Undone by His Kiss (11 page)

They’d reached the end of the walkway and the most likely location for a long, sensuous kiss. No doubt many a couple vowed emotion amongst the fragrant willowherb and dormant fritillary before embracing.

Amusement danced in Kellaway’s gaze, but Emily experienced nothing more than cordial companionship. He was a handsome man, assured of feminine adoration, but there was another layer to his personality of which she’d gained a glimpse this evening. He spoke of his father with the same unresolved emotion she harbored toward hers. At least Kell stood the remote chance of resolving his differences. That option didn’t exist for Emily.

Jasper darted to the library as soon as the meeting with Penwick and his comrades ended. Assured of further equity in Nasmyth’s invention, he’d gotten what he’d wanted, yet his attention had been anywhere but the conversation. Kellaway and his escort of Miss Shaw permeated his brain with all sorts of disturbing scenarios making it near impossible to concentrate on business performance and derivatives. He’d noticed Kellaway’s expression as they’d parted and his friend had been grinning like a Cheshire cat. Kell was a loyal friend, but Miss Shaw’s charm was near irresistible.

Anxious to rejoin, he encountered the group as they returned from the gardens. A spike of jealousy, followed by a flare of irrational insecurity, punctured his otherwise cheerful demeanor. A stroll in the garden rarely ended in a handshake. What had Kellaway achieved? He examined Miss Shaw’s face for any telltale sign she’d allowed the scalawag a liberty. Hadn’t she made a point to denounce their kiss as a mistake? Insist it never happen again? Surely she wouldn’t have allowed the same to a reputed libertine?

Kell would think nothing of a kiss, while the same intimate gesture meant everything to Jasper.

But no, rash emotion prodded he judged his friend unfairly. Kell might be driven by his own hidden demons, but never had he behaved mean-spirited to a friend.

“There you are.” Oliver greeted him with a smile. “I was hoping your meeting went well, but also progressed with ease so you might return in fast measure.”

“Here I am.” Jasper matched eyes with the four, settling his gaze on Miss Shaw and not budging. She smiled, her blue eyes brilliant, from her foray in the garden or because he’d returned proved the conundrum.

Unlike Kell, he wanted more than a quick tumble. But how to venture into the heart of a woman vowed to embrace independence? There lay a challenge. One he must achieve for no other reason than to alleviate his unrelenting arousal whenever Miss Shaw stood near.

And damn, if he still didn’t know her first name. He needed to correct that oversight with expedience.

“Thomasina!”

The exclamation, thick with reproach, intruded on Jasper’s contemplations.

“Young ladies do not wander off unchaperoned.” The elderly woman, dressed in a frothy gown of dusky sinoper, entered the room with purpose. “I’ve been all about this house looking for you.”

“Yes, Mother.” The smile left Thomasina’s eyes and she dropped her gaze as she moved to the door, her cheeks pinker than her mother’s dress.

Jasper watched the interplay with amusement, but it was Oliver who attempted to save the evening.

“Why don’t we return to the ballroom? Dinner should be served shortly.” He shadowed Thomasina, a look of surprise clearing the embarrassment from the young lady’s face. “I understand roasted squab with berry sauce is on the menu.”

“Excellent idea, Oliver. Although pigeon hardly replaces swan.” Kell flicked open his pocket watch and noted the time. “I can’t imagine a finer end to the evening.”

Jasper knew a falsehood when he heard one, but as the four left the library and he remained with Miss Shaw, he didn’t dare raise a breeze.

“There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you.” He stepped a little closer, anxious, but unwilling to reveal his eagerness.

The lady answered with a question of her own. “How it is that when all of London entertains tonight, somehow we’ve met at this most unlikely place?”

She spun a slow circle as if examining the dark paneled walls, fine leather furniture and stoic bookcases filled with leather tomes and expensive vases. The action offered an eyeful of her petite stature, slim figure and demure selection in fashion.

“Is that your inquiry?” she continued. “I know I’ve mentally questioned the likelihood of the circumstances.” She laced her fingers together in dainty arrangement and her charm bracelet, the one he’d noticed after they’d kissed, tinkled a soft sound against her wrist.

“No. I meant to ask something else.” He noted how the candlelight dancing a gloss on her long chestnut tresses. Her hair looked lovely unbound, unfettered by her jaunty little bonnet. Although the other morning in front of his office, when he’d first laid eyes on her, his heart stuttered to a stop before it resurrected with a fierce rhythm that dared burst from his chest.

“Were you wondering what Kell and I discussed on our walk in the garden?”

Her use of the familiar did not go unnoticed, although Jasper extinguished the flame of jealousy, too interested in the question on his tongue. “I’m well aware of Kellaway’s charms.”

“Then I cannot guess what you wish to know.” Her gaze rose to match his eyes, their height difference accentuated by proximity. “Although while I confess to understanding Thomasina’s reluctance to attend this function; I viewed my companionship as a favor and never anticipated enjoying the evening so thoroughly.”

“Whysoever not? Aren’t ladies all about the social season, anxious to dance until midnight or at least share the latest
on dit
over a cup of steaming hot scandal broth?”

She laughed at his question, the twinkle in her eyes worth every syllable and as he studied her face, the delicate curve of her cheek bathed in soft candlelight, the memory of their kiss fired heat to his groin.

“Drinking tea may be fine, but I rarely attend socials.” She paused for a nervous little laugh. “My mother is unwell and before she became melancholic, my father forbade we mingle with high society.”

“I do not understand.” A pang of sympathy colored his response. A lady as beautiful and delightful as Miss Shaw deserved to accept every invitation and attend every dance.

“Nor I at times, at least not completely.” She punctuated the statement with a delicate shrug that had him wishing he could cure every sadness that plagued her.

He focused on her lips, wondering what she might say next, but instead, desire thrummed through him, stoking the perpetual ache in his smalls and convincing he needed to know the lady more thoroughly. If only to understand why she so devoutly disliked peers and why, damn it all, she wished for a life of independence.

“I can’t say I’m very fond of the uppers. My brother’s an earl and of late, quite the crusty fellow. He treats me as if I’m penny wise and pound foolish, when he’d have his pockets to let had I not restored our familial solvency.” His voice dropped to a low murmur, his attention waylaid by her crystalline eyes. “I find it difficult to admire anyone who spends their time idling away the daylight hours when there is good service to do in the world, interesting people to meet, intriguing opportunities to explore.” He smiled despite himself. “But I’m rambling on now aren’t I? We wouldn’t want the squab to grow cold.”

He offered his escort, pleased and proud when Miss Shaw rested her delicate hand on his forearm and they moved toward the dining room. Who’d have guessed Kell’s suggestion to rub elbows with a room full of cantankerous puff-guts and thick witted dandiprats could prove so wonderful?

Chapter 13

Emily took her place at the table, disappointment replacing joy as Jasper sat at the opposite end. What was it about the gentleman that had her thinking frivolous thoughts of courtship and romance? She wanted no part of the destructive emotion many labeled love. At least not until she settled into her own comfortable life with permanence; a contented quiescence where emotion wouldn’t destroy her future, and that wasn’t likely to happen until her mother improved.

The ready image of her mother’s woeful existence threatened but Emily chased it away with a fortifying sip of wine. She scanned the guests seated at the opposite length of the table. The party included an eclectic mixture of peers and gentry; the Earl of Penwick, the biggest fish on the hook. Jasper had mentioned his brother was an earl, yet Jasper possessed none of the pretentious haughtiness often bolstered by the titled and entitled.

Her eyes found him and it just so happened he chose that exact instant to look in her direction. The table seated thirty guests or more, but for one heart-stopping instant when their eyes met and held, the external world dissolved and their silent communication spoke louder than any mirthful jest or blithesome conversation.

He raised his glass of port, a confidential acknowledgement that caused a riotous quiver in her chest as if a bird spread its wings and fluttered. His eyes smoldered, hotter than the myriad candles held in crystal arms above their heads. Her breathing hitched.

How was it possible? That such an innocuous gesture, the raising of a wine glass amongst a table littered with unconsidered silver and china, could affect her with impact? Cause her pulse to triple, her body to heat, lost in a sultry incandescence that evoked forbidden images of passion and kisses? A flush crept up her back, between her shoulder blades, to warm her neck and remind she was not immune to his handsomeness. She remembered the velvet slide of his tongue in her mouth and her throat went dry, despite she’d grown wet elsewhere.

One side of his mouth hitched in a smile, revealing that seldom dimple, all the more disarming for its lopsided charm and she wondered for not the first time, if he knew she thought of their kiss, remembered each stroke of his tongue, as if he could read her mind and delve into her heart.

They stayed locked together unaware if anyone noticed, the distance between them too great to be obvious, yet with every tick of the clock, each thrum of her pulse, she melted further into his adoration until at last, startled by the touch of Thomasina’s glove upon her arm, Emily forced her eyes away.

Later that night, when Emily surrendered to the knowledge she was too restless for sleep, she pushed the counterpane aside and settled on the edge of the bed, her eyes intent on the stars outside the window. When she was a child and her father discovered her awake, unable to sleep despite the late hour, they’d sit together on the window seat and count stars. As she grew older, she realized her father hoped the ritual would make her sleepy, focusing on the dark sky and tiring with her attempt to tally infinity. But what he didn’t know, and never would, was that for each brilliant point of light, she made a silent wish hoping with all her innocence, somehow their family would be happy.

She’d spent countless evenings wishing, hoping, her father would return, change his manner of thinking or discover he loved her. Until one day, her mother’s decline brought an irrevocable change. Her heart hardened. It no longer mattered if her father ever returned, the damage done. Yet that was all in the past now, and she’d emerged stronger because of it. From that day forward she never mourned her loss, armed with the knowledge that wishes were undependable. Wishes failed.

Shaking away the memory with a resolute sigh, Emily’s eyes fell to the basket near the wall, filled with her mother’s letters and hidden under a tattered brown blanket, as worn as her old memories. She didn’t need to see it to know it contained endless envelopes of unsent messages. Was it a form of therapy for her mother to write to her father when there was no hope of a response?

At first Emily believed it might shake her mother from the maudlin depression of her father’s absence, but as months passed, then years, she witnessed her mother’s hope strengthening rather than resolving into appropriate mourning.

Her mother’s demeanor changed swiftly after. No joy lived in her eyes. She rarely smiled. Eating became a chore and she remained in house, almost as if she expected him to return. Her mood became unpredictable. In many ways her mind became as broken as her heart.

Love wasn’t supposed to cause perpetual pain.

Exhaling to dispose of conflicted emotion, Emily slid from the edge of the mattress and padded to the window, the hardwood floor cool against the soles of her feet. Clouds crowded the night sky obliterating the same stars she’d spied only moments before. There was no need to count now. No one to count on or count for.

Unless…

She shook her head and dismissed the fanciful notion as soon as it formed. Jasper was brother to an earl and well entrenched in aristocratic circles. While his kiss had seared her soul, it was his eyes that noticed things she didn’t intend to share, as if he saw inside her soul to understand much more than she meant to reveal. A man like that was dangerous and she’d witnessed all too well what became of one’s heart when it filled with love only to be broken and discarded later.

Tomorrow, when the league gathered and they shared their ideas for future independence, she’d remedy her thinking and reaffirm her goals. Attending the dinner party and falling prey to the lure of society’s siren confused her purpose. No wonder so many women were led to believe once a husband was secured the future progressed seamlessly. Perhaps for some, a fairytale life existed, but Emily doubted its truth. Still, she didn’t want to live the rest of her life alone. One bone-melting kiss from Jasper proved her thoughts of independence might need to be amended.

The next morning, with renewed faith in her mission, Emily dressed in her finest walking gown of French cambric and blonde lace. The butter-yellow fabric complemented her hair and eyes and while ordinarily she wouldn’t waste time on her choice of fashion, today she strove for perfection. She’d renew her purpose to represent sufficiency and determination down to her silk slippers. Adding to the air of earnest purpose, she selected a daring bonnet adorned with a trio of pheasant feathers in varying shades of brown ochre. She eyed her attire in the mirror, pleased with the collective assemble which bespoke of self-reliance and boldness. At last, she added a pair of peridot earbobs and the charm bracelet, smiling with the remembrance of the child who’d gifted it to her. She touched a fingertip to the silver dove where it dangled from the chain and then after tea and toast, and a discussion with the housekeeper, she left directly.