HerOutlandishStranger Page 17

  He sat in his hidden corner of the crowded inn, scanning the CR, and he was interested to see that there were historical records of the boxing match. And the Irishman, heavily favored to be the loser, would win.

  Was it cheating? He considered the handful of paper and coins, all the money they had left. This was not betting; it was thievery.

  Jazz slid a finger between his collar and cravat to loosen it—Eliza had tied it for him—and after struggling with the blasted suffocating piece of cloth gave up. He decided he didn’t have a choice. Starving was not part of the DHU mission, and keeping Liza safe and well-fed was. He had to smile at his excuse. He tended to recall his DHU mission only when it proved convenient. More often lately he forgot it, especially when it proved inconvenient in terms of loving Liza.

  Large bets were too noticeable and struck Jazz as more unscrupulous. He tried to pick out the most prosperous-looking young bleeders…no, that wasn’t what the innkeeper called them. Prosperous-looking young bloods.

  The rowdies around him seemed quite taken by Jazz so it was not hard to find takers. Several drunken and well-dressed gentlemen even insisted on taking his vowels though they had no idea who he was.

  “Got the bearing of a military man,” a big red-faced one told him as he handed him paper to sign an IOU. “I take the word of a military man any day, though you are clearly a flat, my friend. I know the Irishman will take a beating, the fool bog-trotter. I’m stealing from you.”

  By the time the sporting crowd had moved along to the next event, Jazz had raked in a large pile of notes and coins. He’d keep only a small portion—first he’d have to find out how much money a man needed to survive for five months in this world. No, now it was only a matter of four and a half months before he’d be back.

  His old life. Back to his comfortable rooms, interesting work, contact with friends and family, meals he could consume without worrying about food-poisoning, rat and stink-free streets he could walk without fear of trodding in manure or worse. His heart grew heavy as he thought of returning to his hideously empty life.

  *

  After four days of listening to doors slamming, voices calling out and the other endless noises of a busy inn, Eliza was more than impatient to go outside and feel the fresh air on her face. The flocks of young men departed and she was ready for an outing.

  She eagerly put on her battered hat and gloves.

  Jas touched her arm. “Wait. Before we head out.” And he unceremoniously dumped an enormous collection of coins and notes onto the bed. Eliza gasped and reached over to touch a gold guinea. What had he done?

  “How in the name of heaven did you earn this? Never say you robbed some of those drunken fools or…God forbid, the mail!”

  “I didn’t,” he answered lightly. “Though I suppose in a way I did rob the drunks. I won it betting on the match.”

  “Are you a gamester, Jas?” she asked, nearly as dismayed as she had been a minute before.

  “No, I normally have no interest in betting. But we need the money.” He added, “I thought perhaps you’d like to buy a dress or two.”

  She knew he was changing the subject. Eliza also knew that if he didn’t want her to know how he’d gotten the huge sum, she would never find out.

  She looked wistfully down at the near-rags she wore. Despite her best efforts and a good supply of soap and washing water, her clothes were ruined. And growing tight in embarrassing places. “One dress, perhaps?” she asked at last.

  Liza thought he’d meet her outside the dressmakers when she was done, but he followed her in, obviously intrigued by the fabric and the laces. He wandered about and examined every piece of finery and scrap of silk.

  Eliza managed to quietly request some stockings and undergarments while Jas fingered some delicate satin fabric that hung from a bolt thrown across a table.

  She had no desire to watch him be so fascinated by ladies’ garments near the giggling shop girl who eyed him. He seemed oblivious to the amusement or to the interest he aroused in women. And he had no proper reticence about women’s clothing. Eliza smiled to herself, remembering his earlier delight when he discovered the ribbon garter that held her stockings up.

  He watched with curiosity and approval writ on his face as the modiste pinned a ready-made blue muslin dress as it hung on Eliza.

  “I wonder why your customer refused that thing,” Jas said to the modiste as he examined Eliza. “It’s wonderful.”

  “Oh no, it’s the wrong color,” Eliza said suddenly. “Recall that I’m in mourning.”

  The dressmaker gave her a puzzled frown. How many people would forget such a thing when they set out to buy clothes?

  “I do feel a thorough cheat,” she murmured after the dressmaker took the order for three more gowns to be made up.

  She would don the mourning for her father. And let others assume it was for the late Peasnettle. An odd justification but from the moment she met Mr. White, Eliza had grown adept at slippery reasoning.

  In the next shop, Jas insisted she try on a dizzying number of hats. As they waited for the milliner to attach black lace to Eliza’s new poke bonnet, Eliza sighed. “I believe I have more than enough garments now.”

  “Think so? I thought you looked good in that lined bonnet thing. The one with the fake flowers.”

  “I have never met a gentleman who had such an interest in ladies’ fashions.”

  He picked up her leather glove and rubbed a thumb along it. “Some of it seems ridiculously uncomfortable, but it is all so much more interesting and prettier than the clothing from my country. I especially like the hats. They serve no purpose whatsoever except to make your face adorable. A fine reason to exist if you ask me.”

  “They protect me from the sun,” she pointed out.

  By the end of their expedition to the dressmaker, cobbler and milliner shops, Jas coaxed her into purchasing a cloak, five dresses, a shawl, a pelisse, three pairs of gloves, and five hats.

  “But what about your needs? We shall now visit a tailor, Mr. White.”

  “You sure we have enough money?”

  She said in a low voice, “You showed me guineas sufficient to buy a house, a carriage, a whole wardrobe and more perhaps. I think you have enough for a few bits of gentleman’s clothing.”

  He declared he had no interest in owning evening wear and so managed to get away with a somber pair of trousers, a muted silk waistcoat, a dark jacket made of superfine, a few cravats and several shirts. The clothing would all have to be refitted of course. Mr. Boggs, the tailor, explained that he was not used to fitting such splendid shoulders and long legs.

  “I don’t want to draw attention to myself,” he grumbled to Mr. Boggs, who tried to bully him into buying a gorgeous purple and gold waistcoat and a robin’s egg-blue jacket that would fit him as closely as a second skin.

  “But if you should find yourself in a formal situation, sir,” Mr. Boggs said.

  Jas rubbed his neck. “All right.” He pointed to the breeches and white silk stockings. “Those will do. And a greatcoat to replace that blasted cape.”

  Exhausted, they walked toward the inn. But something made Jas suddenly stop. He pulled Liza close to him and pointed in the window of a printer’s shop. “Look,” he said, “books! So da’ many paper books!”

  She chuckled at his enthralled expression. “You do have such objects in your country, I suppose?”

  “Nothing so beautiful. May we go in? Oh these are amazing.”

  She usually enjoyed looking at books, but that day she much preferred to watch him as he reverently ran a finger over tooled-leather bindings, and turned pages as if they were as delicate as spider webs. At her suggestion, he bought a volume of philosophy and a collection of Shakespeare’s sonnets.

  “Aren’t you going to complain about the leather?” she teased him.

  He glanced at her sideways, his expression unreadable. “No point in trying to avoid leather. It’s everywhere.”

  She decided he was jestin
g again, though she knew he had a strange aversion to leather, and come to that, she could not help wondering what books in his country looked like if a village printer’s simple merchandise could appear so magnificent to him. Perhaps they carved rocks in his homeland.

  Arms loaded with wrapped parcels, with the rest on order, they at last made their way back to the inn for tea.

  “I had a splendid day,” Eliza said happily as she nibbled a macaroon. “During my Season in London I grew weary of endless shopping, but I admit it is a treat now and again. I did not imagine you would be a good companion in purchasing fripperies. A pleasant surprise.”

  “I am a regular Renaissance man,” he told her. “Helps that I’m not used to such amazing clothing. In my time clothing keeps one warm or cold. Even the plainest jacket seems ornate here.”

  “In your time?” she asked. A sudden breathlessness seized her.

  “My country, I mean,” he said, yawning. “I’m so tired I cannot speak plain English.”

  She felt entirely foolish. It was nonsense, of course. More of his silliness. “Your English is never plain, Mr. White. I am tired too. Perhaps we should rest for a while?” She raised her eyebrows at him and then looked toward the bed. Ah, she did enjoy behaving in such a shameless manner.

  He seemed to forget his weariness and locked the door. First he stripped her of her clothes and then she tugged at his, stopping to kiss and stroke skin.

  *

  The future stopped mattering then. Through two long days they did nothing more than explore and enjoy each other’s bodies, stopping only to eat and sleep and sneak down the back stairway for the necessary. Why she would sneak, she didn’t know. Perhaps the fact that they were not truly married. Or perhaps she didn’t want anyone else to talk to her and wake her up from the spell that only they two existed.

  She tried once or twice to push for a different future. One morning when she prepared herself for the day she sat in front of a speckled old mirror at an inn near London.

  Jas watched for a while, the glazed look of interest in his eyes. At last he walked over and took the brush from her hand and ran it over the long strands.

  Eliza moaned her enjoyment of the feel of his fingers and the brush stroking her scalp and her hair.

  “We might go into the country where no one knows us,” she said.

  He stopped brushing her hair and shook his head. “You deserve better than I can offer, Liza. And you will find the man,” Jas said softly. “I know.”

  She turned away, disgusted by his stupid certainty and her continued need to bring up the subject.

  But she could not stay angry with him for long. It was a useless exercise disagreeing with Jas. He did not argue but he was no more likely to change his ways than a river to flow backward. Love, concern, tender care, thoughtfulness—he demonstrated all. But not commitment.

  And then everything came crashing down.

  Jas stared out the window as he ate a meat pasty and Eliza came to lean against him. Several men walked through the courtyard and one made her gasp. “That man,” she said in a low voice and pointed out the window.

  “Liza! What is wrong? Your hand is shaking.”

  She managed a laugh. “It’s only that he has dark hair. Everywhere I go I see such men and wonder. I am never easy in public. Silly of me, since it happened in Spain, but there it is. I dreamed that the man found me and after discovering I’m carrying his baby, tried to kill me.”

  He twisted her around away from the window so she was in his arms. They exchanged a long kiss and then he pushed away and went to the dressing table. “Liza,” he said heavily. “The stuff we bought is about ready, right?”

  “Mr. Boggs said we may fetch the rest of the order tomorrow.”

  He picked up one of her new hair ribbons and ran it between two of his fingers. She watched him wrap the blue grosgrain ribbon around his solid wrist, and unwrap it, again and again.

  “What is the matter, pray?” she asked.

  He only shook his head and didn’t look at her.

  “You are so silent now. What are you thinking?”

  He raised his head at last, his eyes bleak. Or perhaps simply cold. “Oh no,” he said softly. “No, Liza. This isn’t right.” His hands dropped to his sides. He opened his mouth, closed it again. “I’ve wondered why you’ve been afraid of some men. No. Damn. I knew. I just didn’t want to.”

  He bowed his head and examined his thumb and then the edge of his scar. “I wonder if I can extricate a promise from you,” he said. “I’ve got to.”

  “I haven’t managed to get one from you,” she said and wished she hadn’t spoken so harshly.

  “I know. That’s the point.” He stared up into her face and began to say strange words. “My only reason for being here is to help you. That might be the only reason I exist. I won’t tell you more, I can’t. But you shouldn’t be freaking afraid. It’s not fair.”

  She smiled but he didn’t return the smile. He spoke in his more forceful voice. “I need you to promise you’ll accept my help, no matter what I tell you.”

  “Come now. That frown is quite fierce for my pleasant friend Mr. White. You’re frightening me,” she said, trying to sound light. But not succeeding in the slightest.

  “You must promise, Eliza. Swear it. You do take oaths, don’t you?”

  “Why are you saying this?”

  Good question. Why was he going to speak? Jazz walked away from her to stare out the window again. He shouldn’t speak. She would not accept his help if she knew the truth.

  Maybe the bond was strong enough, he told himself. Maybe she wouldn’t run away or stab him to death if she knew the truth.

  He owed her. The Department did too, but that was their problem. Don’t say it all, he reminded himself. Enough to be fair, but not too much of the truth. Could they come after her if he said too much? He did not know. He would not risk it. But he wanted to end her fear. She couldn’t go through life panicked when she encountered dark-haired strangers.

  What else could he do?

  He went to the door, in case she should try to get past him.

  “Jas?” She came to him and peered into his face. “You’re quite pale. Are you ill?” Her fingers lightly brushed his shoulder. “I promise. Whatever you say, I won’t leave you or force you to go.”

  He didn’t move aside. “Liza. What do you recall from the night in the cave?”

  Her hand on his shoulder was instantly still. “Why are you talking about that? It truly was as I told you. I don’t fully recall what happened. Is that why you are unwilling to marry me? I-I suppose I cannot blame you.” Her tone was grave, but only slightly hurt.

  He felt a flash of indignation. What kind of sanctimonious jerk did she think he was? Why would he care about that? A moment later he nearly laughed aloud when he recalled he had behaved far worse than any kind of judgmental prude.

  “That time on the hillside was not the first time I’d kissed and held you.”

  He slid his hands behind his back and held them tight together to make sure that he wouldn’t accidentally harm her. After all, if she flew at him with a knife he might have to defend himself, though he wasn’t sure he ought to respond if she did. With every day that passed, he felt more confident at his ability to suppress his automatic reactions, but he couldn’t risk the possibility he might hurt her.

  He waited. She still didn’t speak so he pressed on. “Why didn’t you ever ask me if I was the man in the cave?”

  She walked back to her chair and dropped onto it.

  “No. Jas, you couldn’t have been that man. He had dark hair. And you…you had seen the villa and the fires. You could not have been in the cave with me and have witnessed the destruction at the same time. And I know you’re a good man. You couldn’t do such a thing.” She spoke aggressively, as if they were arguing.

  He recited the facts. “I had only heard about the destruction and the fires. I knew I had to protect you. When I went to the ruins of the villa wit
h you, that was the first time I’d been there.”

  “What are you saying? That it was you?” she whispered, fear finally lacing her voice. “Were you the man in the cave?”

  For what felt like an eternity, they stared into each other’s eyes. She didn’t seem to read the answer there, or maybe she didn’t want to. So he had to nod.

  She sobbed, but only once, before she forced herself under control. “Oh good Lord, why?” Her voice was quiet. “Why? And why have you kept silent? I have had nightmares about the man, who he could have been. And if I’d known it was you I would never have—”

  “Never have let me help you,” he finished. “You would not have let me stay with you. I had to protect you.”

  She shook her head as if to clear it.

  “Oh Jas, you wretched fool, you knew how frightened I have been. Why did you not confess this to me? I don’t know what I would have done. At this moment, I believe I feel relief that you are the father of this baby. I want to sing with relief. But, oh!”

  She jumped up so quickly the rickety chair fell sideways. “Oh I could throttle you. Why did you do this to me? You are not a blackguard. I’d stake my life on it. How could you?”

  He didn’t answer.

  “Damn you, Mr. White, tell me. Why did you do it?”

  “I have no answer that would make you or me forgive what I did,” he said at last, slowly, measuring each word. “I saw your father carry you into the cave. When I went to investigate, there you were. I—you looked cold and so I decided to warm you. And then, well…” He shrugged. It was not such a farfetched recital of the events, after all.

  “I know. ‘A despicable coward’.” She spat his words at him. “And you thought if you told me I’d chase you off? I’d force you to marry me, more like. Oh no, I forget.” She laughed bitterly. “You can’t marry me, though you can father a child on me. Jas, how could you? I thought I wanted nothing more than to marry you and have your child. At least I have the one but not the other?”