A most delicious challenge…

Experience has taught Emily Shaw that men are best avoided, so she’s determined to take her place in society alone and unrestrained by marriage. Renting a room in the heart of London, she establishes a Women’s League to promote equality between the sexes and teach women to be independent.

Jasper St David isn’t looking for distractions, but he’s fascinated by beautiful, fiercely opinionated Emily when she moves into the office above his. And when he learns of her determination never to succumb to male charms, he can’t help but see it as a challenge! After all, Jasper’s always found nothing more tantalising than the thrill of the chase…

Also by Anabelle Bryant

Three Regency Rogues

To Love a Wicked Scoundrel

Duke of Darkness

The Midnight Rake

Regency Charms

Defying the Earl

Undone by His Kiss

Regency Charms

Anabelle Bryant

www.CarinaUK.com

CARINA™

ISBN: 978 1 474 03592 7

Undone by His Kiss

Copyright © 2015 Anabelle Bryant

Published in Great Britain (2015)

by Carina, an imprint of Harlequin (UK) Limited, Eton House, 18-24 Paradise Road, Richmond, Surrey TW9 1SR

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.

CARINA™ is a trademark of Harlequin Enterprises Limited, used under licence.

www.CarinaUK.com

Version: 2018-04-18

To my fabulous dedicated editor, Clio Cornish, and the entire Carina UK team who work very hard to enable me to share my stories. You have my heartfelt gratitude and respect.

To the reviewers and bloggers who generously give their time to reading, writing and sharing.

To Meredith, techie friend and book trailer wizard, who endures every request to change a font or add an ellipsis.

And to my family, for their patience. So far no one has asked me to please stop talking about books, but it’s likely to happen at any time.

For every reader who dreams of romance and believes in happily ever after…anything is possible with a little serendipity.

Contents

Cover

Blurb

Book List

Title Page

Acknowledgement

Dedication

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Epilogue

Endpages

Copyright

Chapter 1

“Let’s go another round.” Jasper St. David motioned to the comely serving girl as she bustled past their corner table, a tray and pitcher in hand. The clock hadn’t struck nine and the less than respectable tavern where he celebrated with his comrades offered hours of inane idleness.

“You’ve spent your coin on the last three. I’ll pay this time.” Benedict Hampden, Viscount Kellaway, drained his ale and spun the tankard on the tabletop with a quick flick of the wrist before trapping the glass under his palm and righting it. “I suppose new money burns a hole in one’s pocket so feel free to settle the dinner tab.”

“We’re celebrating,” Jasper admonished. “And I’ve every right. Having suffered months of penny-pinching under my brother’s perspicacious scrutiny, wealth offers freedom in spades.”

“Tread with care,” Oliver Nicholson, a loyal friend, chimed in. “You’ve just signed an annual lease on upper Bond Street. You’re about quality now. The monthly payments are sure to impact your finances.”

“Minuscule worries, at most.” Jasper finished off what remained in his glass before snapping his eyes across the room in search of more drink. “The office opens to business next week. Everything has proceeded swimmingly, although I haven’t met the tenant abovestairs. The landlord mentioned some type of charitable organization leased the adjoining space. I can only hope it doesn’t equate a coven of mawkish old biddies coming and going while I confer with clients.”

“Now that would prove challenging. How is Dashwood handling your new venture? Isn’t he affronted you’ve chosen to operate a financial advisement business? It’s hardly the expectation of the brother to an earl, most especially a wealthy, somewhat troublesome brother whose elder is a prime twig.” Kellaway’s raised brows expressed undisguised speculation.

Oliver leaned closer as if anxious for Jasper’s response, though the conviviality of a nearby table combined with the clatter of plates and silverware annihilated any hope of carefree conversation within the crowded establishment.

“Convenient of you to omit your involvement with said conundrums.” Jasper’s answer prompted a smile from both men. “Dash has been cured of pride, despite he worries over reputation and considers me a Jack Pudding; but like many things, timing is key, gentlemen. Dear brother is away on his wedding trip, and I’m not concerned. Once he returns, he’s sure to be about heir-making. Beaufort and I were boiled up to a jelly to find an available office in an ideal location. It was too rare an opportunity to pass.” The words prompted him to straighten his posture and square his shoulders. “Astute perception and daring courage; that, my friends, is what led me to success in my investments. I plan to apply the same acuity to all areas of my life.” He donned a grin as generous as his purse and neglected to voice the inner motivation that fueled his actions more than any other interest.

This venture presented the ideal opportunity to prove to all associates, his brother, the sixth Earl of Dashwood, most especially, that he was responsible and indeed knowledgeable although most everyone considered his new wealth a lark, his investment a stroke of luck more than insightful entrepreneurship.

“And is Beaufort as enthusiastic? He’s already swimming in lard, what desire could he have to join this endeavor?”

“Distraction, mostly, I presume. We’ve been friends since university and fairly inseparable given I’ve come to London.” Jasper dismissed the question with a nonchalant shrug. A few minutes passed in silence and then a server appeared, took their order and scurried away. “It’s amazing what a pocket full of coin can do for respectability. I’ve purchased a keen phaeton, two high-steppers, and an extensive wardrobe in less time than it took to deposit my monthly draft in the bank.”

“Until your brother’s ship docks, then the spending will cease.” Kellaway turned a wry smile.

“Rubbish. Once Dashwood returns, he plans to restore Kirby Park and explore the benefits of newly-wedded bliss. I’m the last person he’d want for company and that serves my purpose well.” He waved off Kell’s concern without further thought, confident he’d never become enamored by the trappings of success and new money.

“I suppose acquiring clients presents the most difficult challenge.” Oliver’s expression grew curious. “What exactly will you do at this business anyway?”

Jasper huffed a hasty breath, his tolerance worn thin. He’d explained his objective twice over and yet for some reason, neither friend considered his venture with serious intent. Either that or they were too kind to mention they believed his approach held little potential for success. “Financial advisement.” He stressed the words as if his life depended on their comprehension. When he received blank stares in return, he gestured with impatience. “Suggesting how a bloke should invest his coin.” The last words came out in a harsher tone than intended, but the need to stress his determination hammered the explanation home.

The serving girl arrived with their ale and while Oliver distributed the tankards across the table, Kellaway dropped a few shillings on her tray. She thanked him with a wink and ample view of her bosom.

“She’s a tempting armful, wouldn’t you say?”

“Were you listening?” Jasper aimed a pointed glare in Kellaway’s direction.

“Of course.” Kell took a swig of ale, although his eyes followed the serving girl’s skirts as she sashayed through the tavern. “You wish to tell people how to spend their money. Good luck with that.”

“It’s advisement.” Frustration caused the words to slice through the raucous chatter surrounding their table. “Investment opportunity so the client will increase personal wealth.”

“What if your advice is wrong? What if the bloke loses all his money and returns to Bond Street to plant you a facer?” This came from Oliver who’d remained noncommittal until his present facetious comment.

“That’s not how it works.” Jasper clenched his teeth to invoke patience, the words forced on a raw scrape of voice.

“Are you sure?” Oliver tossed a pouch of coins onto the wooden tabletop. It settled with a dull thud. “Were I to give you my purse and you bought shares in some hare-brained invention that never reached fruition, I’d be damned angry about it.” He scooped up the pouch and returned it to his pocket. “No disrespect, Jasper.”

The corky comradeship of only minutes before had evaporated and Jasper no longer wished to remain. A sudden need for fresh air and quietude forced him to stand despite he hadn’t touched his fresh drink.

“Where are you going?” his friends objected in tandem.

“I expect Dash to poke holes in my dreams. He’s been doing it for so long, no matter I recovered our family solvency. But the two of you doubt my ability as much as he. Does everyone consider me a beetle-head?”

“No one called names, Jasper. Sit down, you’re making a spectacle of yourself.”

The scowl on Kell’s face caused Jasper to pause, but only for a heartbeat. Then he turned and grabbed his hat from the hook on the wall, nearly upturning a chair in his hurry to the door.

Emily Shaw approached the fine brick building on upper Bond Street with pride and confidence. Chin held high, her eyes admired the sleek glass-paned window of the lower office and fashionable mahogany door flanked by white plaster columns. The brass knocker glistened in the slanting sunlight.

Her heart beat harder.

This was her dream realized.

Proof of her hard work.

No longer would her charitable league sit in the parlor of the Nelson Square town house she shared with her mother and voice hope-filled whispers over tea and biscuits. A legitimate meeting place cemented her dedication to the cause and with membership growing, a true assembly was needed where determined women could plan their future and prepare for happily settled spinsterhood without the burden of a man’s interference.

Emily smiled from the heart, satisfaction heating her face and likely flushing her cheeks pink. Her eyes skittered higher to the double windows of the upper office, the space she’d leased for a year’s term.

The landlord, a compact, bald man with an outlandish mustache, had been gracious and considerate, hardly asking a question or prying into her business as to why a woman of twenty-three years would need to reserve a two-room office on one of London’s busiest thoroughfares. Nor did he question her funding or insinuate she’d need a gentleman’s advisement. Instead, the landlord had smiled and pressed the key into her hand with a twinkle in his eye and wish of good fortune.

If only all males could show such restraint of curiosity and overbearing advice. Not so, unfortunately. Having little use for men and their intrusive opinions served as a freeing proposition. She’d mastered the impulse to follow in the traditional path of gentle ladies. Her nose wrinkled with the thought. Gentlemen who wielded authority and wealth proved the worst of all, bullying through society by virtue of title and purse. That very sentiment brought her to form her league nearly two years prior. That, and the determination to live as an independent, beholden to no one.

If only her mother could adopt the same vein of enlightened thinking.

With a small shrug, she dismissed the lugubrious threat to her joy, and paused at the entrance of the office building. The door stood locked with the bottom tenant nowhere to be seen. It would appear they’d share the same hall and entry. She hoped the gentleman was a bearable sort, although she had no intention of interacting with him or his clients. The lettering across the large wood-framed window read Inventive Investment. A silhouette of a dove flew below the inscription. She gave it no further consideration and inserted her new key in the lock, a thrill of anticipation and accomplishment straightening her spine with a ripple of pride.

She nearly floated up the narrow stairwell to find the office space and meeting room exactly as she’d remembered when she signed the lease two days past. The landlord must have been in, as a packet of documents was left on a side table along with a vase full of fiddleheads. How very pleasant and thoughtful.

Making haste to the sink in the kitchen area, she refilled the vase and strode to one of the windows overlooking the busy street below. Carriages rushed past on their way to a plethora of appointments, couples strolled on the sidewalks, some carrying packages and other’s meant for a leisurely day out. A few older gentlemen congregated on the corner, deep in conversation.

This is what independence felt like. She breathed in deep and held the emotion tight inside. This represented the freedom for which her soul yearned and heart ached. Later, when she returned home, she would be reminded of every reason she needed the league to survive, but for now when she could stand in her office, every decision in her command, she couldn’t imagine a better feeling in the world.

Tears filled her eyes with sentimental relief. She’d done it…accomplished independence and a true purpose to her days. And no one, no man, would ever take it away from her.

Chapter 2

Jasper surveyed the pedestrian traffic through the large window at the front of the newly opened office space. “Why doesn’t someone come in?” The question was laced with barely contained impatience, his eyes flicking left and right as people bustled by without a glance in his direction.

Randolph Beaufort, friend and business associate, sat at his desk across the room, his hands folded behind his head and feet propped atop the marble as if he hadn’t a care. “I suppose it will take a little time for our business to become popular. Not to worry. We only opened this morning.”

Jasper turned, intent on finding something to do rather than watch people not entering. “It may be a good time for us to review the information I’ve gathered for referral.” He settled behind his desk, adjusted his inkwell and blotter, and opened the top drawer to remove a long file full of papers and notations. “Mr. Nasmyth has contacted me concerning his ideas for a steam hammer. If he manages to perfect the design, his invention could revolutionize factory work.” He withdrew a folder paper from the portfolio and opened its contents flat on the desktop. “He’d like us to secure investors so he might continue his progress with the project.”

“Sounds like a smart chap, despite he’s from Scotland.” Randolph let loose a chuckle before straightening in his seat and adjusting his silk waistcoat. A very fine dresser, he smoothed his palm down each side of the tri-color embroidery embellishment and then matched eyes with Jasper across the room.

“Were we to have a client…” Jasper cleared his voice and restarted. “When we have clients, I believe Nasmyth’s design should be our strongest suggestion. He will need further collateral to fund his project and the outcome for all involved would equal wealth once he succeeds. I haven’t believed as vehemently in any invention since the mousetrap.”

“Clever, the way we snapped that idea up and walked away with the cheese.” Randolph laughed at his joke and then both men slue their eyes to the front where a gentleman paused to read the lettering on the window glass.

Jasper held his breath, willing the man to enter, yet after a tormenting moment, the passerby continued down Bond Street in no particular hurry.

“It will take time.” Randolph’s attempt to soothe his disappointment did little aside from reassure he was a loyal comrade.

“It’s the waiting, I suppose, that has me at sixes and sevens.”

“Well, it’s barely two o’clock. Are you up for a little nuncheon before we continue our business pursuits?” Randolph stood and snatched his hat from the corner of the desk.

“We may as well.” Jasper agreed, although his tone sounded cross as crabs. “I’m hungry and a full bread-basket always improves the day.” He patted his stomach to underscore the sentiment and made for the door.

Emily tapped her wooden gavel gently against the escritoire situated at the center of the sitting room in the town house she shared with her mother. She’d moved the furniture and arranged an assortment of chairs, then requested refreshments from the housekeeper. A female needed to be independent in many ways, not just the obvious. It hadn’t been too difficult to drag the writing desk forward and she’d only needed to stop twice to tug at her sleeves and adjust her bodice, the encumbrance of her gown an additional challenge to the feat.

“I call the League of Virtuous Equality to order.” She tapped her gavel a second time and donned a wide smile. “I’ve exciting news, ladies.” Her eyes scanned the eight members seated in a horseshoe around the desk. “I’ve secured a verified meeting place for our organization. An office where we can enroll new participants, pursue our goals, and further exercise independence without interference from males. As our core belief states, equality in all things.” Saying the words aloud ignited a delicious flutter of excitement to the announcement and she straightened her posture with pride.

The room erupted in reaction. Gasps intermingled with jovial comments, while questions and demands for details were voiced.

“Our new address…” Emily paused to regain control of the room, although another fulsome smile threatened to surface. “Our new address is located on upper Bond Street at the heart of the business sector. Not only will the league be easily accessible, but we’ll be highly visible. A shining example to all women and proof life extends far beyond the social expectation to marry and produce children.”

“My heavens, Emily, an office in such prime position must demand an exorbitant rent. Our dues are less than a trifling and meant to compensate for tea leaves. However will the league survive?” Margery Danford, the oldest of the ladies at twenty-eight, worried about finances more than any other member. The history she’d shared when joining their league related a modest upbringing with few advantages or choices for that matter. Her heart’s desire was to own a hat shop where she could sell her creative designs and why shouldn’t her dream be realized?

“Money, no matter it poses a distasteful subject, should not be of concern. I’ve been honest with each of you.” She slid her gaze from one woman to the next. “Finances need never be a debate.” Emily would by no means confess her mother and she possessed coin to spare. She flicked a glance downward, her butter-yellow gown unpretentious and serviceable more than the cut of fashion. Money served as a tool for all the right reasons and not something to be wasted on indulgences.

“Perhaps we should take a collection or solicit donations,” Thomasina Gordon piped up, forever the problem solver and thinker of their group.

“Asking for donations undermines our main purpose of establishing independence and would only prove to men—” Emily intoned the word to emphasize her odious opinion “—that women are forever dependent upon their services.”

“Some services are necessary, I would think.” Cynthia Maddox suppressed a giggle given the forbidden topic.

“Ladies.” Emily’s fingers itched to tap her gavel. “Let’s not detract from our purpose today. Having a legitimate meeting place establishes our league as a force within the social order. It ensures our cause, to motivate women in pursuit of virtuous equality free of societal pressure and instead, promotes the belief that females have as much decision in their future as any male in London.”

“Or beyond.” Forever dreaming, Portia Edmonstone voiced the words and shared a brilliant smile.

Portia yearned to travel the world, unencumbered by a chaperone or escort. Her parents treated her as if she was daft and her sisters were all settled with two or three babes, making her view of the future appear all the more outlandish. Portia’s life’s hurtle was daunting, yet proved more so than anyone else’s in the room, that a league devoted to encouraging independence was a timely and valuable necessity.

“I realize we normally meet twice a week,” Emily continued, imbued by the reality members needed to make excuses for their absence or risk the censure of parents and siblings. “But I propose we come together tomorrow in celebration and exploration. We can gather at the Bond Street office and reaffirm our cause with a toast.”

“You aren’t suggesting liquor?” A few ladies murmured the same concern, although Margery’s question sounded most aghast.

“Of course not, ladies, I shall provide tea, although someday we will need to learn spirits and their distorting effects. Every iota of information is valuable and may provide solutions for someone’s journey toward independence.”

Rapid applause circulated the room, a plethora of plans taking shape. Emily, encouraged more than she’d been in some while, basked in the reverie. She’d return the meeting to order in a few minutes. Thomasina had prepared a presentation on banking to share this afternoon. Her father forever fell asleep with his ledgers open and she’d gleaned extensive knowledge by peering over his somnolent form. These scraps of information reclaimed from the male world offered their league empowerment.

Matters couldn’t be better. Well, with the exception of her mother of course, but in the meantime Emily would absorb the joy of accomplishing yet another step to progress.

Two hours later, when the ladies had departed and Emily had managed to replace all the furniture, she settled in an overstuffed chair near the fire, a cup of chamomile tea in hand, and reviewed the day with secret delight. Having a meeting place for the league would benefit everyone, but Emily most of all.

It had nothing to do with the sitting room upheaval twice a week. She didn’t mind the work, despite Mary, the housekeeper, reprimanded her sternly. She begrudgingly consented to a blow at equality that gentlemen possessed natural strength in their physique, where lifting a rug or repositioning a desk required minimal effort.

Women were strong in other ways. More important ways. Emotionally, indeed. Males, often regaled as the backbone of society, were lacking in strength of heart and moral fiber. She lived with daily proof of the supposition.

Financial considerations presented no worries either. Her father had left them with deep wealth though she had little care for the money. Oh it served a purpose, sending her to the finest schools and affording the comfortable town house she called home, yet Emily would never feel beholden. The black line of a bank register had little to do with the ease of one’s heart. She enjoyed spending the funds left by her father for no other reason than the knowledge she worked toward good with the distasteful reminder of his existence.

Startled by footsteps in the hall, she shook the contemplation away and turned to see her mother enter.

“Has everyone gone?” Bianca Shaw hesitated within the doorframe, as if waiting for Emily to confirm what she likely observed from her bedroom window upstairs.

“Yes.” Emily produced a smile. “The league left over an hour ago. Come. Would you like some tea? I can ring for Mary to bring us a fresh pot.” She hemmed her lower lip waiting for her mother’s decision.

“That sounds fine.” Bianca spoke without inflection.

Doing as she suggested, Emily watched her mother settle in the chair closest to the hearth and lace her fingers in her lap, her posture perfect. “You look lovely. Is that a new gown?” It was foolish prattle, really. Bianca rarely left the house and when she was forced to do so, it was not for a trip to the dressmaker.

“One never knows who might come to call. A lady must always look her loveliest.” Her mother’s umbrageous tone secured Emily wouldn’t disagree.

“Yes, of course.” If only one could erase the depth of sadness in her mother’s eyes or fine creases of perpetual worry marring her skin.

Mary entered with the tea kettle and a fresh tray of scones, the distraction provoking a sigh of relief. Some subjects were better not discussed. A prickling of unease warned Mother wasn’t in a reasonable mood. “Are you hungry?” Emily nudged the plate with her fingertip. “Apricot is your favorite.”

“No, thank you.” Her mother touched the button at the neck of her gown. “Your father always complimented my figure. I wouldn’t wish to gain an ounce by indulging in sweets.”

Cautious of how to proceed, Emily adopted a gentler tone and matched her mother’s eyes. “But he’s gone now.”

Bianca rose from the chair and walked to the front window, a favorite location in the house. Eventually, she broke the long-drawn silence. “Your league is filled with such pretty girls. It’s a pity no one holds an interest in falling in love. What kind of woman wouldn’t want to be adored by a man? It’s wrong to portray men as the enemy. It disrupts the natural order of things. Marrying well is every woman’s purpose.”

So she’d pricked her mother’s disposition and now she’d pay the cost. Emily struggled to keep emotion at bay despite her intellect rebelled at each word. “Not at all. We’re a league of equality. We wish to experience the same opportunities offered to gentlemen, not to exclude them from our lives. Marriage is certainly an option if it becomes the lady’s choice, not obligation or duty.” She didn’t add she needed a man to meddle in her life the same way a mouse needed a cat. “You’ve persisted with this conversation before, as if the answers will change when I’ve experienced some revelation or come to my senses.” Her mother had never voiced these accusations, but Emily believed them true. She perceived it in every disappointed glance or censorious word. Rising from the chair to meet her mother eye to eye, she took a few steps before stalling with hesitation and her mother pounced on the pause to reprimand her further.

“I once considered your attitude immaturity more than confusion, but it’s been years now and you haven’t altered your thinking. You believe you understand everything concerning relationships, but the knowledge you protect so close to your heart would fill a thimble.”

The words were spoken in such a vehement tone Emily didn’t dare contradict them, still the sting of fresh tears burned the corners of her eyes and she turned toward the fire, away from her mother’s condescension.

Chapter 3

The following morning, Jasper awaited Randolph’s arrival at the office. While he’d concede he’d allowed too much time to travel from his town house to upper Bond Street, there was little traffic and no excuse came to mind why Randolph would be more than an hour late. Nearly two hours, now. He exhaled a frustrated breath. He’d need to reiterate his dedication and insist his friend adopt a similar attitude. As business partner, Randolph had no stake in the success of Inventive Investments other than to keep his daylight hours busy before perusing the night in search of lively reverie, but a lackadaisical attitude would benefit no one. This endeavor warranted a sharp mind and keen intuitive intellect.

Everything balanced on Jasper’s success. It wasn’t the money he was after this time, but reputation instead.

All considerations were cut short when Randolph entered, Kellaway fast on his heels.

“Look who I found at the haberdashery? I’ve convinced Kell to come down and have a look around.”

Kellaway seemed to be doing just that, although Jasper wouldn’t believe for an exhale the viscount had interest in their business. Kell was a notorious rake, and proud of the title. His expertise lay in bedrooms, not ballrooms; his skills honed to rolling dice, seducing women and pushing the limits too far. Society adored the handsome elbow-shaker, entertained by his renowned laissez-faire attitude as he played through life, one gaming hell to the next, a different woman in bed every evening. Unlike Jasper, he hadn’t a care of reputation and Kellaway’s was beyond wicked.

“Hello, Benedict.” Annoyed his associate had arrived late, Jasper weighed his words with care and settled behind his desk to open a file and scan the contents, meaning to evoke a serious tone. His comrades missed the mark. He clenched his teeth when their discussion turned to fashion. After fifteen minutes’ debating handkerchief squares and cravat folds, Jasper’s nerves frayed through.

“Randolph.” The two syllables resembled a baritone growl. “Have you reviewed the information I left describing the advantages of Nasmyth’s steam hammer?”

“Nay.” Beaufort shook his head in the negative. “I’ve all day for that with no one coming in.” He returned attention to his conversation although he continued to address Jasper. “Kellaway purchased the swallowtail coat ensemble in the haberdashery’s window display. The navy dyed Kersey wool is the finest I’ve ever seen.” He paused and rapped Kellaway on the shoulder in masculine joviality. “As if you weren’t a swell of the first stare already.”

Time might have continued to waste, with Randolph’s bottle-headed comments and Jasper’s teeth gnashing, but the door opened and a stranger entered, his sleek walking stick and fine apparel marking him as quality of the highest cut. Jasper snapped to attention, introducing the other gentlemen and nodding with vigor at the front door so Randolph might dispense with Kellaway before he intruded on the gentleman’s visit.

At last things proceeded as planned and Jasper invited the visitor to sit, while Randolph lingered on the periphery.

“How may we assist?” Jasper eyed R. James Caulfield, Earl of Penwick, with attentive optimism. His heart pounded in his chest. An earl, in his office, to consult on investment opportunities; it could only mean good things. Word was circulating.

“I read about your recent success in The London Times although I happened upon your office this morning by accident. Quite clever of you to foresee the necessity of the mousetrap. I admire your tenacity.” Penwick paused and glanced to the large glass window at the front.

Jasper followed with a quick flick of attention, though the bustling street appeared as it always did this time of day. He had assessed the crowd’s pattern often enough. “Go on.”

“I’ve come into my title and wealth under odd, expected circumstance and I wish to expand my holdings through selective investment. The interview in the newspaper caught my interest. You’ve managed to overcome great odds. My situation is similar.”

Again their attention was drawn toward the front as increasing giddy conversation penetrated the glass. A cluster of women blocked the window and Jasper could no longer view the street. The ladies didn’t advance with the flow of foot traffic as expected and instead formed a consortium that directly obscured the office, most especially the gold lettering on the pane. Jasper tossed Randolph a piercing glare that had his friend bounding from the seat and striding toward the door, set to disperse the women who caused the commotion.

The brief noise of the outside world entered as Randolph exited, the bray of a donkey refusing to advance intermingled with the rattle of carriages on cobblestones, the intrusive sounds a divergent interruption to Penwick’s discussion of finances.

“You were saying?” Jasper attempted an even tone, despite his anger steeped. Over Penwick’s shoulder, with a clear view of the sidewalk, he noticed Randolph had somehow joined in conversation with the ladies outside, neither dispersing the crowd nor reprimanding the interlopers to conduct their recreation elsewhere.

“Perhaps I should make a more formal appointment.” Penwick stood and reclaimed his walking stick from where it rested against the desk. “I entered on a lark, motivated by curiosity more than preparedness.”

Jasper shot from his seat, unwilling to let Penwick escape without scheduling a commitment to return. “Would tomorrow morning suit? Nine sharp?” He managed to round the desk and place himself in Penwick’s path, obstructing the exit with insatiable avidity.

“Excellent. I’m in London for a short stay, but I’d like to continue this conversation. My life has undergone drastic change as of late and I mean to bring it to rights.” He transferred his walking stick from one hand to the other as he moved toward the door.

Jasper nodded and voiced a cordial goodbye as Penwick took his leave.

Then his patience snapped.

He shot to the window in time to see Randolph in animated dialogue with a woman dressed in a burgundy walking gown. She appeared to be the ape leader of the feminine assemblage, but he couldn’t be sure as her face was hidden below the brim of a frivolous little bonnet which concealed her profile in shadow. He charged the door, swung it wide and pushed into the boisterous fray with all the couth of a stray dog after an injured rabbit.

His action initiated an immediate quiet unusually absorbed by the clamoring traffic and hum of London commerce. Words stalled on his tongue and he slowly rotated his gaze, first left, then right, to match each speculative stare with mortifying awareness he’d overreacted and now would pay the devil.

Randolph, who’d conveniently stepped aside, flared his eyes and gave the slightest nod, but it was too late for warnings. Jasper swallowed his embarrassment, feeding the emotion to the flames of anger in his stomach which sparked when he’d first noticed the females congregating in front of his office. Their distracting presence would mislead any passerby who might consider his new enterprise a legitimate business venture. He straightened his shoulders and narrowed his eyes on the petite female commanding the other ladies to quiet down and be still.

“What are you doing?” Any trace of civility evaporated once he found his voice.

“I beg your pardon?” The icy cut of her words guaranteed it was no apology.

“You can’t bring your flock here and gather in front of my building. No one can see the window. Your conversations are intrusive and I’ve business to do inside.” Feeling vindicated, Jasper eyed his nemesis, daring her to look away. He would not break their stare though a peculiar tension took hold. The breeze stilled and the birds stopped singing; his glare unwavered. He’d stand outside all day if necessary.

Yet she didn’t bat a lash and as minutes ticked by, Jasper noticed her eyes were an unusual shade of blue. One that renewed memories of his childhood summers spent in Brighton with his brother and father. His mother had possessed lovely blue eyes, or at least he’d been told, too young to remember her before she passed away. Lost in the memory, he startled when the lady interrupted curtly.

“Your building?” She tilted her chin and nodded to the left. “This building here?”

An unexplainable ill ease crawled over his skin, warning he’d mis-stepped in an assortment of ways, but remained powerless to retract his initial bluster. It didn’t help that the accompanying aggregation had inched closer as the discussion evolved, while Randolph, his only reinforcement, had retreated to the shade of a nearby awning.

“Inventive Investment.” He stood firm. “It’s my business you and your companions have obstructed.”

One of her narrow brows winged high as he completed his sentence. Funny, how she expressed a plethora of emotion with the delicate movement.

“Ladies, I believe we’ve discovered our building mate.” She offered a slight scan over each shoulder before bringing her azure gaze to rest on his face. “I could be mistaken—”

Her flippant tone assured she knew better, yet her voice held a silky note that resonated inside him, akin to the pounding of his heart in his chest, where it remained for a spell before arrowing straight to his groin, no matter she’d insulted him.

“But this walkway does not belong to any single pedestrian.” She continued her harangue, her shoulders held in obdurate erectility, her didactic tone self-assured. “Our league has leased the office above yours and we’re gathering for a celebratory meeting. We assemble bi-weekly, except for special occasions, such as this, when we may congregate more often.”

He regretted the word for the hundredth time.

“I feel no need to explain my actions to you, Sir…” She said the word as if spitting poison from her tongue. “Other than to make it implicitly understood no such conversation will occur in the future.”

She finished with her hands on her hips and a tight-lipped tolerant smile that somehow expressed she thought him a goose-cap. She couldn’t be taller than five foot five, yet it felt as if she looked down on all six feet of him. He straightened his shoulders for the second time.

The ladies appeared on pins and needles in wait of his response. Randolph was nowhere to be found and Jasper defaulted to manners, no matter he’d acted the bore and rudely dismissed the ladies and their league without consideration of the actual situation or their gentle sensibilities. He’d worried over harridans and misguided dowagers, but how he’d miscalculated.

Before him stood a perfect combination of stern reprimand and untouched beauty as rare as the blue of her eyes. Fresh blooms of pale rose colored her cheeks as she berated and belittled him and yet he could only think of how pretty she appeared; the shade suiting her from the tip of her elaborate bonnet to the hems of her silk gown.

“Jasper St. David.” He didn’t know what else to say. “I believe we’ve a misunderstanding.” He swallowed audibly and waited.

“Miss Shaw.”

She extended her gloved hand to initiate a handshake, but still dumbfounded by the recent interaction, he stood immobile. After a moment, she withdrew and treated him to a firm smile that pulled him further into distraction. Damn his downfall, a pretty woman forever made him lose his purpose.

“Now that, ladies, is how it’s done.” She brushed past him and continued to the secondary door that led to the shared stairs and on to the upper floor. Removing a key from her reticule, she inserted it in the lock and with a flick of her wrist, drew the door wide so her companions could pass. “Remember, gentlemen feel entitled to as much as we allow…” She offered one last glance in his direction. “Including the public sidewalk.”

Then in a twirl of her skirts she followed the others up the stairwell and out of sight.

“What the hell happened?” He said the words aloud, but it was more to gain clarity than in expectation of an answer. Randolph’s prompt reply issued him another jolt.

“You’ve just experienced the verbal equivalent of having your cork drawn. If she were a he your nose would be bleeding.” A guffaw followed this observation and then Randolph sobered, the obvious taking hold.

“I’ve made a muck of things.” Jasper raised his eyes to the upstairs office. “I’d imagine the ladies are enjoying a good laugh at my expense.” His lament was overrun by the traffic of the noisy street. Little by little, London returned although he believed he’d never be the same again.

“Need I remind you to focus, my friend.” Randolph leaned a bit closer as if imparting a precious secret. “If we’re to make a go of this business venture, you’ll need to come up to scratch.”

Upstairs, the mood couldn’t be more convivial. Emily showed the ladies the two-room space before they moved to stand near the front window, watching the pedestrian flow and making plans for curtains and furnishings. Suggestions flourished, tinged with anticipation and excitement. It seemed too good to be true, their little league gaining legitimacy and attention with this leased location. Yet it didn’t take long before conversation took a decided turn.

“He’s terribly handsome. Mr. St. David, I mean. Don’t you agree?” Cynthia cooed the question, willing anyone to answer. She peered out the front window and angled her view downward as if she could see inside the office below. “You spoke to him directly, Emily. What color are his eyes?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I was too busy organizing my thoughts to note such triviality.” Green. His eyes were a lovely shade of green with little flecks of gold around the edges. Remembering the hue and sparkle caused an unexpected flutter in her belly.

“I noticed,” Margery piped up. “I stood behind him at first. His height and broad shoulders were impossible to ignore as they obscured my view entirely. But when I drew nearer, I noticed his eyes, his hair, were the warmest shade. It was difficult to follow the discussion after that.”

“Ladies,” Emily admonished although she’d observed the same. His hair was thick and wavy and in want of a good comb through for no other reason than the desire to feel the silky strands slip between her fingers. As they’d argued, an unruly lock had fallen across his brow. It lay against his skin above his right eye the entire time they’d spoken and the desire to reach up and tuck it back into place had made her fingers itchy inside her gloves. And those impossibly long lashes. She doubted the ladies saw the glimpse of a dimple in his right cheek. The memory caused her heart to beat a little faster. A handsome devil…but no, none of those observations mattered. Noticing these little qualities led to interest, and interest led to a large assortment of disasters all of which ensured her doom. Whatsoever was she thinking? She’d need to heed her own advice and avoid the entrapment of a gentleman’s charms.

“Mr. St. David may think he can tell us where to stand and what to do, but like most male assumptions concerning women, he’s wrong. His berating is exactly why I formed the League of Virtuous Equality. Would he have approached a group of men with the same attitude?” She didn’t pause long enough for an answer even though Prudence raised her hand to speak. “Absolutely not. He assumed we were a bunch of twittering chatterboxes who clogged up the sidewalk and waned with befuddlement because we couldn’t find our way to the tea shop. Take note and learn a lesson today—” Everyone’s head nodded, although Cynthia had a faraway look about her. “No matter how handsome, how clever or charming, men have held the upper hand in society far too long. Do not be fooled. Our efforts extend far beyond coquetry. Women are not meant to be bullied or coerced, but rather cherished and respected. That type of conduct will not be tolerated. It is our mission to spread the message and promote equality for all.”

A decided silence fell over their group and Emily wondered if her friends were too taken with the gentleman downstairs and his rugged appeal to consider her intent. Would women always abandon good sense when faced with a handsome male? Why should there be compromise? Couldn’t men and women share the world and experience all it had to offer without a winner and a loser? A broken heart? A spoiled mind?

Tears pricked her eyes and she swiped them away, afraid someone would notice her change of mood. Instead she busied herself near the sink, freshening the fiddleheads in the vase and rejoining the conversation, now turned to furniture and carpeting, while she’d reclaimed her emotions.

Chapter 4

Later that evening, Jasper returned to the darkened office, lit two lanterns, started the fire in the hearth and settled behind his desk, still perplexed by the day’s earlier events. Randolph had offered little enlightenment as the afternoon progressed and Jasper found himself restless and frustrated, unable to concentrate on preparing information for Penwick’s appointment in the morning.

Now, alone with his thoughts, he reviewed his irrational reaction and the intriguing Miss Shaw.

She was a beauty, no doubt. All fluster, indignation and tempting female. Her nose tipped up at the end and the fitting observation caused him to smile. Miss Shaw struck him as a female who turned her nose up on a great many things.

He was an easygoing sort. Why he’d become obsessed with a stranger who appeared as relaxed as a wasp’s nest proved baffling. He had more important subjects to consider and the distraction of a lovely female was the last thing he desired, never mind he’d had trouble chasing her memory from his thoughts all day. Still, she fascinated him for some illogical reason. He’d watched her mouth form every word, captivated by her lips, perfectly heart-shaped, plump and kissable, and instead of comprehending her message, he wondered of the taste of her kiss, the feel of tongue.

Terribly done of him, really. Miss Shaw appeared less than interested. Her back had been rigid, her shoulders squared, yet she really was all soft skin and feminine curves.

He cleared his throat and opened the top desk drawer intent on memorizing the steam hammer proposal so to advise Penwick of the worthwhile investment opportunity. The earl would have a multitude of questions. Jasper vowed to know all the answers.

Yet no matter he reviewed a series of folders and read numerous paragraphs, concentration was scarce, his mind all too anxious to return to Miss Shaw and her stunning blue eyes. Something about her immediate pique intrigued him more than any new-fangled invention. Her pretty little hat was set at a jaunty angle that dared him to remove it, to see how long her hair fell, to wrap the strands around his palm.

He smiled at the memory of how he’d charged into the discussion on the walkway without aplomb, overstepping and overreacting, only amending his behavior after the damage was done. Oh, she likely possessed a condemnatory opinion of him.

Chagrined, he closed the folders and noted the time. The wall clock showed half past ten. What was Miss Shaw doing now?

An unusual noise drew his attention to the front window. This area of town was as quiet as a tomb, all businesses closed and entertainment located elsewhere. Not a single carriage rolled down the thoroughfare, Bond Street a far cry from society’s reverie.

But then, the sudden noise came again, this time louder. The jangle of keys perhaps? He strode to the door, unlocked the latch and poked out his head. A cool breeze reminded of the late hour and he stepped onto the sidewalk and turned to view the paned window, a surge of pride accompanying the reflection within, the glint of moonlight on the gold painted lettering.

For security’s sake, he checked the secondary door which led to the stairwell shared with Miss Shaw, his attention alerted when it swung open with ease.

Had she left it unlocked? Foolish endeavor, indeed.

Or had she returned?

Perhaps he wasn’t the only person revisiting the building this evening. Stepping into the vestibule, he fumbled in the dark and cursed the fact he’d ventured out without a hand candle. If he returned to fetch one, he might not resolve the troubling noise. Best he continued upstairs and determine the main door remained locked. He’d taken only a step when a similar jangle and discordant feline yowl met his ears. Something brushed against his trousers and skittered down the stairs narrowly slinking through the door as it eased shut behind him.

A cat? A league of women and a cat? Animals did not belong in a place of business. Circumstances couldn’t become worse for the upper flat. Satisfied with his discovery, he turned to ascend and leave for the night when a spark of curiosity urged he continue upstairs and try the door handle. Could Miss Shaw be there? He waited not another minute.

Surprised for the second time this evening, Jasper discovered the upper door also unlocked. He entered, unthinking to consider why he was doing so or how he would explain if he walked in and found Miss Shaw inside.

The office stood dark, although the clouds shifted and moonlight flooded the window, allowing him a dusky blue-black view of the room. Sparse furniture included a rug at the center of the worn wooden floor and a few mismatched chairs in a grouping. A desk was the only other addition.

Jasper peered at the contents littering the blotter. A sealed packet with the landlord’s name in the corner was left beside a receipt for the yearly lease, paid in full. It would appear Miss Shaw had money to burn, or at least, an indulgent father or gentleman friend who was anxious to keep her in silk gowns and smiles.

He jiggled the brass handle on the single long drawer; firmly locked, unlike the two doors.

Amused by his antics and questioning his overactive curiosity this evening, Jasper made to leave, turning the latch to ensure the door stayed closed for the night.

Chapter 5

Sunlight sliced through the cloud cover as Emily exited her carriage and thanked the driver. Wednesday mornings brought her to the Foundling Hospital on Great Ormond Street. Aside from her desire to better others and eliminate suffering, she enjoyed putting her father’s funds to charitable use. Money couldn’t repair broken hearts or dreams, but it could fill stomachs and keep children in shoes and clean beds.

Hefting a basket of treats to her side, for her desire to give outweighed her diminutive stature; she approached the wrought-iron gate with a genuine smile. The orphans had grown accustomed to her weekly visits and each grin of delight caused her heart to sing with joy. No child should want for affection, the kind camaraderie of a sibling or loving approval of a parent.

Stepping along the slates, she paused to adjust the basket handle and glanced toward the brick facade, stoic and strong, protecting the lost children inside. An odd twist of emotion caused her heart to beat heavily. One didn’t have to live at the Foundling Hospital to feel loneliness or know the isolation of a fatherless upbringing. Sometimes, amidst the most normal situation, one discovers circumstances aren’t always as they appear. Sometimes, the grim truth makes one an orphan, the decisions and choices of others at fault.

Several years prior, when she discovered the truth and understood her father’s history, then witnessed her mother’s misery, Emily labeled herself unlovable, unworthy. Yet intelligence and determination won out, convincing on some peripheral level that while men were basically dangerous to one’s heart and the affections they evoked powerful enough to destroy all happiness, she could overcome, unwilling to turn into her mother, broken, a shadow of her potential. Emily would accomplish independence, reliant on no one other than herself, and then, only then, allow emotion and perhaps, a future including marriage. Men had all the advantages. It was time women secured equality. Equality offered choice and with choice came power; each link in the chain dependent upon the success and strength of the one before.

Today, each step echoed the core of her purpose and ever-present vows. Mothers…so many despairing mothers for decades, had sought this place, unable to care for their newborn babes, unwilling to confront the rogue who’d gotten them in the family way and then deserted them. Emily had visited the hospital for over three years and never once had she encountered a gentleman in search of his child, a man interested in the betterment of the abandoned youth kept there, aside from doctors or humanitarians.

Nodding a greeting to the gatekeeper, she entered the imposing stone building and walked to the front desk intending to chat with one of the nurses before visiting, but the hall stood empty. Undeterred, for circumstances often caused a depleted staff or unexpected emergency, Emily placed the wicker basket at her feet and moved to wait by a window overlooking the center courtyard. This side of the hospital was partitioned by the north wing adjacent to the chapel. A grassy knoll bordered by a bright flower garden, littered with daisies and buttercups, lay parallel to the walk where a corpulent ginger cat had found respite in a comfortable patch of sunlight. Content absorbing the day’s warmth, its tail twitched lazily until the feline turned in her direction and looked straight through the window where she watched.

The cat held her gaze for several beats of her heart until a scuffle near the front door drew her attention away and she spun to see a gentleman enter, his face a mask of tolerant anger, his fist gripped tight on the collar of a young boy, no more than seven or eight years of age, his feet bare and clothing torn. The child, disguised by filth, didn’t struggle though Emily could see in his wounded expression she hadn’t witnessed the worst of the conflict. Two nurses entered, their conversation fading as they discovered the scene in the vestibule.

Emily stepped aside to offer the nurses privacy as the gentlemen explained, but with unforeseen happenstance, the child wriggled from the gentleman’s grasp and slinked to stand at her side, the touch of his cold tiny fingers pressed into her palm as if he reached for any scrap of salvation she reserved in her soul. Her heart blossomed with his trust. She offered his hand a firm squeeze of comfort and leaned into the basket to withdraw a gingerbread biscuit. He glanced at her outstretched palm, eyes wide, then snatched the treat, devouring it with hardly a breath between bites.

“Jenny, please gather the necessary paperwork.” The lead nurse motioned to the other to do her bidding, but it was of no use. The gentleman departed with nary a glance backward. “Find Dr. Alastar and tell him we’ll need his assistance as soon as possible.”

Emily eyed the young boy, who darted glances toward the exit, likely considering escape as soon as he believed his flight successful. He looked wild at first glimpse, his hair overgrown and stringy, his clothes ill fit, but she knew beneath the grime of the city, a child’s innocence lived in his chest. She could see it in his woeful expression.

“What’s happening here?” The doctor entered, his commanding presence enough to spur the lad to seek refuge near her skirts where he grasped the cloth as if to anchor in safety.

“A gentleman came by with this scallywag in hand. Another mudlark, no doubt. He didn’t know what to do with him as his wife begged him to help, but he appeared uncomfortable with the act of charity and left directly after.”

Mudlarks were comprised of misfits and runaways who lived an independent life along the Thames, pilfering whatever could be found and sold from the shallow waters. Scavenging proved a hard and lonely life, where children were lost to disease, drowning or accident. Emily placed her hand on the boy’s shoulder as a swell of instinct urged she protect his precious spirit. She’d never wanted for food or clothing. Yet she was not so unlike the child in a different way, as surely they both wanted for the affection and approval of a loving parent. At least Emily did so at one time.

“I’m sure the visitor considers his duty done.” Emily’s mutter drew the attention of both doctor and nurse.

“Miss Shaw, my apologies for this scene.” Dr. Alastar strode forward and the child shrank in equal measure. “With all this commotion, I’ve neglected propriety. Forgive me.” His professional demeanor transformed into easy charm.

“Please don’t give it another thought. I’ve come to visit the children as always, although it would appear there will be a new addition in the group.” She turned a gentle smile toward the lad pressed into her side.

“He’ll need a bath and fresh clothing. You shouldn’t be so near until we’ve determined he’s healthy.” The doctor went to one knee, but the child pressed harder into Emily’s side. Was it her imagination or could she feel him trembling through the layers of her walking dress?

The doctor nodded toward the nurse and she took the initiative with a broad smile. “Come now, what’s your name? Wouldn’t you like a hot bath?”

The questions prompted the child to withdraw further and Emily’s heart ached at the atrocities he might have endured living near the river, under a bridge or perhaps, sleeping on the cold damp ground night after night. How deep were his scars that he’d not recognize genuine kindness and shun the basic essentials of cleanliness and warm clothing?

She stared at the top of his filthy blond head, the color all but obscured. He remained mute, silenced by fear or other inhibitions. Emily twisted to free her skirts and knelt beside the nurse to clasp the lad’s hands tightly within her own. “I have more treats in my basket. Not just biscuits, but small toys as well. If you’ll go with the kind nurse, you’ll be clean and ready for supper like all the other children who will fast become your friends.”

A breach in wariness softened the worry etched in his brow. He glanced to the nurse who’d stepped away and then returned his gaze to Emily, the cynical sideways glance exposing suspicion beyond his tender years. A moment passed before he shoved his fingers into his left pocket, his forehead puckered with determination.

Emily watched as his free hand worked to retrieve something from his torn trousers, for surely his stance and perseverance proved it as important.

At last, when she worried Dr. Alastar would show no more patience, the lad accomplished his goal and wriggling a piece of jewelry from the assorted trinkets dragged from his pocket in a tangled clump, treasures he’d salvaged from the perils of the Thames. He gathered the silver chain together and pressed it into her palm.

Startled, Emily glanced from bracelet to child, before acknowledging his trust with a grateful smile. “How delightful. Thank you ever so much. I will treasure this always.”

With her words, all apprehension faded. The lad left without a squeak of protest and Emily stared after him, the gift safe in her palm and the hope for another child’s future happiness warm in her soul.

Across the city, Jasper stole a glance out the window as Penwick exited his carriage. A skip of anticipation, inspired by his desire to succeed, beat a cadence in rhythm to the earl’s walking stick against the slates. Sleep had eluded him last night. Was the thief of his respite eagerness for business or the recurring image of Miss Shaw’s stunning blue eyes? He did not know. Amusement dared distract as memories of the lady’s indignation renewed, but he suppressed the daydream. Now was not the time for fanciful notions. This morning he hoped to secure his first client and initiate an endeavor toward a lucrative, respected future; thus proving his worth to his overbearing brother.

His brother.

Jasper considered Dashwood’s imminent return. The wedding trip, initially planned for one month’s time, had already extended a week overlong. How he’d like to secure an account or two before Dash stormed into London, newly married and forever condescending.

Penwick entered and with tempered enthusiasm Jasper rounded the desk to greet the earl. He’d hardly completed niceties before Randolph rushed through the door.

“Excellent. Excellent timing.” Randolph’s jovial announcement brought pause. “I wouldn’t want to miss this appointment.” He angled a pointed glare at Penwick, then lower to the earl’s cravat and Randolph’s eyes flared.

They all seated before Jasper’s desk, but instead of aiming attention to Nasmyth’s invention, the conversation swiftly turned to Penwick’s neckcloth.

“Fine linen, Penwick. May I inquire of the design?” Randolph leaned forward with pointed interest.

“My valet is a master with the Osbaldeston knot.” Penwick twisted from left to right to offer a better view of the complicated arrangement. “He outdid himself this morning.”

“Indeed.” Randolph leaned closer still, his eyes narrowed. “Extraordinary crispness in each complicated crease and fold.”

Beaufort withdrew, apparently satisfied, and Jasper suppressed the desire to roll his eyes. “Gentlemen, shall we begin?” He smoothed the papers on the desk blotter and looked up with expectation.

“Of course, although I should mention,” Beaufort eyed Penwick’s assemble, “you’ll be the name on every tongue if you flaunt your valet’s talents at any lively London reverie.”

“That’s a timely observation as I intend to frequent as many gatherings as possible during my short stay in town. I’m trying to locate a dear friend. Perhaps you might suggest a social where the popular ton will be in attendance.” Penwick appeared most serious.

Beaufort let out a loud guffaw, his eyes shooting to Jasper. “The perfect assignment, wouldn’t you agree, Jasper?”

Jasper who’d begun to tap his fingernails against the paperwork in exasperated patience forced a smile that both men interpreted as agreement. Taking advantage of the conversational lull, he cleared his throat, reassembled the information on the blotter and launched into a fast, furious description of the steam hammer. Neither man appeared nonplussed and after a few minutes of factual reiteration of financial benefits for investment, Penwick appeared satisfied. He questioned the durativity of the invention, as well as its construction and adaptability and Jasper, due to his diligence, answered each question with thoughtful information. Before long, a rush of accomplishment and relief took control as Penwick signaled his commitment to invest in the proposal. A casual ease returned to their appointment.

“Perhaps you’d like to join us later this evening. We’ve plans to meet up with Viscount Kellaway. He’s a likeable sort who knows everyone worth knowing. I doubt Kell would mind an addition to the crowd.” Social connections through Penwick or otherwise could only serve Jasper’s business well.

“Thank you. I appreciate your kindness.” Penwick stood and retrieved his walking stick before the three men completed the meeting with a firm handshake and a commitment to meet later that evening. By no means did Kellaway, a sworn lothario and bachelor, present the entré into polite society Penwick desired, but the association was one which could lead to invitations within the ton. Kellaway knew everyone and everything that happened in the city.

Chapter 6

Emily returned from the hospital to find her mother writing a letter in the drawing room, her attention solely focused on the foolscap atop the desk. Not wishing to startle her, Emily quietly entered; a whisper of sadness accompanying the scene to winnow into her heart and remind things would never be as they once were. If only her mother could accept the circumstances and come to terms with their situation.

Emily strove to be a good daughter. She loved her mother dearly and empathized with her suffering, but it was that same heartbreak which prompted her to organize the league and work toward independence. No woman should be solely dependent on a man; no female made to feel inferior. In truth, her mother’s despair sparked the league’s formation, but the organization was fueled by Emily’s determination to reject how her mother appeared, broken and lonely. Circumstances stole her mother’s spirit and in turn, her future, all because she believed herself incomplete now.

“Emily, you’re home.” Her mother rose from the desk, a sealed paper in hand. “Please summon Mary. I need this letter posted immediately.”

Emily fought against the hollow sadness of her mother’s expectant expression. “Another letter?”

“Yes. I always write, dear, you know that. Every day I write to your father.”

A swath of uncomfortable emotion crowded Emily’s heart and she inhaled fully, as if she couldn’t gather the air needed to breathe. Mary entered and with a glance over her shoulder, Emily met the eyes of the housekeeper in meaningful communication. “Mother wishes to post another letter.” An anxious pause followed before Mary nodded and accepted the mail.

“I’ll see to it right away then.” The housekeeper bustled from the room as if her heels were afire.

“How was the hospital? Were the children happy to see you?”

Startled by her mother’s clarity, Emily found a gentle smile and sat on the chaise, patting the seat beside her. “Come here and I’ll tell you about my visit. I made a new friend today and he gave me a gift. I’d like to show it to you.”

“A gentleman? A handsome lord?” Her mother’s smile extended to her eyes, a giddy childlike note riddling her questions. “This is wonderful news. Tell me all.”

“Not a lord, but handsome nonetheless.” Emily clasped her mother’s hand now that she’d settled at her side. “And very young.”

“Age should not deter true love. Your father was fifteen years older than me and that difference never interfered with our affection,” Bianca said with finality.

Emily swallowed past the lump in her throat and strove to resurrect a cheerful tone. “My friend is perhaps seven or eight years old, our age difference too vast.”

“Oh, you had me convinced you’d met a suitor.” Her voice dropped as though she’d arrived at a disappointing conclusion.

Her mother’s forlorn reply tugged at Emily’s resolve. She didn’t wish to be a disappointment, but her heart remained conflicted when it came to matters of relationships and marriage; the joy of one seemingly causing the crisis of the other. Despite her mother’s misconception, Emily wished to be loved and cherished, but at what cost? And on what terms?

While she deliberated every emotion with extreme care, her mother’s despondency evolved into a daily struggle. Still one condition shouldn’t eradicate the other. Even the ladies of the league held a secret desire to be courted and Emily had dutifully ignored discussing relationships deferring to every aspect of independence imaginable. Perhaps, she’d wronged her friends. She’d need to be more open-minded when it came to her opinion of their future. Her intractable resolution, to remain happily unattached, could not impinge on the choices of others. The league should serve to suggest options, choices for a future not commanded by the social doctrine.

Emily assessed her mother’s dejected expression. Her solemn contemplation confirmed their discussion would go no further. The two sat in companionable silence until Mary entered with Portia Edmonstone by her side.

“Portia?” Emily rose to approach her friend, surprise and puzzlement causing her quick reaction. “The league doesn’t meet on Wednesdays. Is everything all right?”

“Yes, of course. I’ve a little matter to discuss and hoped you’d spare a few minutes for tea and conversation.” Portia’s usual sagacious demeanor seemed absent, her eyes expressing a different message than her words.

“I’ll leave the two of you. I have matters to attend.”

Emily’s eyes followed her mother’s brisk retreat, uncertainty causing new worry to blossom.

“Has she gotten any better?” Portia whispered, though they stood alone in the room.

“I’m afraid not.” Emily motioned her friend closer as they moved to sit near the fire.

“What a silly expression. You are fearless, afraid of no one or no thing.” Portia offered a smile of reassurance. “I’m sure your mother will improve in time. My aunt suffered a similar depression after my uncle passed. It was nearly a year before she showed any emotion other than sadness.”

“Maybe.” Doubt forced the word out in a mutter. “I wish she would accept Father is gone. That way she could plan for a happier future. It’s been over two years and she seems to get worse by the week. And it’s not just sadness or despondency.”

“I daresay her heartache is palpable.” Portia patted Emily’s hand in comfort. “She looks so lost at times, but then on the occasion she appears almost hopeful, as if she believes your father will return.”

“I know. Some days she’s right as rain, her demeanor cheerful. The most troubling aspect of her condition is found in its unpredictability. It causes me grave concern.”

Portia was her closest friend, yet Emily had never confided the particulars involving her parents. It didn’t seem appropriate, nor would she want the circumstances repeated to any person, ever. Not that she didn’t trust Portia. She was the closest Emily had to a sister. Yet secrets sometimes had a way of finding a path to daylight when they were best left hidden in a dark drawer. In that, Emily reserved her deepest regret and emotion for evening, when she snuffed the candles in her bedchamber and wept herself to sleep.

“Enough of my tale of woe.” Emily laughed away the truth in her statement. “What brings you to visit? It must be a matter of great importance. I can see it in your eyes no matter you are trying your best to conceal the truth of it.”

“This evening, the Bandlewits are hosting a gathering.”

“Yes?” Emily nodded to Mary who appeared at the door with a tea tray. The room fell silent as refreshments were served. In fluid habit, Emily accepted the letter Mary offered, slipping it into her gown pocket without a comment or remark for Portia’s behalf. Once the housekeeper left, their conversation resumed.

“My mother insists I attend. Apparently she’s become fast friends with Lady Bandlewit and the two have contrived to match me with the eldest son, Norris. I’ve known about this conspiracy for two days and I’m sure I’ve lost weight from my lack of appetite…or will to live. I couldn’t fathom becoming a Bandlewit.”

“It does present an unexpected conundrum. Have you expressed your feelings to your mother?” Emily knew how deeply Portia wished to achieve her aspiration. The situation was difficult enough without another layer of complication.

“My mother and father believe my vision to travel the world is a ridiculous and rebellious dream. Their answer is to see me married and under my husband’s thumb so he can be the one who will squash ambition out of me before I raise our brood of Bandlewits.”

The subject was serious but Emily couldn’t help it, she laughed out loud. “Oh when you say it that way, it does sound dire.”

The two shared a bout of the giggles despite a troubled expression marred Portia’s delicate features soon after.

“So, as a sort of compromise, I pleaded to at least bring a friend to this evening’s débâcle and my mother relented. Now if you’ll also agree, perhaps we can concoct some subterfuge to keep Norris at bay, or dissuade him altogether. I don’t mind being rejected. I’d actually prefer it. If society perceived me as a pariah, once I become of a suitable age, I may travel the globe without a care for rumors, reputation or societal status.”

Portia had risen during her little speech and stood near the mantle, her boots firmly planted, hands on her hips. Her stance represented defiance and confidence. Emily’s heart swelled with pride.

“Of course I will accompany you. I won’t allow anyone to run ripshod over your dreams.”

“I knew you would agree.” Portia leaned down to embrace Emily. “You really are the truest friend.”

If only I could be the truest daughter. There was no need to voice the words, but they echoed in her mind nonetheless.

Chapter 7

Jasper, in his evening’s finest, and Randolph, wearing his interpretation of fashion, collected Penwick at nine sharp and proceeded to Kellaway’s town house on George Street in Hanover Square. They arrived at the same time Kell’s elegant barouche pulled to the curb.

“There’s no reason for all of us to climb out.” Jasper took control. “I’ll speak to Kell concerning the anticipated entertainment. It appears he’s only arriving when we’d arranged to be already on our way.” Not waiting for either friend to reply, he hopped from the carriage and shadowed the footman who’d opened Kellaway’s coach and extended the steps. Taken aback, Jasper watched as two females with scandalously low necklines exited. He almost swallowed his tongue when a feminine giggle echoed from the confines of the carriage and Kell stepped out. Apparently, the coach wasn’t emptied yet.

“Have plans changed?” Keen to his perspicuity, Jasper waited on his friend’s reply.

“Aah, yes. I won’t be joining you this evening. Sorry about the alterations, but other distractions have taken precedence.” Kellaway glanced into the carriage and smiled. The coo of a besotted female followed although she had yet to materialize.

Jasper slue his eyes from one beautiful companion to the other and then warranted a glance at the carriage, now silent. “Expecting a few more gentlemen this evening?” His voice cracked on the question.

“Not at all.” Kell’s reply was thrown over his shoulder, his arms full of female on either side as he climbed the front steps. “I’ll be in touch.”

The ladies purred with this pronouncement.

Refusing to feel the fool, Jasper reclaimed his carriage and instructed the driver to an address in Mayfair. He’d ensure Penwick had an enjoyable evening, despite the only ready invitation he’d received was to the Bandlewits’ house party and that began hours ago.

“Where’s Kell? Isn’t he coming?” Randolph leaned forward in an attempt to peer out the window before the carriage gained speed.

“Not with us he isn’t.” Jasper refrained from saying more.

Emily touched a finger to each charm on the silver bracelet gifted to her by the newly arrived orphan at the Foundling Hospital. Mary had cleaned it in a hot wash of vinegar and salt and now the once tarnished and corroded chain shone with brilliance. It was a curious piece, each charm different, but equally beautiful. The owner who’d dropped it must regret its loss indeed.

She gathered the bracelet and looped it around her wrist, the perfect addition to the periwinkle silk gown she’d donned for this evening’s gathering. Not one to squander money on frivolous purchases, she possessed a few extravagant fashions for the rare occasion when she ventured out; this selection one of them. Some intuitive notion urged she wear her best this evening. Perhaps the dull ache of her mother’s distress motivated she’d disguise heartache with ribbons and silk. If society served any meaningful purpose, distraction proved prime.

Her maid, Agnes, had arranged her hair in a wonderful style with soft tendrils falling around her ears and neck, the result becoming. Not one to fuss over her ordinary brown hair, Emily seldom took time to examine her features and attempt improvement. Tonight, with her new bracelet and elegant dress, she portrayed exactly what her mother wished. The realization brought melancholy and much-needed comfort. She’d force herself to try harder to be the kind of biddable daughter her mother needed.

With sadness, she glanced to the basket beside her bed, filled with unsent letters Bianca had composed, at times with painstaking care and constituting further evidence of love’s trap. Emily had covered the basket with a blanket to prevent discovery. What a blessing Mary aided in her discretion and assisted in carrying out the charade. Commonsense prodded Emily attempt anything to protect her mother from further disappointment, but to what end? Shaking free from her maudlin thoughts and unwilling to mar the evening, she collected her wrap from the foot of the bed and hurried downstairs.

Inside Portia’s carriage, the mood was light and cheery. Lady Edmonstone chattered endlessly about the attributes of the Bandlewits and Portia and Emily communicated their opinions through a variety of eye widening and subdued smirks. At times, Emily found herself biting the inside of her cheek to keep laughter in check. It proved pleasant despite both girls knew Portia’s mother would be determined in her attempt to see her daughter wed as soon as possible.

“You both look lovely this evening.” Lady Edmonstone’s trilling pronouncement had Emily suppressing another trickle of laughter. “I’d wager you’ll garner a high degree of attention this evening. It’s to your detriment that you don’t venture out more often, girls. It would take hardly any work at all to marry you off.”

These last few words erased the congenial mood.

“Mother, I doubt Emily wishes to take part in such a devastating endeavor regardless how lovely she looks.” Portia shifted her attention. “Your blue eyes are absolutely stunning with the hue of your gown, by the way.”

Any further discussion was curtailed as the carriage rolled to a stop before a grand white stone house with ornate railings and finely detailed shutters. Despite any shortcomings noted in the prospect of marriage to a Bandlewit, surely their impeccable taste and imposing wealth forged a remarkable first impression. Lady Edmonstone’s grand gleaming smile seemed to surmise the same conclusion.

Once inside they greeted their hosts and dinner proceeded in a pleasant manner. Emily decided it wasn’t altogether horrible to be out amongst the fashionable ton despite conversation from all sides revolved around who’d made their debut, secured a proposal, or produced offspring. Perhaps she would make an effort to socialize more often. If her mother improved, that is. Only then.

Lord and Lady Bandlewit were the proud parents of five sons who were stuffed into formalwear like poorly cased sausage. The quintet of male specimens resembled their father with pale skin and short sandy locks, as if once created all originality has been exhausted, resulting in a disappointing lack of inspiration.

Marriage posed a suspicious prospect as it were. Emily could never allow Portia to be bartered off to a gentleman unless her friend found him outwardly and, more importantly, inwardly, appealing. She flicked a glance to where Portia remained captive by discussion with Norris, the eldest Bandlewit and bachelor currently on the chopping block. Perhaps she should rescue her, although some conversation would be expected for the purpose of common courtesy. Norris did not appear the type to explore the pyramids of Egypt or climb mountains in Italy, but appearances were deceiving. Emily knew that as fact.

She shook her head with distressing consideration and turned attention to the hall where three gentlemen entered and made for the gathering in the drawing room. The furniture had been removed and the carpets rolled up to allow for dancing. These guests had arrived just in time for reverie. The musicians tuned their instruments with care and an unexpected frizzle of excitement rippled through her.

As she perused the newly arrived guests, a startling recognition took hold. Two of the men were from the building on upper Bond Street below the league office. The third guest she did not recognize, although he was a fair degree older than his companions and impeccably dressed. She might have continued her examination, except Mr. St. David glanced across the room and smiled upon matching her eyes. Panic struck and when she locked with his gaze, a jolt of awareness radiated from her core to the tips of her toes and fingers, across her scalp and within, to wiggle about and tickle her brain. She was all at once unsettled, when she’d been enjoying herself, perfectly calm and reserved, only moments before. How dare he?

Jasper stepped around Beaufort who’d taken to introducing Penwick within the room. He wanted to give an impression of confident assurance, yet a definite throb of exhilaration motivated his passage through the crowd, intent on locating Miss Shaw on the other side. This was the sole serendipitous occurrence of the evening, an unexpected happenstance that evoked a brilliant spark of attraction. He pulled toward her as if a magnet finding its mate.

“Miss Shaw, what a pleasant surprise.” He bowed low, his eyes sliding from her silk slippers upward to settle at her delightful face, although he stole a quick glance to her bosom, neatly tucked into the gown’s demure neckline where some gauzy sarcenet tempted he discover what lay beneath.

The musicians began a lively tune and around him guests reassembled though Jasper didn’t budge, captivated by the female in periwinkle, a gentle scowl marring her beauty.

“Good evening, Mr…I’m sorry. I’ve forgotten your name.”

The minx. So she’d play a coy little game. He didn’t mind. Miss Shaw was the most intriguing novelty he’d happened upon in a very long time; worth a greater investment than Nasmyth’s steam hammer and utterly more charming.

“Jasper St. David, at your service, although I’m beginning to believe you’re independently capable and in need of little assistance.”

“Mr. St. David, yes. Now I remember. You occupy the lower office on Bond Street and presume you own the public sidewalk.”

Oh, this was fun. She didn’t fool him for a minute. “Funny how the memory plays tricks.” He’d accept she’d told the truth when two Sundays came together. And damn, her little upturned nose would be the death of him. “May I have this dance?”

The question seemed to disrupt her cool demeanor. She eyed him as if he was a midnight highwayman commanding she surrender her virginity. A timeless lapse ensued. At last, she found her tongue although Jasper reckoned he’d had happily found it for her.

“What do you want?”

The silky edge of her question forced his eyes to her lips. “A partner for the waltz. I thought my request clearly made. You were standing on the side of the room looking pensive and not at all in the spirit of the evening. I thought I’d cross over and instigate a bit of conversation.”

“A woman doesn’t require a man to rush to her rescue. Thank you for the kind offer, but I need for nothing at the moment.”

Her words were laced with an underlying note of contradiction. He couldn’t help but notice.

“Needs and wants are as different as gloves and boots, besides you do need a dance partner. That’s something you can’t possibly accomplish alone, Miss Shaw.”

She straightened her shoulders the smallest degree and he noticed the gentle sweep of her neck, how the lacy edge of each silk sleeve arched delicately against her creamy pink skin.

“What can’t I accomplish?” Her voice hinted at just the right amount of fluster and it pleased him immensely. She seemed far too comfortable with the upper hand.

“A waltz.” He indicated the dance floor with a slight nod of his head. “Dance with me, Miss Shaw.”

“And what is your goal? Surely you harbor an underlying reason for your request.” Her voice dropped to a hushed whisper. Was she angry or playfully deceptive? He couldn’t decide.

“Such cynicism from one so young and beautiful, but I promise you, I desire nothing complicated. I like music and enjoy dancing. I want nothing more.”

She cocked a delicate brow just as she’d done in front of his office and he was drawn into the blue ocean of her eyes rather than deterred from his message, as similar an experience as in front of his office. His heart thudded an anxious beat as he waited on her answer and when she smiled, the smallest curl of her lips, and took a step toward the dance floor, he embraced a moment of genuine surprise.

She fitted into his hold perfectly, although she still seemed cautious of his intentions. Had she heard unfavorable gossip concerning his person? He couldn’t imagine why she’d behave so standoffish. He was an all around easy-going fellow and everyone labeled him such.

“Now, isn’t this preferable to standing near the wall watching others enjoy the entertainment?”

Her eyes shot to his as if she was startled he’d read her thoughts so easily.

“I’m still considering your motives.”

Jasper chuckled. Damn, the lady behaved curiously.

“I can’t imagine why. We’re sharing a waltz, just as I proposed.” He felt a shiver coarse through her and unsure of her reaction, he pressed on. “Are you suspicious by nature? Surely I’ve given you no cause.”

“I’ve only just made your acquaintance. You might be the worst sort of gentleman.”

Again her words held a weight of censure.

“That, Miss Shaw, is a huge leap of imagination, I assure you. A rakehell? A rogue? Never have I been viewed as such.” He stifled the grin itching to be freed. “Were I a man of low reputation I might have pulled you against me in unseemly familiarity.” And just to tweak her stern expression, he tightened his hold and moved closer. She smelled delightful, a mixture of rose water and bitter orange, a fitting combination. She angled her chin with his action, but she didn’t object.

“Nor have I suffered a case of roaming hands, taking advantage of the situation and proximity of your lovely stature.” He slid his left palm lower to stroke his thumb against the row of buttons tracing her spine. She made the smallest sound in the back of her throat; not at all the loud objection she’d voiced on the walkway outside the offices yesterday.

“A rogue would lean in and whisper intimate endearments against your ear.” He purposely didn’t lean. Not even an inch and by damn, he experienced a surge of victory when she swayed toward him. Jasper refused to accept it was the vertiginous pattern of the waltz that caused her increased nearness. She somehow felt more fluid, pliant and relaxed in his arms; as if with his teasing, he’d melted a layer of her icy veneer. “Had I a devious motive, I might have showered you with compliments, spouting gratuitous prose describing the captivating hue of your eyes, the way your irises sparkle with delight when you deliver a cutting remark, or how the candlelight casts glossy highlights across the ribbons of your hair, the color of warm brandy on a cold night.”

At last she found her voice.

“Mr. St. David—” Her tone completed the sentence.

“I’d prefer Jasper. We’re sharing this dance and let’s not forget our joined place of business.”

The mention of their offices returned the militant erectility to her posture.

“Mr. St. David…” She paused as if collecting her thoughts and rearranging her intended reply.

“I’m relieved to hear you remember my name. Your previous bout with forgetfulness had me wondering if you need come into the office tomorrow and invest in brain massage.”

The queer expression on her face was worth every ounce of his daring comment.

“Brain massage. Good heavens, what would that entail?”

“A curious, yet effective new treatment, I assure you.” They turned at the corner of the dance floor, the violin holding a final note, the waltz at its end. A pang of disappointment lanced his heart. He’d have liked to continue dancing and teasing prickly Miss Shaw.

Chapter 8

Emily resisted the urge to sputter a string of expletives. Mr. St. David, Jasper as he’d insisted, had thanked her, excused himself and strolled across the room to his friends. Typical and overbearing, the manner in which he manipulated her during the waltz. She could still feel the pressure of his hand against the small of her back, his warmth imprinted in the fabric. The shiver of delight he evoked when his fingertips traced the row of buttons had made breathing difficult. Still he’d insisted he desired a dance and nothing more. To examine each action seemed an exercise in futility.

Trapped within the dance frame, she’d had nowhere to look except at his face or else risk he’d believe he’d embarrassed her. She was no one’s coward. So she studied his every feature; the strong angle of his chin, his full lips hesitant to smile despite his clever banter, and green eyes that sparkled, not just from the chandeliers above but as if lit from within. Had he been laughing at her the whole time? Mocking her? She wouldn’t believe it, yet he certainly held the power to charm. No gentleman should be allowed such long dark lashes, most especially when hers were thin and spiky.

To make the situation worse, Jasper had smelled wonderful, a spicy mixture that lured her forward, the shadowy trace of whiskers along his jaw an invitation to nuzzle closer, nearer his mouth, a sensual temptation that suggested the most magnificent, curious things. What intimate expressions would he have whispered in her ear? Easily led to the bait, Emily wanted to know.

At the same time her fingers twitched to slap him despite her mind conjured naughty thoughts. Somehow he possessed the ability to evoke her smile when she did her best to present a haughty demeanor. What was it about him? She shook her head hoping to pry the answer loose.

“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.”

Chapter 9

“Mother?” Concerned she’d heard crying, Emily tapped lightly on her mother’s bedchamber door and eased into the room to find Bianca seated by the window, a handkerchief clenched in her fist. The familiar scene never failed to pain her. Would the day come when her mother stopped torturing herself? Blaming herself for a situation not in her control? Her father had taken so much already, why must he steal their future as well? Her mother was once a vivacious woman with the light of joy and confidence in her eyes. Now the ever-present shadow of tears replaced any glow of happiness.

“I miss him so much.” A desolate note of hopelessness accompanied the confession.

“I know.” Emily wrapped an arm around her mother’s shoulders in comfort. She settled on the banquette and considered which words to choose. Would her mother grow angry as she’d done in the past when Emily suggested they look toward the future? The truth wedged like a dry crust of bread in her throat. She couldn’t bring it up nor could she swallow and be done with it. Instead, the truth choked her, leaving her powerless to act while her mother mourned the loss of a man who wasn’t worth her tears. “Would you like some tea? I can ring for Mary.”

“Tea won’t fix my heartache. Nothing will.” She gave a strong nod with the refusal. “Your father was my world, my everything. Without him, I have so little. I don’t want to leave the house. I don’t want to be reminded of all the things we might have done together. Still I have hope. I keep hope close to my heart and I’m sure the letters…the letters will help.”

Her mother’s distressed tone justified Emily’s fear of uttering the wrong consolation, scared she could drive her mother further into maudlin depression, full of the distorted memories that caused her upset. The truth was best left alone until her mother’s thoughts were more coherent; for when this malaise and conflicted emotion passed. Though as weeks turned to months misgiving dimmed her optimism. Sometimes Emily couldn’t find any rationality in her mother’s perseveration. “Time helps, and having new experiences. Leaving the house for a short walk could be enjoyable. It’s still early and the weather seems pleasant.”

“No. I can’t leave the house.” Her mother pulled from her embrace and scooted forward on the window seat, as if to secure she couldn’t be removed.

“Of course you can.” Emily dared a soft chuckle hoping to ease her mother’s agitation even though at the root of her mother’s confusion was the belief she’d somehow see her love again. Emily didn’t dare suggest that day would never come. “I’ll be with you every step of the way.” She offered her mother’s hand an encouraging squeeze.

“That doesn’t matter.” Squaring her shoulders, Bianca snatched her hands free. “Stop. You don’t understand and you never will.”

Like a swift blow to the stomach, Emily caught her breath, aware once again she hadn’t handled her mother’s melancholy properly. She’d wished to console and had angered instead. “No, I’m sure I don’t. I’m so sorry.”

Whispered in resignation, she stepped away, each stride taking her closer to the door and away from a battle she couldn’t win. She hurried to the stairwell, grabbed her pelisse from the drawing room and dashed out the door. Fresh air, distance, anything to wipe away the remembrance of her father and her mother’s misplaced wretchedness would be welcomed. There was a time when she wouldn’t leave the house, scared and consumed with worry for her mother’s harsh words. As years passed, things had changed. Emily had hardened her heart and hired a trustworthy housekeeper, allowing Emily a bit of freedom and perhaps, sanity too.

Now she couldn’t walk fast enough, her mind a jumble of memories, her slippers carrying her farther and farther from the town house. Only when she entered the bustling center of London did she slow, allowing the city noise to swallow her up and suffocate the pain inside.

Out of breath and tears, she glanced toward the corner surprised she’d walked so far, all the while lost in the heart-wrenching disparity of her mother’s beliefs and the truth Emily kept hidden. She met the eye of a passing shopper, aware she must look a fright without a bonnet or gloves, her cheeks tear-stained. With forced composure, she swept a palm over her hair to smooth the loose strands then continued at a modest pace toward Bond Street. The sight of the office, her victory and glimmer of hope, the one place she could replenish her soul and find peace for a few minutes, buoyed her spirits.

The league didn’t meet on Thursday and focused on respite, she spared not a glance to the lower office. Confident she’d found privacy, she crossed the street and approached the welcoming door. Emotion still had a strong hold and her hand trembled as she sought the key in her reticule. In her hurry, she dropped it, her eyes chasing the key as it bounced against the cobbles before she stooped to pick it up. Again she moved to insert the key, but an arm reached from behind, a brown glove placed over her bare hand. A beat of panic squeezed her heart. She startled, anxious until a familiar voice near her ear reminded Jasper St. David occupied the office downstairs. He was the last company she wished for now. She looked wretched and her emotions were scattered.

Surrendering the key to his grasp, as there was no use in objecting, she twisted and glanced over her shoulder, at once aware he stood inches from her back, a mere step and she would be flush against him, caught in his arms.

“Miss Shaw. What a pleasant surprise during a rather dismal day.” He flicked a glance in her direction then turned the key and opened the lock.

With an awkward step, she avoided his broad chest, careful her skirts didn’t trail against his legs.

“You’re having a poor day too?” She strove to hide the tremor in her voice but didn’t succeed.

“Let’s label it as wearisome and leave it at that. It’s rather early to be out and about. Is there a meeting this morning?”

He extended his arm so she could pass through the door and into the small square foyer before the stairs led upward. Sunlight permeated the space otherwise it would be unusually dark within.

“Not today. The League of Virtuous Equality meets on Tuesday and Friday.” She started to climb, careful to go slowly; casting an occasional glance toward Jasper so were he to follow, his boots would not step on her hems.

He followed, seemingly aware of the same concern for he focused intently on her skirts.

“And what exactly does the league discuss at these meetings?”

He asked the question with intelligent curiosity and none of the usual skepticism or mockery that accompanied inquiries from less enlightened people.

“My hope is to bring women together and empower them to succeed in the same manner as gentlemen. Males rule society, yet there is so much more females can offer if allowed. Women should be permitted to live and act independently without being labeled a spinster or bluestocking. We are equally as intelligent and resourceful.”

They’d reached the top of the stairs and she opened the secondary door and walked inside. If anything Jasper had distracted her from the tormented emotions of the morning, and she found she enjoyed their conversation. Clever, how he’d managed to fill a little of the empty feeling she always carried within.

“I see.”

She wondered if he truly agreed, but then he continued.

“All visions of beheadings and tribal dancing have been cleansed from my brain.”

She giggled despite herself.

Jasper smiled and began to move about the office. “Equality is all right and good, but people need one another at times. No one is completely independent.”

“I’m not sure I understand.”

“Shall I remind you of our waltz, Miss Shaw? And by the way, are you hiding a hideous moniker or do you feel uncomfortable with me addressing you by your given name? I rather thought we were becoming friends.”

He punctuated his little speech with another smile that distracted her more than anything else. Did he really need to look so dashing? His eyes spoke volumes of emotion and his carefree congeniality was contagious, no matter she had little intention of knowing him better. And those long lashes…

Unsettled, she pushed for more sensible conversation. “You mention our waltz, and in that you’re correct, but you’d be hard pressed to supply another instance when a woman couldn’t succeed in a task without the assistance of a man.” She watched as he removed his gloves and placed them on the table beside the vase of fiddleheads. The arrangement looked inordinately fresh despite they were nearly a week old. How peculiar.

She trailed her eyes after him as he lit two lanterns and started a fire in the hearth. Whatsoever was she doing? Standing around like a brainless bird-wit while he assumed the role of protector. It chafed against everything she believed in…that the league signified.

“Another example?” His evocative grin declared she’d taken his bait and he stepped in her direction, pausing when a mere stride separated them.

Time stood still as they faced each other in the slanted sunlight from the large glass window. In wait of his answer, her eyes wandered to his mouth although some secret part of her whispered the question; What would it be like to kiss Jasper St. David? And from there she became a lost cause.

As all females do, she’d fantasized about her first kiss. Not having ever had one, her prodigious imagination had created the ideal first encounter. In her mind’s eye, the gentleman would look at her face with genuine sincerity, his eyes searching deeply for the connection that led them into each other’s arms. He would touch her cheek, a slight caress that sent shivers through her bones to settle in her heart. In this daydream, night dream, she would allow her eyes to fall closed so sight would no longer have control, but instead, her other senses would discern each nuance. She would feel his fingertip tilt her chin, sense his hesitation as he stalled above her lips, the warmth of his nearness almost too much to bear in anticipation of his kiss. Then she’d experience the taste of his lips, the thrill of being desired, worshiped, if even for just one moment.

Emily snapped her attention to the present with hope her face hadn’t revealed exactly where her thoughts had wandered; to a fantastical image borne of fiction and illogical hopes and dreams.

She flared her eyes wide. This life was reality. She would do best to remember that.

“Miss Shaw?”

“Yes. You were saying?” Was she flushed with embarrassment or some other ridiculous emotion because heat rose in her cheeks and her clothes suddenly seemed too confining? The warm undercurrent in his question couldn’t possibly be the cause.

“You suggested I name another situation when a woman couldn’t accomplish success without the help of a man.” He glanced in her direction with a twinkle in his eye.

Perhaps he would try to trick her. She smiled with satisfaction, assured he had no such example and offered her full attention with a proud tip of her chin.

“Kissing, of course.”

Her face lit afire. Could the man read her mind? Look into her soul? Howsoever could her thoughts become his in the span of a few heartbeats? She pressed her fingers to her cheeks, in an effort to hide the inevitable, the tinkling sound of her new charm bracelet laughter to her folly.

Jasper closed the width between them. She noticed the tips of his very fine leather boots as she looked toward the hardwood floor. Slowly she raised her gaze, taking in the man in front of her. His tight-fitted trousers and well-cut waistcoat were of the smoothest Kersey wool, his cravat, white and sharply pressed, was tied simply, in kind to the easy attitude of the man who wore it.

“Miss Shaw?”

She shot her eyes to his, all at once lost in his gaze. Eyes, brilliantly green with specks of gold, entranced her, as if caught in a spell. Her heart pounded in her chest, his words knocking, seeking shelter there. Something about Jasper made her abandon the strict rules she’d adhered to ever since she’d witnessed her mother’s devastation and made a vow to keep herself clear of fancy men and their wealth. Ever since she’d promised to be her own woman, dependent on no one.

She didn’t move when he reached forward and brushed the pad of his thumb across her cheek.

“You’ve been crying.” His dark brows lowered in concern, yet he didn’t break the intensity of their stare. “I can’t say I like that.”

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