Undone by His Kiss (4 page)

“Mr. St. David may think he can tell us where to stand and what to do, but like most male assumptions concerning women, he’s wrong. His berating is exactly why I formed the League of Virtuous Equality. Would he have approached a group of men with the same attitude?” She didn’t pause long enough for an answer even though Prudence raised her hand to speak. “Absolutely not. He assumed we were a bunch of twittering chatterboxes who clogged up the sidewalk and waned with befuddlement because we couldn’t find our way to the tea shop. Take note and learn a lesson today—” Everyone’s head nodded, although Cynthia had a faraway look about her. “No matter how handsome, how clever or charming, men have held the upper hand in society far too long. Do not be fooled. Our efforts extend far beyond coquetry. Women are not meant to be bullied or coerced, but rather cherished and respected. That type of conduct will not be tolerated. It is our mission to spread the message and promote equality for all.”

A decided silence fell over their group and Emily wondered if her friends were too taken with the gentleman downstairs and his rugged appeal to consider her intent. Would women always abandon good sense when faced with a handsome male? Why should there be compromise? Couldn’t men and women share the world and experience all it had to offer without a winner and a loser? A broken heart? A spoiled mind?

Tears pricked her eyes and she swiped them away, afraid someone would notice her change of mood. Instead she busied herself near the sink, freshening the fiddleheads in the vase and rejoining the conversation, now turned to furniture and carpeting, while she’d reclaimed her emotions.

Chapter 4

Later that evening, Jasper returned to the darkened office, lit two lanterns, started the fire in the hearth and settled behind his desk, still perplexed by the day’s earlier events. Randolph had offered little enlightenment as the afternoon progressed and Jasper found himself restless and frustrated, unable to concentrate on preparing information for Penwick’s appointment in the morning.

Now, alone with his thoughts, he reviewed his irrational reaction and the intriguing Miss Shaw.

She was a beauty, no doubt. All fluster, indignation and tempting female. Her nose tipped up at the end and the fitting observation caused him to smile. Miss Shaw struck him as a female who turned her nose up on a great many things.

He was an easygoing sort. Why he’d become obsessed with a stranger who appeared as relaxed as a wasp’s nest proved baffling. He had more important subjects to consider and the distraction of a lovely female was the last thing he desired, never mind he’d had trouble chasing her memory from his thoughts all day. Still, she fascinated him for some illogical reason. He’d watched her mouth form every word, captivated by her lips, perfectly heart-shaped, plump and kissable, and instead of comprehending her message, he wondered of the taste of her kiss, the feel of tongue.

Terribly done of him, really. Miss Shaw appeared less than interested. Her back had been rigid, her shoulders squared, yet she really was all soft skin and feminine curves.

He cleared his throat and opened the top desk drawer intent on memorizing the steam hammer proposal so to advise Penwick of the worthwhile investment opportunity. The earl would have a multitude of questions. Jasper vowed to know all the answers.

Yet no matter he reviewed a series of folders and read numerous paragraphs, concentration was scarce, his mind all too anxious to return to Miss Shaw and her stunning blue eyes. Something about her immediate pique intrigued him more than any new-fangled invention. Her pretty little hat was set at a jaunty angle that dared him to remove it, to see how long her hair fell, to wrap the strands around his palm.

He smiled at the memory of how he’d charged into the discussion on the walkway without aplomb, overstepping and overreacting, only amending his behavior after the damage was done. Oh, she likely possessed a condemnatory opinion of him.

Chagrined, he closed the folders and noted the time. The wall clock showed half past ten. What was Miss Shaw doing now?

An unusual noise drew his attention to the front window. This area of town was as quiet as a tomb, all businesses closed and entertainment located elsewhere. Not a single carriage rolled down the thoroughfare, Bond Street a far cry from society’s reverie.

But then, the sudden noise came again, this time louder. The jangle of keys perhaps? He strode to the door, unlocked the latch and poked out his head. A cool breeze reminded of the late hour and he stepped onto the sidewalk and turned to view the paned window, a surge of pride accompanying the reflection within, the glint of moonlight on the gold painted lettering.

For security’s sake, he checked the secondary door which led to the stairwell shared with Miss Shaw, his attention alerted when it swung open with ease.

Had she left it unlocked? Foolish endeavor, indeed.

Or had she returned?

Perhaps he wasn’t the only person revisiting the building this evening. Stepping into the vestibule, he fumbled in the dark and cursed the fact he’d ventured out without a hand candle. If he returned to fetch one, he might not resolve the troubling noise. Best he continued upstairs and determine the main door remained locked. He’d taken only a step when a similar jangle and discordant feline yowl met his ears. Something brushed against his trousers and skittered down the stairs narrowly slinking through the door as it eased shut behind him.

A cat? A league of women and a cat? Animals did not belong in a place of business. Circumstances couldn’t become worse for the upper flat. Satisfied with his discovery, he turned to ascend and leave for the night when a spark of curiosity urged he continue upstairs and try the door handle. Could Miss Shaw be there? He waited not another minute.

Surprised for the second time this evening, Jasper discovered the upper door also unlocked. He entered, unthinking to consider why he was doing so or how he would explain if he walked in and found Miss Shaw inside.

The office stood dark, although the clouds shifted and moonlight flooded the window, allowing him a dusky blue-black view of the room. Sparse furniture included a rug at the center of the worn wooden floor and a few mismatched chairs in a grouping. A desk was the only other addition.

Jasper peered at the contents littering the blotter. A sealed packet with the landlord’s name in the corner was left beside a receipt for the yearly lease, paid in full. It would appear Miss Shaw had money to burn, or at least, an indulgent father or gentleman friend who was anxious to keep her in silk gowns and smiles.

He jiggled the brass handle on the single long drawer; firmly locked, unlike the two doors.

Amused by his antics and questioning his overactive curiosity this evening, Jasper made to leave, turning the latch to ensure the door stayed closed for the night.

Chapter 5

Sunlight sliced through the cloud cover as Emily exited her carriage and thanked the driver. Wednesday mornings brought her to the Foundling Hospital on Great Ormond Street. Aside from her desire to better others and eliminate suffering, she enjoyed putting her father’s funds to charitable use. Money couldn’t repair broken hearts or dreams, but it could fill stomachs and keep children in shoes and clean beds.

Hefting a basket of treats to her side, for her desire to give outweighed her diminutive stature; she approached the wrought-iron gate with a genuine smile. The orphans had grown accustomed to her weekly visits and each grin of delight caused her heart to sing with joy. No child should want for affection, the kind camaraderie of a sibling or loving approval of a parent.

Stepping along the slates, she paused to adjust the basket handle and glanced toward the brick facade, stoic and strong, protecting the lost children inside. An odd twist of emotion caused her heart to beat heavily. One didn’t have to live at the Foundling Hospital to feel loneliness or know the isolation of a fatherless upbringing. Sometimes, amidst the most normal situation, one discovers circumstances aren’t always as they appear. Sometimes, the grim truth makes one an orphan, the decisions and choices of others at fault.

Several years prior, when she discovered the truth and understood her father’s history, then witnessed her mother’s misery, Emily labeled herself unlovable, unworthy. Yet intelligence and determination won out, convincing on some peripheral level that while men were basically dangerous to one’s heart and the affections they evoked powerful enough to destroy all happiness, she could overcome, unwilling to turn into her mother, broken, a shadow of her potential. Emily would accomplish independence, reliant on no one other than herself, and then, only then, allow emotion and perhaps, a future including marriage. Men had all the advantages. It was time women secured equality. Equality offered choice and with choice came power; each link in the chain dependent upon the success and strength of the one before.

Today, each step echoed the core of her purpose and ever-present vows. Mothers…so many despairing mothers for decades, had sought this place, unable to care for their newborn babes, unwilling to confront the rogue who’d gotten them in the family way and then deserted them. Emily had visited the hospital for over three years and never once had she encountered a gentleman in search of his child, a man interested in the betterment of the abandoned youth kept there, aside from doctors or humanitarians.

Nodding a greeting to the gatekeeper, she entered the imposing stone building and walked to the front desk intending to chat with one of the nurses before visiting, but the hall stood empty. Undeterred, for circumstances often caused a depleted staff or unexpected emergency, Emily placed the wicker basket at her feet and moved to wait by a window overlooking the center courtyard. This side of the hospital was partitioned by the north wing adjacent to the chapel. A grassy knoll bordered by a bright flower garden, littered with daisies and buttercups, lay parallel to the walk where a corpulent ginger cat had found respite in a comfortable patch of sunlight. Content absorbing the day’s warmth, its tail twitched lazily until the feline turned in her direction and looked straight through the window where she watched.

The cat held her gaze for several beats of her heart until a scuffle near the front door drew her attention away and she spun to see a gentleman enter, his face a mask of tolerant anger, his fist gripped tight on the collar of a young boy, no more than seven or eight years of age, his feet bare and clothing torn. The child, disguised by filth, didn’t struggle though Emily could see in his wounded expression she hadn’t witnessed the worst of the conflict. Two nurses entered, their conversation fading as they discovered the scene in the vestibule.

Emily stepped aside to offer the nurses privacy as the gentlemen explained, but with unforeseen happenstance, the child wriggled from the gentleman’s grasp and slinked to stand at her side, the touch of his cold tiny fingers pressed into her palm as if he reached for any scrap of salvation she reserved in her soul. Her heart blossomed with his trust. She offered his hand a firm squeeze of comfort and leaned into the basket to withdraw a gingerbread biscuit. He glanced at her outstretched palm, eyes wide, then snatched the treat, devouring it with hardly a breath between bites.

“Jenny, please gather the necessary paperwork.” The lead nurse motioned to the other to do her bidding, but it was of no use. The gentleman departed with nary a glance backward. “Find Dr. Alastar and tell him we’ll need his assistance as soon as possible.”

Emily eyed the young boy, who darted glances toward the exit, likely considering escape as soon as he believed his flight successful. He looked wild at first glimpse, his hair overgrown and stringy, his clothes ill fit, but she knew beneath the grime of the city, a child’s innocence lived in his chest. She could see it in his woeful expression.

“What’s happening here?” The doctor entered, his commanding presence enough to spur the lad to seek refuge near her skirts where he grasped the cloth as if to anchor in safety.

“A gentleman came by with this scallywag in hand. Another mudlark, no doubt. He didn’t know what to do with him as his wife begged him to help, but he appeared uncomfortable with the act of charity and left directly after.”

Mudlarks were comprised of misfits and runaways who lived an independent life along the Thames, pilfering whatever could be found and sold from the shallow waters. Scavenging proved a hard and lonely life, where children were lost to disease, drowning or accident. Emily placed her hand on the boy’s shoulder as a swell of instinct urged she protect his precious spirit. She’d never wanted for food or clothing. Yet she was not so unlike the child in a different way, as surely they both wanted for the affection and approval of a loving parent. At least Emily did so at one time.

“I’m sure the visitor considers his duty done.” Emily’s mutter drew the attention of both doctor and nurse.

“Miss Shaw, my apologies for this scene.” Dr. Alastar strode forward and the child shrank in equal measure. “With all this commotion, I’ve neglected propriety. Forgive me.” His professional demeanor transformed into easy charm.

“Please don’t give it another thought. I’ve come to visit the children as always, although it would appear there will be a new addition in the group.” She turned a gentle smile toward the lad pressed into her side.

“He’ll need a bath and fresh clothing. You shouldn’t be so near until we’ve determined he’s healthy.” The doctor went to one knee, but the child pressed harder into Emily’s side. Was it her imagination or could she feel him trembling through the layers of her walking dress?

The doctor nodded toward the nurse and she took the initiative with a broad smile. “Come now, what’s your name? Wouldn’t you like a hot bath?”

The questions prompted the child to withdraw further and Emily’s heart ached at the atrocities he might have endured living near the river, under a bridge or perhaps, sleeping on the cold damp ground night after night. How deep were his scars that he’d not recognize genuine kindness and shun the basic essentials of cleanliness and warm clothing?