Historical Romance May 2017 Books 1 - 4. Bronwyn Scott

hesitated before he raised his hand.

      I almost have him. Jane suppressed a smile of triumph as she raised her hand without hesitation. Milton didn’t have the means to compete with her, or his father’s astute investment sense. Thanks to her inheritance, she possessed the money, and with her business acumen she’d find a way to profit from the building. It was a pity people were against the idea of a single young lady doing it. If they weren’t, she might become a force to be reckoned with in the Fleet like her brother. As it was, she was simply a spinster aunt. Oh, how she despised Milton.

      Jane raised the bid three more times as Milton became less sure about the price he was willing to pay to acquire it until he finally failed to counter her.

      ‘Going once,’ the auctioneer called.

      Milton tugged at his limp cravat and shifted in his cheap boots, but he didn’t answer.

      I’ve won.

      ‘Going twice.’

      Milton frowned at her, but she held her head up high in triumph. He deserved to be embarrassed in front of his associates just as he’d humiliated her in front of all their friends.

      ‘Sold, to Miss Rathbone.’ The gavel came down, sending a shockwave of critical rumbles through the gentleman before they turned their attention to the next item on the block. They respected Philip too much to say anything openly to her, but it wouldn’t stop them from thinking her odd. She no longer cared. With no husband or house of her own, the building would give her some much-needed purpose and a future.

      Justin tipped his hat to her. ‘Congratulations on your victory. Shall we go and collect your prize?’ He motioned to the payment table. They would have to pass Milton to reach it.

      ‘Yes, let’s.’

      She allowed her brother’s old friend to escort her across the room, not only to rub Milton’s nose in her victory, but to secure the property before Philip returned. She didn’t want him to find a way to stop the purchase from going through. He wouldn’t approve of an expenditure based solely on revenge. He preferred rationally motivated investments. So did Jane, except for today.

      She fixed on Milton as she approached him, daring him to meet her gaze, and he didn’t answer it until she was nearly on top of him. Better sense advised her to continue past him, but she wanted to dig the knife in a little deeper.

      ‘Thank you for the rousing bidding war, Mr Charton.’ She was determined he experience some of the humiliation she’d endured when he’d all but left her at the altar two years ago. ‘I hadn’t intended to buy a former tobacconist’s shop today, but I’m quite delighted now I have it and you don’t.’

      Milton’s dough-faced shock changed to one of gloating she wanted to smack from his full cheeks. ‘The building wasn’t for me. It was for Jasper.’

      ‘Jasper?’ Her heart began to race with an elation she hadn’t experienced in years. ‘But he’s in America.’

      He’d left, like so many other people in her life. He wasn’t supposed to return.

      ‘Not any more.’

      ‘Did we get it?’ The voice from her childhood drifted over her shoulder, bringing with it memories she’d long forgotten. She was gripped by the thrill of running with Jasper through the Fleet when they were children, of turning pennies into pounds with their schemes and eavesdropping on his older sisters at parties. With the memories came the hope in every wish she’d made for him to come back or to send her word he’d changed his mind about their future together. The letter had never come.

      Jane fingered the beading on her reticule, ready to walk away instead of facing Jasper and having her cherished memories of him ruined the way Milton had crushed his. A long time ago, the three of them had been so close. Heaven knew what Jasper must think of her now, especially if Milton had been filling his ears with stories. She didn’t want to see the same oily regard in Milton’s eyes echoed in Jasper’s.

      No, Jasper is nothing like Milton, she tried to tell herself before the old fears blotted out her reason. Then why did he never write to me? Because I scared him off the way I’ve scared off every other man since.

      Stop it, she commanded herself. She wouldn’t allow either the Charton brothers or her own awkwardness to get the better of her; she would be sensible, as always. It was only a childish infatuation anyway.

      Jane took a deep breath and turned, determined to face her past, all of it, except it wasn’t the past smiling down at her, but the present. The lanky fifteen-year-old she’d parted from nine years ago was a man, and taller and sturdier than his brother Milton, who was one year older. During the time he’d spent in America learning the cotton trade from his uncle, his jaw had widened, carving out the angles of his cheeks and filling in the awkward gangliness she used to tease him about. He’d grown so tall she had to step back to see his face and the light brown hair mixed with blonde streaks. He wore a well-tailored coat of fine, dark wool with subtle black-velvet accents on the collar and cuffs. It was offset by the deep blue waistcoat hugging his trim middle. Savannah had added elegance to his masculine frame.

      ‘Mr Charton, welcome home. I never thought you’d return.’ She struggled to hold her voice steady despite the excitement making her want to bounce on her feet.

      ‘Neither did I.’ He took off his fine beaver hat to bow to her, revealing the slight wave of his hair across his forehead and the genuine delight illuminating his hazel eyes. Whatever Milton had told him, it hadn’t poisoned Jasper against her. ‘It’s wonderful to see you. I’ve been looking forward to it. I didn’t expect it to be here.’

      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