Pride and Pleasure

Chapter 7

“This is the last one.” Mr. Terrance Reynolds consulted the sheaf of notes in his lap. “As I mentioned during our last meeting, Miss Martin, your newest tenant creates perfumed soaps, bath oils, and candles to order. Business is slow at present, but having purchased some of Mrs. Penning-ton’s products for my wife, I think that will soon change.”

Jasper kept his gaze on Eliza, who sat on the opposite squab. It was nearing two o’clock in the afternoon. They’d been visiting her various properties for nearly three hours now, solidifying in his mind just how wealthy Eliza was. He could easily see how someone would find the lure of her fortune overwhelming, but a suitor would have to be capable of looking beneath the surface to discover it. In her business dealings, Eliza went to great efforts to hide her gender and, therefore, her identity.

“I’ll pay a visit to this store,” she said, looking out the window of Jasper’s unmarked, enclosed town carriage. “It will be interesting to see the scent the proprietress chooses to create for me.”

Jasper wanted to tell Eliza that he liked the way she smelled already, but could not with Mr. Reynolds present. In addition to the safety considerations that prompted today’s excursion, the exercise also brought to light how much he enjoyed talking with Eliza and listening to her view of situations. He missed being able to speak with her freely, but felt it best to keep the arrangement between himself and Eliza private. To Mr. Reynolds’ knowledge, Jasper was a friend of Melville’s and a possible investor in Eliza’s proposed plan to modernize the amenities in a few of her older properties.

“How close are we to the store?” Jasper asked.

“A few blocks,” Reynolds replied. “We’re almost there.”

Rapping on the roof, Jasper signaled for his driver to stop. “I’ll walk from here. That will give us a sufficient length of time between Miss Martin’s arrival and mine so it doesn’t appear as if we came together.”

An odd look crossed Eliza’s features before she nodded. He made a note to ask her later what prompted it. Alighting from the carriage, he accepted the cane she passed to him through the open door.

“Pink and white striped awning,” Reynolds advised.

“Thank you.” Jasper saluted Eliza with a quick touch to the brim of his hat, then he set off.

Today, he’d learned more than just how wealthy she was. Though neither Eliza nor Mr. Reynolds said so outright, Jasper noted that she leased her properties predominantly to women. He expected his investigation would prove her tenants to be mostly spinsters and widows. It was an honorable endeavor, and he admired her for undertaking it. However, the practice made it less likely that one of her tenants was to blame for her recent troubles. She would engender gratitude before malice. He would need to cast his net wider to include those whose rental applications had been denied. Meanwhile, every day that passed without a stronger lead aggravated him more. The work itself was not an issue. It was the threat to Eliza’s safety that made Jasper dread every moment she was out of his sight.

In short order, he spotted the cheery awning and his waiting carriage nearby. This time, it was Reynolds who remained out of view while Eliza entered the store. One of the most important lessons Lynd had taught Jasper was to surround himself with trustworthy staff and to pay them well enough to keep them happy. Better to have two people you trust with your life, than a dozen you can’t vouch for. Eliza appeared to have the same sensibility. Terrance Reynolds was paid handsomely. That fact was made obvious by the quality of his attire and his accessories, from his gold pocket watch to his leather satchel. In return, the man seemed genuinely fond of Eliza and intent on serving her interests well.

As Jasper entered the store, the bell above the door jingled to herald his arrival. The interior of the shop was perfectly sized for an establishment catering to the sense of smell. The air was fragrant without being overpowering. A variety of cloth-covered round tables were placed at set intervals around the room, displaying wares in colorful groupings.

He removed his hat.

“Good afternoon, sir.”

Jasper found the speaker to his left, arranging items on a tabletop in front of Eliza. The shopkeeper was young and beautiful, blond and blue-eyed. As shapely as a prized courtesan, but with the face of an angel. He bowed in greeting, then shifted his attention to Eliza. The hue of her hair made her initially more arresting to the eye than the paler tresses of the proprietress, but she lacked the fullness of curves and classic beauty of the other. That didn’t alter the fact that he found Eliza to be far more pleasing to look upon. From the first, she’d called to him on a physical level. There was raw magnetism between them, unique in its form. Bedding her would not be about the appeasement of his hunger, but a celebration of it. He’d never felt that for anyone else. With her it was the journey to be savored, not the destination.

“Miss Martin,” he drawled. “Fancy meeting you here. It’s a lovely day, wouldn’t you agree?”

“I would indeed, Mr. Bond.” Her eyes sparkled with genuine pleasure. The manner in which she looked at him always stirred him. She lacked the artifice to hide how much she enjoyed his appearance.

Jasper couldn’t look away.

Eliza blushed when he continued to stare. She caught her lower lip between her teeth and a wash of heat swept over him.

He could arouse her with a glance. Did she know what that did to him?

“Is there something in particular I can help you find?” the blonde asked, excusing herself from Eliza. She wiped her hands on the apron tied around her waist, then gestured at the goods around them. “Floral or fruity? Musky or spicy? If you tell me the age and gender of the person you’re shopping for, I can help you find just the thing. Or I can create something unique.”

“What would you suggest for a young woman of discriminating taste, high intelligence, and deep passions? Nothing ordinary or expected, please. She is neither.”

“Is she a wife or a lover?”

He considered the inquiry a moment, both the boldness of the question and his possible answer.

“It’s best if I ask,” she explained, glancing back at Eliza. “Providing you with the best possible product will ensure both your future business and your referral, and I need one as much as the other.”

“How can I argue with that, Miss…?”

“Mrs. Pennington.” In close proximity, she appeared to be no older than Eliza.

“Why don’t I look around,” he suggested, “while you assist Miss Martin?”

Once again, Mrs. Pennington looked over her shoulder. “She’s selecting a half dozen of her favorite scented oils, which is what I would like you to do.”

“I will start with the same offerings, then.”

Mrs. Pennington gestured toward the back of the store. Jasper followed her prompting. As she opened up free space on a table, she continued to cast furtive glances at Eliza. Perhaps she feared thievery?

He held back and remained silent, not wanting to distract her from finishing her task as soon as possible. When she straightened, he listened to her instructions and assured her that he could whittle down the choices without further help.

When she left him, he watched her return to the front of the store and waited to see if she would eye him as often as she had Eliza. She did not. But Eliza did.

He’d never known it could be so arousing to be ogled. He supposed it was because he had never been ogled by the right person.

Once Eliza was home again, she stripped off her gloves in the foyer, then looked at the post lying on a silver salver atop the console table. She set aside the few letters for Melville that appeared to be of a personal nature and collected the rest, intent on taking them up to her room. She wanted nothing so much as something to eat and a cup of tea.

She was halfway up the stairs when Melville called her name from below. Turning on the step, she smiled at him. “Yes, my lord?”

“Could I have a moment of your time?” he queried, frowning while trying to straighten his crooked waistcoat.

“Of course.” As she descended, her gaze met the butler’s. “Could you ask Mrs. Potts to bring tea to his lordship’s laboratory?”

The servant’s tall and lean frame moved quickly out of range of her sight.

Eliza followed Melville around the base of the staircase and collected his mail at the console. They passed her study door, then turned to the right at the end of the parquet-lined hallway. The room where his lordship spent much of his time was there. She made a chastising clicking noise with her tongue when she found the drapes drawn tight. A copious number of candles were scattered around the room, offering plenty of light…and smoke.

“It’s a glorious day outside,” she chastised, dropping the day’s post onto one of the long, slender laboratory tables before moving briskly over to the windows. She drew the drapes aside, then systematically unlocked each of the windows lining the length of the wall and pushed up the sashes.

“Too bright,” his lordship groused, blinking like an owl.

“You need sunlight. We humans don’t thrive in dark places as mushrooms are wont to do.”

“Mushrooms!” He snapped his fingers. “Brilliant, Eliza.”

Melville quickly rounded his desk and began writing.

She pulled out one of the wooden stools that butted against a table bearing various-sized glass tubes and bottles. Waiting patiently, she blew out nearby candles that were unnecessary now that sunlight illuminated the large, disorganized space. The multitude of colorful liquids in jars cast jeweled beams of light onto the floor. In that moment, it was possible to see how Melville could become entranced by the mysteries he researched.

When Mrs. Potts bustled in with tea service on a tray, the intrusion seemed to snap his lordship into a renewed awareness of his location and his visitor.

“Oh, Eliza!” his lordship cried, scratching his head. “I apologize.”

Eliza laughed softly. “It’s quite all right.”

She enjoyed these quiet moments with her uncle. In addition to being the only family she had remaining, he did not seek to fill perfectly good moments of silence with inane chatter. She did not have to consider-and reconsider- everything she said, or phrase her words in ways that made them more understandable while also diluting their meaning.

Sliding off the stool, she stood in front of the tea service and began to prepare the tea.

“Montague paid a call on me today,” Melville said.

“Oh?” Her brows went up. “Why does that make me apprehensive?”

“Because you know why he came. He asked for permission to pay his addresses.”

Eliza’s breath left her in a rush. “Did he give you cause to believe I would welcome his offer?”

“On the contrary, he made it quite clear that while you find him to be one of the more agreeable of your suitors, you are not inclined to wed him.”

That made her smile. “Yet he made his request, regardless.”

“He was concerned by speculation regarding events at Somerset House yesterday. Some talk of your accident not truly being an accident at all.” His lordship accepted the cup and saucer she passed to him. “Why didn’t you tell me about what happened?”

“There was no need to bother you with the tale,” she protested. “It was unfortunate, but no harm was done.”

Melville gave her a calculated look. “You hired a thief-taker to protect you because of threats to your person, yet you dismiss this egregious event out of hand?”

“Because the flagrant nature of the event makes it unlikely to be unrelated to the rest,” she argued. “I could have been killed. What purpose would that serve anyone? And the location was so prominent, increasing the possibility of exposure. It doesn’t align with the other attacks at all.”

“Regardless, I granted Montague’s request.”

Eliza knew that tone; Melville’s mind was set. “I suspected you had.”

“My years are advancing. I would like you to have someone in your life to look after your well-being, someone whose loyalty is not bought with coin.”

“I can look after myself.” Wielding a pair of silver tongs, she prepared a plate for him, artfully arranging a freshly baked scone alongside slices of shaved ham.

“By hiring someone.”

“Marrying Montague would be nigh on the same thing,” she pointed out.

“With the addition of children and a permanent companion. Not to mention a title and the many responsibilities you would gain with it. You would be busy, fulfilled, and rarely alone.”

“I enjoy being alone.”

“I cannot bear the thought of it.” Melville set his cup down. “I haven’t forgotten our agreement. I know this is your sixth and final Season. You think you’ll be happier rusticating in the country, but I disagree.”

“Rusticating is not quite what I had in mind.”

“I told Montague he had my permission to make the attempt to change your mind, and I wished him well. No harm in that, is there?”

“Would you be happy if I married anyone at all?” she queried, adding milk to her tea. “Or only Montague? You seem to like him quite well.”

“I met his father once or twice.” Melville shrugged. “He seemed to be a pleasant enough fellow. And Montague is determined to have you. There is something to be said for that. But if there’s someone else you prefer, I would champion him over Montague.”

“Thank you, my lord. I will keep that in mind.”

“You’re humoring me,” he said dryly.

Eliza’s lips curved against the rim of her cup. “I am not. In fact, this discussion has me seeing Lord Montague in an entirely new light. You are correct: there’s something to be said for his determination. And yours. Which I think was his point. He wanted me to know he’s serious, and he wanted to ascertain whether or not he would have your support. He said he understands me better now, and perhaps that’s true. Flowers will not win me, but cunning and unorthodox methods…At the very least, I admire his approach.”

Not enough to wed him, but she didn’t see any benefit to reiterating that point. She was enjoying tea with her uncle far too much to ruin it by being unnecessarily contrary. She gestured at his plate in a silent urging to eat.

“Good girl,” he praised. “How is Mr. Bond’s investigation progressing? Is he equally unconcerned by large statues nearly crushing you?”

Just the sound of Jasper’s name caused the tempo of her heartbeat to alter. “No. He was upset enough for both of us. If there’s anything nefarious to be uncovered, he will find it. He would also like to meet with you.”

“Yes, yes. Tell him to come by whenever is convenient for him. If he waits for me to remember to make an appointment, we shall never meet. I doubt I’ll be of much help, however. I have never been with you when you’ve been accosted.”

“He is investigating beyond the present,” she explained. “He wishes to exclude anyone who might hold resentment toward you, Mother, or Mr. Chilcott.”

“Ah, so…well, that’s a reasonable avenue of inquiry.”

They ate in companionable silence for a time, during which Eliza considered his comment about having a permanent companion. Up until now, she thought repasts such as she shared with Melville were all she needed. They rarely spoke while eating, and she enjoyed that. She hadn’t considered how the silence might be deafening if she was the only one to fill it. There was a large difference between sitting quietly with someone else and sitting alone. She realized there was a certain comfort in knowing one could speak if one wanted to and chose not to, rather than being unable to speak because no one was there to listen.

“What troubles you, my dear?”

“Nothing, my lord.”

“I am aware denial is a common female response. But you are too direct for such evasions.”

Eliza shook her head. “I’ve found it best to hold my tongue, if choosing to do otherwise is guaranteed to lead to fruitless argument.”

“Ah…Your mother. You will have to speak of her sometime.”

“I don’t see why.”

“Perhaps then,” he mumbled around a bite, “you will stop thinking of her before making decisions.”

“I do not-” she started to protest, then fell silent when he shot her a look. He was right, as always.

Eventually, Melville drifted back to his notes and Eliza slipped off the stool with the intent of moving upstairs. The day’s post caught her eye and she scooped it up, carrying it over to the small, shallow basket where Melville kept his mail. It was nearly overflowing. She shook her head. She’d long ago learned to separate Melville’s personal correspondence from the rest-so that outstanding accounts were paid in a timely manner-but clearly he was also neglecting to keep in touch with those who reached out to him.

“What will it take,” she asked, as she added to the pile, “to motivate you to whittle this down?”

“What?” He looked up at her, then down at the basket. “Good God.”

“My thoughts exactly.” She pulled five off the top and brought them to him. “Can we start with these?”

He sighed. “If you insist.”

Eliza kissed his cheek. “Thank you.”

“Ha.” He snorted. “You are exacting your pound of flesh for Montague.”

She was laughing as she left the room.

Jasper leaned back in his chair and drummed his fingertips on the desktop. “How long was he there?”

“About an hour,” Aaron said, holding his hat to his chest with both hands. He stood just inside the doorway of Jasper’s study, rocking back on the heels of his boots. “Perhaps a little longer.”

“You know why Montague paid that call,” Westfield prompted from his usual spot on the settee.

“No, I do not. She refused him,” Jasper bit out.

“All the more reason to gain Melville’s support. Don’t be obtuse, Bond. Women bow to familial pressure to marry men they don’t want. It happens all the time.”

Jasper’s fingers curled into his palm.

“Do you believe Montague is responsible for Miss Martin’s troubles?” the earl asked.

“I cannot be certain one way or the other.”

“What will you do now?”

“Speak to her.” How had she taken the news? How far would she go to make Melville happy?

The thought of Eliza with Montague did horrible things to him.

It was a new sort of torment to be unable to see her now, to be barred from her company by rules and dictates he’d ignored for years.

Straightening, he uncovered his inkwell and stabbed a quill into it. He dashed off a quick note, powdering the ink with fine-grained sand before folding. Then he sealed the whole and waved it at Aaron. “Take this to the Melville residence.”

Aaron approached and collected the missive.

“Miss Martin may need you after she reads it. Linger to be sure and if so, assist her. When you’ve finished with that,” Jasper went on, “I want you to look into a Mrs. Pen-nington, who runs a newly opened shop on Peony Way. Pink-striped awning out front, lovely blonde inside. There is something not right with her. Find out what it is.”

“Will do, Bond.”

After the young man left, Westfield stood and walked to the console to avail himself of Jasper’s brandy. “It’s unfortunate Montague made so bold a move. Had it been anyone else paying addresses, you could have killed two birds with one stone by encouraging her to marry the gentleman- Montague would be barred from Miss Martin’s fortune, and you could wipe your hands clean of the business by entrusting her safety to her future husband. Assuming you would be able to ascertain that her betrothed was not our culprit, of course.”

“Of course.” The thought didn’t improve Jasper’s mood at all. In fact, it worsened with the understanding that foiling Montague and successfully completing his assignment had fallen behind his desire to possess Eliza.

“It might also explain why he sent along the missive today,” Westfield continued. “The assurance that he would be buying back the marker to his mother’s property was prompted by something.”

“Like his father, he is arrogant to the point of idiocy.” Unless Montague had something else shoring up his confidence…Jasper would research the possibility posthaste.

“What do you expect you can accomplish by talking to Miss Martin?” Westfield asked, turning to face him. “Does she trust you to play matchmaker as well as suitor?”

Jasper snorted.

“You are so touchy lately, Bond,” the earl complained. “Perhaps you should take the evening off and indulge yourself at Remington’s for a few hours.”

“Montague can have any heiress he wants. Why is he so determined to have this one? Someone clearly on the shelf and possessed of a rare temperament? Someone who’s told him she does not want him?”

“Perhaps that’s the lure.” Westfield sank into a chair in front of Jasper’s desk. The earl looked both comfortable and bored, two states of being that were unknown to Jasper. “A woman can be a bloody nuisance when she is overly fond of a man. If Miss Martin is inclined to spend much of her time in the country, Montague could have all of the benefits of marrying an attractive yet mature heiress, with none of the detriments. I know you find it hard to believe, Bond, but sometimes there are sound reasons for doing something. Not everything in this world is motivated by some evil plan.”

“It is with Montague.”

“Are you quite certain the son is so like the father? Or does that matter to you?”

Jasper stood. “Quite certain.”

“Look on the bright side. Perhaps Montague’s move will speed things up a bit with your investigation. Now there’s a more immediate timeline for the culprit to work against.”

“It’s a sorry thing indeed when the reason for celebrating is that a madman could now be feeling desperate enough to act rashly.”

Westfield sipped his libation and watched Jasper carefully. “You are like a caged beast. There is such an air of disquiet about you. I have never seen you this way before. Is ruining Montague so important to you?”

It took Jasper a long moment to answer. He didn’t want to share his state of mind; it was too personal and intemperate. “Have you ever wanted something so badly you couldn’t imagine not having it?”

“Like what?”

“Anything at all.”

“There was a gelding once.” Westfield held his glass between both palms, warming the liquor with his body heat. “At Tattersall’s. I underbid. I stewed for weeks afterward. If I had the chance again, I would not be so cautious.”

“Had you ridden it?”

“No. But I watched him be put through his paces. I examined him myself. Beautiful animal. I knew the moment I saw him that we would suit beautifully together.”

“Do you still regret the loss?”

The earl shrugged. “On occasion. Not often. It was some time ago. I tell myself surely there was something wrong with the beast and I’m fortunate to have avoided being saddled with it. Otherwise, fate would have seen fit to give him to me.”

“I don’t believe in fate. I believe we make our own destiny.” Jasper rubbed his jaw, absently noting that he should shave again. It was early evening and his skin was no longer smooth. It might burn Eliza when he kissed her.

If she came…

“Certainly my situation is nothing like yours,” Westfield said. “Your need is rather like a thirst, is it not?”

“Thirst…yes.” It was clear the earl was mistaking Jasper’s lust for Eliza for a lust for vengeance. Jasper chose not to correct the assumption. “That’s apt.”

Unfolding from the chair, the earl polished off the last of his brandy. “I will continue to assist you in your quest for revenge, Bond. You are not alone in this endeavor, whether you appreciate that or not.”

How well the earl knew him to comprehend that he disliked being dependent upon anyone. “You’ve done more than enough. The marker for Montague’s property is my greatest wish realized.”

“I’m merely your mask.” Westfield’s smile was grim. “You are the one who has interceded in every investment that might have saved him. You are the one who funded the seasoned gamblers capable of winning against him. You are the one who has worked tirelessly for years to earn enough to squander a fortune to ruin him. Remind me never to anger you, Bond. You aren’t a very nice fellow to those you dislike.”

“You are too honorable a man to do anything that would completely alienate me.” With a smile, Jasper tossed the earl’s words back at him, “Whether you appreciate hearing that or not.”

“Good God, don’t make that statement within earshot of others, please.” The earl looked at the clock. “Should I return at ten o’clock to begin our shadowing of Miss Martin?”

Jasper considered the time. It was shortly after five. “Let’s make it eleven, shall we?”

“You will hear no complaints from me,” Westfield said as he made his egress. “I’ve spent more time with you over the last few days than I have with a woman. No offense, but you aren’t nearly as charming.”

“I should hope not,” Jasper muttered, following the earl out to the hall en route to his rooms upstairs.

“I beg you to follow my lead and consider indulging in some female companionship yourself. It would be a relief to find you less surly this evening.”

Jasper paused with his foot on the bottom step, absorbing the now familiar thrum of anticipation he felt whenever time with Eliza approached. “Don’t feel the need to be excessively timely,” he said over his shoulder, before ascending the staircase two steps at a time.

“This coming from a man who is a stickler for punctuality?” Westfield called after him. “I believe you have caught the Melville madness.”

Jasper thought that was apt, too.

Eliza wondered what the house looked like from the front. Alighting from the carriage in the mews afforded her only a backside glimpse of Jasper’s home.

The young man who couriered Jasper’s note to her urged her expeditiously through an iron gate and along a cobblestone pathway bisecting a garden that was immaculate, if uninspired. She was still absorbing the severity of the rear lawn when Jasper appeared. A shiver of delight moved through her.

He filled the doorway leading into the house, his broad shoulders and tall frame backlit by the interior candlelight. His stance was wide, allowing light to shine between his legs, detailing the length and power of his thighs. He was fully dressed, but the expert fit of his breeches left nothing to the imagination. For the first time, she found the sight of a man’s body inflaming. From the moment she first laid eyes on him, she’d felt a disturbing and significant physical response to his proximity. It intensified daily, encouraged by every heated look and every casual touch.

“Eliza.” There was something intimate about the way he said her name.

She gained the first stair leading up from the garden and he held his hand out to her. It was gloveless and looked so strong and capable. She decided she loved his hands.

She tugged off her glove before she accepted his assistance, wanting to feel the warmth of his skin. A frisson of heated awareness moved up her arm. His grip tightened for a moment, as if he felt it, too. Looking up at him from beneath the hood of her cloak, she noted the stark austerity of his handsome features. He seemed so somber. So grave.

“Is something wrong?” she asked, having been concerned from the moment his summons arrived.

“Come inside.”

Glancing behind her, she saw that the young man who’d accompanied her had departed. There had been others with him, but they hadn’t entered the gardens with her. Jasper’s note advised her to ask his man to accompany her back, if she chose to visit him as he requested. Once she relayed her acquiescence, everything was arranged with amazing swiftness. She’d been squired from Melville’s house through the delivery alley and seen into a hired hackney. The winding and repetitive route they’d taken ensured she wasn’t followed.

Jasper led her inside and took her to a study. Her senses were engaged by the feel of the room the moment she entered it. The mixture of blue hues and mahogany wood was surprising; although she couldn’t say what else she might have chosen for him. Large wingback chairs and overly stuffed settees spoke of comfort as well as functionality. She knew instantly that he spent a great deal of time in this room, which made her want to explore every corner of it.

He came up behind her and set his hands on her shoulders. She stiffened, not with fear or apprehension, but expectantly. She heard him inhale slowly and deeply, as if savoring her scent. The action suited him. He was a man firmly attuned to his baser nature, reliant on his senses and instincts as all predatory and dominant creatures were. She was attracted to that side of him, deriving a potent thrill from being capable of stirring it.

“May I?” he asked, referring to her cloak.

Eliza nodded.

Her hood was lifted and pulled back, exposing her face to light from all around. He paused, his frame emanating an unmistakable tension. The act of removing her cloak suddenly became far more revealing. She understood then that he hadn’t summoned her to discuss urgent business or anything else. The divestment of her exterior garments was the first step in the removal of all her clothing.

Her breath caught audibly and a fine tremor rippled through her.

Jasper’s chin came to rest atop the crown of her head. His hands gripped her upper arms in a gentle yet unshakeable hold. “Will you stay?” he asked gruffly.

She hesitated only a moment. “Yes.”