Sylvia Day - Pride and Pleasure

“You don’t say?” Brimley’s eyes were wide. “Care to guess who it is?”

“I am at a disadvantage, I’m afraid. I have yet to become acquainted with every moth circling her flame.”

“Moth to flame, eh? Poetic and apt. Well, I shall take it upon myself to discover his identity.”

Westfield clapped him on the shoulder. “You will, of course, be sporting and share your findings.”

Brimley’s chest puffed up. “Certainly, Westfield.”

Jasper gave in to his impatience. With a slight bow, he sidestepped away. “If you will excuse me, my lords.”

“Not so fast, Bond,” Westfield said quickly. “I shall accompany you in your journey to pay court to the lovely Miss Martin. Excuse us, Brimley. Do keep us apprised of your discoveries.”

The tension in Jasper’s shoulders increased. Bringing Eliza to Westfield’s attention-and the reverse-was not something he should view as threatening, but the feeling was there. He remembered what Eliza had said about her unexpected feelings of animosity toward Miss Tolliver and he admired her candor even more.

She caught sight of him when he was several feet away. Courtesy of her décolletage, he saw her breath catch and a gentle flush spread across her luminous skin. She stared, unblinking, and masculine triumph surged through him. She was clearly smitten by the sight of him, yet he had not provoked that response from her with any effort on his part.

He drew to a halt on the fringes of her circle. A pathway was made for him with obvious reluctance.

“Miss Martin.”

She lowered her gaze and curtsied. “Good evening, Mr. Bond.”

Jasper obliged Westfield with the necessary introductions, then backed away. For a while, he simply observed her in this new environment, smiling inwardly when she spoke so bluntly those around her momentarily lost their way in the conversation. As dramatic as her change of appearance was, she was still Eliza. While others spoke with great animation about the tale of her mishap at the Royal Academy, she frowned and bit her lower lip, clearly not reconciling the expanded tales with the actual reality. She looked at him often, seeming to take comfort in his proximity. He recalled his earlier thoughts about how at ease she made him feel in situations where he was feeling his way blind.

They were not so different. More than anything, he was drawn to the affinity they shared in unexpected and deeply seated ways.

In order to see him schooled properly, Jasper’s mother had paid for his education with her pride and her life. He’d protested the expense, knowing what it would cost her, but she would not be swayed. In the end, he conceded only because he intended to support her, not for the reason she es-poused-to impress his sire, a man well-versed in ignoring his many bastard issue.

Jasper blamed opium for his mother’s failure to see the hopelessness of her quest. Certainly no one possessed of full mental faculty would hold the dream that a handsome son with a decent education and proper speech would engender fondness and paternal pride in a dissolute reprobate like the late Earl of Montague. Yes, Jasper was well-spoken and possessed of a refined sense of style. He could read and write. He was capable with numbers, although he lacked the fondness for them Eliza had. In short, he should fit in, but he did not. And he knew Eliza felt the same way.

A violin played a few opening notes, signaling an end to the orchestra’s short break. Guests began to line up along the center of the parquet floor. Eliza shot him a long, meaningful glance and he knew she was going to be dancing his dance.

She took to the floor with Sir Richard Tolliver. Riveted by the elegant grace with which she glided across the room, Jasper could not take his eyes from her. The sapphire gown’s skirts were noticeably fuller than those worn by the other females in attendance; he thought the style suited Eliza perfectly. There were more layers to her than most women.

The musicians began the opening notes of a waltz. Eliza stepped nearer to Tolliver and clasped his hand. With an accomplished flourish, he began the requisite series of steps.

Jasper frowned, thinking. There had been two Tollivers at the Exhibition Hall. They’d left the room shortly after Eliza and followed in her direction. On Eliza’s list of suitors, Tolliver’s name had been placed above Montague’s, in part because he had a sister who could use a dowry to secure a more advantageous match.

Turning away, Jasper expected the other sibling would be nearby. He had only to find her.

“You are a vision this evening, Miss Martin,” Sir Richard said, as they circled the dance floor along with the other couples.

“Thank you.” Eliza wondered if she should say more than that. What did one say that wouldn’t sound awkward? She always considered such praise to be a platitude. She was well aware she was no classic beauty. However, since she’d put effort into looking attractive this evening, it would be disingenuous to assume none of the compliments were sincere. Especially considering she was wearing one of her mother’s gowns.

Eliza was still stunned at her decision. Her mother was someone she never wanted to emulate. Lady Georgina had been irrepressible and impetuous. She’d paid little heed to the consequences of her actions and how they might affect others. For years, Eliza had asked herself the question “What would Mother do?” so she could choose the reverse option. But after this afternoon, she wanted to do something nice for Jasper. He’d been so distraught after the unfortunate event at Somerset House. It meant a great deal to her that he cared so much for her well-being. If she were completely honest, she would also say she hoped her attire might goad an answer from him in regards to her earlier question about mating.

Of course, there was also the reasonable explanation for her choice: it signaled to one and all that a drastic change had occurred in her life. She’d known the very day her mother had taken a fancy to Mr. Chilcott. Lady Georgina’s blue eyes had been bright, her lips red, and her cheeks flushed. She had hummed to herself and burst out in song at odd moments. Over the following week, she’d smiled incessantly. But most telling of all was the way she altered her mode of dress. She’d begun choosing gowns with conservative adornments and richer colors, as if she knew her smitten glow was accessory enough. Eliza understood that she could not continue to go about looking as ordinary as possible and expect others to believe she was extraordinarily attached to a particular man.

Sir Richard cleared his throat. “I pray you’ll forgive me, Miss Martin, but I am concerned for you.”

“Concerned?”

“I detest stepping into affairs that are removed from me,” he said, sounding anything but reluctant. “However, I fear your laudable discrimination in selecting a spouse has become lax.”

Her brows rose. “Lax?”

“I speak of Mr. Bond, of course.”

“I see.” Although Tolliver had been paying court to her for two Seasons now, this was the first display of condescension she’d witnessed. She did not like his tone at all. It was one a parent or tutor would use with a recalcitrant child.

“There is something about Mr. Bond that doesn’t sit well with me. I cannot put my finger on it, but something is not right with him.”

She turned her head and located Jasper standing by a fluted column with crossed arms and hooded eyes. Not for the first time, she noted how he didn’t look at her as he had on the day they’d met. His stare now was hotter, more aware, and it awakened an answering awareness in her. Warmth blossomed in the pit of her stomach and expanded. They had known each other only a few days, but she was irrevocably changed by his acquaintance, newly cognizant of a baser sensibility previously veiled from her.

As for Tolliver’s assertions, although she didn’t appreciate the manner of their delivery, she could not fault him for making them. Jasper’s attire was the only thing polished about him. Although he appeared innocuous on the surface, those with keen perception would recognize how incongruous he was among the crowd. There was a razor’s edge of menace to him and a sleek grace to his movements that was inherently predaceous.

“I see no evidence of unsuitability,” she lied. “In truth, I find him quite acceptable.”

“Miss Martin, I must say, I am alarmed by your estimation. Who are his people?”

“His father is known to Lord Melville.” Eliza followed Sir Richard’s lead through an unusually vigorous turn. He was such an accomplished dancer; his uncustomary carelessness was telling.

“I suspect he is in want of funds, and you have them.”

“That applies to many gentlemen of my acquaintance, wouldn’t you agree? But I’m curious. What led you to the assumption that Mr. Bond is a fortune hunter and more of a hazard than my other suitors? Certainly his appearance refutes such a conclusion.”

Jasper looked beyond reproach this evening. Dressed in a dark gray velvet coat and a pale blue waistcoat, he looked accomplished and elegant. The expert tailoring of the whole ensemble displayed the power of his body to advantage. She fully appreciated how strong and capable he was. She felt safe knowing he was nearby. The only person capable of harming her when Jasper was near was Jasper himself.

“Miss Martin.” Tolliver looked pained. “I must advise you that it’s most disconcerting to dance with a female who spends the duration of the waltz admiring another gentleman.”

“I am not admiring him, sir.” At least, not verbally. “I am merely requesting that you expound upon the methods of deduction you used to reach your conclusion. You say he is in want of funds, I see no evidence of such. I should like to know what you see that I don’t.”

“A lady of your refined reasoning is at a disadvantage in this situation.” His brown eyes were somber. “I shall explain. He’s regarding you in an inappropriate fashion, Miss Martin.”

“Are you saying,” she asked carefully, “Mr. Bond must be in want of money because he cannot take his eyes off me? I don’t understand the logic. Isn’t it possible Mr. Bond might find something visually appealing about me? Perhaps my trim figure has garnered his admiration?”

“Your form is attractive,” he conceded gruffly.

“Or my hair? Some men are excessively fascinated by certain hues, I’m told.”

A flush rose from beneath his cravat to color his cheekbones. “You have lovely hair.”

“But my attractive form and lovely tresses are not enough to explain why Mr. Bond regards me so intently? I suppose that’s due to his exceedingly comely face and its ability to captivate anyone with unhindered vision. Correct me if I’m wrong, but I understand you to mean that my limited physical charms are no match for his. He can certainly find a far more beautiful female.” Eliza wrinkled her nose, as if in deep thought. “Well, then, perhaps it’s my brain he finds so interesting.”

“I agree you are extremely clever, Miss Martin,” he said in a fervent rush, swiftly grasping at the change of topic. “It’s why I like you so well, and why I’m certain we will enjoy each other’s companionship for an indefinite period of time. However, Mr. Bond obviously lends more attention to cultivating his exterior than his interior. One does not attain that physical size through intellectual exertions. I doubt he’s capable of grasping the worth of your brain. In fact, in your position, I would wonder if it was even possible to have meaningful discourse with him.”

Eliza nodded. “I understand now. Ruling out my mental and physical attributes would leave only my fortune as an enticement for handsome men. I’m quite enlightened, Sir Richard.”

The waltz ended. She retreated the moment the last strains faded away. “Thank you. This discussion has been most informative. However, I seek clarification on one point: If attractive men find only my fortune alluring and you find my brain alluring, does that make you unattractive?”

Tolliver’s mouth opened, then closed. Then opened again. Nothing came out.

After an abbreviated curtsy, Eliza spun about and left the dance floor. She intended to go to Jasper, but he was no longer where she last saw him.

Jasper found Miss Tolliver on the dance floor. Shortly afterward, he was himself found by Lord Westfield.

“I’m almost inclined to wed posthaste,” his lordship said, “to spare myself further pre-matrimonial torment.”

“Because post-matrimonial torment is eminently more bearable,” Jasper said dryly.

“I don’t have unreasonable qualifications for a spouse,” Westfield said with some defensiveness. “So long as she doesn’t aggravate me unduly, and I’m not averse to bedding her, I am open to anyone of suitable breeding.”