Chapter Eighteen
Jasper had refused a second pint. And a second game.
Malcolm, as a rule, only played games of chance. There was no thrill for him in anything that could be completely mastered with skill.
Jasper was not so particular. He was not so flush with coin nor with natural luck, and he did not have a mind to do much more than watch his friend at his capers until he was certain Libba had been given enough time to get out of costume and into bed back at the Rest.
“You aren’t going to stay in the parlor?” Malcolm asked when Jasper begged off for the night. “I had it prepared for you.”
“Not tonight,” said Jasper with a frown. “I have to rise early to find a dozen day laborers for Templeton-Rath. It is, I believe, a test.”
“Oh, I can suggest a few,” Malcolm said mildly, jiggling the dice in his hand.
“Not necessary,” Jasper assured him. “I just need to sleep. May your luck hold, my friend.”
At that, Malcolm flashed him his widest, most debonair smile and said, “It always does.”
And Jasper fled quickly because if Mal knew the half of what his best mate and his sister had gotten up to tonight, he would not be remotely so cocky, nor good-natured.
Jasper did, to his credit, go directly to his flat and his bed. And he did, responsibly, fall into sleep.
But it was not a restful sleep.
It was not restorative.
It was haunted by memory and confusion and the feel of gauzy, embroidered fabric over warm, taut skin at Liberty Lennox’s waist. Anytime he shook himself awake, it was only to remember that brief flash of her face before she’d folded herself back into Xandine, that expression of stunned, soft shock: her eyes wide and dark, her lips slightly parted.
When he did finally wake to the sun in the sky, his pillows were both on the floor and his sheet had pulled itself completely free of the mattress into a ball around his waist.
That was fair, he supposed.
That was right.
He knew, logically, that he could not still taste her lips every time he licked his own, but he could not seem to remember it for certain, either. It reminded him of sucking the nectar from the base of honeysuckle flowers as a boy, the powdery, sweet pollen lingering on the tip of his tongue.
He wondered if, like his cologne, she smelled divine but was poisonous to consume.
And then he cursed himself for wondering it and forced himself to get dressed and head to the docks before he could think a single thing more.
He dabbed on more of Ruby’s damned concoction for good measure to drown out any lingering phantoms of the scent of jasmine and keep his mind focused on only himself.
Only himself.
If he finished his consignment ledgers by ten, he could go down to the loading docks and look for those who needed work today.
Earlier was better for the strongest and youngest lads, but just short of midday, you got the ones who were older, more seasoned, and just broken enough to swear loyalty in exchange for being chosen.
Those were whom he wanted for assembling the new parcel office. Those men would stay for a long-haul job and be willing to come on permanently after the end. The young ones were more likely to go back to the wharf and hope for a higher pay and an earlier morning every few days.
That was the trick of it here.
His office was mostly empty this early. Most of the factors and counters started later in the morning or even preferred to scribble into the night.
He had his own office now, though he always tapped his fingers on his old clerking desk when he passed it to thank it for its time and assistance in his good fortune.
He liked to get here before the sun got high enough to cause a glare so he could throw the windows open, even in the colder months. He liked the feeling of wind and movement, the rustle of paper as he compared documents and manifests and signatures and receipts.
He liked how his inkpot smelled mixed with the briny air from outside.
And today, with the autumnal chill fully present for its season, he hoped that it would restore his good sense and focus.
For an hour, it did.
For an hour, there was nothing in the world but imports and exports. Purchases and sales. Escrow and debt and relief opposite the inkpot and the wind and the click of his abacus and scratch of his quill.
For an hour, he could breathe again as the bell rang over the entry and a few junior clerks began to file in. As tea was brewed and conversation rumbled softly under the sounds of his office, beyond the corners where he’d once clerked.
For that hour, the world made sense.
And then she arrived.
“E.I.C.,” she said, deceptively wistful, apparently only to herself as she strode through the bookroom toward his office. “I know it stands for ‘East India Company,’ but it just sounds like the noise one makes when something tastes bad. Ech. Eek. Ugh.”
He sighed, lifting his quill and staring down at its point, briefly considering impaling himself with it. “Libba.”
She leaned against the jamb of his office doorway, a vibrant-red pelisse gripping her arms and torso with a sky-blue dress underneath.
Her hair was confined to a twist again and not spiraling down her back like a wanton invitation for touch.
Her lips were not painted this morning. Her eyes were not haloed in kohl.
“What are you doing here?” he managed, forcing himself to set the quill aside.
“Did you really think you could run off without hearing my earful?” she asked, raising her dark brows. “I’m closing some of these windows, Jasper; it’s freezing in here.”
“Yes, fine,” he said as she passed around his desk and began doing it with or without his leave.
Immediately, the scent of jasmine punctured every defense he had built against it. Inside his ribs, his heart sagged in defeat.
“You know, it occurred to me this morning,” she said, pulling the second window back into place, “that I’ve agreed to do all of this for a flat I’ve never even seen. That was silly of me, given it is my payment for so very much effort.”
His eyes widened, flying immediately to the curious junior clerks who were admiring a woman in their midst. “Will you shut up?!” he hissed, slamming his hands to the desk to push himself to his feet and walking quickly to the door to pull it closed.
“I don’t need my colleagues speculating on my departure, Lib. ”
“Oh, are you feeling discreet today?” she said, giving a little grunt as she wedged the lock into place on the window, fully sealing the room from the outside air. “That’s funny. I’m never certain what you’ve decided should be a secret and what shouldn’t. You almost ruined everything last night.”
“I?” he said, pushing off the door and stalking toward her. “Me? Because I said, ‘Lib’? Something that easily could’ve been covered up or attributed to your phony language?”
“I did cover it up,” she reminded him, tilting her head to the side and batting those long, glossy lashes, still rich and full even without the damned kohl. “You may have forgotten.”
“I certainly have not forgotten,” he snapped, doing his absolute best to keep his voice down. “It was an odd gambit, kissing me in front of the woman I’m supposed to be wooing.”
“Was it?” she returned, giving him a tight, feline smile. “Jealousy is a powerful motivator. I thought you knew that.”
“Why would I know that?” he said, eyes falling to her mouth. “I’m not a jealous man.”
“Oh? Aren’t you?” she replied, leaning back against the bricks between the two windows she’d shut.
“Because I had a thought that we might make you even more sympathetic to lovely Miss Templeton-Rath if your princess begins to fancy her uncle instead. I have a feeling Mr. Rath would very much enjoy enhanced attentions from Princess Xandine. I wouldn’t mind, either. He is very good-looking.”
His teeth clicked together, clenching hard enough that he could feel the ache in his jaw.
“Of course, that won’t work if you appear truly disturbed by it,” she said, her eyes grazing over his face, over the tension in his jaw. “It is a good thing that you aren’t a jealous man, then. And will not be.”
“This is absurd,” he said through his teeth.
“Oh, I agree,” she returned, dropping the flippant tone for a darker, sharper one.
“Fully. We are both under a great deal of pressure about this scheme of yours and you refuse to give it proper direction. When I kissed you last night, you were meant to be shocked by my foreign ways, not going in for another taste.”
“Oh, indeed?” he replied, raising his brows and taking another step toward her. “Because that is how any man would respond to a half-dressed woman throwing herself into his arms?”
“I was fully dressed,” she replied with a sniff. “You were the one traipsing around naked in my parlor recently. Do not pretend the sight of flesh drives out all sensibility. I managed to avoid ravishing you that night, didn’t I?”
“‘Avoid’ it?” he said. “You were staring like a starving lioness. Let’s not pretend otherwise.”
She scoffed, but it sounded weak. Uncertain.
It sent a hot, electric thrill directly through his center and directly into his groin. She shuffled with momentary discomfort. Those soft, full lips sagged at the corners as she considered it.
“I wasn’t,” she managed.
“It is only natural,” he said before she could protest further, coming around the desk. He spoke softer. Lower. More understanding. “Like you said, we are both under immense pressure. It is just animal instinct, Lib. There’s nothing more to it, but …”
“‘But’?” she said, her eyes tilting up as he came closer, as he met her where she was leaned against his wall. “But now we’ve cracked the seal on it?”
He nodded. “Unfortunately. Like tasting a bit of frosting that gets on your hand while serving someone else a slice of cake. It would addle anyone. Absolutely anyone.”
“‘Cake,’” she repeated, hands still crossed behind her back, eyes traveling over his face, examining the alarming ease of his jaw at this vantage. “Right. Well, what now, then?”
“We keep resisting it,” he said with a shrug, “and stay at each other’s throats. Or we satisfy the curiosity and get our sanity back.”
Her lips parted, her chest rising with the little gasp of air she took. “Jasper,” she whispered, molasses-dark irises glittering under her lashes as they flicked back and forth over his gaze. “That is a terrible idea.”
He grinned at her. He couldn’t help it.
And it made her release a sound like a whimper of distress, her hands coming up and digging into his hair as she dragged his face down to hers, cementing her choice in no uncertain terms.
It broke something in him. Something that was already cracking and straining and fractured and needed, more than anything, to be broken.
It came with a rush of heat and relief and hunger and he found his hands back on her waist immediately, slipping beneath that pelisse to pin her hips to the wall, tracing the forbidden taper of her shape under that blue dress.
He ran his thumbs down the long, lean muscles of her abdomen, hot and loose under the gown, which evidently only had stays from the ribs up beneath it.
He rolled his tongue into her mouth, groaning in satisfaction at finally getting a full, unobstructed taste of the sweetness inside. She did taste poisonous, he thought. Like stinging, sweet poison that was worth the cost of ruin.
She nipped at his lips, slick and hot, and fisted her hands in his hair, dragging him closer. She moaned into his mouth when his body collided against hers, pressing her close to the brickwork, allowing her to feel just how badly he’d needed this.
“You should be wearing a thicker dress,” he murmured against her mouth, bunching the fabric up between his fingers as he continued to feel the shape of her body beneath it. “It’s cold outside.”
“I am not cold,” she managed to say and then she gave another sharp tug at his hair when he smiled against her mouth. “Bastard.”
He tangled his tongue around hers, preventing her from insulting him further.
He slid his hands down to feel the shape of her thighs, strong and firm under that skirt.
He used his weight to hold her against the wall so he could lift one of those beautiful legs against his own hip, so he could press deeper into her, teasing against the ache that had built in his cock, confined as it was between these layers of fabric.
He knew he had to stop. He knew he had to get a hold on himself or he was going to rut her against this wall here and now.
“You want to see my flat?” he asked, kissing down the line of her throat, nipping at the swell of her breasts. “I could take you there now.”
“Jasper,” she said again, ragged and gasping and still clinging and tugging at his hair. “Oh, God.”
“You taste so good,” he murmured, rocking his hips against her again, his hand sliding up to cup her breast as he reclaimed her mouth. “You taste better than I’ve always imagined.”
He felt her melt then, felt her slacken into nothing but want under his hands. His mind crackled and spit like a fire, focused only on her, on touching. On tasting. On every forbidden impulse she’d ever stirred in him.
And that was when the door gave a crack, the handle jiggling with the telltale intent of someone on the other side trying to seek entry.
They both paused, suspended and groggy, glancing back at the intrusion with frowns.
“Jasper?” came Malcolm’s voice on the other side, followed by a rap at the wood. “Let me in. I’ve brought you a list of workers. Why is this locked?”
It was more effective than an entire freighter of ice poured in from the ceiling. Grog, heat, sedation—all of it was snatched away in the space of a breath.
He realized he was gripping her thigh so tightly, he’d probably bruised it. She hadn’t moved to dislodge herself, though, her eyes wide and her body as stiff as a board.
“Give me just a moment,” Jasper called back. “I have to … erm … seal the vault. EIC regulations, you understand.”
There was a pause.
He could hear Malcolm frowning through the thick wood. “Yes, fine. I’m doing you a favor, you know.”
Libba started to move then, a string of truly impressive and multi-lingual curses emerging from between her lips in the softest whisper. She gave him a shove, shaking hands flying to her hair like she could pat herself back into presentability. Like either of them could explain this.
She was staring at him, wide-eyed and desperate, her fingers curling under her collar and gripping the fabric in a panic.
“I’m almost done,” Jasper shouted, taking a step back to open and shut his desk drawers loudly, keeping his eyes on Libba as he did so. He rustled papers and slapped a ledger closed. “Let’s get breakfast, why don’t we? I haven’t eaten yet. Can you get us a table at the Cauldron? I won’t be a tick.”
Malcolm sighed behind the door. “Yes, fine,” he said after a moment. “See you there.”
“See you there,” Jasper agreed.
And for the next few moments, he did not move at all.
He just stared at Libba and let her stare back at him, their hearts thundering in harmony.