just to tweak her stern expression, he tightened his hold and moved closer. She smelled delightful, a mixture of rose water and bitter orange, a fitting combination. She angled her chin with his action, but she didn’t object.
“Nor have I suffered a case of roaming hands, taking advantage of the situation and proximity of your lovely stature.” He slid his left palm lower to stroke his thumb against the row of buttons tracing her spine. She made the smallest sound in the back of her throat; not at all the loud objection she’d voiced on the walkway outside the offices yesterday.
“A rogue would lean in and whisper intimate endearments against your ear.” He purposely didn’t lean. Not even an inch and by damn, he experienced a surge of victory when she swayed toward him. Jasper refused to accept it was the vertiginous pattern of the waltz that caused her increased nearness. She somehow felt more fluid, pliant and relaxed in his arms; as if with his teasing, he’d melted a layer of her icy veneer. “Had I a devious motive, I might have showered you with compliments, spouting gratuitous prose describing the captivating hue of your eyes, the way your irises sparkle with delight when you deliver a cutting remark, or how the candlelight casts glossy highlights across the ribbons of your hair, the color of warm brandy on a cold night.”
At last she found her voice.
“Mr. St. David—” Her tone completed the sentence.
“I’d prefer Jasper. We’re sharing this dance and let’s not forget our joined place of business.”
The mention of their offices returned the militant erectility to her posture.
“Mr. St. David…” She paused as if collecting her thoughts and rearranging her intended reply.
“I’m relieved to hear you remember my name. Your previous bout with forgetfulness had me wondering if you need come into the office tomorrow and invest in brain massage.”
The queer expression on her face was worth every ounce of his daring comment.
“Brain massage. Good heavens, what would that entail?”
“A curious, yet effective new treatment, I assure you.” They turned at the corner of the dance floor, the violin holding a final note, the waltz at its end. A pang of disappointment lanced his heart. He’d have liked to continue dancing and teasing prickly Miss Shaw.
Emily resisted the urge to sputter a string of expletives. Mr. St. David, Jasper as he’d insisted, had thanked her, excused himself and strolled across the room to his friends. Typical and overbearing, the manner in which he manipulated her during the waltz. She could still feel the pressure of his hand against the small of her back, his warmth imprinted in the fabric. The shiver of delight he evoked when his fingertips traced the row of buttons had made breathing difficult. Still he’d insisted he desired a dance and nothing more. To examine each action seemed an exercise in futility.
Trapped within the dance frame, she’d had nowhere to look except at his face or else risk he’d believe he’d embarrassed her. She was no one’s coward. So she studied his every feature; the strong angle of his chin, his full lips hesitant to smile despite his clever banter, and green eyes that sparkled, not just from the chandeliers above but as if lit from within. Had he been laughing at her the whole time? Mocking her? She wouldn’t believe it, yet he certainly held the power to charm. No gentleman should be allowed such long dark lashes, most especially when hers were thin and spiky.
To make the situation worse, Jasper had smelled wonderful, a spicy mixture that lured her forward, the shadowy trace of whiskers along his jaw an invitation to nuzzle closer, nearer his mouth, a sensual temptation that suggested the most magnificent, curious things. What intimate expressions would he have whispered in her ear? Easily led to the bait, Emily wanted to know.
At the same time her fingers twitched to slap him despite her mind conjured naughty thoughts. Somehow he possessed the ability to evoke her smile when she did her best to present a haughty demeanor. What was it about him? She shook her head hoping to pry the answer loose.
“I saw you dancing with a handsome gentleman.” Portia squeezed Emily’s upper arm as if to produce an answer faster.
“Mr. St. David? Do you recall him from yesterday’s quarrel on the sidewalk outside the office? He’s renting the space below us, although I believe he thinks himself quite above.”
Portia’s gaze lingered on the trio of men across the room and Emily followed her lead. The gentlemen were currently engrossed in a lively conversation, but it was easy to notice St. David cared more about what happened on their side of the drawing room. His eyes flicked across often and then skittered away, as if he didn’t want to get caught. His not-so-subtle deception was rather endearing.
“His hair looks thick and velvety. I’d like to run my fingers through it just for the sake of the sensation.”
Emily glanced at Portia as if she’d grown a third arm, the fanciful comment so unlike her usual contemplative conversation.
Portia screwed her face into a scowl before defending her remark. “It reminds me of Fortescue.”
“Fortescue is your cat.” Emily’s disbelief transformed to friendly teasing.
“And the very best of friends. Someday Fortescue will travel the globe safely tucked in a basket at my hip. We shall explore all the world has to offer without the interference of a domineering husband.” Portia finished her little speech with a meaningful eyeball in Norris’ direction.
“I take it Lord Bandlewit has failed to impress.”
“I’m sure he amazes many, if you favor the ostensible sort.” Portia’s frown buoyed into a makeshift smile as her mother approached, Norris less than two steps behind. “But I’d rather follow a more innovatory path.”
Jasper cast a look of regret out the window as his carriage rolled down the cobbles. Randolph had cajoled Penwick into attending a late-night soirée in Mayfair and Jasper, not wishing to be the broken leg in the group, agreed to venture along although he’d have liked to spend more time with Miss Shaw.
Funny how he hadn’t learned her first name. He’d introduced himself twice. With ease, he recalled the feel of her lush, little body within the circle of his arms, their waltz not nearly long enough. Her delicate fragrance lingered in his memory. Still, he was not fooled. She was a sly opponent in this little game they played. One who’d erected high walls around her person for some unperceivable reason. Good thing he was adept at problem solving and inventive solutions.
By the time the carriage reached his apartments, only rat catchers held possession of the night. The entryway clock read half past three in the soft glow of the moon as he opened the door and climbed the stairs. In no need of a valet, he discarded his waistcoat, loosened his cravat, and lit a fire in the hearth. Walking to the closest window he stared out into the empty night and smiled. Miss Shaw. Her image had stayed with him through Penwick’s company and Randolph’s endless chatter. Tonight his friend had had tongue enough for two sets of teeth. Yet the vivid memory of the lady persisted despite the plethora of night entertainment. Curious female with a beauty beyond compare. He had no wish for romantic entanglements at this stage of life, the success of his business requiring his solitary focus, yet the woman intrigued him more than any newfangled machine or revolutionary sketch offered by the most ingenuous inventors.
He flicked his gaze to the stars before turning toward bed, wondering all the while who Miss Shaw was dreaming of this evening.
The earliest rays of morning slanted through the curtains Jasper had neglected to draw the night before, too preoccupied with curiosity and plans. Slitting his eyes, he realized it wasn’t the persistent sunlight suggesting he awaken, but the steady thud of the brass knocker downstairs. Damn, he wasn’t ready to rise. Whoever demanded he do so, best have a good reason.
Muttering curses, he dressed only in necessities and ventured downstairs, barefooted and ill tempered, stumbling