Last Dance in London (Rakes on the Run #1) - Sydney Jane Baily Page 0,100
in my possession so I would take the blame!”
“Of course not!” she fumed. “How can you think such a thing?” She folded her arms, pushing her lovely breasts up for his notice now that she’d unbuttoned her coat in the stuffiness of the coach.
How could he think that? Because she was, indeed, nothing but a suds-maker. He crossed his own arms and waited for her to say more.
“I admit I dropped it into your pocket.”
“Ah-ha!” he exclaimed, although it gave him no satisfaction to think she could be so ruthless.
“But only because you forced me to dance when I had no intention of doing so. Naturally, I assumed you wouldn’t be so ninny-pated as to draw the brooch out in full view of everyone.” Her eyes were flashing.
“Can you possibly be blaming me?” He was stunned. “It stuck me in the arse,” he reminded her.
“That brooch would have done a lot of good in the world.”
He shook his head at her brazenness. “It’s doing a lot of good where it is, in its owner’s possession.”
“Pish!” she said.
“And then there was the matter of my own cravat pin at the pawnbroker’s. You heard that white-livered cur at the ball, hiding somewhere behind the ladies’ gowns. He shouted out about my pawning things. My peers assume I am all but penniless, selling off my bits and bobs for pittance.”
“Not pittance, I promise you. I got quite a—” she clamped her mouth closed.
He couldn’t believe it. She’d nearly confessed that time.
“Ah-ha!” he said again, this time a little too loudly for the confines of the carriage.
She kept her face entirely placid, neither confirming nor denying, as usual. Exasperating woman!
“You don’t want to know any more,” she said quietly. “It might put an end to our friendship.”
“Is that what you call my trying to keep you out of jail while keeping myself from being gutted in the society pages.”
“As to the former, I am quite capable of handling my own affairs, thank you.”
Strangely, she didn’t look the least bit grateful, nor did she see the irony of saying such a ridiculous statement while riding in his carriage which she all but threw herself into.
“As to the latter,” she continued, “you are ‘gutted’ weekly for your own dreadful behavior. You can blame no one but yourself. You should have taken a more honorable path in life.”
He felt his eyes grow larger. She, a light-fingered Lucy, was lecturing him on his moral behavior.
“I’ll have you know for the most part every single woman I ever had relations with knew exactly what I was about and what we were going to do.”
“For the most part?” she repeated, prompting clarification.
“A few thought the bedding would lead to a wedding, but that was hardly my fault. Why would I marry them after I’d already enjoyed the best they had to give?”
Her face reddened, and Jasper considered he might have spoken rashly that time. After all, she was a vicar’s daughter and he’d nearly bedded her.
“Not that I think the same way about you,” he hurried to add. After all, they were about to be alone together for many hours. He didn’t want to anger her and ruin all chance for jollification.
Too late! Her expression turned, if possible, more outraged.
“Come now,” Jasper soothed. “Your best was better than anyone else’s, and we didn’t even finish.” He spoke the truth.
Leaning forward, he hoped to make amends with one of the kisses she enjoyed so much.
She pressed herself back against the squabs.
“We have no chaperone,” she reminded him.
He needed no reminding of that delightful fact. There was no better way to be with a woman than unchaperoned, as far as he was concerned. Deciding to test the boundaries of what might happen, he reached out to touch her knee.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
“In Lord M__’s absence, all of London is wondering what has happened to Miss S__ who vanished at the same time.”
-The Gazette
Quick as a driver’s whip, Julia smacked Jasper’s hand. She might be at the earl’s mercy, but she would not become his “bit of stuff” during the trip to his country home. When she got out of the coach to meet the Dowager Countess of Marshfield, she didn’t intend to be disheveled like a cockish wench.
“I shall scream,” she promised.
Adorably, Jasper tilted his head and narrowed his eyes. “Whyever for?”
“You cannot have your way with me on a whim. I shall scream and your driver will stop the coach,” she said, frowning at the bemused look upon his face.