The Cynfell Brothers Collection

by Samantha Holt

  “I also have a need to visit the countryside to do some more studies.”

  His brother lifted a brow. “Stars still? Jasper, for a rake, you really are a bore.”

  He ignored the insult. “I cannot see them in London. The pollution is too great.”

  “You are welcome anytime,” Viola put in diplomatically.

  “Excellent. Give a kiss to Ivy and James for me, and tell Ivy her Uncle Jasper shall be bringing some chocolate with him next time.”

  His brother and his wife said their goodbyes, with a few more grunts from Julian, and he watched them leave the party with amusement. He adored his niece and nephew and he couldn’t help imagine himself in the same position—looking after a child. He’d seen his brother take to the challenge with relish and it was something that appealed to him also. No one would think Jasper Cynfell was interested in children but the thought of a child to educate and protect appealed to him.

  As he reached for another sandwich and pondered the dire garden party, a rustle sounded from the bush behind the table and he twisted with a scowl. A fox? A rabbit? Bold creature indeed to be slipping into a busy party to steal food. But no fluffy little thing emerged from the bushes. Instead, first came a slender hand, wriggling its fingers at him. Then an arm. Next came some skirts. Definitely female. A foot popped out from underneath the tight skirt and he eyed the boot attached to it.

  He recognised that boot.

  The head came next and he grinned when her gaze met his. Miss Foster’s mouth dropped open and instant colour flooded her face. She looked like some kind of tree nymph, with leaves strewn in her hair and surrounding her. She wriggled again but made no more progress. Her face was now almost red all over. He bit back a laugh.

  “Is all well?” he asked, as though there was nothing more common than a woman trying to sneak her way into a party through a bush. She really must want to attend very badly. He didn’t have the heart to tell her it was a dull party.

  “Yes,” she replied brightly then the leaves jostled while she fought against them again. The movement stopped and her head dropped. “I’m stuck,” she whispered.

  Jasper moved around the buffet, glancing about to see if they’d been spotted. Thankfully he was the only witness to her embarrassment. Perhaps this party wasn’t so dull after all.

  “Pardon?” he said to the tree woman.

  “I am stuck,” she said through clenched teeth.

  “Well, that is a problem.”

  She released an audible breath. He could practically hear her fury in it. “Could you help me?”

  “I’m not sure...” He couldn’t resist letting his grin expand.

  “Please? Please, my lord, will you help me?”

  The words must have killed her. They came out tight and strained. Even he couldn’t let her continue to suffer. He latched a hand around her arm and pushed aside some of the bush and tugged.

  To no avail. She was stuck fast.

  He moved closer and pressed his arm into the bush. He found her waist and latched an arm about it. He tried not to think about how wonderful she felt beneath her jacket. With one pull, and a rip of fabric that made him wince, he had her free. She pushed quickly away from him and almost stumbled back to where she came from until he snatched her arm and steadied her.

  Miss Foster did a fine job of trying to appear completely normal. She pushed aside a light brown strand of loose hair and plucked a leaf from it. However, there was nothing normal about her.

  This woman was utterly bonkers, Jasper had to conclude. He had to admit, he liked it. Normal, much like this party, was becoming increasingly boring.

  She looked up at him, colour still warm on her cheeks and her lips moved.

  “Pardon?”

  “Thank you,” she repeated, a little louder this time.

  “Do not thank me yet. Your skirt is torn.”

  She let out a little gasp and did a twirl in an effort to spot the rip. He groaned inwardly. Not only had her skirts torn at the back, revealing a lacy petticoat, but her shirt had too. Underneath her jacket, the white cotton gaped, giving him a glimpse of her undergarments.

  “Miss Foster,” he hissed, taking up her arm once more and easing her back away from the party. “Look down.”

  “What?” She glanced down herself and gasped. “Oh no.” Tearing her arm from his, she fumbled to cover herself with her jacket but it only did up to just underneath her breasts.

  “Perhaps you will allow me to escort you out of here?”

  A sheen of moisture revealed itself in her eyes. He almost felt bad for laughing at her.

  “I cannot very well walk past all these people.”

  “There is a rear entrance.” He led her toward the narrow, quite rusty and unused gate. With a strong push, he had the thing open and they were out into the lamp-lit street. “A lot easier than exit by bush, I find.”

  A spluttered laugh escaped her, taking him by surprise. He peered down at her but the smile had vanished and she was back to being the prim miss once more. With the exception of her torn clothes and gaping shirt. She let out another sound of indignation and clutched the cotton together.

  “Do not look!”

  “I wouldn’t dream of it,” he drawled. But the truth was, the sight of that lace, no matter how prim and simple it was, would remain indelibly marked on his mind. He looked up the street, empty save from a few workers and the carriages parked for the party. “You won’t find a carriage at this time of night.”

  “I can walk.”

  “You bloody well cannot. What sort of gentleman would I be to let a woman walk alone in London at night?”

  “From what I’ve heard you’re no gentleman at all. I am not sure I would be any safer with you than out on the streets.”

  “Touché.” He put on his most serious expression and turned to face her. “Miss Foster, my house is not far from here and I have some women’s garments that are likely to fit. Let me escort you there. At least then you shall not have to return home looking like you’ve been ravaged.” He lifted a hand as if giving an oath. “I promise I will be nothing but gentlemanly.”

  Her gaze narrowed on him and she studied him for quite some time. Jasper fought the desire to tug at his necktie. Finally, she nodded. “As you will.”

  “So grateful,” he murmured with a chuckle.

  Jasper managed to slip her into his carriage easily enough without being spotted. He settled opposite her and latched his gaze onto the embroidery of the seat next to her. Somehow the knowledge that there were breasts beneath those undergarments plagued him. Which was ridiculous. He’d seen more breasts than most men, of all shapes and sizes. Why should starchy Miss Foster’s breasts interest him?

  Thankfully he didn’t have too much time to ponder that as the streets were quieter than when he’d headed out. The carriage came to a stop in front of his house on Queen Anne’s Gate and he aided Miss Foster down, narrowly avoiding another glimpse of lace. Leering at women’s undergarments was not gentlemanly. Had he not promised to be gentlemanly?

  In truth, he was probably a little out of practice but it wouldn’t hurt to try, he supposed.

  His butler opened the double black doors for him, revealing only the tiniest bit of surprise on his face at the early return of his master with a rather unusual woman in tow. Not at all like his usual conquests, he was willing to bet the butler would be saying to the rest of his staff later.

  “Have some tea brought into the library if you will,” he ordered the butler and ushered Miss Foster through the hallway toward the library. The fire would be lit there and a chill had seeped into the evening. With only a thin jacket and a ripped shirt, he imagined she’d be a little cold. Though her bountiful curves might keep her a little warmer than some women.

  Jasper forced his gaze away from her rear. There he went again. First it was her breasts, now it was her arse. He couldn’t help imagining what her full rear would feel like against his palms. It was the kind of arse that a man could squeeze an
d mould and pull onto him as she rode him.

  Oh bloody hell. Now he was getting hard. Over Miss Foster of all people.

  Miss Foster did a little turn about the room, running her fingers over the spines of the books. The move interested him. It was bold and made her appear as though she practically owned the place. She really wasn’t a meek little miss.

  “Will you have a seat? Fredericks will be here with warm tea in but a moment.”

  She turned wide eyes on him almost as if she’d forgotten he was there before nodding and settling onto the chair on the other side of his desk. Though tempted to sit behind his desk and hide his growing arousal, he doubted very much she’d notice and he didn’t want to appear anymore intimidating. After all she was alone in his house. Thankfully Miss Foster was the sort of innocent virgin who had never even heard of sex let alone understood what the bulge in a man’s trousers could mean.

  He sat next to her. Far enough away that he could casually cross his legs and hide the evidence of his thoughts. Just in case. But close enough so that he could reach over and stroke her thigh if he wished. Not that he was going to do so.

  He settled back against the chair while she shifted in her seat, twining her gloved hands together. “Now, will you tell me exactly why you were sneaking into that party?”

  She pressed her lips together.

  “Miss Foster?”

  She flung a reluctant look his way. “I was trying to get information.”

  “Was that why you were also at the wine bar?”

  “Yes,” she mumbled.

  “You know, you need only ask.”

  Her gaze snapped to his. “What?”

  “In case you hadn’t realised, I do tend to be in the thick of things. If there is something you wish to know, I’m fairly certain I can find it out for you.”

  “That did occur to me after we’d met,” she admitted quietly.

  “So, what is it, Miss Foster, that is driving you to such extremes?”

  Miss Foster stared at her fingers again before seeming to come to a decision. Chin lifted, she met his gaze. “My sister is missing. She has been gone for over a week now.”

  “Your sister?”

  “Yes. She was staying with my aunt but it seems my sister kept her in ignorance as to her antics. Then one day she simply didn’t return home. My aunt sent word and I came to London as soon as I could.”

  “What about your father? Your mother? Should they not be looking for her?”

  “They are in Yorkshire at present, and for that I’m grateful. It would distress them most grievously.”

  “So you are gallivanting around London in the hopes of finding her?”

  “Or some information at least! Not even her friends can tell me where she went. She had been most mysterious. Her dearest friend mentioned the garden party at Lydworth House. She said Emma had talked of a gentleman attending there whom she was keen to see. I thought—”

  “Wait. Emma Foster?”

  “Yes, that’s her.”

  Jasper pinched the bridge of his nose. Of course. If he hadn’t been so arrogant maybe he would have considered the connection with more seriousness.

  “Do you know her?”

  “I did. I do.”

  Her mouth rounded. “But how? I meant to say, she’s no one of consequence, why would you—” Her brow furrowed. “You took advantage of her, did you not?” A finger jabbed his way and she stood, her chest puffed with indignation. It did little to quell his need. “She is pretty and young and has lived most of her life in the country. What easier conquest could there be? You, my lord, are despicable, you really are—”

  Jasper stood and snatched the finger pointed his way as it threatened to jab into his chest. This woman was lethal even without an umbrella.

  “Now, wait a minute. I never touched your sister. Even I have some scruples, no matter what your opinion is of me, Miss Foster.”

  “You never—” Her shoulders sagged. “Oh.”

  They were interrupted by the timely arrival of the butler and some tea and cake. Jasper motioned for her to sit once more and poured the tea. He didn’t ask how many sugars and made it sweet. The woman’s hands trembled. She needed the sugar.

  He handed over the cup, a little fearful she was going to spill the hot liquid everywhere, but she cradled it between both hands and a tear rolled down her face. Jasper’s insides bunched. He fished for a handkerchief and swiped the tear away. Miss Foster’s eyes rounded and she met his gaze but said nothing of the far too personal moment.

  He eased himself down next to her but ignored the tea. He had need of something more than sugar. A strong brandy ideally. How much should he tell Miss Foster of her sister? And where had the girl gone? Last he’d heard, she was remaining at her aunt’s while she decided how to tell her the awful news. But if she had gone...and in her condition...

  Jasper shook his head. This was all that devil Brandon’s fault. He should have challenged him to a fight or at least punched the man when he’d heard the news. After all, the Fosters had no one else to defend their honour. The idiot couldn’t care one jot about Emma and now the girl had run off.

  Damn, damn, damn. Why had she not come to him again? She had trusted him enough to tell him all only a month ago.

  What to tell her sister though? He nudged the cup of tea and she obediently took a sip. Miss Foster had suffered quite the trial, worrying about her sister and getting into all sorts of trouble. Really, he felt quite bad for her. How would she feel when she heard about Emma?

  He cleared his throat, drawing her gaze away from his desk where she’d been absently eyeing the clutter atop it.

  “I can help you find her, Miss Foster. If she has indeed quit London—which I think quite likely—then you shall not be able to find her alone. It would not be wise to go running all over England alone now, would it?”

  She shook her head slowly.

  “Will you let me assist in the search?”

  “I...” Her throat worked against the tight collar of her shirt.

  Jasper Cynfell never claimed he was an angel. He was concerned for this woman and her sister, yes, but that didn’t stop him from imagining flicking off that ugly cameo broach and undoing her shirt to reveal an expanse of flesh.

  “Yes,” she replied.

  He had to stare at her for a few moments to realise she hadn’t just granted him permission to begin ravishing her. She wasn’t even his type. Curvaceous and passably pretty aside, he liked women who knew what they were doing in bed. Miss Henrietta Foster would likely remain as stiff as a board when being tumbled, and what a bore that would be.

  “I really feel as if I didn’t know my sister all,” she said on a sigh. “I thought I did, but even I was deceived, especially if she was spending time with someone like—” She clamped her mouth shut.

  Someone like him. A rake, a seducer, the kind of man mamas warned their daughters about. She was right. He was all of those and it never really bothered him before. No one had ever made him want to prove otherwise. However, there was something about her pinched lips and disdainful expression that made him want to declare there was more to him than that.

  A foolish notion indeed. If he didn’t give a fig about what society thought of him, why should he care what this woman thought of him?

  “I shall begin my search for your sister tomorrow.”

  “I...I thank you.” Her brows dipped. “Why are you helping me, my lord?”

  “I have to have something to keep me occupied,” he replied blithely. “After all, what else is a rake about the town meant to do when he’s not seducing innocent women?” That tell-tale colour surged into her cheeks again, and he grinned. “Now let me find something suitable for you to wear. Thankfully I have a few gowns at my disposal. Comes in handy, I find...”

  He didn’t mention they were for his conquests because he didn’t need to. Miss Foster was a clever woman and understood well enough why he kept ladies’ clothing in his townhouse.

  T
hough perhaps she didn’t quite understand exactly why. After ruining one too many gowns, it seemed sensible to have a supply and sometimes the odd garment or two got left behind. Now he had a veritable treasure trove of dresses.

  Trying not to think about how he wouldn’t mind ruining that starched shirt and long skirt further, Jasper went off to hunt out a gown.

  Chapter Four

  Lord Jasper might be searching for information but that wasn’t going to stop Hettie. For all she knew, he could have woken up and forgotten all about his offer of help.

  As she walked toward Clara’s house, she brushed a hand down her sensible skirt and tried not to recall the gown she’d ended up wearing last night. It had been made of silk and though it was modest enough, it had clung to her figure in a way that had made all of her curves look so much more than bountiful. She couldn’t deny she’d spent quite a few moments staring at herself in the mirror and wondering exactly who that person in the reflection was.

  Then she wondered what Lord Jasper had thought of her, which was ridiculous. She couldn’t possibly compare to women like the one in the carriage.

  Hand to her new hat, she hurried along. She wanted to be sure to catch Clara before she went out for the day. The girl had to know more about her sister’s antics. She’d never even mentioned they spent time with someone like Lord Jasper. Hettie was keen to find out what else her sister’s friend had been hiding.

  The housekeeper recognised her and granted her instant entry. Clara came out to greet her before she had even managed to remove her hat. The girl, who was so similar to her sister in many ways that it made her heart hurt, gripped her hands and ushered her into the drawing room.

  “My mother will not hear us in here,” she said, closing the doors.

  Hettie lifted a brow but said nothing. Her mother, as far as Hettie knew, was thoroughly aware of her daughter’s antics yet did nothing to dissuade her from behaving so. It seemed to her that all idea of morals and decent behaviour were abandoned when a young girl stepped foot in London. She thanked God for the hundredth time for her simple country upbringing.