The Secret Marriage Pact. Georgie LeeЧитать онлайн книгу.
He wanted to see me again. It was a far cry from the boy who’d told her not to wait for him after she’d finally summoned up the nerve to admit she craved more than friendship. She flicked a bead on her reticule before she eased her tight grip on the silk. Despite the awkwardness of their last meeting, he was here, as inviting as when he used to fetch her for another adventure. Perhaps I did mean something to him.
She moved to speak when Milton’s bitter words interrupted them like clattering cutlery at a party.
‘She bought the building.’
Jane struggled to hold her smile while Jasper’s tightened about the edges. It sucked the thrill out of Jane’s triumph and their unexpected reunion. She flicked the bead so hard it cracked, cursing Milton and her misguided impetuousness. It was Milton she’d wanted to hurt, not Jasper.
‘Congratulations on your acquisition,’ Jasper graciously conceded. ‘You’ve always had your brother’s talent for transactions. I’m sure you’ll put the building to good use.’
‘I’m sure I will.’ She buttressed her confidence against the shame undermining her as powerfully now as the morning Mr and Mrs Charton had told her of Milton’s elopement and apologised for their eldest son’s behaviour. ‘If you’ll excuse me, I must settle my account.’
‘Of course.’ Jasper tipped his hat to her and stepped aside. ‘I look forward to seeing you again, Jane.’
Her name on his lips sounded as natural as rain on a roof. She raised her eyes to his, catching the old mischief brightening the dark irises. It brought an impish smile to her lips. This was the Jasper she’d cherished, and he blotted out all memory of the one who’d forgotten her after he’d sailed away.
‘I look forward to seeing you again too, Jasper.’ When she did, it wouldn’t involve scampering in the Rathbone garden, but she was sure, and she couldn’t say why, it would be fun.
* * *
The heady scent of Jane’s gardenia perfume continued to surround Jasper as she walked away with Mr Connor. Jasper had expected a great many things today, but seeing Jane hadn’t been one of them. It was almost worth losing the building to hear her speak, the faint lisp she’d had as a child gone, her voice a tone closer to smooth velvet. Her posture had changed too, the stiffness of her movements having gained a more graceful and fluid charm. He’d caught the spark of pride lifting her chin when he’d complimented her on her business sense. In the brief exchange, it was as if nine years hadn’t passed, but it had, turning her from a young lady into a woman who commanded his attention even from across the room.
‘You lost the building to that arrogant chit because you weren’t here,’ Milton spat.
Jasper’s elation snapped like dry hay. ‘I was held up.’ He’d slept later than intended, exhausted from another long night and the effort of maintaining the façade necessary to hide his nocturnal activities from his family. ‘And watch how you speak of her. You were the one who betrayed her like a coward. No wonder she bid against you.’
‘You always did side with her against me.’ Milton curled his lip in irritation, not having the decency to be ashamed of what he’d done.
Jasper frowned. It wasn’t only Jane who’d changed while he’d been gone. He’d looked forward to his reunion with Milton when he’d disembarked at Portsmouth, eager to unburden himself of the anguish and torment he’d experienced in Savannah during the yellow fever epidemic, but Milton wasn’t fit to be a confidant. If he told his brother the truth about Savannah, and London, Milton would use it against him when it served his purposes, or simply out of spite. He wouldn’t keep Jasper’s secrets the way he had when they were young, the shared knowledge binding them together as much as the closeness of their ages. Jasper didn’t know what he’d done to earn his elder brother’s dislike and he barely recognised the one person he’d been closest to as a child, with the exception of Jane.
He spied her across the room where she bent over the payment table to sign the purchase register. He couldn’t see her face, only the elegant curve of her hand on the pen and the fall of her red cotton dress over the roundness of her buttocks. For a moment he regretted never having written to her while he was away. He could have used her friendship, especially after Uncle Patrick had accused Jasper of driving him to his deathbed while Yellow Jack had stormed through Savannah.
Jasper studied the flimsy printed auction list, shoving the guilt aside as he searched for another available property to fit his needs. There was nothing. Damn. The building Milton had lost was perfectly situated on Fleet Street and would have been Jasper’s best chance for creating a more respectable establishment than his current one.
‘If she were a proper lady she wouldn’t even be here.’ Milton flicked a piece of fluff off the arm of his poorly tailored wool coat. ‘And if she’d acted more like a proper lady I might have married her.’
Jasper crushed the thin catalogue between his hands, wanting to thrash his brother with it. ‘You’re a fool, Milton, and growing older has only made it worse.’
‘What’s it done for you except bring you back with some tat you’ve been fortunate enough to sell despite the smell of plague clinging to it?’
Jasper stepped toe to toe with his brother. ‘Shut your mouth before I knock your teeth out.’
Milton’s smugness drooped like his backbone. Jasper threw the catalogue at his feet and strode off, done with him and the auction. His day and all his plans lay in tatters because of his brother and Jasper’s own stupid mistakes.
He strode to the wide entrance door where men continued to stream in and out to examine the auction items. He paused on the threshold to take in the street, the stench of dust and filth making him cough. An open-topped caleche passed by filled with ladies smiling and laughing together, their lives like everyone else’s carrying on in the bright sunlight illuminating the street. He should be glad for the activity after the deathly silence of Savannah and heartened to see not every world had collapsed, but after so much death it was difficult to do. Few here understood what he’d been through. Milton certainly didn’t.
How dare he sneer at the epidemic. The pampered prat didn’t know what it was like to be stalked by death, to have all his money mean nothing because no amount of it could buy food to stave off the gnawing hunger or save those you loved from being carried off. No one around him did, except those unlucky enough to have witnessed it in other places, or those poor souls confined to the deepest slums of St Giles and Seven Dials.
A dark mood threatened to consume him when a flash of red caught his eye. The Rathbone landau rolled past the auction house, the hood open to take advantage of the fine day. Jane sat across from her brother, her profile sharp as she spoke with him, hands moving with her agitation. The dark brown curls beneath the red ribbon that held the bonnet in place bounced in time to the carriage’s pace. It mesmerised him as much as her full lips. She didn’t notice Jasper, but he couldn’t pull his attention away from her. Seeing her again had been like stepping though the door of his parents’ house after nine years in America and inhaling the familiar scent of cinnamon and brandy, the smell of his childhood.
He watched her until the vehicle rolled down the street and was finally lost in the crush of traffic. Isolation swathed him when she vanished from sight. Gone was the young girl who used to scamper with him and Milton, her surety in herself and her ideas eternally exasperating her brother and Jasper’s parents. Gone, too, was the boy Jasper had been. An ocean of experience and deception separated him from everyone he’d ever known. Yet in his brief moment with Jane, he’d touched something of the innocent young man he’d once been. He wondered, if he sat with her a while, could he be carefree and blameless again? It wasn’t possible. He couldn’t weigh her down with the awfulness of his past or his present deceits.
He started down the auction-house steps and made for the jeweller across the street, ready to pay a pound or two for a fine walking stick or something equally expensive. His soul might be in the gutter. It didn’t mean the rest of him needed to wallow there too. He’d