by Dawn Brower
If that wasn’t God’s honest truth, Jasper didn’t know what was. “Yes, well, I’m certain she had her reasons.” Stubborn, most likely. Proud, definitely. At least he remembered that about her. Wouldn’t make a spontaneous decision about anything. She liked to weigh all options and ended up overthinking until she’d talked herself out of something.
“Lord preserve us from strong-willed women, right, mate?” The other man rolled his eyes. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’m off to get my supper. My rain-napper broke this morning, so I need to hurry. The damp’s not good for the health.”
“Of course,” Jasper murmured. He stepped aside for the man to pass. “One more thing. Has she not made arrangements for a hack or cab?” One of the men working on or around the platform would have rendered assistance in securing such a vehicle.
“Not that I’m aware. Said she was robbed shortly before she disembarked. Has no way to hire a carriage. The unknown person took her purse, and she couldn’t identify anyone while on the platform. The boys and I could give her no recourse.”
But they could have extended a kindness, free of charge. “Ah. I see.” Jasper frowned. Why did she not call upon her family in London? “Thank you. Enjoy your evening.”
The station master briefly lifted his cap. “You do the same, sir. Perhaps the wife will have a nice stew or broth on the boil.”
Indeed, that did sound delightful, and his stomach grumbled in agreement. He hadn’t eaten since breakfast that morning. And now his attention kept drawing back to the woman on the trunk. Damn and blast. He wheeled about and once more gazed upon the sad figure she made as she shifted her stance. She was in some misery. Water dripped from her hat’s brim despite the umbrella. The hem of her sage green gown was wet six inches up the fabric. An hour she’d sat there, bearing erect and not speaking to anyone, as was her wont. She didn’t acknowledge the station master as he rushed past her. No doubt she considered herself quite capable of taking care of herself and wouldn’t lower herself to ask for help when she truly needed it. Had she always been so proud?
He snorted. Of course she had. What had she done with her life in the five years since they’d been apart? Another swath of hot irritation cut through him. This time at himself. I don’t wish to know. He didn’t want to be the man who was rendered weak at the sight of the woman who’d yanked out his heart and smashed it beneath her heel, didn’t wish to play hero to her damsel in distress. Yet… He cursed under his breath. Manners were too far ingrained into him to walk by and leave her to fate. And he generally didn’t wish her ill. If she had found happiness away from him, good for her.
I’m a bacon-brained idiot.
Perhaps he would offer to share his carriage, at least let her find shelter from the weather, but that was all. As a nod to the two years they’d shared in the past.
With trepidation dogging his steps, Jasper slowly traversed the platform. Soon it would empty of passengers and porters. Already the anemic crowds were thinning, hastened due to the weather and the late hour. Not once did she turn to see who approached. The closer he came to her location, the more his stomach muscles tightened. Then he stood at her shoulder, waiting, hoping she would acknowledge his presence so he wouldn’t have to introduce conversation.
She continued to ignore him.
Finally, he cleared his throat. “Horrible weather we’re having. Quite the detriment to enjoying oneself.” Could he appear any more of a rube than he did now? Who the deuce talked about the weather while one was experiencing it?
The woman still didn’t acknowledge him. However, she did reply, “Life cannot always be beer and skittles every moment.” Her tone was clipped and the chill in it could turn the rain to snow if she continued speaking.
Jasper’s jaw dropped. Of course life wasn’t a perpetual good time, but it went better for a person when they were looking on the bright side. Had she really just used slang? Despite their history, intrigue pushed through his reserves. “I beg your pardon—”
“If you think to part me from my valuables, take yourself off, sir. I have already been robbed once this night.” Her stare remained focused ahead of her.
Damn woman. “Miss Bradenwilde, perhaps you could enlighten me.” Her slight gasp rang over the sound of the rain. Would his use of her name finally bring her around? “Why do you persist in sitting in the dark and the rain, and from your own admission, without resources?”
She tilted her umbrella and glanced over her shoulder. When she lifted her chin and swept her gaze over his person to alight on his face, her remarkable blue-green eyes widened. Her full lips slightly parted as surprise lined her round face. “Go toast your blooming eyebrows, Mr. Winslow. I have nothing to say to you.”
If he was shocked at her first response, her second left him gawking like a boy at his first circus. She’d basically told him off in gutter speech he had no idea she’d known. Where the hell had she learned such vulgarity, and why did his pulse kick up along with his curiosity?
What the devil else had she been educated in while they’d been apart?
Then righteous indignation set in. His chest tightened with annoyance. Who was she to send him away when he was the injured party in their tiff? In a fit of pique, he tipped his umbrella so any accumulated water dumped upon her and dripped onto her shoulder. And he didn’t apologize. “You have nothing to say to me?” The incredulity in his tone rose above the rain drumming on the umbrellas and the platform itself. “In the event that you’ve suddenly forgotten what transpired between us, you ran out on me. You embarrassed me in front of my whole family.” His breath produced white puffs into the chilly air. “From my estimation, you do not have the luxury of ordering me anywhere.” God, it felt good to get that off his chest.
“You would bring that up at a time like this.” It wasn’t a question. Evangeline stood. She leaned slightly down, grabbed the handle of her carpetbag and then deposited it atop the trunk with a wet plop!
“I would, especially since I wasn’t given a choice.”
“It is not up for debate.” She glared and her eyes spit exasperation tinged with despair. “What I am doing here is none of your business.” The woman made a great show of glancing about the now-deserted platform—deserted except for one sleek black carriage that drew to a halt nearby. “I assume that’s your vehicle.” She gestured with her chin.
“Yes.” Why did her assumption make him want to defend himself? It wasn’t his fault he’d had the foresight to telephone his shop assistant once he’d reached English soil and had instructed him to send a carriage, after giving over his train arrival time. “I’m anxious to return home.” Being in France for the past two weeks had been inspiring, but there was no place like jolly old England.
“By all means, do not let me keep you.” She stood back and snapped her wet skirting away from him, as if he might brush by her should he pass. “No doubt you have important work to resume or people high on the instep to meet.”
An eyebrow soared upward while he flicked his gaze quickly over her person. Heat stabbed through him. She’d always possessed a voluptuous figure. Now, that figure had only been enhanced, featuring curves in all the right places. Curves that would drive a man insane for a peek at bosom or hip. The tight confines of the green velvet displayed her charms to full advantage, the frothy lace at her throat drew his attention there. He sent his gaze over her left shoulder. “I do, but that is not the point.” Jasper cleared his throat. “Do you, ah, have appropriate travel arrangements?”
“Perhaps.” She looked to the side, the brim of her hat hiding her face.
Walk away, Jasper. Leave her haughty arse on the platform and make certain she remains in your past.
The problem with having a conscience is that it was nearly impossible to ignore it because, if one tried, the blasted thing would keep on talking until one’s head was full of suggestions and advice—and ill-advised hope. He sighed. “If it wouldn’t trouble you too much, perhaps you should share my carriage. I shall be happy to
take you anywhere in London you need to go.”
“I am quite fine here, thank you.” She still wouldn’t look at him. Was that a faint blush staining her pale cheeks? Hard to tell in the gloom.
Interesting. Was she angry or embarrassed—or was a different emotion at play to put such color into her cheeks? And why did he want to know? He shoved the thoughts away. “You never were a tolerable liar, Evangeline,” he said softly, taking leave to use her given name. “Come. Share my carriage and get out of the rain. Even pride must fall before horrid English weather.”
For long seconds she stood, avoiding his gaze, the cold precipitation further soaking her garments. Eventually, she nodded, and it was a curt affair, but she swiveled around so that she peered directly at him from beneath the brim of her hat, her emotions unreadable. “A break from the rain would be welcome.”
“Excellent.”
“Yes, quite.”
This is ridiculous. “Let’s crack on then. I’m not inclined to remain in the damp either.” He looked at her luggage. “There’s nothing for it but to heft the trunk into the carriage. It can rest upon one of the benches.” Had he known he would need to accommodate a lady’s excessive baggage, he would have impressed upon his assistant to have a different vehicle brought around.
“Do be careful. The contents are of some value.” She took possession of her carpetbag, folded her umbrella and then followed him toward the carriage.
“I’ll do my best.” As they drew even, the driver opened the door and handed Evangeline inside. “If you would help me haul that trunk over, I’d appreciate it.” He tossed his valise onto the floor of the carriage.
The other man glanced between the abandoned trunk to the woman in the carriage and back to the luggage, speculation in his gaze. Jasper hated that look, hated the thoughts no doubt running through the driver’s mind. “We’ll have it loaded in two shakes.” Gus—the driver—ran through the rain while Jasper folded his umbrella and went to assist the man with the trunk. Nothing else was said—or implied—regarding the rescue of lady or luggage.
Once they perched it onto one of the benches, the red velvet squabs crushed beneath its weight, Jasper nodded his thanks. “To Bond Street, my good man. The Emporium to be precise.” It was said out of rote. He’d forgotten the presence of his feminine cargo. Heat crept up the back of his neck. “I mean…”
The driver nodded then hunched into the rain. “Very good.” He cleared his throat and again slid a glance inside the carriage. Evangeline had turned her face away from the window. In fact, she’d scampered to the far side of the conveyance. “I understand your address, but will there be a stop between for the lady?”
“I’m not certain. Once I procure the information, I will let you know.”
“Right. We’ll be there soon.” As Gus swung himself into his seat, Jasper climbed into the carriage. As soon as he slammed the door closed, the vehicle lurched into motion. He peered at his companion through the dim interior. “Do you have a direction?”
“No.” The thick silence around them swallowed the one-word answer. “For all intents and purposes, I am alone for the moment.”
Jasper stared as water dripped from the brim of his hat. Well, that did put him in a pickle. The second the trace of a tear made its way down the pale slope of her cheek, illuminated in the light from a lamp they passed, his decision was made. “Bond Street it is then.”
Hellfire and botheration. What am I supposed to do with her now?
Chapter 2
Dear heavens, I’ve acted the shrew.
Again.
That wasn’t her intention. Miss Evangeline Bradenwilde stared straight ahead as she sat with shoulders stiff and back straight. The carriage clattered over the cobblestone streets of London, headed to God only knew where, and here she was, nearly brushing arms with the one person she hoped she’d never see again, Mr. Jasper Winslow—the man she’d bolted from that long ago day when he’d gone down on one knee and brought forth a ring.
That dratted diamond solitaire surrounded by small amethysts that formed a flower, all set in elegant silver filigree, the blasted sentimentality of it, for he’d always brought her posies of violets when they were in bloom, saying when she wore them or anything purple, her eyes were more blue than green. The ring had sent panic down her spine and fear into her heart, prompting flight.
All in a bid for independence. Seeing him again when she’d been at her lowest had brought out the prickles.
The burn of embarrassment and annoyance simmered within her chest, warming her through and making her temporarily forget the chilly dampness of her clothing as well as the panic from having her purse stolen on the train. When she’d made the decision to leave Jasper to his future while she chased hers, it had been the best for them both. She’d wanted her freedom, wanted to spread her wings without depending on her family’s money or connections within the ton, wanted to have success linked to her name that included more than an advantageous marriage, creating the perfect family or keeping an efficient house.
Yet what did she have to show for their five years apart? Working in an underpinnings shop owned by her aunt with anemic sales and no personal relationship to speak of or inroads made into starting a family—perfect or otherwise. She was twenty-nine years old. Way past an age where a man of discerning taste would take her to wife, long past the time where bearing children was ideal. The thoughts sent a pang of longing through her insides. It wasn’t that she regretted the choices she’d made—she didn’t—for she’d gained experience and had traveled all over England. Yet… Here she was, with the very man she’d wished to make a lasting impression on, convince him that her refusal had been a wise decision, but there was no story, no accolades, no fat bank account and no gloating to back up why she’d made her choice to leave him.
I have failed on every front. Nothing in my life has worked as I’d hoped.
The muscles in her stomach clenched and cold panic slid through her chest. Perhaps it was true, and no matter that the world had advanced in technology and forward thinking, a woman still couldn’t attain success without the backing of a man. She shook her head. No, she didn’t accept that. And neither was what she felt at all in conjunction to the man beside her. This sense of unease and even discontent stemmed from disappointment at missing her grandmother’s seventy-third birthday celebration in Brighton on the morrow.
Nothing more. It didn’t matter a jot what Jasper Winslow thought or even what his life was like now.
Much.
Botheration. Liar. Of course she’d thought about Jasper during their time apart, and his opinions still mattered. Did he hold her defection against her? She blew out a breath. It is simply a case of trying harder. She vowed she would make more of an effort to make her mark upon the world before she passed another year of life. After everything, she had her pride, and that had kept her in forward momentum these last years more than anything else. Jasper and his opinions could go hang. I am worth more than being some man’s arm ornament and a means to further a man’s name and legacy.
“Drat.”
“Did you want to utter something profound?” His tone was clipped, cold.
“No.” Despite the fact she didn’t wish to talk to her companion, Evangeline cast a glance at him. If luck was with her, she’d convince him to drop her somewhere—anywhere—within the city, and he would never know her dreams hadn’t matured into the grand career and indulgent independence she’d left him to pursue. He’d never know of her failure; he’d never know part of her regretted that rash decision she’d tossed away without care or thought.
And he especially would never know that she wondered, every now and again, what her life would have been like had she married him.
“Are you content enough to stare without words? Which is quite rude, I might add.” One of his eyebrows arched as he turned his face toward her. “I could preen and posture like a peacock if that would help your perusal.”
The heat of humiliation shot into
her cheeks, and caught peeking, she couldn’t very well glance away. Instead, she forced a hard swallow and boldly met his gaze, and then gasped at the sharp annoyance in those steely gray depths. “I… ah… apologize for staring.” His aquiline nose sat beneath striking, dark brown eyebrows and gave his noble face character and a hint of arrogance she remembered so well. When a faint grin curved his sensuous lips, a tremor moved through her belly, and this time she fixed her gaze to the knot of his gray-and-black striped cravat. Why can I not banish my reaction to him entirely?
“Yes, one can readily discern that.”
For one terrible second, she thought she could read her mind and she gawked at him.
He softly cleared his throat and the grin had vanished, which brought her attention back to his face. His eyes flashed in the gloomy carriage interior, eyes that were undeniably stormy as wind-tossed waves. “The question that remains is: why?”
“Why am I apologizing?” She frowned, not following his logic.
“No, why are you staring to begin with? If I remember correctly, on the platform, you were adamant that you didn’t have anything to say to me.” He rested an ankle on a knee. Droplets of water rolled off his overcoat and gray-and-black striped trousers.
“I was out of sorts then.” Of course he would choose to remember that. “I merely wished to see how time had treated you.” That wasn’t necessarily a lie.
“I would like to hope it’s been as kind as it has to you.”
“Oh.” Heat of a different kind flooded her face. “Thank you for the compliment.” Once more her gaze dropped to his cravat. “You look as handsome as you did the last time I saw you.” Another truth. The man had no right to be as dashing as he was. Why could not the years have given him a paunch and thinning hair? A wart even?