Pride and Pleasure (22 page)

“Oh, Jasper,” she breathed. “Where were you in all of this?”

“I was in the schoolroom during the day, and locked in my bedchamber at night. Some of the men Montague sent to her brought gifts and tokens of esteem. They remembered how promising her future had been and took pity on her. She pawned them all and used the money to fund my education. . . and her growing dependence on opium.”

Jasper didn’t look at Eliza as he spoke, knowing if he saw pity in her eyes he wouldn’t be able to continue.

“As Montague’s financial situation declined,” he went on, “so did the quality of my mother’s lodging, the men who came to her, and the gifts they brought her. She wasn’t willing to allow my education to suffer, so she began to earn money the only way she could . . . through whatever acts and degradation were required.”

His voice hardened. “Meanwhile, I learned all I could from my tutors, so that one day I could ruin Montague the way he ruined my mother. I was furious when he passed on before I was ready.”

There was a length of silence, during which all he heard was Eliza’s elevated breathing. Finally, she said, “What happened to your mother is unconscionable, Jasper. A cruelty so vile I could never have imagined it possible. And his son is cut of the same cloth.”

She stood and came to him, catching him around the waist mid-stride and forcing him to accept the comfort she offered. He stood stiffly for a long moment, breathing hard, his mind filled with scenes from a past he wished desperately to forget. Then the scent of her perfume penetrated through the fog of memories and brought him back to the present. Back to the wife he’d never expected to have, yet could no longer imagine living without.

He pressed his cheek to her crown. “I know what you sacrifice with your offer. As consumed as I’ve been by vengeance, I could easily squander everything you and your father have built. You know this, but you love me enough to put my needs first.”

“I do love you.” Her arms banded tightly around him. “I want you to be happy.”

“And I love you. I understood when I sent Lynd to deal with Mrs. Reynolds’s assignment that what I wanted most was to spend time with you. I also realized Montague could rob me of that, if I allowed him to.” He leaned back to look at her. “If I allowed him to define me and my actions.”

She swallowed. “What will you do?”

“I intend to ask Westfield to return the deed to Montague, and I will wash my hands of him. That’s why Westfield is here this morning. You see, my mother wins if I enjoy a life of happiness with a beautiful wife and rambunctious, extremely bright children. The victory would be hers.”

Her hands cupped his face, her blue eyes shining with unshed tears and a love that humbled him. She was about to speak when a knock came at the door.

“Don’t move,” Jasper admonished.

Eliza’s dimple flashed, and he almost told whoever was bothering them to return in a few hours. Or days . . .

He pulled the door open.

Robbins stood in the gallery. “Forgive me, Mr. Bond. There is a Runner here to see you and Mrs. Bond. A Mr. Bell.”

“Right. Thank you. We’ll be down in a moment.”

Jasper collected his coat. Eliza accepted his arm when he was ready and they descended to the ground floor. As they passed the parlor, Westfield could be heard speaking with Miss Chilcott. He sounded affronted.

They met with Mr. Bell in Eliza’s study.

The Runner declined to take a seat and looked grim. “Yesterday, Mrs. Reynolds mentioned the Earl of Montague multiple times.”

Jasper kept his expression neutral, but shot a quick look at Eliza, who nodded.

“Right,” Bell said. “I’ve no notion—yet—of how his lordship is connected to yesterday’s events, but I thought it might be relevant to tell you he was murdered an hour ago.”

Eliza lost the color in her cheeks, but said nothing. Jasper, too, needed a moment to absorb the news. He was surprised, then relieved to realize he felt no regret or anger, as he’d felt when his father died. Montague’s escape into death robbed him of nothing. Everything he needed was standing right beside him.

“How?” Jasper asked finally.

“Miss Jane Rothschild did the deed,” the Runner relayed. “Shot his lordship in the heart with her father’s pistol.”

E
liza stood in the middle of her uncle’s study and wondered how she would find a slender journal amid the multitude of books.

“Are you quite certain it’s not in your bedchamber?” she asked.

Melville’s wild head of hair appeared on the other side of a high table. His face was seen shortly after, his cheeks red and eyes bright. “I’m certain I looked for it there.”

“Can we not purchase a new journal for your use on the island?”

“I require the information in the journal,” he said. “Not simply blank pages on which to write.”

Eliza jumped at the sound of Jasper’s voice, startled as ever by how silently he moved. He stood directly beside her. “Not quite. We’re still searching for his lordship’s journal.”

Jasper’s brows rose as Lady Collingsworth entered the room while reading from a thin-spined book.

“I’m delighted, Burgess,” Regina said, with a telltale blush. “Who knew you were a poet?”

Eliza was of the mind that her uncle was less than proficient in poetry, by any estimation, but she’d learned that the sentiment behind a gift or gesture was the most important aspect. Practicality came a distant second.

“Now may we set off?” Jasper held out his hand to Eliza. “I, for one, would prefer not to miss the ship carrying our luggage.”

“I’m ready,” Regina said, closing the journal and holding it out to Melville. When he accepted it, she took his arm.

“It will sound better when I read it to you,” his lordship whispered, leading Regina out to the waiting carriage.

Setting her hand in Jasper’s, Eliza wondered if the vibrating excitement reverberating through her was obvious on the exterior. He squeezed her fingers and smiled. “I can feel how anxious you are.”

“Not anxious. Eager.” She followed him back out to the foyer, where Robbins held her pelisse and bonnet. “I love the ocean and temperate weather. I cannot wait to be surrounded by both.”

“There’s nothing like falling asleep to the sound of crashing waves,” he murmured. “I intend to lay a blanket on the sand and ravish you in the moonlight.”

“Jasper.” Eliza was scandalized . . . and intrigued. “Outdoors?”

“In sunlight, and in rain. On the beach, and beneath the trees. Also indoors, in every room in the house.”

Her smile was wry as he helped her up into their carriage. Melville and Regina were in a separate equipage behind them. Although the two claimed to be no more than friends, it was clear there was a connection between them. Eliza had initially been surprised to learn of their affection, until Regina explained that Melville had courted her long ago. In the end, he felt it would be best for her to marry a man who spent the majority of his time connected to the rest of the world, and Regina had assumed Melville simply didn’t love her. Eliza and Jasper’s delayed wedding provided the time and opportunity for the two sweethearts to reconnect. So far, their renewed relationship seemed highly promising.

“I don’t see how you expect to schedule all these hours of sexual congress,” Eliza said, as the carriage lurched into motion, “while attempting to make a success of a sugarcane plantation.”

“Is that a challenge, madam?”

“Could be . . .”

“There is a guesthouse. Melville and Lady Collingsworth will be no deterrent. With unhindered access to you, the possibilities are endless.”

Eliza smiled. “Melville intends to cultivate a variety of seeds while he’s with us, taking advantage of the warmer weather.”

The light in Jasper’s dark eyes was wicked. “I suspect it will be Lady Collingsworth he will be cultivating and tending.”

“You have a lascivious mind.”

“I do,” he purred. “But my claim is bolstered by the indefinable magic of the tropics that stirs a man’s blood.”

“Ah.” She nodded sagely. “Now your true intentions are revealed.”

He leaned back into the squab and watched her with slumberous eyes. “Didn’t I tell you the first day we met that seduction was my method of choice with you?”

“Yes. I’d forgotten.” She hadn’t, but in the weeks since they wed, she learned that teasing him led to delicious results.

“Shall I remind you?”

She licked her lower lip. “You are welcome to make the attempt.”

He moved quickly, grabbing her by the waist and dragging her over him. “Wifely satisfaction is a point of pride with me, Mrs. Bond.”

“I fear you may be too handsome for the task.”

“Oh?” Jasper grabbed fistfuls of her skirts. “Considering the shortness of the distance to the docks, that’s likely a boon.”

“In addition,” she went on, her voice growing husky, “it’s impossible to disguise the air about you which distinguishes you.”

“Pray tell me what that is.” He reached into the opening of her pantalettes and parted the lips of her sex. He found her slick and hot for him.

“You are a predator. A dangerous man.”

“Dangerously aroused,” he agreed. “And madly in love.”

She reached for the placket of his breeches and pressed her lips to his. “And mine.”

“Always.”

If you liked this book,
try Emma Lang’s
RESTLESS HEART,
out now from Brava . . .

 

“Y
our beau is here.”

Angeline stopped in mid-motion. “Excuse me?”

“Your beau is here. Samuel Carver is here for dinner, and I would swear he’s spiffed up for it.” Alice grinned widely. “He’s ordered the ham and potatoes, with apple pie. Do you want to serve him?”

“No, I do not.” Angeline felt her nervousness returning and silently cursed Alice for her silly enthusiasm.

“Oh, why not? He asked for you.” She waggled her eyebrows. “He might not be rich, but he sure is sweet.” With a cheeky grin, she took the plate and left the kitchen.

“You might as well talk to him. Don’t listen to Alice prattle on about him being a half-breed. He’s a good boy, no matter who his mother was.” Marta put ham on another plate. This time it was for Samuel Carver. “If you hide in here, it will make it worse.”

Angeline knew she was right. The longer she hemmed and hawed about the gift and the man, the worse it would be. She needed to tell him there could be no future between them.

With a firm spine, she put potatoes on the plate to accompany the ham and nodded to Marta. “I’ll be right back.”

Angeline stepped into the restaurant and looked around. There were a number of people at tables, but she had no idea what the man looked like. Alice’s silly description meant nothing except that he was a man. As if she’d conjured the waitress, Alice appeared next to a man sitting in front of the bay window. She pointed and winked at Angeline.

Now she really was uncomfortable, because Alice had no tact or consideration for other people. The man looked up and saw Angeline standing there.

The ground shifted beneath her.

His hair was the color of midnight, so dark it was nearly blue-black. It hung straight to his shoulders, too long to be fashionable. The ends curled up slightly as if a breeze had come through and ruffled it. His shoulders were wide, but not overly so.

He had an intense stare that made goose bumps crawl over her skin. His eyes were also darker than pitch, black pools that seemed to be bottomless. To her surprise, his skin was lightly tanned, with tiny laugh lines around his eyes and mouth. He could be any age, but she knew him to be twenty-nine. He had the demeanor of a man who had seen too much in his short life.

The bright blue of his shirt contrasted so much with the rest of him, she had to blink to absorb it all. He was a striking man, not classically handsome but fascinating.

Angeline did not ever remembering seeing him before, which wasn’t surprising because she worked in the kitchen most days.

She managed to swallow, somehow, before she stepped toward his table with her heart firmly lodged in her throat. He watched her with wide eyes, unsmiling and unthreatening. She couldn’t have explained it to anyone, but Marta had been right—Samuel Carver was no threat to her.

“Good afternoon, Miss Hunter.” His voice had a lilt to it, one she’d never heard before. It was like warm honey on a piece of toast.

Angeline thought perhaps she would be embarrassed by her reaction, but she wasn’t. “Good afternoon, Mr. Carver.” At least she set the plate down on the table without dropping it.

He smiled. “I hope you’re enjoying the book.”

She licked her lips and managed a small smile. “I’ve never had a new book before. I-I wanted to say thank you, but it’s much too extravagant for me to accept.”

There, that sounded reasonable and intelligent. He, however, shook his head.

“I can’t take it back.”

“Please, it must have cost you a lot of money.” She put her hands in her apron pockets and clenched them into fists, her right hand pressed up against the book. “It’s not appropriate for me to accept it.”

He hadn’t even glanced at the plate. His gaze was locked on hers. “I know it was forward of me, but I saw you reading on the back steps one day. You seemed to be at peace with a book in your hands.”

Angeline unwillingly nodded. “Yes, that’s exactly it. It’s almost as if the books give me peace.”

This time when he smiled, she found herself smiling back. The situation had gotten complicated in less than five minutes.

“I feel the same way about books. So please accept the gift from a fellow reader. It’s nothing more.”

She was torn between what she had to do and what she wanted to do. Angeline could not become attached or involved with any man, regardless of her silly heart’s reaction to him. It didn’t make it any easier to conjure up every other reason why she needed to keep her distance from him.