by Summer Devon
She rested her hands over the hard lump and sighed. “I swore that I would never so much as give you the time of day. And then I threw myself into your arms.”
“I thought I’d grabbed you,” he said. “You were just offering me a polite hand in greeting.”
“No. No, I was shameless as usual.”
He shook his head and watched her with that wry grin. Oh goodness how she’d missed him and the rush of love made her heart pound.
“But you asked me if I am happy. If I look into my heart I find I am glad to know I am carrying your baby. I have come to accept the baby and now I know I will love him or her completely. I could never give it up now. But as for the future. Ah heavens. Mr. White, I don’t understand how you of all people could act in such a way. You! Ha!” She gave a quiet groan of frustration. “Oh, I want throttle you. You’re still determined not to…” She let her voice trail off. No point in continually mentioning making an honest woman of her. No doubt he was as weary of the topic as she was.
“Eliza,” he croaked. “Tell me if I am imagining this, but I think, er, I think you might forgive me for what happened in the cave?”
“Perhaps,” she said. “Slightly. No. I still wish to slaughter you.”
He nodded solemnly. “Eh, that I understand. Why on earth would you forgive me?”
“Because I have lived long enough to understand that the world is not so easily divided good from bad. Despite that night, I must forgive you. And,” she felt her face go hot and knew she blushed, “maybe a little bit because of it. I don’t understand how you can be both the bravest man and the greatest coward I have ever met. I’ve missed you and your ridiculous bit of wood and everything about you.”
Jas beamed at her then grew serious. Sunny and then cloudy, she thought. A storm approaches. “I have missed you too, Eliza. But it is for the best that I don’t visit too often. Actually, part of the reason I came was because I wondered why you aren’t out in society more…”
She waved her hand dismissively. “Please do not start again with your nonsense. I am content to be here in London, but I have no wish to do more than attend a quiet evening or a play now and then.”
“Why don’t you do more than that? Do you ever go for rides in the park?”
“Is that an invitation?” She couldn’t help herself.
The lowering brows and scowl. Dismay or anger, she wondered. “Oh, gah. I’m sorry if I…” he began.
She couldn’t bear to hear any more of his twaddle and waved her hand even more vigorously. “Enough, enough. We’ll speak no more of this. You will be your usual irritating self and I will try not to quiz you too often.”
She sighed and glanced at a clock on the mantel. Good, her chaperone would be with them and save her from making a fool of herself. “Cousin Ann will be awake after her afternoon nap. I shall ask Wimble to bring tea for her as well.”
She rose to ring the bell. Wimble came at once—she hoped he hadn’t been listening outside the door. She gave the order and walked toward her sofa. She almost jumped out of her skin when Jas came to her, impulsively caught her arms and leaned forward. His mouth brushed hers briefly.
“How is it you’re more beautiful than the last time I saw you?”
She didn’t want to be pleased, but the gruff tone, as if he spoke those words unwillingly, warmed her.
She sniffed at him and pulled away. “Oh fie. You sound like one of the beaux who discovered my exquisite beauty after my fortune became generally known.”
“I imagine they’re better at the pretty speeches,” he said, still sounding grim. He’d followed her to her chair and stood over her, staring at her with that hungry look that made her skin prickle.
She grinned up into his scowling face. “They praise my eyes, my hair, my face, even my hands, but how odd it is that none of my admirers has mentioned my figure.”
“I’m glad to hear you have admirers,” he said, definitely glum. Jealous, she hoped—eaten up with it. It would serve him right.
He went slowly back to his chair and perch on the edge. He looked around the small drawing room as if noticing its details for the first time.
“What does all the red mean?” he asked cautiously. ”It’s a bit powerful, don’t you think? Good thing you still dress all in black or you’d clash with your own room.”
She laughed. “You do not honestly believe I’m responsible for the décor, do you? I took the house fully furnished. I imagine if I stay I’ll rip every speck of red out and replace it with something restful.”
“And if you don’t stay?”
She wanted to tell him that it wasn’t his business, when a foot or hand shoved up and pushed out her breath. She inhaled deeply and put her hands to her belly.
He jumped to his feet. “What’s wrong?”
“I’m being pummeled from the inside,” she explained with a small smile.
In a second he crossed the room and leaned over her to lay his strong palm against her abdomen. “Where?” he demanded. “Never mind. Oh I feel her!”
Perhaps she should have demanded he back away, but his joy and fascination touched her heart. His emotion seemed almost as strong as her own.
He grinned into her eyes. “Wow,” he breathed as their child pushed up.
Jas was leaning over her, his hand rubbing her belly, when Wimble rolled the teacart in, followed by Cousin Ann.
Luckily both new arrivals were preoccupied. By the time they looked over at Jas, he was standing near the mantel, admiring a figurine of a shepherdess.
Eliza performed introductions then reached rather awkwardly over her belly for the teapot. “Only sugar for you, Cousin Ann?” She managed the transition as well as Jas, she considered, though as she watched him elegantly take a seat, she knew she smiled wider than was seemly.
Eliza and Cousin Ann chatted about a watercolors exhibition but Jas did not utter a word. After twenty minutes, the proscribed length of a visit, he swept an easy bow over her hand and bid her goodbye.
“Much more elegant than the first bow I ever saw you perform on that hillside, the morning after the cave,” Liza murmured as he leaned over her. He didn’t meet her eyes and almost fled out the door.
Eliza watched him half amused, half angry—no different from usual, she thought with a sigh. He had seemed so odd to her again when he came through her door. Exotic, far too forthright, and then gradually all that was familiar and dear about him returned. The way he’d sat in the chair, the strange flat accent of his in a voice that touched her core now. Every word was hard to hear because she’d missed him so.
She recalled the days she and Jas had spent lying in bed together. Good Lord, she flushed with desire just thinking about the man. The baby kicked her sharply in a sensitive spot and she shifted position. She silently thanked her passenger for its reminder that Jas could well be the greatest rogue she’d ever met and blessed the baby for being an astute little creature. Thank heavens someone in her family seemed to show some sense. When it came to men, Eliza seemed to have none.
She wished she’d managed to pry more information out of him all those days and weeks they’d been together. Because now that she’d seen him again, she felt uneasy. He remained, hanging about in London, and essentially a mystery. What was his purpose?
She fetched her sewing basket and Cousin Ann offered to read aloud as Eliza let out the sides of another dress. As usual, Ann read an improving tract and Eliza didn’t listen.
She had no idea what the man had been doing all these weeks they’d been apart. She bit off a piece of thread and recalled something her cousin John had said. Mr. White had struck him as more foreign than a Chinaman. John had only been trying to explain why he was so dubious of the whole story.
Mr. White and his very strange country. Her own country was at war, could he be from one of the enemy countries? He did talk about America and there was tension there. She froze, thread and needle in each hand and frowned. No, her desire to learn more wasn’t because she pursued the
man. She would only think of him again in a few months—when the year was up. But she felt she needed to understand more. For the sake of England, naturally. And her unborn child.
She considered asking John to look into the matter, but instead summoned her butler. “Wimble?” she asked. “Might I ask you take on a rather odd assignment?”
Chapter Seventeen
The first rule of a DHUy was to stay in the background. Do not draw notice to yourself with the natives unless necessary to your assignment. Jazz supposed he ought to follow the rules when he could, so he moved inns often, to remain a stranger.
The clothes he wore marked him as gentry, and so before moving to the next inn, he bought yet another new wardrobe of a working man’s coarser and more comfortable clothing. When he no longer smelled of money, he still felt as if he drew too many eyes. And even if the flirtation didn’t seem to consist of as many questions about his property and interests, he did receive other offers from young women.
Now that he lived in the wild-state and had rediscovered the joys of bedding a woman, he almost felt tempted by one or two of the buxom young beauties who offered to warm his sheets. After all, Eliza wasn’t going to remain true to him. But he had been spoiled by making love, rather than merely having sex. He would have to grow fairly desperate—probably even fall out of love—to settle for less.
*
Eliza’s butler showed up at his newest inn yet again to buy him a drink, and Jazz didn’t hide from Wimble or his questions. After all, Eliza had to be able to find Jazz in case of an emergency. Jazz could turn the stumbling questions around and use Wimble as a source of information.
He assured the older man that life in London was on the whole extremely uneventful.
“My social life consists of a boot black named Billy,” Jazz said watching Wimble’s reaction carefully. “I’ve bought him a few meals.”
Wimble stopped in mid-gulp. “Oh?” Without looking at Jazz, he put down his glass and appeared entirely confused. He did a fair job of acting but Jazz had already wondered if Eliza or Wimble had set Billy on to him, now he knew. Jazz hid his smile. Billy and Wimble were terrible spies, but Jazz was actually grateful for their companionship. Lately, for the first time in his life, he had felt lonely. To hell with that first rule.
“So tell me, does Miss Wickman entertain many gentleman?” He drank some of the disgusting ale. “And the dark man with only three fingers on his left hand. Has he visited?”
Wimble had a fine memory and after only two ales, loosened up enough to describe all the gentlemen who called—and there were quite a few. The list of names and descriptions of the faces of visitors did not include Sandton or Steele.
Where the hell was Sandton? Jazz wondered if perhaps Eliza’s old friend was meeting her somewhere outside the house. They might take walks together—Jazz had once spotted her in the park with a tall gentleman. He’d watched until they were out of sight. Good thing he hadn’t obeyed his first instinct. He’d wanted to call out her name.
*
The weather grew cooler and pleasant. Rain came and went. Jazz thought he’d go insane waiting. To while away the time, he taught himself to ride a horse, much to the amusement of the inn’s stable lad who slouched against a fence and watched him go in circles. Jeremy, a natural teacher, ignored Jazz’s protests and gave him lectures about the finer points of horse care and how to pick a sweet goer for a gig versus a good mount.
In return, Jazz treated Jeremy to a few meals and the occasional mug of ale. Early on, he tried to give the stable lad money, but it was immediately clear the boy was insulted by Jazz’s attempt to pay him for his advice.
“I was telling you it all as a friend, like. You want to employ me? I’ll just nip round and saddle your mount for you. That’s when you slip me a coin or two, see? Tell yer what, sir. You find yourself full of juice someday and want to set up your stable, come fetch me.”
Like a friend, Jazz thought dolefully. No, he had to avoid yet another person. He couldn’t leave so many traces behind. Jeremy, Billy, Wimble, Eliza’s cousins. Too many people with whom he’d interacted more than once. He’d concentrated on avoiding people but the restlessness remained.
Jazz discovered he enjoyed riding. The smell of the horse could even be pleasant. In small doses. And he was used to the idea of sitting on a saddle made of the skin of a dead animal and holding straps made of leather. He almost stopped noticing that he wore and touched leather almost constantly.
Jazz thought about Liza, as usual. He hoped she was happy and not just “settled in”. Was she going out at all? Did she finally waltz with her blasted Sandton? Did she keep up the fiction of the late Peasnettle with her husband-to-be or tell him the truth of her life?
He wanted to ask Wimble when the man stopped by as usual. But the butler had nothing interesting to offer, and Jazz couldn’t exactly ask her servant to tell him what Eliza was thinking. He drank wine with Wimble and tried to stifle the host of impatient questions about her activities.
The two glasses of alcohol Jazz downed must have given him some sort of reckless courage because once the butler left the inn, Jazz decided to find answers on his own.
*
The moon which shone in Liza’s window had set hours ago. The breeze from her window stirred her and brought her close to wakefulness. Then a soft thump jolted her straight out of sleep.
“Molly?” she asked.
“Nope,” whispered a familiar voice.
“Jas,” she said, and sat up. “What on earth are you doing? Did you climb up the drain pipe?”
“I wanted to talk to you. Actually I want you to talk to me. And I can’t ask the questions I want to during the day because of blasted Miss Marin or Molly or some Lady Bloobster or Sir Ticklecluck is taking tea with you. Got to find out how you’re feeling. I wonder if you’ve, er, met any of your old friends lately and if you’re…well. I’m babbling, aren’t I?”
“Like the brook in springtime,” she confirmed. “What would you care to discuss?”
He took a step closer to her. She saw his even, white teeth gleam in the dark as he grinned. “Oh Eliza, it’s wonderful to hear you again. You have a fantastic voice. Do you remember how you sang in Spain sometimes? Did anyone ever tell you how beautiful your voice is?”
“Jas, I am sure it is well past midnight. And I believe you are foxed.”
“Foxed?”
“Bosky. Inebriated.”
“I had two glasses of wine. I think I am susceptible to alcohol. Nasty stuff. But I needed something to give me…the impetus.”
“You mean the courage to break into my house?” She tried to feel indignation but her face kept breaking into a foolish smile.
“That’s it. Something to give me a push. Should I leave though, Liza? Am I welcome?”
No. Yes. Oh please stay. She drew in a long shallow breath. Deep ones were impossible now because of the baby. “I’m rather glad you’re here because I have wondered why you’re in England. I trust you to be honest with me. Are you a spy of some sort?”
For once he did not try to change the subject or answer a question with a question. “No. Of course I’m not.”
He sounded amused and surprised. Eliza knew he wasn’t lying. He added in a more serious voice, “I assure you, I am not here to harm anyone or any country.”
“Thank God.” She felt weak with relief. Her worst fear, one she could barely articulate to herself, had been laid to rest. Why was he here then? But she did not need to know. Not yet.
“I’m not a spy and your butler is a terrible one. Gah, is that why you’ve sent him around?”
Eliza pushed up in bed. She ignored the question. “He is quite impressed by you. He informs me that though your style is perhaps a trifle out of the ordinary, even for a foreigner, he has no doubt that you are, in fact, a gentleman.”
Wimble had also added that most of Mr. White’s conversation seemed to consist of asking after her. The butler had told her this with something that, in a les
s perfect servant, would be called a twinkle in his eye. The boot boy, who’d had high hopes of tracking down a criminal in action, reported that Mr. White lead the most dull life he’d ever witnessed.
Jas didn’t seem pleased by Wimble’s approbation. He uttered one of his peculiar curses, adding, “I’m not supposed to impress anyone.”
“Why? Are you breaking yet another of your strange rules of etiquette?”
“Oh, I’m breaking rules right and left.” He gave a gusty sigh. “Liza, I’m a fool.—I’m—what’s that great phrase? I’m caper-witted. I can’t make friends.”
She stifled the words, ‘Then stop being pleasant to people’ because she already knew what his dreary retort to that would be. She had had quite enough of this kind of conversation.
Using her best imitation of Aunt Carolyn crushing a vulgar upstart, she sniffed, long and loud. “I am confident you’ll find a satisfactory solution eventually, Jas, for this mysterious burden under which you labor. But I understand you wished to know how I fare? I am fine. The weather has been particularly clement lately, wouldn’t you agree?”
She thought her tone too brittle and made another attempt. This time she assumed the bright, gossiping voice appropriate for large social gatherings. “I have enjoyed daily walks. The midwife assures me that the baby grows well. Aunt Carolyn has persuaded me to summon a surgeon when the time comes.”
No, he did not deserve personal information. She veered back to the commonplace. “I have purchased two new bonnets for myself and I joined another lending library. Last week Aunt Carolyn and Nettie and I took a box at the theater to see Macbeth, by Shakespeare. Do you recall his sonnets you purchased? I’m afraid the production we saw was a sad failure.”
As usual he read her mood accurately. He chuckled. “That’s the spirit, Liza. I apologize for sniveling. You’re the one with the burden.”
He took another step toward her. “But please. Tell me. Last time I saw you, you seemed happy about being a-a mother. Do you still look forward to meeting this baby?” His voice was so tender, she almost groaned. Despite her resolution to maintain a good head of steamy anger, she had already recovered from her pique.