Undone by His Kiss (12 page)

Ordinarily, Emily would have arranged for her carriage to be brought around, but the weather was fine and a desire to erase the last time she’d stormed from the town house in tears convinced she’d walk the distance to upper Bond Street. Time was not a factor.

She’d almost reached her destination when a very fine phaeton pulled to the curb, the driver anxious to extend the steps and open the crest-adorned door. Emily waited and watched. A handsome gentleman exited the carriage, spoke a few words to his driver and entered
Inventive Investments
with nary a glance over his shoulder. Curiosity prompted her forward and before searching in her reticule for the door key, she meandered past the large glass window of the lower floor office all the while wondering who might be visiting Jasper at this early hour.

Had the phaeton not pulled away so quickly, she might have noted the crest. Alas, she was too late although she deciphered the situation soon after.

Standing beside Jasper, an inch taller, but ten times more contemplative, was a man who could only be his brother. Their shared hair color and similar features linked them as family, although Jasper possessed an ease in his comportment that was lost on the earl. Jasper greeted him with a smile and hearty handshake, but his brother appeared intent on discussion, words flowing fast and furious while he paced a hard line in front of a desk.

Emily might have discarded propriety altogether and gawked at the window if it wasn’t for the arrival of Jasper’s business associate, the same gentleman who’d skulked into the background the morning she’d challenged Jasper concerning the league’s meetings. She stifled a giggle and noted how he, too, stood outside watching the scene within.

“Dash will have his head for breakfast.”

Emily slid a sideways glance in the gentleman’s direction unsure whether to respond to his outspoken observation.

When the gentleman nodded and introduced himself, she couldn’t resist a rejoinder. “Dash? Is that Jasper’s brother?”

“Valerian St. David, sixth Earl of Dashwood. Dash to his friends, although I doubt he’s in an agreeable mood this morning. Everything Jasper sets out to accomplish rubs against the grain and Dash is often too blinded by his own perceptions to realize his brother is extremely sharp-witted and not the buffle-headed sapscull he believes him to be.”

Emily’s brows rose high at Beaufort’s detailed commentary. “They don’t get on together then?”

“As well as two brothers do I suppose, when one is an earl and one isn’t.”

This left Emily chagrined. “I understand.” Although truly, she didn’t. Peers of the realm were a disdainful supercilious lot who looked down their noses at the rest of the world, quick to judge a person’s worth by the importance of their title; swift to dismiss a person’s value by their lack thereof. She reserved scorn for their vainglorious airs. The few aristocrats who stood as exceptions to the rule,
Viscount Kellaway came to mind
, were included in a rare and special breed she wished was prolific but discovered with disappointment, was not.

She reclaimed her smile shortly thereafter when a carriage arrived with Cynthia and Portia inside. The ladies joined the gathering on the walkway and the quartet conversed as if old friends. Randolph Beaufort seemed a likeable fellow despite his connections to the upper ten thousand.

They might have remained there in amiable conversation if Jasper didn’t spy them through the glass and usher his brother to the exit. The earl rushed past with nothing more than a nod and climbed into his carriage which appeared as if summoned through brain power. Their collective attention volleyed to Jasper, who leaned against the doorframe of the office, a whimsical smile spread wide across his face.

Emily noticed the convivial gleam in his eyes despite it appeared he’d shared heated words with his brother. She noticed, too, the precise cut of his waistcoat, his shirt sleeves pulled taut where his arms crossed over his chest. Those arms had wrapped her in a firm embrace that still ignited a spark of heat if she succumbed to weakness and permitted the memory.

Randolph broke from the group and approached his friend, the ladies inclined to follow, Emily most of all. For curiosity purposes only, of course.

“Confounding, how Dash holds such low estimation of your ability when last year he flirted with dun territory until your resourceful salvation.” Randolph barked a laugh of disbelief. “Did he say much before I arrived?”

“Never mind Dash. His tongue’s so long he can lick his eye.” Jasper looking in her direction and winked. “We shan’t allow his dismal prediction of doom to spoil our plans. I informed my brother
Inventive Investments
is here to stay.” Jasper pushed from the doorframe and stepped further into their group. “Good morning, Miss Shaw. I suspect you have a meeting, a congregation of lovely ladies, I see.”

Cynthia and Portia twittered with the compliment but Emily was accomplished in disallowing her smile freedom. “Good morning, Mr. St. David. We were just about to go upstairs, although we’re sadly lacking in members at the moment.” She brought a gloved hand to shield her brow as she peered over his shoulder and down the street. “I do hope the remaining ladies join us this morning. The topic is absolutely riveting.”

“Indeed.”

He smiled, and she experienced the full force of his attention straight down to the heels of her silk slippers.

“What, pray tell, is scheduled for discussion?”

His low baritone had a way of wending its way inside her in a most discomforting sensation, or so she told herself. Had she imagined it or were Portia and Cynthia inching closer, each girl’s chin nearly at rest on her shoulders as she answered Jasper’s question? She quirked a little smile and responded. “Tipples.”

“What? What was that?” Randolph snapped to attention. His head swiveled with instant interest, though his mouth hung agape as if begging forth an explanation.

“Miss Shaw said tipples, Randolph.” Jasper cleared his throat and presented a chagrinned expression. “Liquor, Blue Ruin, imbibement if you will.”

“A lady needs to know how to handle all things, her drink included.” Emily noticed the sparkle in Jasper’s eyes. How easily she could lose herself to his clever banter.

“No good can come from bosky behavior.” Randolph shook his head in censure. “My grandfather died of barrel fever.”

“Oh I agree, but more the point, if the league members are to comport themselves in society without companionship, a lesson in alcohol strength and content is invaluable. Miss Maddox has studied her father’s liquor cabinet and cataloged an extensive list of color and scent.” Emily canted her head to the left indicating the lady behind her right shoulder. “Cynthia plans to share the information before our taste tests begin.”

“Taste tests?” Jasper aborted a guffaw. “You mean upstairs at this early hour while I’m downstairs conducting business, you and your fellow leaguers plan to drink your way to dizzy? I should inform you with no ill intent to impose on your plan, if you’re not accustomed to spirits, you’ll feel the effects of the tamest sherry within minutes. I’d hate to abandon an important financial journal to rescue a damsel tumbling down the staircase, or worse, wobbling out into the thoroughfare…no matter how beautiful.” He leaned forward to deliver the last words in a deep husky murmur.

Any quick rebuttal evaporated as her brain processed his compliment, but no, she couldn’t let him dismiss their purpose. Emily shook her head in the negative, the feathers on her bonnet floating near her cheek with the movement.

“Of course,
you
, being male, assume
we
, the helpless and bird-witted females, will take one taste of the liquor and land deep in our cups.” She leaned as close as he did, anxious to stress the importance of her point. “That’s hardly the plan.”

Jasper stared deeply into Miss Shaw’s bluer-than-blue eyes and wondered for the hundredth time if she remembered their kiss. If she liked to think about it. If she’d ever wish to experience it again, because now, like earlier and also last night, he couldn’t stop thinking about how delicious that kiss had been…and how much he’d like to taste her lips again, and perhaps discover all the scrumptious delights she hid under froth and lace. She had a sweet little mouth, ripe for kissing among other things; and as the blood pooled to all the wrong places of his body he pondered how he’d ever cure this unexpected fever of the heart.

Standing before him in her jaunty little bonnet, all butter-yellow and creamy skin, he wished away the sunlight, wanting instead the quiet night, the moonlit sky, the opportunity to whisk her away to keep all to himself within his arms, between the sheets, beneath his barely restrained desire.

But that was just a daydream. One he entertained often, as it were, like a fascinating discovery or novel invention, he was compelled to view over and over again. Here in the middle of London on one of the busiest thoroughfares, he couldn’t very well act on the fantasy, could he?

His lust for Miss Shaw would be the death of him…and somehow he supposed, he’d happily volunteer to die.

“Mr. St. David? Jasper?”

Her soft spoken questions provoked his growing problem and he shifted his stance in search of comfort. “Yes, of course.” Although he remained unsure of where the conversation had wandered.

“Ladies, we should proceed upstairs. Our supplies will arrive shortly.”

She herded her sheep with a rigid command that echoed his current condition below the waist.

Before she turned, he caught the twinkle in her eyes, the mischievous gleam that announced she spoke of libations, a near forbidden subject for ladies of civilized ilk. Meanwhile, Miss Maddox, who suffered from a severe bout of flirtation, abandoned the fawning adoration aimed in Randolph’s direction and with obvious dismay meandered after Miss Shaw to rejoin the private conversation near the side door.

Realizing he’d been dismissed, Jasper returned inside with Randolph where they set to work writing up the documentation necessary for Penwick’s associates to invest in the steam hammer proposition. Having an earl and his comrades take interest in his fledgling business was promising, but in order for
Investive Investments
to thrive, Jasper needed several more clients. As surmountable a task, he vowed with determination to see his endeavor succeed for no other reason than to prove his brother wrong.

A scrape of furniture reverberated through the ceiling and he wondered at the noises above, an occasional burst of laughter or snippet of loud conversation more intriguing than columns of numbers forecasting profit and loss. What were the ladies doing? Had the spirits arrived? He imagined six, eight or more ladies sprawled on chairs and sofas, asleep from a half glass of sherry.

But no, his wicked imagination didn’t quit there. In a dim corner, seated alone, Miss Shaw reclined on a velvet chaise, not at all somnolent, but rather just enough in her cups to let inhibition slip away. She’d removed her clever bonnet allowing waves of glorious chestnut hair to spill in tussled disarray across her bare shoulders. Bare shoulders? Yes, it was his fantasy. Bare shoulders.

“Jasper.”

Randolph’s bid for his attention obliterated his playful musing and tugged him to the present with an abrupt sense of dissatisfaction.

“What it is?” He clenched his teeth to invoke patience.

“Do you think I should help the miss out there?” Randolph pointed to a tall slim woman dressed in a light shade of grey, who struggled to carry two overlade baskets as she walked in their direction.

“Absolutely not.” Jasper was on his feet before the words left his mouth. “Continue to review Penwick’s accounts. I need a breath of fresh air anyway.”

Outside, he inhaled heartily and offered his services. Miss Danford agreed without pause and as they climbed the stairs to the upper office, Jasper smiled for some inane reason he couldn’t identify.

Miss Danford’s entrance was met with greetings of friendship and enthusiasm which came to an abrupt end as soon as he crossed the threshold.

“Margery, why is Mr. St. David assisting you?”

“Doesn’t that contradict the fiber of our league?”

“Are the baskets filled with liquor?”

“You might have asked one of us to help. Why didn’t you fetch me when you arrived?”

Questions peppered the girl like unexpected hailstones and taken aback by the querulous assault, Margery
as he’d come to learn her name during the initial greeting
, shot her eyes to his. Inclined to answer and anxious to set the record to rights, Jasper placed the baskets on the floorboards and faced the inquisition, plucking the answers like feathers from a goose.

“Ladies, excuse my intrusion. It was pure sensibility when I noticed Miss Danford’s struggle to manage the heavy parcels and offered my services. I sought to help as a point of quotidian civility as there’s no need to struggle up the staircase with baskets of glass bottles when I’m located directly downstairs.” He set to work removing the spirits and lining the bottles up along the table edge as if soldiers in formation. When he finished, he turned to face them all though his compliment was aimed at Miss Danford. “Well done, Margery. You’ve managed to obtain a taste of everything, although I doubt anyone here will enjoy the bite of your father’s imported scotch whiskey.”

“Thank you, Mr. St. David.” Miss Shaw separated from the nine members who watched the interplay with insidious acuity. “We appreciate your help although we would have managed. It’s the crux of this assembly, to acquire independence for all tasks, whether carrying a heavy basket or tasting a strong spirit.”

“Allowing me to carry a weighty package does not encroach on your league’s core beliefs. As I mentioned before, not everything can be achieved without a man’s assistance nor should it be.” He quirked a half smile in answer. “Lest you forget our waltz or more so our—”

“Thank you again, Mr. St. David.” She commanded him to leave with flared eyes and an anxious wave of both bare hands. He might have chuckled if he wasn’t so captivated by her urgent expression.

“How does one open this?” Miss Maddox selected a wine with a diffident approach as if handling the glass bottle would make it explode. She tilted the neck toward her nose and stared at the cork with narrowed eyes and a bewildered expression.