HerOutlandishStranger (21 page)

He appeared well groomed with a dun-colored waistcoat and
blue jacket several shades darker than his eyes. He looked far less rumpled,
though his snowy cravat was too loose as usual, but of course he didn’t travel
any longer and he must have held back some money. She knew from his short notes
informing her of his location that he hadn’t taken a house but lived in a
series of hotels and inns. She wondered why he remained in London, but wasn’t
going to ask. Bad enough she’d allowed herself to embrace him.

He looked around the room. “I hope your new independence is
to your liking?”

“Oh! I suppose I ought to thank you for my fortune. Is it
all from wagers, Jas?”

He nodded. “I’ve moved it into more respectable betting
now—it’s all on the stock exchange. Do not let anyone talk you out of the
investments I put you in. Promise? I know what I’m talking about.”

“Your seer told you I suppose?” she asked.

He rubbed the back of his neck, a familiar gesture. “Perhaps
I am just an astute man of business.”

They sat in silence. Jas still watched her face. His blue
eyes looked hungry, but perhaps she only wished to see desire in them. “I
didn’t know if you’d be willing to see me so I snuck past your servant,” he
said at last.

She grinned. “I could see that Wimble was horrified. And he
didn’t appreciate the way we greeted one another either.”

“Do you mind that I’m here?” he asked again. “I can go now.
I needed to see you. Make sure you were safe.” He looked at her belly. “Are you
happy?”

She rested her hands over the hard lump and sighed. “I swore
that I would never so much as give you the time of day. And then I threw myself
into your arms.”

“I thought I’d grabbed you,” he said. “You were just
offering me a polite hand in greeting.”

“No. No, I was shameless as usual.”

He shook his head and watched her with that wry grin. Oh
goodness how she’d missed him and the rush of love made her heart pound.

“But you asked me if I am happy. If I look into my heart I
find I am glad to know I am carrying your baby. I have come to accept the baby
and now I know I will love him or her completely. I could never give it up now.
But as for the future. Ah heavens. Mr. White, I don’t understand how you of all
people could act in such a way. You! Ha!” She gave a quiet groan of
frustration. “Oh, I want throttle you. You’re still determined not to…” She let
her voice trail off. No point in continually mentioning making an honest woman
of her. No doubt he was as weary of the topic as she was.

“Eliza,” he croaked. “Tell me if I am imagining this, but I
think, er, I think you might forgive me for what happened in the cave?”

“Perhaps,” she said. “Slightly. No. I still wish to
slaughter you.”

He nodded solemnly. “Eh, that I understand. Why on earth
would you forgive me?”

“Because I have lived long enough to understand that the
world is not so easily divided good from bad. Despite that night, I must
forgive you. And,” she felt her face go hot and knew she blushed, “maybe a
little bit because of it. I don’t understand how you can be both the bravest
man and the greatest coward I have ever met. I’ve missed you and your
ridiculous bit of wood and everything about you.”

Jas beamed at her then grew serious. Sunny and then cloudy,
she thought. A storm approaches. “I have missed you too, Eliza. But it is for
the best that I don’t visit too often. Actually, part of the reason I came was
because I wondered why you aren’t out in society more…”

She waved her hand dismissively. “Please do not start again
with your nonsense. I am content to be here in London, but I have no wish to do
more than attend a quiet evening or a play now and then.”

“Why don’t you do more than that? Do you ever go for rides
in the park?”

“Is that an invitation?” She couldn’t help herself.

The lowering brows and scowl. Dismay or anger, she wondered.
“Oh, gah. I’m sorry if I…” he began.

She couldn’t bear to hear any more of his twaddle and waved
her hand even more vigorously. “Enough, enough. We’ll speak no more of this.
You will be your usual irritating self and I will try not to quiz you too
often.”

She sighed and glanced at a clock on the mantel. Good, her
chaperone would be with them and save her from making a fool of herself.
“Cousin Ann will be awake after her afternoon nap. I shall ask Wimble to bring
tea for her as well.”

She rose to ring the bell. Wimble came at once—she hoped he
hadn’t been listening outside the door. She gave the order and walked toward her
sofa. She almost jumped out of her skin when Jas came to her, impulsively
caught her arms and leaned forward. His mouth brushed hers briefly.

“How is it you’re more beautiful than the last time I saw
you?”

She didn’t want to be pleased, but the gruff tone, as if he
spoke those words unwillingly, warmed her.

She sniffed at him and pulled away. “Oh fie. You sound like
one of the beaux who discovered my exquisite beauty after my fortune became
generally known.”

“I imagine they’re better at the pretty speeches,” he said,
still sounding grim. He’d followed her to her chair and stood over her, staring
at her with that hungry look that made her skin prickle.

She grinned up into his scowling face. “They praise my eyes,
my hair, my face, even my hands, but how odd it is that none of my admirers has
mentioned my figure.”

“I’m glad to hear you have admirers,” he said, definitely
glum. Jealous, she hoped—eaten up with it. It would serve him right.

He went slowly back to his chair and perch on the edge. He
looked around the small drawing room as if noticing its details for the first
time.

“What does all the red mean?” he asked cautiously. ”It’s a
bit powerful, don’t you think? Good thing you still dress all in black or you’d
clash with your own room.”

She laughed. “You do not honestly believe I’m responsible
for the décor, do you? I took the house fully furnished. I imagine if I stay
I’ll rip every speck of red out and replace it with something restful.”

“And if you don’t stay?”

She wanted to tell him that it wasn’t his business, when a
foot or hand shoved up and pushed out her breath. She inhaled deeply and put
her hands to her belly.

He jumped to his feet. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m being pummeled from the inside,” she explained with a
small smile.

In a second he crossed the room and leaned over her to lay
his strong palm against her abdomen. “Where?” he demanded. “Never mind. Oh I
feel her!”

Perhaps she should have demanded he back away, but his joy
and fascination touched her heart. His emotion seemed almost as strong as her
own.

He grinned into her eyes. “Wow,” he breathed as their child
pushed up.

Jas was leaning over her, his hand rubbing her belly, when
Wimble rolled the teacart in, followed by Cousin Ann.

Luckily both new arrivals were preoccupied. By the time they
looked over at Jas, he was standing near the mantel, admiring a figurine of a
shepherdess.

Eliza performed introductions then reached rather awkwardly
over her belly for the teapot. “Only sugar for you, Cousin Ann?” She managed
the transition as well as Jas, she considered, though as she watched him
elegantly take a seat, she knew she smiled wider than was seemly.

Eliza and Cousin Ann chatted about a watercolors exhibition
but Jas did not utter a word. After twenty minutes, the proscribed length of a
visit, he swept an easy bow over her hand and bid her goodbye.

“Much more elegant than the first bow I ever saw you perform
on that hillside, the morning after the cave,” Liza murmured as he leaned over
her. He didn’t meet her eyes and almost fled out the door.

Eliza watched him half amused, half angry—no different from
usual, she thought with a sigh. He had seemed so odd to her again when he came
through her door. Exotic, far too forthright, and then gradually all that was
familiar and dear about him returned. The way he’d sat in the chair, the
strange flat accent of his in a voice that touched her core now. Every word was
hard to hear because she’d missed him so.

She recalled the days she and Jas had spent lying in bed
together. Good Lord, she flushed with desire just thinking about the man. The
baby kicked her sharply in a sensitive spot and she shifted position. She
silently thanked her passenger for its reminder that Jas could well be the
greatest rogue she’d ever met and blessed the baby for being an astute little
creature. Thank heavens someone in her family seemed to show some sense. When
it came to men, Eliza seemed to have none.

She wished she’d managed to pry more information out of him
all those days and weeks they’d been together. Because now that she’d seen him
again, she felt uneasy. He remained, hanging about in London, and essentially a
mystery. What was his purpose?

She fetched her sewing basket and Cousin Ann offered to read
aloud as Eliza let out the sides of another dress. As usual, Ann read an improving
tract and Eliza didn’t listen.

She had no idea what the man had been doing all these weeks
they’d been apart. She bit off a piece of thread and recalled something her
cousin John had said. Mr. White had struck him as more foreign than a Chinaman.
John had only been trying to explain why he was so dubious of the whole story.

Mr. White and his very strange country. Her own country was
at war, could he be from one of the enemy countries? He did talk about America
and there was tension there. She froze, thread and needle in each hand and
frowned. No, her desire to learn more wasn’t because she pursued the man. She
would only think of him again in a few months—when the year was up. But she
felt she needed to understand more. For the sake of England, naturally. And her
unborn child.

She considered asking John to look into the matter, but
instead summoned her butler. “Wimble?” she asked. “Might I ask you take on a
rather odd assignment?”

Chapter Seventeen

The first rule of a DHUy was to stay in the background. Do
not draw notice to yourself with the natives unless necessary to your
assignment. Jazz supposed he ought to follow the rules when he could, so he
moved inns often, to remain a stranger.

The clothes he wore marked him as gentry, and so before
moving to the next inn, he bought yet another new wardrobe of a working man’s
coarser and more comfortable clothing. When he no longer smelled of money, he
still felt as if he drew too many eyes. And even if the flirtation didn’t seem
to consist of as many questions about his property and interests, he did
receive other offers from young women.

Now that he lived in the wild-state and had rediscovered the
joys of bedding a woman, he almost felt tempted by one or two of the buxom
young beauties who offered to warm his sheets. After all, Eliza wasn’t going to
remain true to him. But he had been spoiled by making love, rather than merely
having sex. He would have to grow fairly desperate—probably even fall out of
love—to settle for less.

* * * * *

Eliza’s butler showed up at his newest inn yet again to buy
him a drink, and Jazz didn’t hide from Wimble or his questions. After all,
Eliza had to be able to find Jazz in case of an emergency. Jazz could turn the
stumbling questions around and use Wimble as a source of information.

He assured the older man that life in London was on the
whole extremely uneventful.

“My social life consists of a boot black named Billy,” Jazz
said watching Wimble’s reaction carefully. “I’ve bought him a few meals.”

Wimble stopped in mid-gulp. “Oh?” Without looking at Jazz,
he put down his glass and appeared entirely confused. He did a fair job of
acting but Jazz had already wondered if Eliza or Wimble had set Billy on to
him, now he knew. Jazz hid his smile. Billy and Wimble were terrible spies, but
Jazz was actually grateful for their companionship. Lately, for the first time
in his life, he had felt lonely. To hell with that first rule.

“So tell me, does Miss Wickman entertain many gentleman?” He
drank some of the disgusting ale. “And the dark man with only three fingers on
his left hand. Has he visited?”

Wimble had a fine memory and after only two ales, loosened
up enough to describe all the gentlemen who called—and there were quite a few.
The list of names and descriptions of the faces of visitors did not include
Sandton or Steele.

Where the hell was Sandton? Jazz wondered if perhaps Eliza’s
old friend was meeting her somewhere outside the house. They might take walks
together—Jazz had once spotted her in the park with a tall gentleman. He’d
watched until they were out of sight. Good thing he hadn’t obeyed his first
instinct. He’d wanted to call out her name.

* * * * *

The weather grew cooler and pleasant. Rain came and went.
Jazz thought he’d go insane waiting. To while away the time, he taught himself
to ride a horse, much to the amusement of the inn’s stable lad who slouched
against a fence and watched him go in circles. Jeremy, a natural teacher,
ignored Jazz’s protests and gave him lectures about the finer points of horse
care and how to pick a sweet goer for a gig versus a good mount.

In return, Jazz treated Jeremy to a few meals and the
occasional mug of ale. Early on, he tried to give the stable lad money, but it
was immediately clear the boy was insulted by Jazz’s attempt to pay him for his
advice.

“I was telling you it all as a friend, like. You want to
employ me? I’ll just nip round and saddle your mount for you. That’s when you
slip me a coin or two, see? Tell yer what, sir. You find yourself full of juice
someday and want to set up your stable, come fetch me.”

Like a friend, Jazz thought dolefully. No, he had to avoid
yet another person. He couldn’t leave so many traces behind. Jeremy, Billy,
Wimble, Eliza’s cousins. Too many people with whom he’d interacted more than
once. He’d concentrated on avoiding people but the restlessness remained.

Jazz discovered he enjoyed riding. The smell of the horse
could even be pleasant. In small doses. And he was used to the idea of sitting
on a saddle made of the skin of a dead animal and holding straps made of
leather. He almost stopped noticing that he wore and touched leather almost
constantly.

Jazz thought about Liza, as usual. He hoped she was happy
and not just “settled in”. Was she going out at all? Did she finally waltz with
her blasted Sandton? Did she keep up the fiction of the late Peasnettle with
her husband-to-be or tell him the truth of her life?

He wanted to ask Wimble when the man stopped by as usual.
But the butler had nothing interesting to offer, and Jazz couldn’t exactly ask
her servant to tell him what Eliza was thinking. He drank wine with Wimble and
tried to stifle the host of impatient questions about her activities.

The two glasses of alcohol Jazz downed must have given him
some sort of reckless courage because once the butler left the inn, Jazz
decided to find answers on his own.

* * * * *

The moon which shone in Liza’s window had set hours ago. The
breeze from her window stirred her and brought her close to wakefulness. Then a
soft thump jolted her straight out of sleep.

“Molly?” she asked.

“Nope,” whispered a familiar voice.

“Jas,” she said, and sat up. “What on earth are you doing?
Did you climb up the drain pipe?”

“I wanted to talk to you. Actually I want you to talk to me.
And I can’t ask the questions I want to during the day because of blasted Miss
Marin or Molly or some Lady Bloobster or Sir Ticklecluck is taking tea with
you. Got to find out how you’re feeling. I wonder if you’ve, er, met any of
your old friends lately and if you’re…well. I’m babbling, aren’t I?”

“Like the brook in springtime,” she confirmed. “What would
you care to discuss?”

He took a step closer to her. She saw his even, white teeth
gleam in the dark as he grinned. “Oh Eliza, it’s wonderful to hear you again.
You have a fantastic voice. Do you remember how you sang in Spain sometimes?
Did anyone ever tell you how beautiful your voice is?”

“Jas, I am sure it is well past midnight. And I believe you
are foxed.”

“Foxed?”

“Bosky. Inebriated.”

“I had two glasses of wine. I think I am susceptible to
alcohol. Nasty stuff. But I needed something to give me…the impetus.”

“You mean the courage to break into my house?” She tried to
feel indignation but her face kept breaking into a foolish smile.

“That’s it. Something to give me a push. Should I leave
though, Liza? Am I welcome?”

No. Yes. Oh please stay
.
She drew in a long
shallow breath. Deep ones were impossible now because of the baby. “I’m rather
glad you’re here because I have wondered why you’re in England. I trust you to
be honest with me. Are you a spy of some sort?”

For once he did not try to change the subject or answer a
question with a question. “No. Of course I’m not.”

He sounded amused and surprised. Eliza knew he wasn’t lying.
He added in a more serious voice, “I assure you, I am not here to harm anyone
or any country.”

“Thank God.” She felt weak with relief. Her worst fear, one
she could barely articulate to herself, had been laid to rest. Why was he here
then? But she did not need to know. Not yet.

“I’m not a spy and your butler is a terrible one. Gah, is
that why you’ve sent him around?”

Eliza pushed up in bed. She ignored the question. “He is
quite impressed by you. He informs me that though your style is perhaps a
trifle out of the ordinary, even for a foreigner, he has no doubt that you are,
in fact, a gentleman.”

Wimble had also added that most of Mr. White’s conversation
seemed to consist of asking after her. The butler had told her this with
something that, in a less perfect servant, would be called a twinkle in his
eye. The boot boy, who’d had high hopes of tracking down a criminal in action,
reported that Mr. White lead the most dull life he’d ever witnessed.

Jas didn’t seem pleased by Wimble’s approbation. He uttered
one of his peculiar curses, adding, “I’m not supposed to impress anyone.”

“Why? Are you breaking yet another of your strange rules of
etiquette?”

“Oh, I’m breaking rules right and left.” He gave a gusty
sigh. “Liza, I’m a fool.—I’m—what’s that great phrase? I’m caper-witted. I
can’t make friends.”

She stifled the words, ‘Then stop being pleasant to people’
because she already knew what his dreary retort to that would be. She had had
quite enough of this kind of conversation.

Using her best imitation of Aunt Carolyn crushing a vulgar
upstart, she sniffed, long and loud. “I am confident you’ll find a satisfactory
solution eventually, Jas, for this mysterious burden under which you labor. But
I understand you wished to know how I fare? I am fine. The weather has been
particularly clement lately, wouldn’t you agree?”

She thought her tone too brittle and made another attempt.
This time she assumed the bright, gossiping voice appropriate for large social
gatherings. “I have enjoyed daily walks. The midwife assures me that the baby
grows well. Aunt Carolyn has persuaded me to summon a surgeon when the time
comes.”

No, he did not deserve personal information. She veered back
to the commonplace. “I have purchased two new bonnets for myself and I joined
another lending library. Last week Aunt Carolyn and Nettie and I took a box at
the theater to see
Macbeth
, by Shakespeare. Do you recall his sonnets
you purchased? I’m afraid the production we saw was a sad failure.”

As usual he read her mood accurately. He chuckled. “That’s
the spirit, Liza. I apologize for sniveling. You’re the one with the burden.”

He took another step toward her. “But please. Tell me. Last
time I saw you, you seemed happy about being a-a mother. Do you still look
forward to meeting this baby?” His voice was so tender, she almost groaned.
Despite her resolution to maintain a good head of steamy anger, she had already
recovered from her pique.

“Yes, of course.” She gave in to the impulse to tell him the
whole truth. “Thoughts of the baby save me from despair, Jas. I have lost
nearly everyone I love most and who most loved me. I am most happy about this
baby.”

He walked toward the bed. She supposed he must have left his
boots in her garden, for he moved silently. His shadow lay over her, and she
could only see his dark outline as he loomed above her. She thought about
ordering him to leave, telling him she didn’t want any surreptitious visits.
How in God’s name did he expect her to get over wanting him if he indulged in
this nonsense?

The words demanding he leave died in her throat as she felt
the bed sink under his weight as he sat down on the edge. Though a good
distance of bed separated them, she thought she could sense the warmth
radiating from his body.

But she’d be an imbecile if she moved toward him. In fact,
she lay back down and shrank away from him. Oh no, she realized, she seemed to
be making room for him, not rejecting him and pretending to go to sleep. He
certainly seemed to interpret her motion that way. He slipped under the cover
and lay down next to her. She punched a pillow back under her swollen stomach,
another between her knees, and moaned with her usual brand of joy and despair
at his presence—and at the little limb that had just punched her.

“Eliza,” he whispered. “Was that the baby? May I… May I feel
her move again? Just once more?”

Her heart sank. Ah. That was his reason for breaking into
her house in the middle of the night. Pride in his coming fatherhood. She
sighed, wondering if it were possible to hate someone she loved so much. Then
she lifted her nightrail.

“Give me your hand,” she said. He moved closer to her and slowly
put his hand out. She placed his broad palm near her navel where she’d felt the
last strong kick. “It is awake and I believe holding its own cricket match. You
should be able to feel it.”

His large hand was warm on her bare stomach and she felt her
treacherous body responding. He moved closer and slowly stroked his hand over
her huge belly. “Oh I felt her.” A tiny limb pushed out. He gently pushed back.

“Does that bother you?” he asked.

“Do you address me or the babe?” she asked, breathless and
cross with him and at her body’s response.

His hand drew a few more circles over her stomach, but then
he moved up and with feathery tender fingers, he cupped her painfully swollen
breast. “You, Liza. Gah, I wish I could see you.” His voice was low and rough
and she recognized the note of desire, which only made her own body swoop and
curl with answering hunger.

He moved so close she could feel his sweet-scented breath
with the touch of wine. She knew if she moved her head just a fraction, he
would be waiting. She turned and their lips met. She had not forgotten the
overwhelming hunger, the dizzying fever that gripped her when he touched her,
but she had forgotten its domination over her good sense.

He moved closer and stroked her skin until she swore she
felt drenched with desire. But when his hand with its long, skillful fingers
moved down between her legs she pulled her mouth away from his and spoke. She
was surprised that her voice could sound so firm.

“Jas. No. We cannot do this.”

His palm was still spread against her and gently rubbing,
causing flaming jolts of pleasure to rush through her.

He kissed her neck. “Actually it’s quite safe, I checked.
The baby won’t mind. Should I ask her?”

Breathlessly she managed, “Jas. It is not because of the
baby. I am not going to make love with you, fool.”

His hand stilled. She held back her body’s protesting groan
of disappointment. “It’s not because I have at last recollected that I am a
lady. I desire you. I could scream with wanting you, but it hurts my heart too
much when you disappear. And you have told me again and again that is your
plan. I cannot do this if you will not stay with me.”