“Is that your inquiry?” she continued. “I know I’ve mentally questioned the likelihood of the circumstances.” She laced her fingers together in dainty arrangement and her charm bracelet, the one he’d noticed after they’d kissed, tinkled a soft sound against her wrist.
“No. I meant to ask something else.” He noted how the candlelight dancing a gloss on her long chestnut tresses. Her hair looked lovely unbound, unfettered by her jaunty little bonnet. Although the other morning in front of his office, when he’d first laid eyes on her, his heart stuttered to a stop before it resurrected with a fierce rhythm that dared burst from his chest.
“Were you wondering what Kell and I discussed on our walk in the garden?”
Her use of the familiar did not go unnoticed, although Jasper extinguished the flame of jealousy, too interested in the question on his tongue. “I’m well aware of Kellaway’s charms.”
“Then I cannot guess what you wish to know.” Her gaze rose to match his eyes, their height difference accentuated by proximity. “Although while I confess to understanding Thomasina’s reluctance to attend this function; I viewed my companionship as a favor and never anticipated enjoying the evening so thoroughly.”
“Whysoever not? Aren’t ladies all about the social season, anxious to dance until midnight or at least share the latest on dit over a cup of steaming hot scandal broth?”
She laughed at his question, the twinkle in her eyes worth every syllable and as he studied her face, the delicate curve of her cheek bathed in soft candlelight, the memory of their kiss fired heat to his groin.
“Drinking tea may be fine, but I rarely attend socials.” She paused for a nervous little laugh. “My mother is unwell and before she became melancholic, my father forbade we mingle with high society.”
“I do not understand.” A pang of sympathy colored his response. A lady as beautiful and delightful as Miss Shaw deserved to accept every invitation and attend every dance.
“Nor I at times, at least not completely.” She punctuated the statement with a delicate shrug that had him wishing he could cure every sadness that plagued her.
He focused on her lips, wondering what she might say next, but instead, desire thrummed through him, stoking the perpetual ache in his smalls and convincing he needed to know the lady more thoroughly. If only to understand why she so devoutly disliked peers and why, damn it all, she wished for a life of independence.
“I can’t say I’m very fond of the uppers. My brother’s an earl and of late, quite the crusty fellow. He treats me as if I’m penny wise and pound foolish, when he’d have his pockets to let had I not restored our familial solvency.” His voice dropped to a low murmur, his attention waylaid by her crystalline eyes. “I find it difficult to admire anyone who spends their time idling away the daylight hours when there is good service to do in the world, interesting people to meet, intriguing opportunities to explore.” He smiled despite himself. “But I’m rambling on now aren’t I? We wouldn’t want the squab to grow cold.”
He offered his escort, pleased and proud when Miss Shaw rested her delicate hand on his forearm and they moved toward the dining room. Who’d have guessed Kell’s suggestion to rub elbows with a room full of cantankerous puff-guts and thick witted dandiprats could prove so wonderful?
Chapter 13
Emily took her place at the table, disappointment replacing joy as Jasper sat at the opposite end. What was it about the gentleman that had her thinking frivolous thoughts of courtship and romance? She wanted no part of the destructive emotion many labeled love. At least not until she settled into her own comfortable life with permanence; a contented quiescence where emotion wouldn’t destroy her future, and that wasn’t likely to happen until her mother improved.
The ready image of her mother’s woeful existence threatened but Emily chased it away with a fortifying sip of wine. She scanned the guests seated at the opposite length of the table. The party included an eclectic mixture of peers and gentry; the Earl of Penwick, the biggest fish on the hook. Jasper had mentioned his brother was an earl, yet Jasper possessed none of the pretentious haughtiness often bolstered by the titled and entitled.
Her eyes found him and it just so happened he chose that exact instant to look in her direction. The table seated thirty guests or more, but for one heart-stopping instant when their eyes met and held, the external world dissolved and their silent communication spoke louder than any mirthful jest or blithesome conversation.
He raised his glass of port, a confidential acknowledgement that caused a riotous quiver in her chest as if a bird spread its wings and fluttered. His eyes smoldered, hotter than the myriad candles held in crystal arms above their heads. Her breathing hitched.
How was it possible? That such an innocuous gesture, the raising of a wine glass amongst a table littered with unconsidered silver and china, could affect her with impact? Cause her pulse to triple, her body to heat, lost in a sultry incandescence that evoked forbidden images of passion and kisses? A flush crept up her back, between her shoulder blades, to warm her neck and remind she was not immune to his handsomeness. She remembered the velvet slide of his tongue in her mouth and her throat went dry, despite she’d grown wet elsewhere.
One side of his mouth hitched in a smile, revealing that seldom dimple, all the more disarming for its lopsided charm and she wondered for not the first time, if he knew she thought of their kiss, remembered each stroke of his tongue, as if he could read her mind and delve into her heart.
They stayed locked together unaware if anyone noticed, the distance between them too great to be obvious, yet with every tick of the clock, each thrum of her pulse, she melted further into his adoration until at last, startled by the touch of Thomasina’s glove upon her arm, Emily forced her eyes away.
Later that night, when Emily surrendered to the knowledge she was too restless for sleep, she pushed the counterpane aside and settled on the edge of the bed, her eyes intent on the stars outside the window. When she was a child and her father discovered her awake, unable to sleep despite the late hour, they’d sit together on the window seat and count stars. As she grew older, she realized her father hoped the ritual would make her sleepy, focusing on the dark sky and tiring with her attempt to tally infinity. But what he didn’t know, and never would, was that for each brilliant point of light, she made a silent wish hoping with all her innocence, somehow their family would be happy.
She’d spent countless evenings wishing, hoping, her father would return, change his manner of thinking or discover he loved her. Until one day, her mother’s decline brought an irrevocable change. Her heart hardened. It no longer mattered if her father ever returned, the damage done. Yet that was all in the past now, and she’d emerged stronger because of it. From that day forward she never mourned her loss, armed with the knowledge that wishes were undependable. Wishes failed.
Shaking away the memory with a resolute sigh, Emily’s eyes fell to the basket near the wall, filled with her mother’s letters and hidden under a tattered brown blanket, as worn as her old memories. She didn’t need to see it to know it contained endless envelopes of unsent messages. Was it a form of therapy for her mother to write to her father when there was no hope of a response?
At first Emily believed it might shake her mother from the maudlin depression of her father’s absence, but as months passed, then years, she witnessed her mother’s hope strengthening rather than resolving into appropriate mourning.
Her mother’s demeanor changed swiftly after. No joy lived in her eyes. She rarely smiled. Eating became a chore and she remained in house, almost as if she expected him to return. Her mood became unpredictable. In many ways her mind became as broken as her heart.
Love wasn’t supposed to cause perpetual pain.
Exhaling to dispose of conflicted emotion, Emily slid from the edge of the mattress and padded to the window, the hardwood floor cool against the soles of her feet. Clouds crowded the night sky obliterating the same stars she’d spied only
moments before. There was no need to count now. No one to count on or count for.
Unless…
She shook her head and dismissed the fanciful notion as soon as it formed. Jasper was brother to an earl and well entrenched in aristocratic circles. While his kiss had seared her soul, it was his eyes that noticed things she didn’t intend to share, as if he saw inside her soul to understand much more than she meant to reveal. A man like that was dangerous and she’d witnessed all too well what became of one’s heart when it filled with love only to be broken and discarded later.
Tomorrow, when the league gathered and they shared their ideas for future independence, she’d remedy her thinking and reaffirm her goals. Attending the dinner party and falling prey to the lure of society’s siren confused her purpose. No wonder so many women were led to believe once a husband was secured the future progressed seamlessly. Perhaps for some, a fairytale life existed, but Emily doubted its truth. Still, she didn’t want to live the rest of her life alone. One bone-melting kiss from Jasper proved her thoughts of independence might need to be amended.
The next morning, with renewed faith in her mission, Emily dressed in her finest walking gown of French cambric and blonde lace. The butter-yellow fabric complemented her hair and eyes and while ordinarily she wouldn’t waste time on her choice of fashion, today she strove for perfection. She’d renew her purpose to represent sufficiency and determination down to her silk slippers. Adding to the air of earnest purpose, she selected a daring bonnet adorned with a trio of pheasant feathers in varying shades of brown ochre. She eyed her attire in the mirror, pleased with the collective assemble which bespoke of self-reliance and boldness. At last, she added a pair of peridot earbobs and the charm bracelet, smiling with the remembrance of the child who’d gifted it to her. She touched a fingertip to the silver dove where it dangled from the chain and then after tea and toast, and a discussion with the housekeeper, she left directly.
Ordinarily, Emily would have arranged for her carriage to be brought around, but the weather was fine and a desire to erase the last time she’d stormed from the town house in tears convinced she’d walk the distance to upper Bond Street. Time was not a factor.
She’d almost reached her destination when a very fine phaeton pulled to the curb, the driver anxious to extend the steps and open the crest-adorned door. Emily waited and watched. A handsome gentleman exited the carriage, spoke a few words to his driver and entered Inventive Investments with nary a glance over his shoulder. Curiosity prompted her forward and before searching in her reticule for the door key, she meandered past the large glass window of the lower floor office all the while wondering who might be visiting Jasper at this early hour.
Had the phaeton not pulled away so quickly, she might have noted the crest. Alas, she was too late although she deciphered the situation soon after.
Standing beside Jasper, an inch taller, but ten times more contemplative, was a man who could only be his brother. Their shared hair color and similar features linked them as family, although Jasper possessed an ease in his comportment that was lost on the earl. Jasper greeted him with a smile and hearty handshake, but his brother appeared intent on discussion, words flowing fast and furious while he paced a hard line in front of a desk.
Emily might have discarded propriety altogether and gawked at the window if it wasn’t for the arrival of Jasper’s business associate, the same gentleman who’d skulked into the background the morning she’d challenged Jasper concerning the league’s meetings. She stifled a giggle and noted how he, too, stood outside watching the scene within.
“Dash will have his head for breakfast.”
Emily slid a sideways glance in the gentleman’s direction unsure whether to respond to his outspoken observation.
When the gentleman nodded and introduced himself, she couldn’t resist a rejoinder. “Dash? Is that Jasper’s brother?”
“Valerian St. David, sixth Earl of Dashwood. Dash to his friends, although I doubt he’s in an agreeable mood this morning. Everything Jasper sets out to accomplish rubs against the grain and Dash is often too blinded by his own perceptions to realize his brother is extremely sharp-witted and not the buffle-headed sapscull he believes him to be.”
Emily’s brows rose high at Beaufort’s detailed commentary. “They don’t get on together then?”
“As well as two brothers do I suppose, when one is an earl and one isn’t.”
This left Emily chagrined. “I understand.” Although truly, she didn’t. Peers of the realm were a disdainful supercilious lot who looked down their noses at the rest of the world, quick to judge a person’s worth by the importance of their title; swift to dismiss a person’s value by their lack thereof. She reserved scorn for their vainglorious airs. The few aristocrats who stood as exceptions to the rule, Viscount Kellaway came to mind, were included in a rare and special breed she wished was prolific but discovered with disappointment, was not.
She reclaimed her smile shortly thereafter when a carriage arrived with Cynthia and Portia inside. The ladies joined the gathering on the walkway and the quartet conversed as if old friends. Randolph Beaufort seemed a likeable fellow despite his connections to the upper ten thousand.
They might have remained there in amiable conversation if Jasper didn’t spy them through the glass and usher his brother to the exit. The earl rushed past with nothing more than a nod and climbed into his carriage which appeared as if summoned through brain power. Their collective attention volleyed to Jasper, who leaned against the doorframe of the office, a whimsical smile spread wide across his face.
Emily noticed the convivial gleam in his eyes despite it appeared he’d shared heated words with his brother. She noticed, too, the precise cut of his waistcoat, his shirt sleeves pulled taut where his arms crossed over his chest. Those arms had wrapped her in a firm embrace that still ignited a spark of heat if she succumbed to weakness and permitted the memory.
Randolph broke from the group and approached his friend, the ladies inclined to follow, Emily most of all. For curiosity purposes only, of course.
“Confounding, how Dash holds such low estimation of your ability when last year he flirted with dun territory until your resourceful salvation.” Randolph barked a laugh of disbelief. “Did he say much before I arrived?”
“Never mind Dash. His tongue’s so long he can lick his eye.” Jasper looking in her direction and winked. “We shan’t allow his dismal prediction of doom to spoil our plans. I informed my brother Inventive Investments is here to stay.” Jasper pushed from the doorframe and stepped further into their group. “Good morning, Miss Shaw. I suspect you have a meeting, a congregation of lovely ladies, I see.”
Cynthia and Portia twittered with the compliment but Emily was accomplished in disallowing her smile freedom. “Good morning, Mr. St. David. We were just about to go upstairs, although we’re sadly lacking in members at the moment.” She brought a gloved hand to shield her brow as she peered over his shoulder and down the street. “I do hope the remaining ladies join us this morning. The topic is absolutely riveting.”
“Indeed.”
He smiled, and she experienced the full force of his attention straight down to the heels of her silk slippers.
“What, pray tell, is scheduled for discussion?”
His low baritone had a way of wending its way inside her in a most discomforting sensation, or so she told herself. Had she imagined it or were Portia and Cynthia inching closer, each girl’s chin nearly at rest on her shoulders as she answered Jasper’s question? She quirked a little smile and responded. “Tipples.”
“What? What was that?” Randolph snapped to attention. His head swiveled with instant interest, though his mouth hung agape as if begging forth an explanation.
“Miss Shaw said tipples, Randolph.” Jasper cleared his throat and presented a chagrinned expression. “Liquor, Blue Ruin, imbibement if you will.”
“A lady needs to know how to handle all things, her drink included.” Emily noti
ced the sparkle in Jasper’s eyes. How easily she could lose herself to his clever banter.
“No good can come from bosky behavior.” Randolph shook his head in censure. “My grandfather died of barrel fever.”
“Oh I agree, but more the point, if the league members are to comport themselves in society without companionship, a lesson in alcohol strength and content is invaluable. Miss Maddox has studied her father’s liquor cabinet and cataloged an extensive list of color and scent.” Emily canted her head to the left indicating the lady behind her right shoulder. “Cynthia plans to share the information before our taste tests begin.”
“Taste tests?” Jasper aborted a guffaw. “You mean upstairs at this early hour while I’m downstairs conducting business, you and your fellow leaguers plan to drink your way to dizzy? I should inform you with no ill intent to impose on your plan, if you’re not accustomed to spirits, you’ll feel the effects of the tamest sherry within minutes. I’d hate to abandon an important financial journal to rescue a damsel tumbling down the staircase, or worse, wobbling out into the thoroughfare…no matter how beautiful.” He leaned forward to deliver the last words in a deep husky murmur.
Any quick rebuttal evaporated as her brain processed his compliment, but no, she couldn’t let him dismiss their purpose. Emily shook her head in the negative, the feathers on her bonnet floating near her cheek with the movement.
“Of course, you, being male, assume we, the helpless and bird-witted females, will take one taste of the liquor and land deep in our cups.” She leaned as close as he did, anxious to stress the importance of her point. “That’s hardly the plan.”
Jasper stared deeply into Miss Shaw’s bluer-than-blue eyes and wondered for the hundredth time if she remembered their kiss. If she liked to think about it. If she’d ever wish to experience it again, because now, like earlier and also last night, he couldn’t stop thinking about how delicious that kiss had been…and how much he’d like to taste her lips again, and perhaps discover all the scrumptious delights she hid under froth and lace. She had a sweet little mouth, ripe for kissing among other things; and as the blood pooled to all the wrong places of his body he pondered how he’d ever cure this unexpected fever of the heart.
Undone by His Kiss Page 9
