jasper and this time found him smiling reassuringly. Bolstered by his support, she spoke up.
“Indeed, sir,” she said with what she hoped was calm. “I discovered yesterday that my coaching pair had been lost in a card game to Lord Saintcrow. Unfortunately I didn’t learn of it until he arrived just before my first procession with my driving club. As such, I was a bit less than pleased, shall we say?”
“You were quite angry, isn’t that the case, my lady?” The runner’s keen blue eyes were fixed on her as if waiting for a slipup.
“As could be expected, sir. I learned that my father lost horses that I believed were mine in a game of cards. Though you have only to ask anyone who was present at the time that I relinquished them with what I consider to be rather good grace in the circumstances.”
“Indeed, my lady,” the man said with a nod. “I did hear that you gave them over to him without much fuss. Perhaps too little fuss?”
“What do you mean by that?” Jasper asked, moving to stand beside Hermione, his hand resting on her shoulder protectively.
“Why, just that you seemed to be rather unruffled by the matter once you decided to give them over to the fellow.” He tilted his head in a questioning gesture. “Could that have been because you planned to confront the fellow later on?”
“Of course not!” she snapped. “If I planned to confront anyone it was my father, who had lost the horses I purchased with my own funds without so much as a by-your-leave.”
“Then it would surprise you to learn that Lord Saintcrow was found dead this morning? Only a day after he took your horses?”
“I … that is to say, I don’t…”
“In point of fact, Rosewood,” Jasper said with asperity, “I was the one who found Saintcrow’s body. I went to speak to him about a private matter and found the poor fellow dead. I’m quite certain Lady Hermione wasn’t even in the vicinity.”
It was clear from Rosewood’s lack of surprise that he’d known about Jasper’s role in the report. “And can you tell me what it was that you went to speak to him about, my lord?”
“If you must know,” Mainwaring said with unruffled calm, “I went to ask him to sell me the grays he had off Lord Upperton. They were Lady Hermione’s, you understand, and I wished to make a gift of them to her.”
Hermione wasn’t sure if this was the truth of why he’d showed up at Saintcrow’s or something concocted on the spur of the moment to confound the runner.
Rosewood, however, took it at face value. “That’s quite an expensive gift, my lord.”
“Well, I suppose the surprise is ruined now, but I meant to make them a betrothal gift to Lady Hermione,” Jasper said with just the right degree of sheepishness.
“Sorry, old thing,” he continued with another squeeze of her hand. “I meant to make a surprise of it, but this is the matter of a chap’s life. Of course I had to spill the beans.”
“And how long have you two been betrothed?” Mr. Rosewood asked, without giving a hint as to whether he found the situation at all suspicious.
Deciding that Jasper had some sort of plan regarding all of this, Hermione waited for him to speak.
“Only for a few weeks,” he said with a fatuous grin. “We’ve kept it a secret from the public, you know. What with her father being reluctant t
o grant his permission and all.”
“Indeed,” Rosewood said with a nod. “And where is Lord Upperton this afternoon? Your butler only informed me that he was out, Lady Hermione. Not where he was.”
“I don’t know, Mr. Rosewood,” she said with a smile. “He often leaves the house without telling me his destination. Off at his club, I would imagine. Or some other place where gentlemen go. I really don’t know, since I am not one of them, you understand.”
“No, you aren’t,” said Jasper with an appreciative grin.
“And have you had a chance to speak to him about his loss of your horses, Lady Hermione?” The investigator’s eyes were sharp, as if trying to see through to what her true feelings about the sale of horses had been.
“No, as it happens, I have not,” she answered truthfully.
“So it is fair to say that your father might not have come home at all and you would not know it?” the runner asked.
“I said I hadn’t spoken to him about the horses, not that I hadn’t seen him at all,” she said sharply. “But I do not make it a habit to keep watch on my father’s comings and goings. He is a busy man.”
“Certainly, playing cards with men like Lord Saintcrow,” Mr. Rosewood said. “You must have been furious with him about the horses. I know I would be.”
“I’m not sure how Lady Hermione’s feelings toward her father have anything to do with the murder of Saintcrow,” Mainwaring interjected. “That is neither here nor there.”
“I simply thought it might have made Lord Upperton regret his sale of the horses to Lord Saintcrow. A daughter’s disappointment can be a powerful motivator, my lord.”
“What are you saying, Mr. Rosewood?” Hermione asked, realizing that he suspected her father of the murder.
“But, then again,” said Rosewood, ignoring her question, “a lady’s anger can also be a powerful motivator when she is the one who thinks she’s been wronged. Did you perhaps pay a visit to Lord Saintcrow this morning, my lady? Before your fiancé here did so, that is?”
“I don’t like your tone, Rosewood.” Mainwaring’s voice was as cold as ice. He was every inch the nobleman and Hermione couldn’t help but be grateful that he was on her side.
“I’m sorry to hear that, my lord,” said the man from Bow Street, “but I’m investigating a man’s murder and that sometimes means I have to ask unpleasant questions. Now, my lady, did you visit Lord Saintcrow today? For I’ve heard from a couple of the man’s neighbors that a trio of ladies in mourning veils were seen entering his house. Could one of them have been you?”
Before she could speak, Mainwaring stood. “This interview is over, Mr. Rosewood. I will thank you to take yourself off and find another line of inquiry.”
Rather than argue, the Bow Street runner stood as well. He sketched a bow to Hermione, saying, “I thank you for your time, my lady. And I hope if you think of answers to my questions you’ll send word to me by way of Bow Street.”
“I’ll make sure you get any information the lady is willing to give,” Mainwaring said, escorting the other man to the front door.
As soon as it was shut behind the runner, he hurried forward and took Hermione by the arm and led her back into her father’s office. He shut the door firmly behind them.
“No matter what you do, no matter how he tries to intimidate you,” Jasper said firmly, “do not under any circumstances speak to that man again without having me with you.”
“I thought I did rather well,” she said, surprised by his vehemence. “It was you who raised his suspicions when you all but threw him out.”
“Hermione,” Jasper said, grasping her by the shoulders, “that man was suspicious the moment he stepped in here. Otherwise he wouldn’t have come to pay you a call in the first place. He knows that three ladies called on Saintcrow this morning and he knows that I called on him. That’s four possible suspects. And since I reported the murder he’s likely to think I’m innocent.”
“And because we three were in disguise he’ll think it more likely that we killed him?” Hermione asked, not liking the genuine worry in his eyes. “Is that it?”
“Precisely,” Jasper said with a nod. “And though he won’t like to consider the notion that ladies might be capable of committing murder, he’s not from our world. In the seedier parts of London mothers kill their babies. Prostitutes kill their customers. Women committing murder is not as uncommon as it is in our world. So he’s already predisposed to consider you’re capable of it.”
At his description of what happened outside Mayfair, Hermione shivered. She was all too ready to think that her own world—despite the unpleasantness her father’s gambling brought into her life from time to time—was the same as everyone else’s. She knew well enough that there were parts of London where people fought tooth and nail for every morsel of food or ray of light. But it had taken Jasper reminding her of that to recall that it was only thanks to divine providence that she lived in the comfort of Half-Moon Street.
“And I complained about having to retrench enough to let this house,” she said with a shake of her head. “What a fool I’ve been.”
But Jasper hugged her to him. “Don’t say that. You are a remarkable lady. And just because you haven’t experienced the horrors of life in Whitechapel doesn’t mean you’re a terrible person. You have dealt admirably with your father’s excesses. And now you will deal with this. But I will admit that I think we should marry as quickly as possible now.”
“Because you think that if we marry, Mr. Rosewood will look elsewhere for the killer?” she asked, grateful for his strong arms around her.
“In part,” he said, resting his chin on her head. “And also because you let me put my hand up your skirt a little earlier.”
When she gasped in outrage, he kissed her. “There’s my girl.”
“Beast,” she said, punching him lightly in the chest.
“And don’t you forget it,” he said with a grin.
Eleven
Mindful of the multiple errands he would need to take care of himself before a wedding with Hermione could happen, Jasper chose to do the most difficult of those before word of the fateful card game made it to Grosvenor Square.
Unfortunately he was too late for that.
When he arrived at the Mainwaring town house after leaving Half-Moon Street, he’d only just handed his hat and coat to the butler when a screech sounded from somewhere on one of the upper floors.
Ah, he thought. Mama has heard, then.
“Her ladyship has been rather overset this morning, my lord,” said the butler, Greaves, in a vast understatement. “I believe she had a note earlier from your aunt Agatha.”
“Just so, Greaves,” said Jasper, squaring his shoulders. “Are my sisters at home, do you know?”
“I believe I heard them in conversation with her earlier, my lord,” the sober-faced retainer said. “Though I do not make it a habit to follow their movements, of course.”
“Of course, Greaves,” Jasper said, even as he headed up the thickly carpeted staircase.
It was just as well if his mother and sisters were together, for then he’d need only tell his story once. And, he thought with a mental roll of his eyes, he’d need only to deal with one long session of weeping.
Why did Hermione’s tears seem infinitely preferable to those of his own blood relations? Perhaps because he’d come to realize that his mother and sisters used them as a means of controlling him rather than as a genuine expression of emotion.
He stepped into his mother’s small sitting room to find his sisters huddled together on the sofa looking miserable in their post-tearful puffiness. His mother, on the other hand, sat bolt upright in the chair beside them, her pale face showing signs of earlier tears, but bearing a mulish set to her jaw that Jasper could not like.
“Good afternoon, ladies,” he said with more cheer than he felt, “I take it you have heard my good news.”
“How can you possibly call your betrothal to that … t
hat hoyden good news, Jasper?” cried Evelina, the elder of his sisters at nineteen. “Lady Hermione Upperton is as unfashionable as any lady in the ton. Did you know that she has only recently gained admittance into a driving club? I expect next she will file down her teeth to make spitting tobacco juice easier!”
“You will speak of Lady Hermione with respect, Evelina, or I will send you to spend the rest of the season in the country where you can learn some manners,” he said sharply. He was willing to endure any sort of whining and insults hurled at his own head. But he would not stand to hear Hermione spoken of thusly. Her world had been turned upside down through no fault of her own and he was damned if he’d allow his own sisters to make it worse. “Do you understand?”
Unaccustomed to such harsh words from her normally indulgent older brother, Evelina’s rosebud mouth formed a shocked O. She was too surprised, it seemed, even to cry.
“So I see you’re taking her side over that of your own sister, Jasper,” his mother said with cold calm. “I must confess I find myself disappointed that a son of mine would behave so rashly. Especially given how much your father set store by family.”
“If my father set such great importance on family,” Jasper said sharply, “then he would have done better not to drink a bottle of wine before he took to the road, don’t you think, Mama?”
Perhaps because of his earlier conversation with Hermione, the accident was fresh on his mind. And he’d been reminded of just how culpable the late earl had been in his own demise. He had loved his father, of course, but it was hardly the action of a man whose family’s well-being was foremost on his mind to get himself killed by driving while intoxicated.
“So, that’s how this will be, is it?” his mother asked, not even blinking at Jasper’s slander of his father. She could hardly fault him for the words since he’d heard them often enough from her own mouth, after all.
“This can be as pleasant or as unpleasant as the three of you make it,” Jasper said, leaning his shoulders against the mantelpiece. “I will tell you that, as you have likely already heard, I engaged in a card game last evening with the Earl of Upperton in which his lordship offered a small property in Lincolnshire and the hand of his daughter, Lady Hermione, as his bet. Lord Upperton lost and I, as a gentleman, could not refuse his proffer. Thus, Lady Hermione and I are to be married by special license before the end of the week.”
Good Earl Gone Bad Page 11
