Pride and Pleasure

by Sylvia Day

  “I was not encouraging him,” she said carefully. “I was commiserating with him. I collected that he was perturbed and perhaps felt…marginalized.”

  Jasper glanced at her with a sardonically raised brow. “You know how he feels, but not how I feel. Care to explain why?”

  “Miss Tolliver is clearly taken with you, and she’s lovely and charming. As many times as we’ve met before, today was the first time I resented those qualities in her.”

  He grew very still.

  Unsure if that was a positive or negative sign, she pressed on. “Sir Richard must feel similarly in regards to you. How can he compete with a man such as yourself? I vow there isn’t another male in the world who is as stunning. In the face of what must have been a crushing feeling of inferiority, offering a dance seemed the least I could do.”

  Jasper’s face gave away none of his thoughts. After a tor-turously long delay, he said, “You have no notion that the room just tilted on its axis, do you?”

  Chapter 5

  Jasper watched as Eliza’s gaze darted around the Exhibition Hall in search of proof to support his claim. A rush of tenderness tightened his chest and prevented him from explaining.

  Eliza returned her attention to him. “Lady Collingsworth doesn’t look as if something so phenomenal has happened.”

  “Ah, Eliza,” he murmured, warmly amused. “Lynd said you would drive me mad, and he was correct, as usual.”

  Her pretty mouth pursed into a tight line. “I begin to feel as if I am lacking wits,” she groused. “I have been at a loss to understand anything since I woke this morning.”

  He found her confusion poignantly endearing. He wished he could reply to her in a gentler manner, but he was not a gentle man. As surprising as her use of “mate” had been earlier, he found it brilliantly apt now. His desire for her was at a fever pitch, his blood hot and his patience far too thin. If they’d been alone, he would be fucking her now. Mating with her. Pumping his cock so deep into her she would have no doubt that her public performance was the furthest thing from his mind.

  Rolling his shoulders back, he tried to ward off the tension building there. He could not talk about sex right now, even to say that he wanted it with her. The words would be too coarse, his vehemence too frightening. And he wasn’t yet sure that she wanted it with him. Her body did, yes. Watching her melt for him in the barouche had been singularly the most arousing experience of his life. But she had been overwhelmed and not thinking properly at the time. Eliza needed to be cognizant of her decision to take him to her bed if he was to have her as he wanted.

  She watched him now, wary and unsure.

  He urged her to walk with him, needing to be in motion. It didn’t escape his notice that she had him in this state by speech alone. Not with a look or a touch, but with innocently spoken, artlessly truthful words.

  “I want you to teach me how to dance,” he said.

  “Truly?” The excitement in her voice was its own reward.

  “It’s the only way to make restitution for giving my dance to someone else.” And another way to add a block of time with her to his schedule.

  Her smile was a sight to behold. “I must warn you, I am not a very good instructor of anything. I lack patience and become easily frustrated.”

  “I am a speedy learner,” he assured, intending to make the lessons worth her while in many ways.

  “Very well, then. I would be happy to try.”

  Returning his attention to the portraits on the wall, Jasper acknowledged that he enjoyed the exhibition. He had not expected to, as he wasn’t fond of crowds. The room was almost full and the hum of conversation was a steady but not-unpleasant drone. He should not have felt comfortable there. He was a mongrel among purebreds, yet Eliza made him feel as if he was right where he should be. At the very least, right where he wanted to be.

  “Which is your favorite so far?” she asked.

  “I think that one.” He pointed to an image of a galloping horse. “I can almost feel the wind when I look at it.”

  “Mine is this one.” She pulled him forward and singled out a portrait of a dancing nymph with flowing hair and ribbons. “The skill involved in turning mere paints into an image that looks as if it can walk right off the canvas…I am awed by it.”

  “I’m glad you came with me and not with Tolliver,” he said.

  She squeezed his arm. “I am, too.”

  They continued around the room at a leisurely pace, pausing every few feet to take in the many paintings occupying the soaring walls.

  After an hour, Eliza begged to be excused. “Will you be comfortable if I leave you alone for a moment?”

  Jasper wanted to say no. “Only a moment.”

  She moved away. He expected her to speak to someone she knew or visit with Lady Collingsworth for a time. Instead, she left the room. He moved to follow, wanting to ensure her safety by keeping her in sight.

  Lady Collingsworth deftly intercepted him.

  “My lady,” he said, with a slight inclination of his head.

  She wrapped her hand around his forearm and waved him forward with her fan. “I would like to become better acquainted with you, Mr. Bond.”

  “Oh?” He looked toward the exit in time to see Sir Richard Tolliver and his sister make their egress.

  “Eliza’s mother and I were dear friends. After Lady Georgina’s passing, I took Eliza under my wing. I couldn’t love her more if she was my own child.”

  “She is an exceptional young woman.”

  “Not so young,” she said, eyeing him. “She has had six failed Seasons.”

  “By her choice. And she is young in more than her years. She has an almost childlike comprehension of emotions.”

  “You sound as if you know her well, yet I have never heard of you prior to yesterday. Why are you here, Mr. Bond? And when will you return to the place whence you came?”

  They rounded a corner of the room and Jasper considered his reply. A hastily spoken falsehood could breach Eliza’s privacy. “I am here on business.”

  “You are in trade?” Her ladyship pulled away enough to facilitate studying his attire. “Successfully, it would appear.”

  Jasper smiled. “Is it a mark in my favor that I am not in pursuit of Miss Martin’s fortune?”

  “Depends on what else you are in pursuit of. I am not blind. I see the way you look at her.”

  “I am not blind either.”

  “Cheeky fellow,” she admonished, but there was a twinkle in her eye. “What are your intentions?”

  He stared at a painting nigh the size of his curricle and mulled over his reply. In the end, he circumvented the question. “I want her to be safe and happy.”

  And yet his “intentions,” such as they were, might very well put her safety and happiness at risk. For her, there must be some comfort in her ignorance of softer emotions. Already their association had caused her to feel bewildered and to act against sound reasoning.

  “Excellent sentiments,” Lady Collingsworth said. “I could not agree more. Might I suggest you pay your addresses sooner, rather than later? It would be lovely for her to enjoy a few weeks of the Season as an affianced woman.”

  The tension in Jasper’s shoulders returned, but for a different reason. Speaking carefully, he answered, “I am not certain she would be best served with me.”

  “I see.” There was a long moment wherein her ladyship drummed her gloved fingertips into his forearm. “Do you know, Mr. Bond, I can count on my fingers the number of times I have seen Eliza smile in public?”

  “She does not smile often,” he agreed, feeling more than a little triumph that she’d smiled so brilliantly at him today.

  “I would suggest you leave the determination of what makes Eliza feel safe and happy to her. Speculation is necessary in business, but in affairs of the heart, it often leads to poor judgments.”

  “I will take that under advisement.”

  Her mouth curved on one side. “I can see what she lik
es about you, Mr. Bond. You listen. I suspect you don’t always act on what you’ve heard, but you listen in any case.”

  They returned to the entrance and she released him. Jasper bowed, then ducked out of the room with unseemly haste. But he was stopped once again by Lord Westfield, who was a few feet away from reaching the Exhibition Hall with a delicate-looking blonde on his arm.

  “Why, Bond,” Westfield called out. “Where are you running off to?”

  His lordship leaned down and whispered something to his companion. When his head lifted, she was smiling in a way that promised all sorts of delicious things. She moved into the room without him, leaving him to speak to Jasper.

  “Miss Martin left the room some minutes ago,” Jasper said.

  “And you are following her with notable eagerness.”

  “I have been waylaid twice now.” His glare made it clear who the second delay was.

  “Well, then,” his lordship said, “the least I can do is show you where the ladies’ retiring rooms are, as I would imagine that’s where she went. Unless you frightened her into fleeing. I say, your scowl is fearsome even to me.”

  Jasper growled softly.

  Westfield laughed and gave concise directions. Jasper was grateful for the assistance, but was less appreciative of the note of amusement that colored its delivery.

  With a quick salute of fingertips to his hat brim, he set off in search of Eliza. Several minutes had passed since she parted from him, an inconsiderable amount of time for many women but slightly too long for a lady who didn’t fret about her appearance. He turned the corner and heard Eliza’s voice float toward him, but he could not see her. There was a statue of a man between them, in the center of the hallway on a platform of rollers. She was speaking with calm efficiency to the men laboring to move the obstruction, explaining that one of the wheels seemed to be caught by the runner protecting the floor.

  Shaking his head, Jasper started forward. How like her to linger and offer engineering advice, even of such a small nature. A fond smile curved his lips. She said he was a man clearly suited to more strenuous pursuits and he would not argue the point. However, it appeared a quick mind was as arousing to him as a naked woman.

  “Miss Martin,” he called out.

  “Mr. Bond.” She peeked around the thigh of the statue. “I have been eye level with the backside of this artwork for long moments now. It seems one of the wheels is indisposed to motion.”

  “Perhaps you should just squeeze around the platform?” he suggested, gauging the space on either side. There wasn’t much room, despite the generous size of the hallway. In fact, the piece was so large it towered above them.

  He slowed as he neared. “Is there another way around?” he asked, directing his question at the two red-faced men straining to push the piece down a tributary hallway.

  “Aye,” the larger of the two gasped. Straightening, he pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and mopped his brow.

  The smaller man, seemingly unwilling to be delayed by courtesy toward a lady, charged into the base with his shoulder. The jolt dislodged the stuck wheel, causing the platform and statue to lurch forward. The wood creaked in protest. One of the thick lines of rope securing the heavy piece snapped. The resulting noise was like the crack of a whip. Jasper watched in horror as the statue listed away from him.

  “Eliza!” he shouted, lunging forward but having no way to reach her.

  The platform cracked and the troublesome wheel broke away, tumbling a short ways down the hall.

  The rest was over far too quickly. The crash was deafening in the enclosed space. Debris from the shattered art piece billowed into the air in a hazy cloud.

  Jasper could not see Eliza among the ruins.

  Scrambling over the destruction, he reached the spot where he last saw her standing. The torso of the figure lay there in a solid piece. He was so stunned, he couldn’t think. His chest was so tight, he swayed on his feet.

  Shouts from other parts of the building grew in volume, competing with the thunderous sound of the blood rushing through his ears.

  “Heavens,” Eliza said. “What a mess.”

  Jasper’s gaze followed the voice. She stood in a nearby doorway, staring at the disorder.

  Dear God…

  He clambered over wobbling chunks of decimated statue and crushed her to his chest.

  “It looked as if the rope might have been cut at least partway through.” Jasper held his third glass of brandy and continued to pace before the unlit fireplace in his study. His coat and waistcoat had been tossed over the arm of a wingback chair, yet still he felt too constricted. “But there’s no way to be certain. I was only granted a brief look at it.”

  “You don’t believe it was an accident,” Westfield queried from his position on the settee, “despite the prominence of the location and the randomness of the event?”

  “Miss Martin says the statue was waiting in a secondary hall when she went into the retiring room. Upon her emergence, she found it had been moved into her path.”

  “Two men were having a devil of a time pushing it,” the earl reminded. “A lone individual would have found the task impossible.”

  “But one wheel was troublesome. Perhaps, not by chance.” Jasper downed the contents of his tumbler in one swallow, seeking to warm the spot inside him chilled by the near miss. “Is it possible for one person to be the victim of so much misfortune?”

  Setting the glass down on his desktop with a harsh thud, he glanced at the clock. It would be hours before he saw Eliza again at the Lansings’ rout. He was certain to be in a state of high agitation until then. Assigning more men to watch the Melville household was small comfort.

  Westfield made a noise suspiciously like a snort. “You are positively high-strung about the business, while Miss Martin seemed to take the happenings in stride.”

  “Because she trusts me to manage everything and keep her safe,” Jasper said tightly.

  “I trust you will, as well. But you appear less confident in your own abilities.”

  “The gravity of this ‘accident’ is also responsible for her lack of anxiety. The irony of that…Because this was by far the most dangerous event, she believes it’s unrelated to the rest.”

  “Are you saying she’s less concerned because she was almost killed?”

  Jasper glanced at the earl and noted the amused interest on his lordship’s face. For a brief moment, he was enraged by the entertainment Westfield appeared to be taking from the events of the afternoon. In the earl’s privileged, pampered, ennui-afflicted life even the misfortune of others could enliven spirits.

  Reining in his temper, Jasper turned away. He kneaded the back of his neck with a firm grip. “I am doing all I can. There is nothing to be done about my concern that I’m not doing enough.”

  He was meeting with Eliza’s man of affairs tomorrow, and together they would be visiting her rental properties. His men were looking into the circumstances of her present tenants and recent ones. He intended to speak with Lord Collingsworth this evening about joining the investment pool Eliza mentioned, and he was waiting on word from Lord Melville regarding a time when they could meet. There were still her two fathers—Mr. Martin and Mr. Chilcott—to delve into, but he would see to those inquiries himself. Eliza’s family secrets were not ones he wished anyone else to know about, despite the trust he placed in his crew.

  “If it’s any consolation,” Westfield said, pushing to his feet, “you are engaged in a singularly unique investigation, while playing a role far outside your experience. Feeling as if you might be missing something is to be expected. But I’m here for you, if you need. I have the experience you lack. In fact, if you would like me to assume the courting of Miss Martin while you focus on the investigation, I would be happy to do so.”

  Jasper bared his teeth in a semblance of a smile. “That’s quite all right.”

  The earl laughed. “The offer stands, if you should change your mind. In the meantime, I must eat an
d prepare for the evening’s festivities. You should have a meal as well, and attempt some moderation in your drinking. Otherwise, you won’t be much good to anyone.”

  Waving Westfield away with an impatient flick of his wrist, Jasper sank heavily into the chair behind his desk and mentally took apart every bit of information he’d gleaned so far, looking for any clue he might have missed.

  He could not fail in this. Client satisfaction and point of pride be damned. He was acting on his own behalf, stricken by the memory of those brief moments when he’d feared Eliza had been gravely wounded…or worse.

  It was not a feeling he intended to experience ever again.

  “Bloody hell,” Westfield grumbled, snatching two glasses of champagne from a passing servant’s tray. He shoved one toward Jasper, causing the wine to slosh precariously up to the lip. “I’d forgotten how unintelligible Lady Lansing becomes when excited. I could not comprehend a word she said. How long were we held captive? Twenty minutes? Half an hour?”

  “Ten, my lord. At most.” Jasper’s gaze searched the ballroom from one end to the other. It was a long and narrow space, with inlaid marble floors and three large chandeliers. Fluted columns surrounded the perimeter, as did the occasional potted fern. The far wall consisted entirely of French doors, most of which were thrown wide to allow the night air to circulate.

  “Interminable.” Westfield tossed back the contents of his glass. “The things I do for you, Bond.”

  “You should be flattered. Your illustrious presence single-handedly made Lady Lansing’s ball a resounding success.”

  “I am not appeased.”

  “I owe you a debt, as well, of course,” Jasper murmured, distracted by his inability to find Eliza. “Does that soothe your ire?”

  The Lansing’s ballroom was neither overly large nor overly filled. There was a respectable showing of guests, but it wasn’t yet a crush. Why, then, couldn’t he locate her glorious red hair?

  Are you one of those gentlemen who have an unusually strong interest in red hair?