Undone by His Kiss

by Anabelle Bryant

  Something else urged she know him better.

  But for the life of her, she couldn’t imagine why.

  Chapter 21

  Two days later, suppressing considerable restlessness, Jasper sat in his office, his focus homed on completing the necessary paperwork to secure investors in Perry’s invention. He’d spent the better part of yesterday debating whether or not to call on Miss Shaw, deciding in the end to abandon the desire and rededicate his attention on establishing credibility, thus the meeting with Mr. Perry and his newfangled rubber bands proceeded swimmingly.

  The last thing he needed was the distraction of a pretty woman who wanted no involvement or said the same but kissed him with tenderness and unabashed passion. The contradiction could cause a sane man to volunteer for Bedlam. So he’d made his resolution, reaffirmed his dedication, and stood firm. After which he’d spent the better part of yester evening regretting the decision.

  It wasn’t as though he’d never see her again. Her office was located upstairs. Today the League of Virtuous Equality had a scheduled meeting. He knew that with certainty. He’d marked the calendar and checked twice. He watched the window with care. It was more so the niggling notion that he might never kiss her again and that didn’t sit right at all. As a matter of fact, he refused to accept the possibility and filed it away in his mind as a subject of discussion for another day when his inner self was behaving more reasonably.

  “Good day, St. David. I’m pleased to catch you in.”

  Penwick entered the office, his walking stick tapping against the floor. The sound knocked on Jasper’s brain as if to call focus to the business at hand.

  “You’ve returned to London, then?” Jasper stood to accept the earl’s handshake and offer a chair.

  “I’ve postponed the trip for the time being.” Penwick propped his stick near the corner and took a seat. “An interesting matter has arisen, but that’s not why I’ve come to call. I was at White’s last evening and had the distinguished pleasure of meeting your brother.”

  The words were a damper to Jasper’s congeniality, similar to someone opening his mouth and dropping an anvil down his throat. “I see.” It was all he could muster as he digested the news.

  “Determined fellow, your brother. Well-meaning though.”

  These statements didn’t sit right either and Jasper’s unease grew. Were Penwick to suddenly cancel all contracts, dissuaded by Dash to withdraw his investments, it would be a terrible blow, not just to the company, but to his strengthening confidence. “As brothers go, you have him pegged correctly.” He murmured the reply, hoping Penwick wouldn’t inspect the words too closely. Dash would describe Jasper as a gentleman of three outs; without money, without wit, and without manners, although the opposite remained true.

  “And by devil, he’s proud.”

  Penwick stated the words in a matter-of-fact manner although Jasper swallowed audibly in anticipation of what the earl might say next. Without a doubt, Dash must have plumed his ruffled feathers and rang a death knell over what he perceived as his younger brother’s misguided ambition to operate business. Shouldn’t Dash support his newfound purpose? Congratulate him on initiative and sound fiscal knowledge? Jasper had long abandoned the foolish wagering and gaming hells still frequented by the rich and entitled, opting to carve his own path and exercise responsibility. Wasn’t there valor and pride in that? At times it seemed as if Dash preferred Jasper return to a less than respectful livelihood for no other reason than to perpetuate his own shining example of righteousness. It seemed terribly unfair. Pity that.

  “You are correct. My brother is a proud man.” Jasper released the words through clenched teeth and flicked his eyes to the window beyond Penwick’s shoulder. Miss Shaw had arrived and her contingency of women leaguers had expanded, at least fifteen women crowded the walkway in varying shades of brown, grey and blue, although Miss Shaw stood out easily, her jaunty emerald green bonnet bobbing above the small grouping. Was that a peacock feather? He wondered if it made her eyes appear bluer, if that was at all possible.

  How he’d like to remove her little topper and slide the pins from her hair, the chestnut tresses tumbling around her shoulders in enticing disarray.

  The crowd shifted and Jasper noted Randolph’s approach. His friend tipped his beaver cap to the ladies and strode into the office, unaffected by the amassed feminine display, prettier than a bouquet in springtime.

  Would Miss Shaw glance through the window? He’d feel personal gratification if she offered a little show of interest. Perhaps she’d bequest him with a smile. Her smile took his breath away.

  “Penwick, how does it go?” Randolph flipped his hat to the top hook of the rack and closed the door with his foot, the sound drawing all attention.

  “Randolph,” Jasper admonished, and both men swiveled in his direction as if he’d said something wrong.

  “Yes?” they answered in unison.

  Randolph and Penwick eyed each other with incredulous expressions.

  “Your given name is Randolph?” Randolph, Beaufort, that is, smiled like a jolly nob. “Fancy the coincidence.”

  Jasper remained unimpressed. “There are likely hundreds, perhaps thousands of men named Randolph here in London.” His eyes returned to the window, distressed that he’d been distracted by Beaufort’s prattle, and now the ladies were gone. He could hear the scrape of chairs on the floor abovestairs and wished, not for the first time, he could join the little meeting and find out what the league explored beyond bank accounts and liquor cabinets.

  “My father’s name and his father before. I make use of R. James occasionally, but Penwick suits otherwise.”

  “That’s quite a few Randolphs.” Beaufort’s grin expanded.

  Jasper thanked the devil he was business partners with only the one.

  “Ladies.” Emily rapped the desktop with her knuckles in substitution of the wooden gavel she meant to bring from home and continually forgot. The room quieted much to her pleasure. “I’d like to welcome three new members who have joined our league this morning.” She swept an arc with her eyes, pausing as she made contact around the horseshoe-shaped gathering of chairs. “I hope everyone, most especially our newcomers, will find our discussions enlightening and empowering.”

  A twitter of pleasant salutations and brief introductions filled the room and Emily paused until everyone quieted. “Before we hear a presentation from Portia Edmonstone discussing the advantages of traveling unencumbered, I’d like to restate our purpose as members of the League of Virtuous Equality.” She squared her shoulders and called forth her renewed determination. No more would she be distracted by long lashes and emerald green eyes. “We gather together here to reaffirm that men and women are equal. Convention insists women be kept in a cage of social restriction, our choices beyond marriage and childbirth limited to the gentler arts. I, for one, am not fond of watercolors or embroidery. Perhaps I choose to travel the world, operate a business, or pen a work of fiction.” She paused and the anticipated applause followed. “These options should not be limited to the rare permission granted by a husband or governing male. We work here to strengthen the privileges offered women, to enlighten society and its skewed point of view and to further enable women to accomplish the ideal life, whether it result in marriage, career or financial security.” Again, a rush of applause and encouragement circulated. “Now that I have made clear our purpose, I’d be happy to answer any questions or hear suggestions from our membership.”

  Several hands shot up and Emily was at once taken aback, not expecting the robust response. She thought to begin with a familiar face.

  “Yes, Cynthia, what is your question?”

  “You’re not suggesting we live as bluestockings? Independents who have no use for romance or relationships, substituting life’s more passionate delights with education, are you?”

  Emily tsked a soft sound of impatience, Cynthia’s question more likely to incite the crowd than offer insight. And worse yet
, her friend knew well the answer. “Cynthia, as you are already aware, the league encourages happiness and satisfaction above all else. No one is suggesting any member forego marriage or motherhood. Instead, our purpose is for ladies to have a choice to pursue their heart’s desire without censure or worse, fear of becoming ostracized. The core of this mission, the gathering of likeminded intelligent females, is to allow women to choose their own path without inherent restriction imposed by social dictate.”

  Applause broke out in kind to Emily’s smile. This was why she’d formed the league. Not just to enhance prospects for women, but to feel wanted, needed…to replace the grim reality ever present in other areas of her life.

  The heady feeling continued throughout the remaining inquiries and Portia’s outstanding presentation on necessary travel considerations. Emily watched with satisfaction as members made future plans to meet and discuss the opportunities suggested. Only Thomasina lingered when all other members had left to continue their day.

  “The meeting was a great success today. I’m invigorated and encouraged by the new members too. Would you like to walk to Piccadilly and share a late lunch?” Thomasina gathered her cape and started toward the door.

  “Actually I’m going to stay on for a bit. I have a few papers to review and I may as well take advantage of the time before returning home. Thank you, though.” She hoped her friend wouldn’t hear the wistful note in her voice. For surely she wasn’t lingering for any other reason.

  “Are you certain you wouldn’t care for some company? We can visit that charming millinery you favor. I noticed several new bonnets in the window yesterday.”

  Emily smiled at her friend’s persistence. Thomasina was as intuitive as she was sharp thinking. “Honestly, I promise.”

  “All right then. But have a care with the time. The weather looks ominous and I doubt much time will pass without the clouds opening to prove me correct.” And with these parting words, Thomasina left.

  Emily walked to the front window to watch her friend’s retreat. Belowstairs might already be closed for the day, but with that same thought came the proof she was wrong as she spied a well-dressed gentleman with top hat and walking stick exit, as if called forth by her notice. He too continued down the thoroughfare. She shot her eyes upward, a twist of her lips confirming Thomasina’s prediction of poor weather. The sky showed signs of an impending storm.

  Refusing to dally any longer near the window, Emily gathered her reticule and returned to the desk. She located the small brass key which opened the middle desk drawer and withdrew the letter she kept safely locked there. The letter inside never failed to cause an onslaught of conflicted emotions. Like penance, she regularly reread the words, hoping to find some resolution, any understanding, and often feeling only frustration after the ritual. At the least, she sought some type of closure so her memories wouldn’t remain raw. Yet the last time she’d tried to reread the message, she couldn’t bring herself to complete the task. Her mother had been difficult that particular morning and when Emily set about the task of reading, tears had blurred her vision to the extent she couldn’t make sense of the lines and slashes that formed words and emotion.

  Now freed from the drawer, the well-read letter unfolded by its own volition its creases nearly worn through. Her eyes grew watery before she managed the first few words, but she fought the emotion this time.

  Dearest Emily,

  The world where we live is not a fair place. If it were, I wouldn’t be faced with this decision. But alas, it is a choice that possesses only one right answer. Your mother will never understand, but I hold hope you will accept my words of apology and live a contented life, void of the anger and resentment bound to keep your mother in sorrow.

  I’ve arranged for you to want little. Financial security is yours. Although I cannot offer you the life you deserve, you need to know this resolution was not easily made.

  I will always love you.

  Father

  The next morning her father was gone and Emily’s life was never the same. Rereading the words offered little solace, but she stared at them a bit longer anyway. How could her father use words of love, when his choice had near destroyed her? He knew well the result of his decision, yet he never looked back. She sniffled past her emotions and replaced the note, securing it was locked where it belonged, away from the light of day.

  A flash of lightning disrupted her lassitude. Good heavens, she should start home before the skies opened. A crack of thunder punctuated the conclusion. She gathered her pelisse and reticule, only pausing another minute to try the handle on the desk drawer and confirm it remained locked, but she’d waited a minute too long. Teeming rain struck the roof with such force, she gasped, all at once discomfited.

  She chided her foolishness and replaced her things, willing to wait for the onslaught of weather to subside before she’d attempt to find a hackney. It would be a miracle if any driver were available in the foul distempered weather. Walking to the front window, she viewed the street and followed the windblown leaves as they danced across the cobbles. Puddles filled with brisk expedience and a straggling passerby darted for cover.

  She knew not how long she stood there, lost in thought and reclaiming calm, but it was the sturdy knock on the door which startled her more than the frequent tremor of thunder. She’d watched Thomasina take her leave, so she doubted a member of the league had returned. Before she could think better of it, she walked to the door and opened it a crack.

  “Miss Shaw.”

  The deep tenor revealed Jasper St. David stood on the shadowy other side, his unruly dark locks tousled about his head as if he’d been out in the tempest though his clothing appeared dry. She eased the door another margin. “Yes.” A quiver as she spoke exposed anguish in her voice, past emotion betraying her despite she’d locked it away.

  “Are you well?”

  His voice was all concern, and she opened the door considerably, unaccustomed to addressing handsome gentlemen in such secretive fashion. He waited for no invitation, striding into the room once the space allowed.

  “I didn’t see you depart and the weather has become frightful. Do you have enough firewood?” Again he waited for no reply, assuming the role of rescuer as he stoked the flames and poked the logs with aggressive purpose until the ferocity of the blaze would cause a dragon a bout of jealousy. “There now, that will keep you warm.”

  She wasn’t chilled in the least, but it had nothing to do with the fire’s intensity. He must have worked diligently at his desk, his waistcoat abandoned and his shirt sleeves turned thrice to reveal the firm muscle of his forearms, the light brush of dark hair an intriguing phenomenon. She chewed the inside of her lip to offset the desire to touch the smooth display of masculinity, the sensation a promise of delight.

  “Thank you.” Out came her whisper, although she should be outraged at his chivalrous role. Whenever she shared his company, all thoughts of independence and self-sufficiency seemed to fall by the wayside, easily forgotten. A man who could cause a woman to forget her purpose was dangerous indeed.

  “Are you in need of anything else?”

  Now there was a question. She took a breath. Then another. “I don’t believe so. The fire is raging and I’ve no choice but to wait for the weather to subside.”

  “Perhaps a little conversation then.”

  Was he asking? Her gaze settled on his mouth, his firm sensual lips, lips that promised secrets and pleasure. She’d tasted his kiss, never to forget the glory.

  “I take it no one needed a corkscrew demonstration today?”

  His eyes moved to hers and she basked for a breath in their velvety adoration before shaking her head in bemusement. “We discussed travel abroad, nothing at all as dangerous as liquor.”

  Across the room, tall and handsome, he was an interloper in her office, her sanctuary, her life. She took a few steps and a leap in her pulse affirmed it was the wrong thing to do and the veriest right thing too.

  “
Pirate ships and hot air balloons to the moon then.”

  He really couldn’t be more charming. Those long lashes, that dimple. Another injustice of equality. She dismissed the thought so it wouldn’t evoke laughter and stopped when her breathing hitched, a signal she’d gotten close enough.

  “What are we to do to pass the time?” He continued the conversation though she’d been quiet all along.

  He smiled as if he had already formed one hundred suggestions and a silky shiver of anticipation caused her fingers to tremble.

  “What do you suggest?” Out of depth, she answered his question with one of her own, all the while a contingency of inner whims rallied to create unsuitable proposals. Ideas she’d never imagined existed sprung to life with discriminating clarity, remembering his whispers in her ear within their heated embrace. Would it be so terrible to indulge in one more kiss? She wavered with the internal reply.

  Chapter 22

  He would become addled with unfulfilled desire if he didn’t perish first. One kiss. One taste. One lick, one stroke. His pulse hammered a harder beat than the slant of rain on the roof tiles. She would succumb and he could carry on, if only for one kiss. Then everything would return to normal with his focus on business instead of this unexplainable and rash preoccupation with Miss Shaw.

  The lie took hold with secure confidence.

  He flicked his eyes around the room, sparsely furnished with neat necessities. An upholstered baluster chair sat across the room, a paisley pattern on the goldenrod seat cushion. The writing desk, tidy and prim, stood erect against one wall, while an assortment of chairs, no two alike, posed in every available corner. The same table where the liquor display was showcased, now held that clever bonnet of green ribbon and peacock feathers. He returned his eyes to hers after the assessment, unaware of exactly for what he’d searched.