* * *
“As you see,Sir Vaughan, my cousin has access to my home—could very well havekilledme last night?—”
“And yet here you sit, as well as can be,” returned the local magistrate, Sir Ludlow Vaughan, tapping his index finger on his desk’s surface.
Jasper frowned and adjusted his position in the seat across from him. “Well, yes, but?—”
“The way I see it, Duke, is this man—Mr. Sinclair—somehow escaped the noose then fled the country.Whywould he remain in London? What you’re suggesting is illogical, I’m afraid.” Sir Vaughan leaned back in his chair and folded his hands over his narrow abdomen. The morning light through the windows caught on the perspiration beading at his temples and upper lip.
Frustration sped Jasper’s pulse. “While it may be illogical?—”
“I’ll have no more of this nonsense.” The man waved a hand through the air in dismissal. “At this point, we are certain that Mr. Sinclair has meant to frighten you by hiring ruffians in town. My men are searching for those men, I assure you, and you shall be immediately notified with any updates.”
Jaw clenched, Jasper muttered his thanks and left, striding swiftly from the man’s office and past his secretary.
How could Sir Vaughan dismiss this danger so easily? His pulse rushed in his ears as he strode through the building and out into the street, where his carriage awaited him.
* * *
“You’ve made—grunt—thepapers again,” Thomas announced gleefully when Maria entered their apartments.
“That is hardly surprising. I write articles for them.” She hung her greatcoat on her hook by the door and ambled toward the sitting area, her Hessians clicking on the polished wood floor.
“Ah.” He waggled a finger at her, then grimaced and grunted. “But you do not write the gossip column.”
She frowned at him, flopping down upon her favourite plum-coloured chaise and stretching her feet out on the threadbare rug. “And what have the gossips to say about me today?”
Thomas flicked the paper with mirth. “It would seem that our secretive, stormy-eyed, and slightly aloof wallflower—grunt, click, grunt—has peeled herself from said wall and deigned to dance with an aging—grunt—baronet.” His lips twisted in a grimace before returning to a smug grin. “Was he a fine dancer, sister?”
A loud groan escaped her. “Would that I not be obliged to dance at all, Thomas, but our parents gave me little choice. Sir Asham was kind enough. And he will most assuredly not inquire into my daily whereabouts, or my spending, and at the moment that is all I require.”
He shook his head, his floppy mop of brown hair wobbling with the movement. “Of course I understand your reasoning, and our…constraints, but you must know that you deserve much more than Sir Asham. You deserve love, Maria.”
“With you as the exception to the rule, men are largely contradictory creatures that offer praise and pretty words to one woman while carrying on an affair with another. You forget, brother, that I have lived much of my life these past years as a man, and have heard them discuss their wives and mistresses with detached disinterest or flagrant contempt. They drink and whore and find nothing iniquitous about the awful fact that they carry on infidelities while their wives are at home with newly born babes. Most women of thetoncare not what their husbands do as long as they are discreet—while they themselves often carry out dalliances in response to their husbands’ inattentiveness.
“I could never abide such dishonesty and immorality. I will, therefore, never marry for love. I could not allow a man to hurt me in such a way.” An image of Jasper’s face flashed through her mind’s eye, but she forced it away with a sigh. “I’m afraid to say it, dearest, but a man is good for only one thing, and that is his seed.”
There was a long moment of silence, broken only by Thomas’ continuous twitches and spasms.
Being on the shelf had meant that she needn’t consider any man; she could pursue her writing, move freely about London, and live a happy and fulfilled life, caring only for herself and Thomas. She would grant, however, that shedidlong for intimacy.
Previously, she had been content to satisfy her needs with her own hands, but since Juliana had shared details of her intimacies with her “darling Leo,” Maria confessed to be curious about—and perhaps desirous to seek—pleasure with a partner.
The image of Jasper the previous night—sopping wet and entirely too appealing—flashed through her mind’s eye. And she blinked it away. To be sure, the notion of being pursued by the man had its attraction—and itdidseem as though he was changing for the better—yet they could not possibly share the same beliefs when it came to matrimony.
“Christ,” Thomas said gutturally, his eyes wide as he cut through her thoughts. “I never knew that you viewed my sex with so jaundiced an eye.”
Maria nodded. “Sadly so. I’m certain that there are men who would not stray, such as Juliana’s lovely new husband, but finding one would be such a chore, and I’m afraid that I do not have the luxury of time.”
Thomas’ lips thinned, and he gave her a sad nod. “Well.” He heaved a sigh and forced brightness into his voice. “You know very well that I—grunt—disagree with your assessment. Men are delicious. If it didn’t threaten my life to do so—and should it be legally permitted—I would gladly marry one.”
A huffed laugh escaped her, and she matched his grin. “Of course you would. You’re a romantic.”
She rose to peruse her wall of books.
“And you’re a cynic.” He huffed a breath, turning his gaze back to the paper. “This column made note of another fascinating bit of gossip.”
Maria’s lips twitched. “I’m certain it did.”
