Undone By His Kiss. Anabelle Bryant

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Название Undone By His Kiss
Автор произведения Anabelle Bryant
Жанр Историческая литература
Серия
Издательство Историческая литература
Год выпуска 0
isbn 9781474035927



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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.”

      “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