Pride and Pleasure

Page 3

Returning to his seat, Jasper set Lynd’s glass at the edge of the desk. “I have an appointment with Miss Martin this afternoon. I’ll learn then how serious Montague is about winning her hand. Perhaps he has grown desperate enough to become foolish.”
“Preposterous,” Lynd scoffed. “The whole affair. If someone is so determined to marry the chit, he should ask her outright. But then, I suppose the entire lot of hopefuls is daft or desperate beyond reason to mix their lineage with the Tremaines’. She should be grateful her late father’s fortune has attracted suitors to her. She would have a devil of a time enticing a man without it.”
Jasper’s brow went up. He’d been enticed the moment she first opened her mouth.
“Truly,” Lynd went on, “she should just pick a poor fellow and be done with it. Any other woman would. Been allowed to run amok, that one. She took it upon herself to engage a thief-taker to intercede and his lordship is too preoccupied with the maze of his mind to rein her in. Melville’s participation in my interview was only with himself.”
“Do you have a point to this disparagement of my client?”
“Six weeks will seem a lifetime, I vow. No compensation can restitute the loss of your sanity. She is contrary in the extreme. Unnatural in a female. She had the gall to look down her nose at me—a feat, I must say, since I’m taller—and tell me I would do well to hire a decent tailor. No polish to her at all. I could barely tolerate her for the length of the interview. Made my teeth grind.”
“Good of you to decline the post, then,” Jasper drawled. “Clearly you would not have made a convincing suitor.”
“If you manage to be, I’d say you missed your true calling as a man of the stage.”
“So long as Montague fails to acquire the funds he needs to regain his marker from me, I can do whatever is required.” It was a delectable twist that the best way to foil Montague’s suit was to woo Eliza Martin himself.
“Revenge has a way of eating at you, my boy, like a cancer. Best to keep that in mind.”
Jasper smiled grimly.
Shrugging, Lynd said, “But you’ll do as you like, you always have.”
The marker Jasper held was for a deed to a parcel of land in Essex that boasted only a modest home and was by far the smallest property Jasper laid claim to. Regardless, its value was priceless. It represented years of meticulous planning and the retribution due him. And in a mere six weeks it would be irrevocably his to destroy or flaunt at his whim.
Jasper withdrew a waiting coin purse from his desk drawer and pushed it to the edge of the desk.
Lynd hesitated before collecting the silken bag. “I wish I could afford not to accept this.”
“Nonsense. I owe you more than I could ever repay.”
Rounding his desk, Jasper escorted Lynd to the foyer and saw him off. Once his visitor was gone, he shot a quick glance at the clock above the mantel in his office.
He was only a few hours away from paying a call on Miss Eliza Martin. He was anticipating it far more than was seemly. He should not be thinking of her at all, a woman who inferred he was more brawn than intellect. His goals were met by dealing with each challenge at the proper time and with the whole of his attention. Eliza’s appointed time was later; there were other items needing to be addressed now. Yet he stood on the threshold of his office where pressing matters awaited him, thinking instead of how he should attire himself to call on her, contemplating whether he should dress to impress or whether mimicking her somber style would better achieve his aim.
Jasper found himself wanting to meet with her approval. It would be hard won, which made it worth the effort.
“The trone d’amour,” he murmured to himself, touching his cravat. Decided on a style, Jasper headed to his desk and determined he wouldn’t think of his newest employer for at least an hour.
Jasper’s foot crossed the threshold of the Melville front door at precisely eleven o’clock. Snapping his pocket watch shut, he waited only a moment while the butler dealt with his hat and cane. But it was a moment he relished for the expectation weighting it. He’d considered the possible reasons why he should be so confoundedly eager to reach this portion of his schedule and come to the conclusion it was Eliza Martin’s ability to surprise him that he enjoyed.
The realization came with the sudden understanding that nothing surprised him anymore. He knew precisely what others would say before they said it and how they would respond before they did so. It was the way of the world, the rules of decorum, and his own acute appreciation of human nature. Socializing was like a scripted play, with all the actors aware of what their lines were and when they should be spoken.
Eliza had yet to say anything he expected her to say.
“This way, sir.”
Jasper followed the butler to a study and paused on the threshold while he was announced. With his hands clasped at the small of his back, he took in the room, noting how the heavy masculine furniture was offset by flowery pastel drapes and artwork featuring picturesque country landscapes. As if the space had once been a man’s domain and was no longer.
“Ah, good morning, Mr. Bond.”
The butler bowed and stepped aside, exposing the slender woman who’d been hidden by his tall frame. Eliza sat at a walnut desk so large she appeared dwarfed behind it. Her gaze was downcast, her hair piled high in soft curls, and her shoulders partially hidden by the fine lace decorating a modest bodice.
Jasper entered fully and moved to one of the two carved wooden chairs facing the desk. Before he sat, he glanced down at what occupied her. Ledgers. She worked over them studiously, filling the columns with impressive speed and painfully neat numerals.
“Once again,” she murmured, “you are precisely on time.”
“Another of my faults?” he asked.
She glanced up at him, studying him beneath the veil of thick auburn lashes. “Would you care for tea?”
“No, thank you.”
She set her quill aside and waved the butler away. “The trait of punctuality simply tells me that you value time. It suggests you will value mine as well, which I appreciate.”
“What else do you value, Miss Martin?”
“I fail to see how that signifies.”
Jasper smiled. “If I am to be a lovelorn swain or even simply a fortune hunter who has set his cap for you, I am expected to know things about you.”
“I see.” A slight wrinkle marred the space between her brows, then she said, “I value my privacy, solitude, the books in my library, my horse, and my money.”
He watched the way her fingertips tapped lightly atop the ledger in front of her. “You keep your own accounts?”
“As my father did before me.”
“Why have you not wed?”
Eliza sat back and crossed her arms. “Are you married, Mr. Bond?”
“Jasper,” he corrected, wanting to hear his given name spoken in her soft, yet steely voice. “And no, I’m not married.”
“Then I ask the same question of you. Why have you not wed?”
“The manner in which I live my life doesn’t lend itself to matrimony. I keep odd hours and odder company.”
“Hmm…Well, I have not wed because I’ve yet to find an individual whose company is worth the expense.” She lifted one shoulder in an offhand shrug. “Frankly, marriage for me is an extremely expensive proposition. In addition to the loss of control over my own funds, I’d be agreeing to spend an inordinate amount of time with another person. It makes me odd, I know—or perhaps it just makes me a Tremaine—but I find socializing with others is more exhausting than refreshing. I have to consider everything I want to say, and then filter it through my mind before I speak so what emerges from my mouth doesn’t offend with its bluntness.”
And there it was, the key to wooing her into bed: encourage her to be herself. Not a problem for him at all, since he enjoyed her unpolished pronouncements and reasoned judgments. He looked forward to the challenge of unveiling the woman beneath the brain.
“Eliza,” he purred, watching her reaction to his uninvited familiarity—the slight dilation of her irises, the unaffected flutter of her lashes, and the quickening tempo of the pulse visible at her throat. “I must confess, I was very much looking forward to our meeting this morning precisely because of what emerges from your mouth.”
Which led to thoughts of what else he liked about that particular feature. Such as the full curve of her bottom lip, and the way it pursed lightly when he goaded her. Even the way it moved when she spoke. The things he wanted to do to that mouth shocked even him. He wanted to feel it move over his skin, whispering lewd taunts and pressing soft kisses. Teasing. Suckling….
He inhaled sharply, displeased for the first time in his life with the finely honed instincts he’d long relied on to survive. It was one thing to be sexually aware of a woman—something he found quite stimulating and enjoyable. It was quite another to be physically affected by that awareness.
“It’s rare,” he continued, forcing his thoughts back to the business at hand, “for a client to be so forthcoming. It makes my efforts far more effective when they are.”
Her head tilted to the side, causing two curls to sway beside a delicately shaped ear. She seemed prepared to speak, but then she didn’t. Instead, she withdrew a piece of paper from beneath her leather-bound ledger and offered it to him.
He leaned forward and accepted it, turning it around so he could read what was written. As with her bookkeeping, the columns were neat and tidy, yet the way in which she formed her letters was different. Highly slanted as opposed to straight, elongated at the highs and lows, bleeding at the point of ink refill as if she was too hurried to shake off the excess properly. He mulled this over as he read—the care over numerals versus the carelessness over proper names was telling. The list catalogued her suitors by peerage rank—if applicable—as well as length of suit, age, brief but concise physical descriptions, and anomalous traits such as throat clearing and nose twitching. He would easily be able to put a name to a face with the information she provided.
“I’m impressed with the thoroughness of your observation skills,” he praised, looking up at her.
A ghost of a smile curved her lips, making him realize he had yet to see her smile in truth. “Thank you. I came to the conclusion last evening that this would be my final Season. I secured an agreement from my uncle long ago that six Seasons would be all he’d ask of me…but I was undecided about holding him to the promise. He asks so little of me, after all.”
“I see.” He should feel no guilt in enjoying her, then. He would not be ruining her if she was seated firmly on the shelf.
“And so I’ve also decided to utilize your services for the entirety of the six weeks remaining in this Season, Mr. Bond. If you will advise me of the cost of securing your services for that length of time, I’ll see you are paid by the end of the day tomorrow.”
Jasper leaned back in his chair, considering. There was something about the way she eyed him that set off a quiet alarm. He appreciated being paid for services rendered—as anyone did—but he wondered if more than the balance of her accounts and a wish to absolve a debt was motivating her. He’d dealt with members of the peerage who felt the act of paying him put him in his place. Once he’d accepted money, he was no longer a businessman but a commodity they had rights and power over. In most instances, he cared not at all what clients told themselves to assuage their pride. In this case, he would not allow Eliza to think she could control him with her money.
“We have an agreement,” he said, smiling slightly to soften the rigidity of his position on the matter. “A fortnight without pay. If I have satisfied you at that time, you may make restitution then.”
There was a flash of wariness in her blue eyes. Barely there and then gone. “But I do not intend to replace you.”
“Excellent. I do not intend to be replaced.” He held the list aloft. “Did you, perchance, put these in order of most suspicious to least likely?”
“Yes, of course.” She stood and rounded the desk.
He rose quickly, watching in surprise as she settled into the seat beside him. She leaned over the armrest and gestured for him to sit. “If you have any questions, I’m most willing to answer them to the best of my ability.”
As Jasper lowered himself back into the chair, he inhaled the rather exotic scent of her perfume, appreciating how different it was from her modest mode of dress. She was a study in contradictions, from her appearance to her voice to her handwriting. “Why is the Earl of Montague so near the bottom?”
Eliza’s head tilted so she could better see where he pointed. It was the closest proximity they’d shared yet, affording him the opportunity to note the smattering of light freckles over the bridge of her nose. “Why shouldn’t he be within the ‘least likely’ section? His lordship is handsome and charming and—”
“Desperately in debt.” It was by dint of will alone that he managed not to crush the foolscap in his hand. What natural attraction he felt for her was increased by a sense of possessiveness. Damned if Montague would get his hands on Eliza or her money.
“Yes. I know. But so are many of the men on the list. Those who are not in debt are of limited means.” She saw his raised brows and another slight smile curved her lips. “I’ve looked into the circumstances of every gentleman who calls upon me, even the ones whose motives are clear straightaway.”
“And how did you manage that?”
“I may not have a bookkeeper, Mr. Bond—”
“Jasper,” he corrected, yet again.
Her shoulders went back. “Such familiarity is inappropriate in business dealings.”
“Not so.” It appeared he was correct about her wish for distance. “And especially not in this instance. You should be more than a little fond of me. I collect that you find it difficult to contemplate, since I am not your type of male, but the use of given names and time spent in my company will help to alleviate any awkwardness you might feel, creating a more believable presentation.”