Bond? And when will you return to the place whence you came?”
They rounded a corner of the room and Jasper considered his reply. A hastily spoken falsehood could breach Eliza’s privacy. “I am here on business.”
“You are in trade?” Her ladyship pulled away enough to facilitate studying his attire. “Successfully, it would appear.”
Jasper smiled. “Is it a mark in my favor that I am not in pursuit of Miss Martin’s fortune?”
“Depends on what else you are in pursuit of. I am not blind. I see the way you look at her.”
“I am not blind either.”
“Cheeky fellow,” she admonished, but there was a twinkle in her eye. “What are your intentions?”
He stared at a painting nigh the size of his curricle and mulled over his reply. In the end, he circumvented the question. “I want her to be safe and happy.”
And yet his “intentions,” such as they were, might very well put her safety and happiness at risk. For her, there must be some comfort in her ignorance of softer emotions. Already their association had caused her to feel bewildered and to act against sound reasoning.
“Excellent sentiments,” Lady Collingsworth said. “I could not agree more. Might I suggest you pay your addresses sooner, rather than later? It would be lovely for her to enjoy a few weeks of the Season as an affianced woman.”
The tension in Jasper’s shoulders returned, but for a different reason. Speaking carefully, he answered, “I am not certain she would be best served with me.”
“I see.” There was a long moment wherein her ladyship drummed her gloved fingertips into his forearm. “Do you know, Mr. Bond, I can count on my fingers the number of times I have seen Eliza smile in public?”
“She does not smile often,” he agreed, feeling more than a little triumph that she’d smiled so brilliantly at him today.
“I would suggest you leave the determination of what makes Eliza feel safe and happy to her. Speculation is necessary in business, but in affairs of the heart, it often leads to poor judgments.”
“I will take that under advisement.”
Her mouth curved on one side. “I can see what she likes about you, Mr. Bond. You listen. I suspect you don’t always act on what you’ve heard, but you listen in any case.”
They returned to the entrance and she released him. Jasper bowed, then ducked out of the room with unseemly haste. But he was stopped once again by Lord Westfield, who was a few feet away from reaching the Exhibition Hall with a delicate-looking blonde on his arm.
“Why, Bond,” Westfield called out. “Where are you running off to?”
His lordship leaned down and whispered something to his companion. When his head lifted, she was smiling in a way that promised all sorts of delicious things. She moved into the room without him, leaving him to speak to Jasper.
“Miss Martin left the room some minutes ago,” Jasper said.
“And you are following her with notable eagerness.”
“I have been waylaid twice now.” His glare made it clear who the second delay was.
“Well, then,” his lordship said, “the least I can do is show you where the ladies’ retiring rooms are, as I would imagine that’s where she went. Unless you frightened her into fleeing. I say, your scowl is fearsome even to me.”
Jasper growled softly.
Westfield laughed and gave concise directions. Jasper was grateful for the assistance, but was less appreciative of the note of amusement that colored its delivery.
With a quick salute of fingertips to his hat brim, he set off in search of Eliza. Several minutes had passed since she parted from him, an inconsiderable amount of time for many women but slightly too long for a lady who didn’t fret about her appearance. He turned the corner and heard Eliza’s voice float toward him, but he could not see her. There was a statue of a man between them, in the center of the hallway on a platform of rollers. She was speaking with calm efficiency to the men laboring to move the obstruction, explaining that one of the wheels seemed to be caught by the runner protecting the floor.
Shaking his head, Jasper started forward. How like her to linger and offer engineering advice, even of such a small nature. A fond smile curved his lips. She said he was a man clearly suited to more strenuous pursuits and he would not argue the point. However, it appeared a quick mind was as arousing to him as a naked woman.
“Miss Martin,” he called out.
“Mr. Bond.” She peeked around the thigh of the statue. “I have been eye level with the backside of this artwork for long moments now. It seems one of the wheels is indisposed to motion.”
“Perhaps you should just squeeze around the platform?” he suggested, gauging the space on either side. There wasn’t much room, despite the generous size of the hallway. In fact, the piece was so large it towered above them.
He slowed as he neared. “Is there another way around?” he asked, directing his question at the two red-faced men straining to push the piece down a tributary hallway.
“Aye,” the larger of the two gasped. Straightening, he pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and mopped his brow.
The smaller man, seemingly unwilling to be delayed by courtesy toward a lady, charged into the base with his shoulder. The jolt dislodged the stuck wheel, causing the platform and statue to lurch forward. The wood creaked in protest. One of the thick lines of rope securing the heavy piece snapped. The resulting noise was like the crack of a whip. Jasper watched in horror as the statue listed away from him.
“Eliza!” he shouted, lunging forward but having no way to reach her.
The platform cracked and the troublesome wheel broke away, tumbling a short ways down the hall.
The rest was over far too quickly. The crash was deafening in the enclosed space. Debris from the shattered art piece billowed into the air in a hazy cloud.
Jasper could not see Eliza among the ruins.
Scrambling over the destruction, he reached the spot where he last saw her standing. The torso of the figure lay there in a solid piece. He was so stunned, he couldn’t think. His chest was so tight, he swayed on his feet.
Shouts from other parts of the building grew in volume, competing with the thunderous sound of the blood rushing through his ears.
“Heavens,” Eliza said. “What a mess.”
Jasper’s gaze followed the voice. She stood in a nearby doorway, staring at the disorder.
He clambered over wobbling chunks of decimated statue and crushed her to his chest.
“It looked as if the rope might have been cut at least partway through.” Jasper held his third glass of brandy and continued to pace before the unlit fireplace in his study. His coat and waistcoat had been tossed over the arm of a wingback chair, yet still he felt too constricted. “But there’s no way to be certain. I was only granted a brief look at it.”
“You don’t believe it was an accident,” Westfield queried from his position on the settee, “despite the prominence of the location and the randomness of the event?”
“Miss Martin says the statue was waiting in a secondary hall when she went into the retiring room. Upon her emergence, she found it had been moved into her path.”
“Two men were having a devil of a time pushing it,” the earl reminded. “A lone individual would have found the task impossible.”
“But one wheel was troublesome. Perhaps, not by chance.” Jasper downed the contents of his tumbler in one swallow, seeking to warm the spot inside him chilled by the near miss. “Is it possible for one person to be the victim of so much misfortune?”
Setting the glass down on his desktop with a harsh thud, he glanced at the clock. It would be hours before he saw Eliza again at the Lansings’ rout. He was certain to be in a state of high agitation until then. Assigning more men to watch the Melville household was small comfort.
Westfield made a noise suspiciously like a snort. “You are positively high-strung about the business, while Miss Martin seemed to take the happenings in stride.”
“Because she trusts me to manage everything and keep her safe,” Jasper said tightly.
