Chapter Fourteen #2
Jasper wondered if he could just have dinner with Squalor and Hubris and escape before any further conversation might unfold and churn his insides.
Which, naturally, was the exact moment that Libba arrived.
He could hear the commotion as they were ushered inside, the butler calling out her name. “Princess Xandine of the Bedouai,” he chirped. “Accompanied by her manservant.”
“My guard,” came Libba’s voice, silky smooth and lightly accented. “He is no servant.”
Jasper did his best not to make any noises of distress and stood, ready to receive her, however she had decided to appear tonight.
He braced, and the bracing still was not enough for what appeared around the corner as they were shown into the little salon.
She appeared in Lem’s shadow, glinting like she’d oiled her skin with liquid gold, her hair spiraling down her back and over her arms. Her body was wrapped tightly in sumptuous, jewel-toned fabric that separated at her side, giving the faintest, most devastating hint of the round anchor of her hipbone.
Her eyes were smudged with a sooty aura and her lips were glossy and vibrantly peach colored.
He forgot to breathe.
He stared.
But at least everyone else was staring too.
Lem stood rigidly next to her, his arms clasped behind his back, and surveyed the room as though he truly were a bodyguard, seeking out flickers of danger.
Which, of course, filled Jasper with alarm when those dark eyes passed over him and then lingered, just a touch too long, as though he were really the only element in the room that presented a threat.
“Gracious, look at us, gawking like hens,” said Mrs. Templeton-Rath, elbowing her husband and brother-in-law in one elegant sweep of her arms as she walked out from between them and extended both hands toward Libba. “Welcome to our home, Princess. And who is this you’ve brought with you?”
“My personal guard,” said Libba, her lips curling up in a feline smile as she accepted the hands of the other woman. “A warrior from my homeland. You may call him ‘Lem.’”
“Greetings, Mr. Lem,” said the mistress of the house without missing a breath. “You must join us for dinner. I shall have another place prepared.”
“I’ll do it,” said her niece, breathless and wide-eyed, not for Xandine, but for her warrior companion. “I’ll do it right now.”
“Very well,” said Lem, his eyes dragging off of Jasper to land on Miss Rath and widening just a touch in surprise. “Thank you.”
Miss Rath released a throaty, little sound and dashed off to see to her business.
Behind her, Jasper noticed his crumpled flowers now sat in a glass vase in the entryway.
“I am very intrigued to hear of your homeland, my lady,” said Mr. Rath, coming forward to introduce himself. “I have traveled the coast of Africa many times but have not often gone north. Tell me, where is your homeland?”
“A complex question, good sir,” Libba replied, accepting his handshake by lifting her knuckles toward his lips with a flirtatious lowering of her lashes. “My people are nomadic by nature, but our capital and the city of my birth is a small island, to the east of Old Nubia.”
Mr. Rath looked intrigued and accepted the invitation to kiss her hand.
Jasper suddenly wanted to get into another fist fight.
“Zanzibar?” Mr. Rath guessed, lowering her hand with a respectful, little bow. “I have heard tell of that island.”
“Close,” she said with a fast smile, “and only half in size. In fact, I realized after meeting your family some days past, that I spoke my native pidgin French to them, rather than the proper sort. Je suis désolée for any confusion, my dear Mrs. Templeton-Rath. You must think me a common peasant.”
“I hadn’t noticed at all,” their hostess replied graciously.
Jasper didn’t know if that was true. But he did know he hadn’t noticed anything amiss about her French. And that he was still staring.
“What is your island called?” Miss Templeton-Rath asked, tilting her head curiously to the side. “Your home city?”
Libba turned her smile onto her. “I do not know if your people have named it yet,” she said with a giggle and a shrug. “But we simply call it ‘Bayt.’ That is our pidgin word for ‘home.’”
“Bayt,” repeated the young heiress, blinking. “That is lovely.”
“Yes, it is,” Libba agreed. “Where are your fine creatures this evening? I expected to see one on your lap, Miss Templeton-Rath.”
“Banished,” her father said as Miss Templeton-Rath opened her mouth to answer. “The orange one isn’t allowed within ten feet of the kitchen or dining room and the white one can’t be trusted anywhere. So, for tonight, they are above stairs.”
“A shame,” said Libba, fluttering her lashes at him. “They are très charmants. Adorable little nabobs, yes? Was there not a third? Mutiny?”
Miss Templeton-Rath blinked, a smile ticking at the corners of her pale lips. “That’s right! How astute you are. She won’t come off the tug, though. She spent the whole voyage trying to disembark directly into the Atlantic, and now that we’re here, she’s suddenly sentimental for the berth.”
“She will develop a keen interest in Brighton once we have decided to depart,” Mr. Rath put in knowingly.
“Yes, likely.” Miss Templeton-Rath sighed, as though talking about a dear friend and not a poorly behaved cat. “What brings you to Brighton, Princess Xandine? Is it common for you to travel alone?”
“I am not alone,” Libba said with a flash of her teeth. “I am with Lem. And now Mr. Townsend as well.”
“Ah, indeed,” said Jasper, clearing his throat and trying to swallow down the heat threatening to creep up his airway. “I have been getting to know the princess in the wake of our earlier meeting. She is a fascinating creature.”
Libba finally met his eye, a glint of something dangerous and sharp playing behind the bright, firelit brown of her irises. “Yes,” she said. “He has been instrumental in teaching me the ways of this place. I now only need him to accept my offer.”
“Oh?” said Mrs. Templeton-Rath, watching as Libba glided across the room toward Jasper and wedged herself into the narrow seat next to him, her shining, sharp fingernails grazing over his knee so suddenly, he almost jumped out of his skin. “What offer is that, my dear?”
Libba paused, lifting the fingers she’d been using to molest him in front of them as though admiring an imaginary ring.
“Why,” she said sweetly. “The offer of my hand, of course. I have asked Mr. Townsend to become my consort.”
Jasper stared at her, his mind wiped blank. He did not sigh or frown, to his credit, but only because, if a sound was to be made in the wake of that announcement, it would have been a scream.