Undone By His Kiss

“I saw you dancing with a handsome gentleman.” Portia squeezed Emily’s upper arm as if to produce an answer faster.

“Mr. St. David? Do you recall him from yesterday’s quarrel on the sidewalk outside the office? He’s renting the space below us, although I believe he thinks himself quite above.”

Portia’s gaze lingered on the trio of men across the room and Emily followed her lead. The gentlemen were currently engrossed in a lively conversation, but it was easy to notice St. David cared more about what happened on their side of the drawing room. His eyes flicked across often and then skittered away, as if he didn’t want to get caught. His not-so-subtle deception was rather endearing.

“His hair looks thick and velvety. I’d like to run my fingers through it just for the sake of the sensation.”

Emily glanced at Portia as if she’d grown a third arm, the fanciful comment so unlike her usual contemplative conversation.

Portia screwed her face into a scowl before defending her remark. “It reminds me of Fortescue.”

“Fortescue is your cat.” Emily’s disbelief transformed to friendly teasing.

“And the very best of friends. Someday Fortescue will travel the globe safely tucked in a basket at my hip. We shall explore all the world has to offer without the interference of a domineering husband.” Portia finished her little speech with a meaningful eyeball in Norris’ direction.

“I take it Lord Bandlewit has failed to impress.”

“I’m sure he amazes many, if you favor the ostensible sort.” Portia’s frown buoyed into a makeshift smile as her mother approached, Norris less than two steps behind. “But I’d rather follow a more innovatory path.”

Jasper cast a look of regret out the window as his carriage rolled down the cobbles. Randolph had cajoled Penwick into attending a late-night soirée in Mayfair and Jasper, not wishing to be the broken leg in the group, agreed to venture along although he’d have liked to spend more time with Miss Shaw.

Funny how he hadn’t learned her first name. He’d introduced himself twice. With ease, he recalled the feel of her lush, little body within the circle of his arms, their waltz not nearly long enough. Her delicate fragrance lingered in his memory. Still, he was not fooled. She was a sly opponent in this little game they played. One who’d erected high walls around her person for some unperceivable reason. Good thing he was adept at problem solving and inventive solutions.

By the time the carriage reached his apartments, only rat catchers held possession of the night. The entryway clock read half past three in the soft glow of the moon as he opened the door and climbed the stairs. In no need of a valet, he discarded his waistcoat, loosened his cravat, and lit a fire in the hearth. Walking to the closest window he stared out into the empty night and smiled. Miss Shaw. Her image had stayed with him through Penwick’s company and Randolph’s endless chatter. Tonight his friend had had tongue enough for two sets of teeth. Yet the vivid memory of the lady persisted despite the plethora of night entertainment. Curious female with a beauty beyond compare. He had no wish for romantic entanglements at this stage of life, the success of his business requiring his solitary focus, yet the woman intrigued him more than any newfangled machine or revolutionary sketch offered by the most ingenuous inventors.

He flicked his gaze to the stars before turning toward bed, wondering all the while who Miss Shaw was dreaming of this evening.

The earliest rays of morning slanted through the curtains Jasper had neglected to draw the night before, too preoccupied with curiosity and plans. Slitting his eyes, he realized it wasn’t the persistent sunlight suggesting he awaken, but the steady thud of the brass knocker downstairs. Damn, he wasn’t ready to rise. Whoever demanded he do so, best have a good reason.

Muttering curses, he dressed only in necessities and ventured downstairs, barefooted and ill tempered, stumbling as he reached the bottom step, still rubbing sleep from his eyes. At times like this he wished he’d indulged in a butler.

From there morning took a decided turn for the worse. He spied his brother’s luxurious landau through the window, the emblazoned coat of arms brilliant in the gleam of too-early sun. Jasper took a deep breath and opened the front door.

“I didn’t mean to wake you.” Valerian St. David, Earl of Dashwood, nodded and stepped over the threshold, brushing past Jasper and into the hall.

“Then why are you here so early?” He kept his back turned so Dash wouldn’t see his pained grimace.

“Traveling has affected my sleep patterns and besides, I couldn’t wait to speak to you. I heard an interesting tidbit upon my return last evening. I’ve come so you can deny it and set my temper at ease.”

“I wasn’t aware you’d returned from your wedding trip. How goes it in Athens? Venice? Where were you last?” Jasper led them up the stairs to his study. He was half-awake with his clothing disheveled. It seemed the best option.

“Changing the subject with some trifling discourse won’t work.” Dash discarded his gloves on a nearby sofa table and settled in a chair before the desk as if he intended to have a good long visit.

All thoughts of returning to bed while the sheets remained warm evaporated.

“I inquired because I’d forgotten. Nothing more.” Wishing for coffee, Jasper eyed the nearby brandy decanter anticipating what was to come. “You might have messaged me.” He struggled to keep all emotion from the complaint. Instead of appearing on my doorstep ready to cut up my peace.

“Attempts to deter my purpose won’t be successful.” Dash barked a laugh of disbelief. “By the way, Wilhelmina sends her best.”

Jasper’s distemper eased. “Yes, your lovely wife. I look forward to seeing her again. London has missed her smile.”

“And flattering my bride will hardly get you out of the hole you’ve dug. Have you opened an office on Bond Street? Rumor has it you’ve entered into some cork-brained business arrangement with Beaufort.”

Dash’s question sounded suspiciously like an insulting accusation. There was a deafening moment of silence.

“Hardly.” Jasper managed the one word.

“I knew it couldn’t be true.” Satisfaction relaxed his brother’s posture.

“It’s not at all cork-brained.”

Dash whipped his head to attention. “What?” Disapproval replaced surprise. “You’ll have to close.”

Jasper nodded in the negative. “I’ve already secured a notable client.”

Dash’s expression of skepticism spoke volumes but Jasper wasn’t deterred. He’d lived with his brother’s scrutiny and overbearing criticism for two decades seven years, although he’d never developed immunity. “R. James Caulfied, Earl of Penwick, has invested a tidy sum in my foremost financial opportunity.” Thank the devil, he’d secured the account, otherwise he’d have no collateral to offset his brother’s pessimistic forecast of doom.

“Penwick.” Dash paused as if deliberating. “I don’t know him.”

“You don’t know everyone. You hardly know me—” The words came out in a mutter and again Jasper glanced to the brandy service, but it was just too early.

“Of course I know you.” Dash presented a practiced grin. “You’re the brother who landed us in near ruin last year. The same brother who gambled away the pittance we had, doubled the debt left by our father, and ignored my warning that we were fast on our way to financial devastation.”

The discourse, delivered with uncalled for acerbity and an ample serving of lofty indignation, prompted Jasper to stronger defense. “I take exception to that. Father had gambling fever. I do not. And you’ve omitted how I restored our solvency through creative scheming and keen investment sense. You laughed at the idea of a mousetrap. You said cats would have to become extinct.” Jasper thrust his arm in the air to underscore his argument. “And had you not become a matchbreaker at my insistence, you’d have never met Wilhelmina.”

The last bit brought a startling sobriety to the room. Jasper inwardly rejoiced. For once he’d have the final word although his brother’s dismissal of how integral his role had been in their recovery last year left him madder than a bag of cats. And who was whispering in Dash’s ear as soon as he stepped into London? Was he building a reputation or did society ridicule him behind closed doors?

A few minutes ticked by before his brother continued. “I’m the sixth Earl of Dashwood.”

“As I’m aware.” Howsoever could I forget?

“My brother should not be in trade.” There was a threatening finality in Dash’s adamant tone.

“What am I to do with my time each day?” Jasper pushed off the bookcase where he’d leaned and paced to the window.

“You’ve never found trouble filling the hours before.”

“And you were forever urging me to better myself, accusing me of playing Conker’s and over-indulging.”

“Not in this manner.” Tolerance and long-strung patience were threaded through his reply. “You need to find purpose.”

Jasper huffed a short breath and returned to the desk. “I’m the brother to the sixth Earl of Dashwood. I have no purpose.” At least that’s what you believe.

“That’s ridiculous. Now that we’ve recovered financial security you can pursue a great many opportunities, none of which involve you entering in trade. Having but one client aids your new-found purpose which is now to close your doors. Conclude business and inform this Penwick fellow it was all a big mistake. Then dissolve this fatuous endeavor with Beaufort before it sullies our name.” Dash stood up abruptly, as if leaving with this parting remark would ensure his warning abided.

“I thought Wilhelmina had cured you of pride.” Jasper refused to be ordered about and scolded like a child. He dismissed his brother’s words, unwilling to allow them to perforate his ambition. Or at least that’s what he told himself. “You’ll witness yet another success. Just wait and see.”

Dash eyed him, his expression one of grim reservation. “That’s why I’m alarmed.”