He was struck with fierce longing, like a man gone too long without a meal who doesn’t realize he’s starving until presented with the sight and smell of food.
An amused masculine voice intruded. “Glad to see I’m not the only man to lose all sense of social grace.”
Jasper tore his gaze away from Eliza to see who spoke to him.
“Lord Brimley,” Westfield said. “Good to see you again.”
As the earl made the appropriate introductions, Jasper studied Baron Brimley with his usual thoroughness. The baron was a head shorter than both himself and Westfield, and far more slender. Although Brimley’s hairline was receding with regretful swiftness, Jasper guessed he was younger than he appeared.
“Surprised to see you, Westfield,” Brimley said after greeting Jasper. “Did word of Miss Martin’s transformation spread so quickly?”
“Actually,” the earl drawled, “I simply dropped all of this evening’s invitations into a hat and withdrew a few. The ‘transformation,’ as you call it, is an unexpected boon.”
“Mr. Tomlinson is of the mind that Miss Martin finally seeks to throw off the mantle of spinsterhood,” Brimley relayed.
“Perhaps,” Jasper suggested, feeling proprietary, “she’s taken a fancy to someone and hopes to encourage him.”
“You don’t say?” Brimley’s eyes were wide. “Care to guess who it is?”
“I am at a disadvantage, I’m afraid. I have yet to become acquainted with every moth circling her flame.”
“Moth to flame, eh? Poetic and apt. Well, I shall take it upon myself to discover his identity.”
Westfield clapped him on the shoulder. “You will, of course, be sporting and share your findings.”
Brimley’s chest puffed up. “Certainly, Westfield.”
Jasper gave in to his impatience. With a slight bow, he sidestepped away. “If you will excuse me, my lords.”
“Not so fast, Bond,” Westfield said quickly. “I shall accompany you in your journey to pay court to the lovely Miss Martin. Excuse us, Brimley. Do keep us apprised of your discoveries.”
The tension in Jasper’s shoulders increased. Bringing Eliza to Westfield’s attention-and the reverse-was not something he should view as threatening, but the feeling was there. He remembered what Eliza had said about her unexpected feelings of animosity toward Miss Tolliver and he admired her candor even more.
She caught sight of him when he was several feet away. Courtesy of her décolletage, he saw her breath catch and a gentle flush spread across her luminous skin. She stared, unblinking, and masculine triumph surged through him. She was clearly smitten by the sight of him, yet he had not provoked that response from her with any effort on his part.
He drew to a halt on the fringes of her circle. A pathway was made for him with obvious reluctance.
“Miss Martin.”
She lowered her gaze and curtsied. “Good evening, Mr. Bond.”
Jasper obliged Westfield with the necessary introductions, then backed away. For a while, he simply observed her in this new environment, smiling inwardly when she spoke so bluntly those around her momentarily lost their way in the conversation. As dramatic as her change of appearance was, she was still Eliza. While others spoke with great animation about the tale of her mishap at the Royal Academy, she frowned and bit her lower lip, clearly not reconciling the expanded tales with the actual reality. She looked at him often, seeming to take comfort in his proximity. He recalled his earlier thoughts about how at ease she made him feel in situations where he was feeling his way blind.
They were not so different. More than anything, he was drawn to the affinity they shared in unexpected and deeply seated ways.
In order to see him schooled properly, Jasper’s mother had paid for his education with her pride and her life. He’d protested the expense, knowing what it would cost her, but she would not be swayed. In the end, he conceded only because he intended to support her, not for the reason she es-poused-to impress his sire, a man well-versed in ignoring his many bastard issue.
Jasper blamed opium for his mother’s failure to see the hopelessness of her quest. Certainly no one possessed of full mental faculty would hold the dream that a handsome son with a decent education and proper speech would engender fondness and paternal pride in a dissolute reprobate like the late Earl of Montague. Yes, Jasper was well-spoken and possessed of a refined sense of style. He could read and write. He was capable with numbers, although he lacked the fondness for them Eliza had. In short, he should fit in, but he did not. And he knew Eliza felt the same way.
A violin played a few opening notes, signaling an end to the orchestra’s short break. Guests began to line up along the center of the parquet floor. Eliza shot him a long, meaningful glance and he knew she was going to be dancing his dance.
She took to the floor with Sir Richard Tolliver. Riveted by the elegant grace with which she glided across the room, Jasper could not take his eyes from her. The sapphire gown’s skirts were noticeably fuller than those worn by the other females in attendance; he thought the style suited Eliza perfectly. There were more layers to her than most women.
The musicians began the opening notes of a waltz. Eliza stepped nearer to Tolliver and clasped his hand. With an accomplished flourish, he began the requisite series of steps.
Jasper frowned, thinking. There had been two Tollivers at the Exhibition Hall. They’d left the room shortly after Eliza and followed in her direction. On Eliza’s list of suitors, Tolliver’s name had been placed above Montague’s, in part because he had a sister who could use a dowry to secure a more advantageous match.
Turning away, Jasper expected the other sibling would be nearby. He had only to find her.
Chapter 6
“You are a vision this evening, Miss Martin,” Sir Richard said, as they circled the dance floor along with the other couples.
“Thank you.” Eliza wondered if she should say more than that. What did one say that wouldn’t sound awkward? She always considered such praise to be a platitude. She was well aware she was no classic beauty. However, since she’d put effort into looking attractive this evening, it would be disingenuous to assume none of the compliments were sincere. Especially considering she was wearing one of her mother’s gowns.
Eliza was still stunned at her decision. Her mother was someone she never wanted to emulate. Lady Georgina had been irrepressible and impetuous. She’d paid little heed to the consequences of her actions and how they might affect others. For years, Eliza had asked herself the question “What would Mother do?” so she could choose the reverse option. But after this afternoon, she wanted to do something nice for Jasper. He’d been so distraught after the unfortunate event at Somerset House. It meant a great deal to her that he cared so much for her well-being. If she were completely honest, she would also say she hoped her attire might goad an answer from him in regards to her earlier question about mating.
Of course, there was also the reasonable explanation for her choice: it signaled to one and all that a drastic change had occurred in her life. She’d known the very day her mother had taken a fancy to Mr. Chilcott. Lady Georgina’s blue eyes had been bright, her lips red, and her cheeks flushed. She had hummed to herself and burst out in song at odd moments. Over the following week, she’d smiled incessantly. But most telling of all was the way she altered her mode of dress. She’d begun choosing gowns with conservative adornments and richer colors, as if she knew her smitten glow was accessory enough. Eliza understood that she could not continue to go about looking as ordinary as possible and expect others to believe she was extraordinarily attached to a particular man.