“What troubles you, my dear?”
“Nothing, my lord.”
“I am aware denial is a common female response. But you are too direct for such evasions.”
Eliza shook her head. “I’ve found it best to hold my tongue, if choosing to do otherwise is guaranteed to lead to fruitless argument.”
“Ah…Your mother. You will have to speak of her sometime.”
“I don’t see why.”
“Perhaps then,” he mumbled around a bite, “you will stop thinking of her before making decisions.”
“I do not-” she started to protest, then fell silent when he shot her a look. He was right, as always.
Eventually, Melville drifted back to his notes and Eliza slipped off the stool with the intent of moving upstairs. The day’s post caught her eye and she scooped it up, carrying it over to the small, shallow basket where Melville kept his mail. It was nearly overflowing. She shook her head. She’d long ago learned to separate Melville’s personal correspondence from the rest-so that outstanding accounts were paid in a timely manner-but clearly he was also neglecting to keep in touch with those who reached out to him.
“What will it take,” she asked, as she added to the pile, “to motivate you to whittle this down?”
“What?” He looked up at her, then down at the basket. “Good God.”
“My thoughts exactly.” She pulled five off the top and brought them to him. “Can we start with these?”
He sighed. “If you insist.”
Eliza kissed his cheek. “Thank you.”
“Ha.” He snorted. “You are exacting your pound of flesh for Montague.”
She was laughing as she left the room.
Jasper leaned back in his chair and drummed his fingertips on the desktop. “How long was he there?”
“About an hour,” Aaron said, holding his hat to his chest with both hands. He stood just inside the doorway of Jasper’s study, rocking back on the heels of his boots. “Perhaps a little longer.”
“You know why Montague paid that call,” Westfield prompted from his usual spot on the settee.
“No, I do not. She refused him,” Jasper bit out.
“All the more reason to gain Melville’s support. Don’t be obtuse, Bond. Women bow to familial pressure to marry men they don’t want. It happens all the time.”
Jasper’s fingers curled into his palm.
“Do you believe Montague is responsible for Miss Martin’s troubles?” the earl asked.
“I cannot be certain one way or the other.”
“What will you do now?”
“Speak to her.” How had she taken the news? How far would she go to make Melville happy?
The thought of Eliza with Montague did horrible things to him.
It was a new sort of torment to be unable to see her now, to be barred from her company by rules and dictates he’d ignored for years.
Straightening, he uncovered his inkwell and stabbed a quill into it. He dashed off a quick note, powdering the ink with fine-grained sand before folding. Then he sealed the whole and waved it at Aaron. “Take this to the Melville residence.”
Aaron approached and collected the missive.
“Miss Martin may need you after she reads it. Linger to be sure and if so, assist her. When you’ve finished with that,” Jasper went on, “I want you to look into a Mrs. Pen-nington, who runs a newly opened shop on Peony Way. Pink-striped awning out front, lovely blonde inside. There is something not right with her. Find out what it is.”
“Will do, Bond.”
After the young man left, Westfield stood and walked to the console to avail himself of Jasper’s brandy. “It’s unfortunate Montague made so bold a move. Had it been anyone else paying addresses, you could have killed two birds with one stone by encouraging her to marry the gentleman- Montague would be barred from Miss Martin’s fortune, and you could wipe your hands clean of the business by entrusting her safety to her future husband. Assuming you would be able to ascertain that her betrothed was not our culprit, of course.”
“Of course.” The thought didn’t improve Jasper’s mood at all. In fact, it worsened with the understanding that foiling Montague and successfully completing his assignment had fallen behind his desire to possess Eliza.
“It might also explain why he sent along the missive today,” Westfield continued. “The assurance that he would be buying back the marker to his mother’s property was prompted by something.”
“Like his father, he is arrogant to the point of idiocy.” Unless Montague had something else shoring up his confidence…Jasper would research the possibility posthaste.
“What do you expect you can accomplish by talking to Miss Martin?” Westfield asked, turning to face him. “Does she trust you to play matchmaker as well as suitor?”
Jasper snorted.
“You are so touchy lately, Bond,” the earl complained. “Perhaps you should take the evening off and indulge yourself at Remington’s for a few hours.”
“Montague can have any heiress he wants. Why is he so determined to have this one? Someone clearly on the shelf and possessed of a rare temperament? Someone who’s told him she does not want him?”
“Perhaps that’s the lure.” Westfield sank into a chair in front of Jasper’s desk. The earl looked both comfortable and bored, two states of being that were unknown to Jasper. “A woman can be a bloody nuisance when she is overly fond of a man. If Miss Martin is inclined to spend much of her time in the country, Montague could have all of the benefits of marrying an attractive yet mature heiress, with none of the detriments. I know you find it hard to believe, Bond, but sometimes there are sound reasons for doing something. Not everything in this world is motivated by some evil plan.”
“It is with Montague.”
“Are you quite certain the son is so like the father? Or does that matter to you?”
Jasper stood. “Quite certain.”
“Look on the bright side. Perhaps Montague’s move will speed things up a bit with your investigation. Now there’s a more immediate timeline for the culprit to work against.”
“It’s a sorry thing indeed when the reason for celebrating is that a madman could now be feeling desperate enough to act rashly.”
Westfield sipped his libation and watched Jasper carefully. “You are like a caged beast. There is such an air of disquiet about you. I have never seen you this way before. Is ruining Montague so important to you?”
It took Jasper a long moment to answer. He didn’t want to share his state of mind; it was too personal and intemperate. “Have you ever wanted something so badly you couldn’t imagine not having it?”
“Like what?”
“Anything at all.”
“There was a gelding once.” Westfield held his glass between both palms, warming the liquor with his body heat. “At Tattersall’s. I underbid. I stewed for weeks afterward. If I had the chance again, I would not be so cautious.”
“Had you ridden it?”
“No. But I watched him be put through his paces. I examined him myself. Beautiful animal. I knew the moment I saw him that we would suit beautifully together.”
“Do you still regret the loss?”
The earl shrugged. “On occasion. Not often. It was some time ago. I tell myself surely there was something wrong with the beast and I’m fortunate to have avoided being saddled with it. Otherwise, fate would have seen fit to give him to me.”
“I don’t believe in fate. I believe we make our own destiny.” Jasper rubbed his jaw, absently noting that he should shave again. It was early evening and his skin was no longer smooth. It might burn Eliza when he kissed her.