This extensive spell of melancholy was troubling but also repetitive. Emily had lived through similar episodes before. How she wished for the joyous days of her youth when her father and mother were blissfully in love. Or at least as she’d thought it true, seeing the world through the naïve eyes of childhood. The last nine years, with only mother and daughter in the house, had been trying, emotional, and exhausting. She worried her mother’s mind would never be right again, but she was not a physician, nor could she convince her mother to seek one for help. Whenever Emily made an appointment for a doctor’s visit at their town house, mother refused to come downstairs until Emily, beaten by frustration, stopped trying, the embarrassment suffocating.
So they existed, survived, day by day, month after month. Wasn’t the loss of a father traumatic enough without the subsequent loss of her mother’s vivacity and clarity? To lose a mother after losing a father seemed cruel and unfair. Emily’s heart clenched with emotion. She would be stronger. She would rely on no one but herself. She refused to accept the same bleak future.
Returning to the writing desk, she wiggled the handle on the center drawer. The catch held, firmly locked, and she exhaled with approval. The relief of knowing her most painful secret remained safe and secured offered the slightest balm.
The clock on the wall struck a gentle chime reminding she should return home. It wasn’t fair to Mary, or her mother…or herself. A sigh escaped and she turned with abrupt purpose and a flicker of hope. Perhaps she could convince mother to play cards or share tea in the drawing room. She collected her reticule and pelisse, ensuring all doors were locked as she left. Unable to stifle her curiosity, she peered inside the lower window, but no one occupied the office today. Jasper had a way of evoking a smile even when her emotions were at their lowest.
Exhaling long and thoroughly she stepped away from the glass, her head bowed with the weight of her thoughts, the sun warm on her neck.
“Good morning, Miss Shaw.”
She recognized the landlord’s voice even though her back faced him, and she turned to greet the kind gentleman. “Hello, Mr. Moira.”
“This is fine happenstance. I intended to leave you a receipt slipped under the door, but can now hand it to you directly.”
The landlord, a gregarious fellow, reached into his leather bag before offering her a bundle of papers. His eyes were gentle, his expression soothing, and Emily surrendered a bit of the tension that wrapped her tight. She accepted the packet, amused when a passing ladybug settled on the edge before taking flight in search of sunshine. She folded the papers and tucked them into her reticule. “Thank you. I realize leasing this office to me is an unusual situation and I appreciate your fair-minded understanding.”
“Think nothing of it.” His smile seemed wider than his mustache, if that was possible. “Have you met the tenant downstairs? He hasn’t given you any trouble now, has he?”
“Of course not.” She recalled the corkscrew episode and bit her lip to suppress a little laugh. “Mr. St. David has been a complete gentleman.” Except during that kiss. Heavens, she needed to forget that kiss.
They turned to view the lower office window, a slant of sunlight glittering off the painted letters. She noticed smaller words beneath the title and leaned closer to read the second line visible under the open wings of the detailed dove: Where Ideas Take Flight. Had that always been there? She couldn’t remember.
“I arranged for the window design. Would you like a similar title for your office?” The compact man pointed toward the side door and adjusted his attention in expectation of her response.
“No, thank you. Right now, anonymity serves our purpose well. Perhaps one day when the world becomes a more enlightened place I can advertise our league on the glass. I certainly hope so.” The latter reply was more murmur than statement yet she saw no need to expound. “I doubt all the words would fit anyway.”
“As you wish. I shan’t keep you any longer. There are far too many clouds above for me to dally. Do take care as you make your way home. I fear a thorough soaking is imminent.” He nodded with a smile and then busied down the street, melting into the other shoppers filling the walkway with activity.
Emily took a peek at the sky, discovering Mr. Moira’s weather prediction to be true. Funny, how the sun had been shining only a few moments before. Still she was too intelligent to chance London’s fickle weather.
She set about the way home with the mindset she’d hail a hackney if needed. Guilt wheedled its way into her heart, for she’d purposely walked to Bond Street for no other reason than to escape the suffocation of being home with her mother. Now that the meetings had moved, the house grew quieter than ever. She should strive for more patience and understanding. Her mother still mourned her father’s absence as if it occurred yesterday. Who was she to censure such strong emotion? She’d never experienced romantic love. Her singular experiences with the emotion were familial and in that, scarred with hurtful remembrances and unresolved troubles.
The first splash of rain struck her cheek after she’d only ventured two blocks. She hadn’t thought to bring a bonnet or parasol, her pelisse the sole protection from the weather. Yet she had coins in her purse and would hail a hackney if needed. She walked on, undeterred by the few raindrops that dotted her skin and landed on her lashes. Keeping her eyes on the cobbles so not to take a misstep, she paused at the corner before crossing the street, startled by a rumble of thunder and an unexpected gust of wind. Good heavens, how could the weather turn so quickly? Perhaps she’d look for a hack now before all the rentals were snatched up.
Standing tall near the corner she waved a hand at the street, relief sweeping through her as a carriage immediately obliged. But it wasn’t a ride for hire. A driver jumped from the boot and opened the door allowing Emily a view of the very fine interior. Jasper sat within. He offered her a wide grin and reached out his gloved hand.
“The heavens are preparing a temper tantrum. Think nothing of this terrible mizzle, a drenching is on the way. Hurry now. It’s pure serendipity I happened along.”
A lady, one experiencing the increasing pelt of raindrops through her pelisse, couldn’t refuse an invitation so finely stated, most especially when she noticed the way Jasper’s eyes twinkled, those wonderfully long lashes giving the appearance of boyish charm wrapped in a man’s strong body. She clasped his hand and stepped up, her heart beating a hard rhythm as if to applaud her smart decision.
The driver closed the door and they were off despite Emily hadn’t revealed her address. How curious that Jasper neither asked for it. She removed her pelisse as it had grown damp at the shoulders and after folding it, placed it on the edge of the velvet bolster not wishing to cause the seat to get wet. They didn’t speak a word, but a definite frisson invigorated the close confines, causing a prickling of awareness to skitter up her spine and remind of their intimate proximity. Jasper’s knees rubbed against her skirts, the tips of his leather boots only inches from her slippers.
When at last she raised her eyes, a current of indefinable emotion passed between them with enough force that he noticed as well, his eyes flaring the slightest as she melted under the intensity of his velvety stare.
Her lips parted and she swallowed hard, words evaporating on her tongue. Breathing became a thought process while her body reacted involuntarily, with unfamiliar sensitivity that sent sparks of warning to each nerve ending. They continued in quiet, wooden wheels against cobblestones, until she startled to attention, the first strike of the downpour drumming the carriage roof in a cacophony of drops.
He laughed low and husky, as if he’d anticipated her reaction or perhaps, he’d conjured the storm on her behalf, and she found a genuine smile at his appreciation of the simplest of things and his sincere delight in offering her shelter.
Chapter 15
Jasper leaned against the squabs and admired the lovely miss on the opposite bench. Irritated by Dash’s insulting dismissal, he’d wished to reaffirm his commitment
by riding past the office, instead finding a valuable treasure along the way. Aah, serendipity was a wily, mysterious creature.
Miss Shaw instilled in him a randy quality more suited for Kellaway, combined with an earnest consideration that bespoke of his brother’s solemnity. Her eyes glittered in a shade of blue no one had invented yet. She wore a pretty walking dress of pale rose with matching slippers, but no clever bonnet as he’d come to expect atop her silken waves of breathtaking chestnut, gently tussled from the wind, a few damp strands clinging to her slender neck. Her conservative gown didn’t fool him for a minute. He’d experienced her luscious curves, the fabric smoothed over her firm breasts, down the line of her delicate back, as he’d embraced her in a kiss he wished never to forget and held her while they’d waltzed. The contact left him unbalanced, unable to concentrate, and anxious to repeat the privilege.
His fingers itched to reach across the carriage and drag her atop his lap. He satisfied this urge with activity, unbuttoning his left glove at the wrist and slowly peeling the leather across his palm. His hands had grown damp, the leather no longer cooperative and as he worked the glove from his fingers, with a flick of his eyes he noticed she concentrated on his hands as much as he. He slowed his movements, pinching the tip of each finger to loosen the leather before flexing his knuckles to enable his hand to slip free. With one glove finished, he turned his attention to the other and repeated the process, Miss Shaw’s attention riveted to his effort, and he wondered if she would have assisted him had he asked or if the intimate gesture, more akin to a wife’s ministrations, would cross some unbreakable line that compromised a guiding principle to which she adhered.
He yearned to kiss her, to feel her in his arms, across his lap, to taste her again, to sink into her sweet softness. His pants grew tight with increasing want, his breathing labored with an uneven tempo.
A sudden gust of wind lashed rain against the window, the sharp interruption enough to force him from his sexual reverie, yet taking his eyes from her proved a challenge and he smiled with the knowledge she appeared equally unbalanced though they’d communicated not a word.
“Where are we going?” Her whispered question rippled through him in an echo of his imagined activities.
“Regent’s Zoo,” he replied in the same hushed tone as her inquiry.
“The zoo? In this weather? Are we allowed?”
Her brows knit together in an adorable expression of befuddlement and she let out a confused laugh.
“It’s the very best time to visit. It isn’t open to the public, but in this my brother’s title has its use. We’ll be the only people there and as the aviary is entirely enclosed, we shan’t get wet.” He dared a quick smile before answering the question he anticipated would follow. “My driver has a huge umbrella.”
“I would like to visit.”Her shoulders relaxed and he noted the calm that graced her demeanor. “I’ve never been.”
“Excellent.” He pulled the velvet curtain across the rain speckled window and turned the knob on the brass lantern attached to the carriage wall. The wick sputtered once before the flame ignited. “A Carcel lamp.” Again he anticipated her query. “Fueled by vegetable oil and able to burn for near sixteen hours; but no worries, it will hardly take that long for us to reach the aviary.”
A crack of thunder caused her to shudder in her seat and he removed his coat and offered it forward. “Are you cold? Walking in the oncoming weather must have chilled you to the bone.” For some unexplainable reason, their usual chatty banter, clever and quick-witted, escaped the conversation. Instead emotion, soul-deep and honest, tainted every word.
“No, thank you.” She folded her hands in her lap, as demure as a china doll, and he noticed the glint of silver on her wrist where the bracelet rested, the dove visible in the gleam of pale yellow lantern light.
“Tell me a little about your life, Miss Shaw. What preoccupies your attention, rainy days or otherwise, when you aren’t rallying women to exercise equanimity and purpose? It seems somewhat inconceivable you haven’t an endless line of suitors knocking on your door or begging for a cherished lock of your hair.”
He heard, almost felt, her sharp intake of breath. Had he struck a nerve? Uncovered a secret?
“A fanciful suggestion, although conflicted. I assure there’s nothing to hold the interest of a visionary such as yourself.” She offered him a curious little smile. “Besides, a lock of hair would signify my devotion and complete surrender to true love. Were I to ever make the declarative gesture, it would be for a lifetime spent in happiness, without doubt or hesitation. The gentleman would hold my heart within his own.” She made a curt dismissive sound. “That type of romantic notion is only heard of in sonnets and prose.”
“Not a romance enthusiast, I take it.” He murmured the words in less than a reply. The surprising confession spoke to his soul and offered a rare esteemed glimpse into the lady’s perception. Yet the way she regarded the ardent profession of affection convinced him every silken wave on her head would stay firmly intact for all eternity. With judicious conclusion he allowed the words to settle, the continuous rattle and clack of the carriage noise sufficient for the moment. Unwilling to prolong the silence overlong, he turned the topic to something more amusing.
“As a child I visited the zoo often, fascinated by the various animals and intrigued by the science of it all. I never outgrew the charm, I suppose.” He arranged his coat on the bench to his right. “There are easily over one hundred species of birds from green pea fowl to rare ibis. I hope you’ll enjoy the display as much as I.”
“I’m sure I will.” She watched him from the corner of her eye, her chin tilted at a fetching angle. “This is an unexpected delight in my day.”
“The very best things are.”
The carriage slowed, the driver leading the team over the bridge crossing at Regent’s Canal. The unavoidable sway took Miss Shaw by surprise and she slid forward unexpectedly. He clasped her hands, not wishing for her to tumble from the bench, but equally anxious for any reason to touch her. Soft as satin, her skin issued a shot of arousal that turned him hard as stone. He’d never be able to leave the carriage if he didn’t get his condition under control. Worse yet, devil take him, some unbidden suggestion best considered when lying in bed at night, licked at his brain, providing images of the lady strewn across the sheets, waiting for pleasure.
Again, the vertiginous motion jolted the carriage and pushed them closer to the center of the interior, their knees rubbed, their hands kept fast. When she lifted her gaze from where he held her and matched the intensity of his stare, she gasped a little breath of surprise. And that’s when he abandoned all etiquette and surrendered to temptation.
His mouth found hers with uncompromised precision, lost in the glory of her adamant return. Her fingers slid through the hair at his temples, locking him to her in an expression of eager participation that made his heart pound and his cock ache. She tasted like a dream, an ambrosial combination of feminine sweetness and forbidden fruit, the freedom he yearned for and the divine fantasy he’d conjured, united in the hot slick rub of her tongue against his, the petal-soft press of her mouth against his jaw, his chin, his cheek. She rasped some delicious little noise, a murmur in the back of her throat, an entreaty for him to pleasure her, and he supplicated with fervor, dragging his mouth across her cheekbone to find the delicate shell of her ear where he whispered all the wicked thoughts kept buried in his heart.
She stilled. Perhaps he’d revealed too much, offended her refined gentility. His pulse hammered, while he waited, his breath hard and fast. Then her lips found his, her tongue next with a timid caress of his lower lip, licking, tasting his mouth to continue their kiss until all thought became impossible, obliterated by the thrum of passion and urgency and need. He pressed her against the velvet bolster, his shirt against her dress little barrier to the soft skin she hid beneath. Her fingers twined in the braces at his shoulders, as if lifelines to anchor her, the threat of their p
assion enough to sweep them away.
He wanted to strip her bare, discover every inch from neck to navel, to tell her she’d answered the silent prayer he hadn’t known lived in his soul. To drive into her delicate honey-sweet sex and make her his alone. He fought the desire with all the strength he owned.
Seeking a shred of relief, he skimmed his palms across her waist, over her ribcage where her breathing expanded and retracted with uneven measure, until his hands spanned the cloth below her breasts, the temptation to rub the pad of his thumb over each tightly budded nipple a raw palpable desire that had his cock straining against his trousers.
But then the carriage stopped, a rap from the driver signaling they’d reached their destination.
They withdrew, his heart drumming such a furious beat he feared she would hear the sound, yet they remained nose to nose, inhaling each other’s exhale, the panted intensity of what had transpired almost too much to bear. The thrum of his pulse settled below, unrelenting and unsatisfied; the hard thrust of the pounding rain against the carriage roof an ethereal suggestion of his most wicked desires.
Eventually, he forced himself back, although somehow his leg had parted her skirts, his boot nestled against her slim ankle, and he hesitated, not wishing to disconnect completely now that they’d dropped hands. He noticed her fingers trembled against the fabric of her skirt. She was affected as he. The realization satisfied.
At a loss for appropriate words, he knocked twice on the ceiling, and the driver immediately complied, meeting them near the door with an expansive black umbrella to shield them all the way to the aviary’s back entrance. They scurried inside where Jasper nodded to the guard who’d grown accustomed to his random visits on the most unpleasant days and discreetly disappeared.
“You were telling the truth.”
Undone by His Kiss Page 11
