Pride and Pleasure (7 page)

“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 and 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?

He hadn’t been. He had considered all women equally endowed. Now, here he was, completely oblivious to every other hue but that novel fiery one.

The earl caught his arm. “Walk this way,” Westfield urged, attempting to tug him along. “Someone is approaching whom I’d rather not speak to.”

With a rueful smile, Jasper followed. They rounded the perimeter at a torturously slow pace due to the number of attendees who wished to greet the earl. Jasper was about to leave Westfield behind when he finally spotted her.

His step faltered. Westfield bumped into him.

“Damnation, Bond, what the devil are you—” The earl fell silent.

Jasper gave a low, appreciative whistle. Uncouth, to be sure, and an undeniable betrayal of his commonness, but it was sincere. He could find no words.

“Why,” Westfield said in a contemplative tone, “I have clearly been remiss in not paying proper attention to Miss Martin.”

Eliza stood amid a circle of acquaintances, most of whom were gentlemen. Her glorious hair had been arranged in abundant curls that framed her face and caressed her nape. Her body was clad in sapphire satin, the bold color incongruous amid the paler hues worn by the other women in attendance. There would have been no way to miss her, had she not been shorter than the crowd of salivating males around her.

What in God’s name was she wearing?

Unable to help himself, Jasper stared with clenched fists. Riveted. The deep color of her gown showcased the creamy hue of her skin and the richness of her tresses to supreme advantage. The cut of the garment was painfully simple, with minimal detail. The gown’s true beauty lay in how it clung to its wearer. How the low bodice hugged full, firm breasts and bared more than a glimpse of cleavage. How the long skirts emphasized the length of her legs. The short puffed sleeves failed to meet the uppermost end of Eliza’s long white gloves, revealing a sprinkling of freckles on her upper arms that he found enchanting.

He was struck with fierce longing, like a man gone too long without a meal who doesn’t realize he’s starving until presented with the sight and smell of food.

An amused masculine voice intruded. “Glad to see I’m not the only man to lose all sense of social grace.”

Jasper tore his gaze away from Eliza to see who spoke to him.

“Lord Brimley,” Westfield said. “Good to see you again.”

As the earl made the appropriate introductions, Jasper studied Baron Brimley with his usual thoroughness. The baron was a head shorter than both himself and Westfield, and far more slender. Although Brimley’s hairline was receding with regretful swiftness, Jasper guessed he was younger than he appeared.

“Surprised to see you, Westfield,” Brimley said after greeting Jasper. “Did word of Miss Martin’s transformation spread so quickly?”

“Actually,” the earl drawled, “I simply dropped all of this evening’s invitations into a hat and withdrew a few. The ‘transformation,’ as you call it, is an unexpected boon.”

“Mr. Tomlinson is of the mind that Miss Martin finally seeks to throw off the mantle of spinsterhood,” Brimley relayed.

“Perhaps,” Jasper suggested, feeling proprietary, “she’s taken a fancy to someone and hopes to encourage him.”

“You don’t say?” Brimley’s eyes were wide. “Care to guess who it is?”

“I am at a disadvantage, I’m afraid. I have yet to become acquainted with every moth circling her flame.”

“Moth to flame, eh? Poetic and apt. Well, I shall take it upon myself to discover his identity.”

Westfield clapped him on the shoulder. “You will, of course, be sporting and share your findings.”

Brimley’s chest puffed up. “Certainly, Westfield.”

Jasper gave in to his impatience. With a slight bow, he sidestepped away. “If you will excuse me, my lords.”

“Not so fast, Bond,” Westfield said quickly. “I shall accompany you in your journey to pay court to the lovely Miss Martin. Excuse us, Brimley. Do keep us apprised of your discoveries.”

The tension in Jasper’s shoulders increased. Bringing Eliza to Westfield’s attention—and the reverse—was not something he should view as threatening, but the feeling was there. He remembered what Eliza had said about her unexpected feelings of animosity toward Miss Tolliver and he admired her candor even more.

She caught sight of him when he was several feet away. Courtesy of her décolletage, he saw her breath catch and a gentle flush spread across her luminous skin. She stared, unblinking, and masculine triumph surged through him. She was clearly smitten by the sight of him, yet he had not provoked that response from her with any effort on his part.

He drew to a halt on the fringes of her circle. A pathway was made for him with obvious reluctance.

“Miss Martin.”

She lowered her gaze and curtsied. “Good evening, Mr. Bond.”

Jasper obliged Westfield with the necessary introductions, then backed away. For a while, he simply observed her in this new environment, smiling inwardly when she spoke so bluntly those around her momentarily lost their way in the conversation. As dramatic as her change of appearance was, she was still Eliza. While others spoke with great animation about the tale of her mishap at the Royal Academy, she frowned and bit her lower lip, clearly not reconciling the expanded tales with the actual reality. She looked at him often, seeming to take comfort in his proximity. He recalled his earlier thoughts about how at ease she made him feel in situations where he was feeling his way blind.

They were not so different. More than anything, he was drawn to the affinity they shared in unexpected and deeply seated ways.

In order to see him schooled properly, Jasper’s mother had paid for his education with her pride and her life. He’d protested the expense, knowing what it would cost her, but she would not be swayed. In the end, he conceded only because he intended to support her, not for the reason she espoused—to impress his sire, a man well-versed in ignoring his many bastard issue.

Jasper blamed opium for his mother’s failure to see the hopelessness of her quest. Certainly no one possessed of full mental faculty would hold the dream that a handsome son with a decent education and proper speech would engender fondness and paternal pride in a dissolute reprobate like the late Earl of Montague. Yes, Jasper was well-spoken and possessed of a refined sense of style. He could read and write. He was capable with numbers, although he lacked the fondness for them Eliza had. In short, he should fit in, but he did not. And he knew Eliza felt the same way.

A violin played a few opening notes, signaling an end to the orchestra’s short break. Guests began to line up along the center of the parquet floor. Eliza shot him a long, meaningful glance and he knew she was going to be dancing
his
dance.

She took to the floor with Sir Richard Tolliver. Riveted by the elegant grace with which she glided across the room, Jasper could not take his eyes from her. The sapphire gown’s skirts were noticeably fuller than those worn by the other females in attendance; he thought the style suited Eliza perfectly. There were more layers to her than most women.

The musicians began the opening notes of a waltz. Eliza stepped nearer to Tolliver and clasped his hand. With an accomplished flourish, he began the requisite series of steps.

Jasper frowned, thinking. There had been two Tollivers at the Exhibition Hall. They’d left the room shortly after Eliza and followed in her direction. On Eliza’s list of suitors, Tolliver’s name had been placed above Montague’s, in part because he had a sister who could use a dowry to secure a more advantageous match.

Turning away, Jasper expected the other sibling would be nearby. He had only to find her.

“Y
ou are a vision this evening, Miss Martin,” Sir Richard said, as they circled the dance floor along with the other couples.

“Thank you.” Eliza wondered if she should say more than that. What did one say that wouldn’t sound awkward? She always considered such praise to be a platitude. She was well aware she was no classic beauty. However, since she’d put effort into looking attractive this evening, it would be disingenuous to assume none of the compliments were sincere. Especially considering she was wearing one of her mother’s gowns.

Eliza was still stunned at her decision. Her mother was someone she never wanted to emulate. Lady Georgina had been irrepressible and impetuous. She’d paid little heed to the consequences of her actions and how they might affect others. For years, Eliza had asked herself the question “What would Mother do?” so she could choose the reverse option. But after this afternoon, she wanted to do something nice for Jasper. He’d been so distraught after the unfortunate event at Somerset House. It meant a great deal to her that he cared so much for her well-being. If she were completely honest, she would also say she hoped her attire might goad an answer from him in regards to her earlier question about mating.

Of course, there was also the reasonable explanation for her choice: it signaled to one and all that a drastic change had occurred in her life. She’d known the very day her mother had taken a fancy to Mr. Chilcott. Lady Georgina’s blue eyes had been bright, her lips red, and her cheeks flushed. She had hummed to herself and burst out in song at odd moments. Over the following week, she’d smiled incessantly. But most telling of all was the way she altered her mode of dress. She’d begun choosing gowns with conservative adornments and richer colors, as if she knew her smitten glow was accessory enough. Eliza understood that she could not continue to go about looking as ordinary as possible and expect others to believe she was extraordinarily attached to a particular man.

Sir Richard cleared his throat. “I pray you’ll forgive me, Miss Martin, but I am concerned for you.”

“Concerned?”

“I detest stepping into affairs that are removed from me,” he said, sounding anything but reluctant. “However, I fear your laudable discrimination in selecting a spouse has become lax.”

Her brows rose. “Lax?”

“I speak of Mr. Bond, of course.”

“I see.” Although Tolliver had been paying court to her for two Seasons now, this was the first display of condescension she’d witnessed. She did not like his tone at all. It was one a parent or tutor would use with a recalcitrant child.

“There is something about Mr. Bond that doesn’t sit well with me. I cannot put my finger on it, but something is not right with him.”

She turned her head and located Jasper standing by a fluted column with crossed arms and hooded eyes. Not for the first time, she noted how he didn’t look at her as he had on the day they’d met. His stare now was hotter, more aware, and it awakened an answering awareness in her. Warmth blossomed in the pit of her stomach and expanded. They had known each other only a few days, but she was irrevocably changed by his acquaintance, newly cognizant of a baser sensibility previously veiled from her.

As for Tolliver’s assertions, although she didn’t appreciate the manner of their delivery, she could not fault him for making them. Jasper’s attire was the only thing polished about him. Although he appeared innocuous on the surface, those with keen perception would recognize how incongruous he was among the crowd. There was a razor’s edge of menace to him and a sleek grace to his movements that was inherently predaceous.

“I see no evidence of unsuitability,” she lied. “In truth, I find him quite acceptable.”

“Miss Martin, I must say, I am alarmed by your estimation. Who are his people?”

“His father is known to Lord Melville.” Eliza followed Sir Richard’s lead through an unusually vigorous turn. He was such an accomplished dancer; his uncustomary carelessness was telling.

“I suspect he is in want of funds, and you have them.”

“That applies to many gentlemen of my acquaintance, wouldn’t you agree? But I’m curious. What led you to the assumption that Mr. Bond is a fortune hunter and more of a hazard than my other suitors? Certainly his appearance refutes such a conclusion.”

Jasper looked beyond reproach this evening. Dressed in a dark gray velvet coat and a pale blue waistcoat, he looked accomplished and elegant. The expert tailoring of the whole ensemble displayed the power of his body to advantage. She fully appreciated how strong and capable he was. She felt safe knowing he was nearby. The only person capable of harming her when Jasper was near was Jasper himself.

“Miss Martin.” Tolliver looked pained. “I must advise you that it’s most disconcerting to dance with a female who spends the duration of the waltz admiring another gentleman.”

“I am not admiring him, sir.” At least, not verbally. “I am merely requesting that you expound upon the methods of deduction you used to reach your conclusion. You say he is in want of funds, I see no evidence of such. I should like to know what you see that I don’t.”

“A lady of your refined reasoning is at a disadvantage in this situation.” His brown eyes were somber. “I shall explain. He’s regarding you in an inappropriate fashion, Miss Martin.”

“Are you saying,” she asked carefully, “Mr. Bond must be in want of money because he cannot take his eyes off me? I don’t understand the logic. Isn’t it possible Mr. Bond might find something visually appealing about me? Perhaps my trim figure has garnered his admiration?”

“Your form is attractive,” he conceded gruffly.

“Or my hair? Some men are excessively fascinated by certain hues, I’m told.”

A flush rose from beneath his cravat to color his cheekbones. “You have lovely hair.”

“But my attractive form and lovely tresses are not enough to explain why Mr. Bond regards me so intently? I suppose that’s due to his exceedingly comely face and its ability to captivate anyone with unhindered vision. Correct me if I’m wrong, but I understand you to mean that my limited physical charms are no match for his. He can certainly find a far more beautiful female.” Eliza wrinkled her nose, as if in deep thought. “Well, then, perhaps it’s my brain he finds so interesting.”

“I agree you are extremely clever, Miss Martin,” he said in a fervent rush, swiftly grasping at the change of topic. “It’s why I like you so well, and why I’m certain we will enjoy each other’s companionship for an indefinite period of time. However, Mr. Bond obviously lends more attention to cultivating his exterior than his interior. One does not attain that physical size through intellectual exertions. I doubt he’s capable of grasping the worth of your brain. In fact, in your position, I would wonder if it was even possible to have meaningful discourse with him.”

Eliza nodded. “I understand now. Ruling out my mental and physical attributes would leave only my fortune as an enticement for handsome men. I’m quite enlightened, Sir Richard.”

The waltz ended. She retreated the moment the last strains faded away. “Thank you. This discussion has been most informative. However, I seek clarification on one point: If attractive men find only my fortune alluring and you find my brain alluring, does that make you unattractive?”

Tolliver’s mouth opened, then closed. Then opened again. Nothing came out.

After an abbreviated curtsy, Eliza spun about and left the dance floor. She intended to go to Jasper, but he was no longer where she last saw him.

 

Jasper found Miss Tolliver on the dance floor. Shortly afterward, he was himself found by Lord Westfield.

“I’m almost inclined to wed posthaste,” his lordship said, “to spare myself further pre-matrimonial torment.”

“Because post-matrimonial torment is eminently more bearable,” Jasper said dryly.

“I don’t have unreasonable qualifications for a spouse,” Westfield said with some defensiveness. “So long as she doesn’t aggravate me unduly, and I’m not averse to bedding her, I am open to anyone of suitable breeding.”

“How progressive of you.”

The earl arched a brow. “Your tone leaves something to be desired. Now, tell me there’s something to be done here. I’m bored.”

“When Miss Tolliver exits the dance floor, I should like her to know my theory regarding today’s events.”

“Ah, you want to see how she reacts. Personally, I don’t see how a woman could have moved that statue. And you cannot tell me Sir Richard helped her. I’m not even certain he could lift his sibling.”

“Leave no stone unturned.”

When the waltz ended, they made certain to place themselves in Miss Tolliver’s path. She greeted Westfield with a charming and studied curtsy.

“Miss Tolliver.” Westfield gave an elegant bow. “A pleasure to see you.”

“Thank you, my lord.” She offered a sympathetic smile to Jasper. “How is your foot this evening, Mr. Bond?”

“Improving, Miss Tolliver. Thank you.”

The pretty brunette offered a flirtatious smile. The pale yellow gown she wore was more heavily adorned than the similarly shaded gown Eliza had worn earlier in the day. Such details were not something Jasper was accustomed to noting. What a woman wore or how she styled her hair was inconsequential to him.

But Eliza’s appearance tonight was such a contrast to her usual mode of dress he suspected she purposely minimized her beauty before. It made him consider the attire of others with a more discerning eye, part of his careful reflection on the desire he had for her. Only days into their acquaintance and he knew he would not be ready to part from her in the foreseeable future. He also knew he was willing to go to great lengths to have her.

“I heard about the unfortunate incident at the Royal Academy.” Miss Tolliver shook her head. “How terrifying for Miss Martin! I am certain I would be bedridden for a sennight after such a shock.”

“She is managing extraordinarily well,” he agreed.

“Especially considering the circumstances,” Westfield said, in a confidential tone.

She frowned. “Circumstances?”

The earl leaned closer. “There is some speculation that the rope securing the statue might have been deliberately cut.”

“No!” Her hand went to her throat. “Why would anyone do something so heinous? Especially to Miss Martin.”

“I didn’t say she was the intended target,” he qualified, straightening. “She might simply have been in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“Well, there is some small comfort in that.” She exhaled audibly. “Deliberately cut, you say. I wonder why?”

She looked away and worried her lower lip with her teeth.

“I wouldn’t dare speculate,” Westfield said. “It’s rarely good to have one’s name associated with such sensational tales.”

“True of us all,” she said gravely, dipping into another curtsy. Miss Tolliver excused herself, and Jasper followed her with his gaze. She headed directly to a group of women.

“She spreads the tale,” Westfield murmured, turning his back to her.

“That’s no proof of innocence. In fact, a clever person might assume that bearing the news to others would lighten suspicion. After all, what reasonable person would air their misdeeds to all and sundry?” Jasper intended to have both Tollivers followed for a time. He would not take any chances.

“Excellent point.”

“What do you know of the investment pool managed by Lord Collingsworth?”

“I participated for a time, but Collingsworth is too conservative for my taste. You might feel similarly.”

How like Eliza to be cautious. Money was vitally important to her, not for what it could buy, but for the measure of freedom and control its possession granted her. “Do you know who the other investors are?”

“A few. Not all. Why?”

“Miss Martin is one of them.”

“Truly?” Westfield’s brows rose. “Wasn’t aware of that. Does that make me a suspect?”

Smiling, Jasper said, “Possibly.”

The earl grabbed a glass of champagne from a passing servant. “How delicious.”

“Not if you’re at fault.” Jasper moved forward.

“Was that a threat, Bond?”

“Not if you are at fault,” he said again. “In that case, it would be a promise.”

“Where are you going?”

“To the card room. Perhaps the scent of desperation will lead me in a new direction.”

“You never answered my question about what you’ll do once you own Montague’s property.” Although Westfield was the public face of the wager that secured the property, Jasper hadn’t revealed why he wanted it.

However, he had no hesitation in revealing what he would do with it. “I will raze the house, then leave England.”

“For parts unknown?”

“Didn’t I tell you?” Jasper looked at him. “I’ve purchased a plantation in the South Seas.”

“Good God.” The earl choked on his champagne. “Only you would find peace living among savages.”

“I think similarly about your life.”

A brilliant shade of sapphire blue in the periphery of Jasper’s vision caught his interest. He turned his head to catch Eliza moving toward one of three sets of French doors leading outside to a wide veranda.

She shot him a look over her shoulder. It was not the calculated look of a practiced flirt. It was simpler and more sincere, betraying pleasure at seeing him and the hope he might follow.

He smiled and inclined his head in acknowledgment.

“I will go ahead without you,” Westfield murmured.

“I’ll only be a moment.”

“You disappoint me, Bond. When a beautiful woman looks at you in that manner, you should need far more time than that.”

 

Eliza moved toward the nearest exterior exit with the hope that her dark gown would blend somewhat with the darkness of night and provide her a brief spell of anonymity. She felt Jasper’s stare following her and fought the urge to quicken her pace. Not because she wished to avoid him, but because it was instinctive to run when caught in the sights of a hunter.