Chapter 28
J asper counted twenty-seven men milling in his sitting room, each clutching flowers or sheaves of poetry, before he shook his head in disgust and gave up. Every few minutes another gentleman was announced at the door by his gleeful butler. At this rate the room would be packed as tight as a sardine tin before Frankie took it upon herself to make an appearance. He’d sent Cecelia upstairs to collect her nearly an hour ago. Where could she be?
He glanced at his tin pocket watch and was just about to stomp out and fetch Frankie himself, when she appeared in the doorway. There was audible inhalation from half the men in the room, and he was disgusted to realize he was one of them. She was dressed in a delicate, white muslin gown with embroidered flowers, the confection looking as if it had been plucked straight off the skin of a Renaissance model. Her blond locks had been curled and artfully arranged so that a few of the golden tendrils lay draped over her shoulder, the ends feathering across her skin. She smiled at the room full of suitors with such sweet openness that his stomach clenched.
The rush toward her was almost comical, and soon her arms were heaped so high with blooms that the butler had to step in and help relieve her of her burden. Jasper studied each man clamoring for her attention. He made it a point to know the financials of every man he approved for his club, and three-fourths of the men in the room were members. At least six of them were so impoverished that Jasper was planning to revoke their memberships within the month. Two of them housed mistresses, and several more had fathered bastards that they did not financially support. Not a single one was good enough for Frankie. In fact, there were only two men in the whole lot that he would ever consider letting near her: Lord Brackmore, who, although in his early forties, was steady and thoughtful if not boring; and Lord Wilson, a man with the hair of a god and the bank account of Midas, although recently Jasper had begun to hear whispers that perhaps Wilson’s account was not as fat as everyone believed.
Jasper shook his head to clear the direction of his thoughts. He was standing there assessing the men as if they were truly potential suitors, which they were not—for now.
After he and Frankie discovered the identity of the Dowry Thieves’ ringleader, he suspected Frankie’s plan was to find a new governess placement far from London and let the furor around her quietly die. She wasn’t stupid: She had to know she would be more than a spinster after this—she would be unmarriageable; any potential suitor would expect the staggering dowry. And yet she had gone through with the ruse to help save the women who’d been silenced anyway.
What Frankie did not know was that Jasper had already begun the process of transferring funds equal to the false dowry into an account run by a man he trusted implicitly. The solicitor would see to it that Frankie had access to the account whenever she wished, for whatever she wished. If she wanted to marry in the future, she could use the money to fund a dowry. If she did not, she could open her mathematics journal. It was the least he could do. What Frankie was doing was brave and selfless. For him, it was just money.
Jasper ground his molars together as he watched gentleman after gentleman kiss Frankie’s fingers and make statements about her beauty that grew more ridiculous by the moment. Through it all she was gracious, but as the minutes wore on, she spoke more and more freely about the role of women in the scientific community. She was doing a splendid job of riling up a few of the men, although they did their best not show it. If he were not so adept at reading minute facial expressions, he might have missed the furious tightening of Mr. Portman’s jaw, or the flash of indignation in Lord Weatherlin’s pale eyes.
“Who do you think she will choose?” Cecelia asked, appearing at his side with a plate of pastries in hand.
“None,” Jasper growled. “This is not real.”
“It will be if one of them is successful in compromising her.”
“That will not happen so long as I am breathing.”
Cecelia looked at him from the corner of her eye and disappeared again, but a few minutes later he spotted her deep in conversation with Lord Wilson and Frankie. Frankie’s face split into a grin at something Lord Wilson said, and Jasper’s temper soured further. Surely Lord Wilson’s hair was a wig? And who had allowed him to leave the house in such a shocking, peacock-colored coat? No man kept that type of lean figure without relentless exercise, which meant he was likely as vain as society claimed he was.
Frankie laughed again, a peal of true enjoyment, and Jasper’s hands flexed when Lord Wilson leaned far too close and whispered something in her ear that made her blush. Before he knew what he was doing he was across the room, the other men having parted for him as if they were the Red Sea, and then he was beside Frankie and staring down at Lord Wilson with the kind of cold violence that had made more than one man think twice about his next move.
“Mr. Jones,” Lord Wilson said, his demeanor unaffected except for a sly twitch of his mouth.
Jasper tried very hard to remember that Lord Wilson was still one of his best spenders. He bared his teeth. “Lord Wilson.”
“I must thank you for bringing this rare jewel into our midst. I have suffered the attentions of vapid and silly women for years, but it is only today that I realize how much those women pale in comparison to Miss Turner, with her indelible wit and constitution.”
“Yes, thank you so much for this delicate pearl, this rare ruby, this shining gem,” a thin man piped in from the periphery. Jasper and Wilson ignored him.
“I am only doing my charitable duty,” Jasper ground out.
“If there was ever a bet in the books that Mr. Jones would one day do his ‘charitable duty’ on such a large and public scale, the man who bet in favor of it would now be richer than Houndsbury.”
Jasper sensed Frankie stiffening beside him. The dig had been couched in jest, but she had heard it as well. “What can I say? My lovely niece, Miss Cecelia, has had a profoundly benevolent influence on me.”
Lord Wilson shuddered. “Do not tell me you have grown a heart, Mr. Jones. Your edge is legendary, and it is what makes Rockford’s such rollicking good fun. If you go soft, I shall have to look for another gaming hell.”
Voices quieted around them.
Jasper leaned forward and said in a low voice, “A wise man would have more sense than to test my ‘edge.’ But you are right, perhaps it would be best if you found another gaming hell.”
It was a gamble speaking to Wilson in such a way. Jasper hated to lose one of his wealthiest members, but he could not afford a display of weakness. Although he catered to the ton , he occasionally had to remind them that when it came to Rockford’s, he was the lord.
Lord Wilson met his eyes, and in them Jasper saw one of the ton ’s most spoiled and entitled lords, whose first coddling had taken place the moment his penis had been identified at birth. “Now wait a moment, Mr. Jones, I was only speaking in good fun.”
Tension pulsed thickly between them. Jasper let it foment for a moment before he offered a smile and said, “Of course, Lord Wilson.”
Lord Wilson pressed a soft hand to his heart, his nails buffed to a shine, and turned to Frankie, who’d been watching the exchange with wide eyes. “Please accept my apologies, Miss Turner. Men should never discuss business matters in front of the delicate sex. You must allow me to make it up to you. I would be honored if you would join me for a carriage ride in Hyde Park before I return to the country.”
“No,” Jasper said at the same time that Frankie said, “Yes.”
Lord Wilson divided a curious glance between them and arched a shaped brow.
“Yes,” Frankie said again, shooting Jasper a quelling look.
“With a chaperone,” Jasper added. “With two chaperones.” God, he was being ridiculous.
Lord Wilson nodded. “Without question. A lady’s reputation is all she has.”
By the time the rest of the suitors had cleared out, Jasper had lost all taste for company and was so surly he knew only a solid round of pugilism would work off the edge. When the last gentleman had departed from the sitting room, Cecelia made a comment about calling on her friend before she, too, scurried from the room, leaving him and Frankie alone.
The moment Cecelia had left, Frankie whirled around and fisted her hands on her hips. “What was that?”
“What was what?” Jasper asked, decanting a whiskey and pouring a drink. He didn’t give a damn about his no-early-drinks rule at the moment.
“You glowered and glared at every man who spoke to me. Half of them were practically frightened into quivering puddles!”
“A man who can be put off by a glare is hardly worth your time.”
Frankie threw up her hands. “This is not real , Jasper! I know I have asked you to keep me safe, but you cannot keep everyone away from me or I shall never become a target.”
“Good!” He slammed the glass on the table and stalked over to her. “I do not want you to become a target.”
Frankie gaped at him. “Whatever has gotten into you?”
Jasper paused, fighting his instinct, his need, his desire to pull her close and feel her soft, sweetly curved body press into his. He closed his eyes in dread as he finally recognized the emotion that had dogged him the entire morning: jealousy . Jasper had spent a lifetime fighting jealousy, watching as it ate away at his family until they were bitter, angry husks. Jasper had vowed that would never be him.
Yet here he was, his blood nearly boiling with the need to strike down every man who had made Frankie laugh that morning. No jewels or riches had ever been enough to turn him green with envy, but then a governess with a brilliant brain had blown into his life like a whirlwind, and now he was left hungering to sweep her away and claim her for his own.
He needed to get away from her and clear his head.
“Do not go anywhere alone,” he barked as he took a step back. “I shall be home later.”
“Where are you going?”
“The club,” he muttered. “I need a round in the ring.”