A very clever and
intelligent man, King could find no flaw in Jason's story or demeanor, but he
was left with the feeling that there was more to Jason's involvement—if
Jefferson had used him to carry these messages, might the president not have
given him further instructions? Concealing his suspicions behind a bland
smile, he said, "Well, then, if this is everything, there is nothing more
to be said, is there? Let me thank you for your promptness in their
delivery." Rising from his chair and extending his hand, he added, "I
hope you enjoy your stay in England. And if there is anything I can do to help
you, please do not hesitate to call upon me."
Jason grinned. "Are
you knowledgeable in the buying of breeding stock? If so, I may call upon you
sooner than you think."
"Breeding stock?"
"Yes. My grandfather,
Armand Beauvais, and I are intending to experiment with the breeding of
thoroughbred horses in Louisiana. I am here in England to buy what I hope will
be the foundation of a stud farm."
"Ah yes, your uncle
mentioned something of that nature. I would suggest that you start buying at
Tattersalls."
And Jason did just that.
With Barrymore and Harris in tow, he attended the February sales at
Tattersalls, and, overall, was pleased with the results. It had been a mixed
blessing having his two boon companions with him. In the first bidding of the
afternoon, Barrymore instantly had become enraptured of a showy two-year-old
filly of impeccable lineage. Unfortunately, upon closer inspection, Jason was
not impressed. The animal's back was too short, and the hindquarters were not
as perfectly formed as they should have been, and he said as much.
Highly affronted, Barrymore
had cried, "Damnit, Jason, I've as good an eye as anyone when it comes to
horseflesh. You're just being damned difficult to please."
"Always was,"
Harris had added simply. Barrymore had thrown him an angry blue stare, but
remembering that Jason had earlier turned down an animal of Tom's choice, his
anger evaporated, and he had grinned and admitted, "You never did pay any
attention to us. And I don't know why I expected you to be any different now."
After that the sales had
gone smoothly, and Jason had purchased a number of horses. Most would be
stabled and taken care of by his uncle's head groom as previously arranged.
Although Jason had brought his own stableman with him, Pierre's cousin Jacques,
he intended Jacques to handle the horses he would buy for his own use in
England. He was fortunate enough to find a likely looking, burly black stallion
and a pair of matched bays as well as a few hunters for just that purpose and
had them delivered into Jacques' capable hands without delay.
February also found him
established in his own rooms on St. James's Street. The duke had frowned when
Jason told him of his plans, but then Roxbury had shrugged carelessly and
remarked, "Do as you please—only remember that you are to be here to dine
on Wednesday with myself and Rufus King."
Having delivered
Jefferson's dispatch to King, having purchased a number of horses for the
nucleus of the breeding stock, and now settled in his bachelor quarters, Jason
was fairly well satisfied with his progress. Consequently, he began to allow
Barrymore and Harris to take up more of his time.
He awoke one morning with
such a thick head from a night of drinking with Barrymore and Harris that he
wondered if he would survive their reckless pace. Lying there in his bed with
his aching head, he decided that he had run loose long enough and that this
wild drinking, gaming, and wenching would have to cease, or he would return to
New Orleans a ruined man—in health!
Pierre entered the room
just then, his monkey face wearing a puzzled frown. "Monsieur, were you
searching for something last night?"
Casting a somewhat bleary
eye at him, Jason asked mockingly, "When? At four-thirty this morning when
I returned?
And for what?"
"I do not know, but
the clothes in your wardrobe have definitely been disarrayed, and your footwear
is not as I had left it."
Shrugging Jason replied
lightly, "It was probably that serving wench who looks after the rooms,
unable to resist her curiosity."
"If that is so,
monsieur, she has also looked into the bureau drawers and even your desk in the
other room," Pierre returned tartly.
"What the devil do you
mean? And how do you know?"
Looking very superior,
Pierre replied calmly, "When I noticed this morning, monsieur, the disarray
of your garments and footwear, I took it upon myself to see how far this—this
snooping had gone. She has obviously looked through everything. There was
nothing very much greatly disturbed, you understand—just enough so that one
could tell that objects were not in their proper places."
"Well, tell the chit
that you've discovered her nasty little vice and that if it happens again, I
shall discharge her." And with that Jason dismissed the incident from his
mind.
Less than a week later, he
attended a horse auction at Epsom Downs accompanied as usual by Barrymore and
Harris. England was enjoying an unusually warm February. The weather was
beautiful, although there were still patches of snow on the ground, and the
auction had drawn quite a crowd. Aimlessly the three wandered among the stalls
and crowded aisles viewing all manner of horses from the small, sturdy Welsh
ponies to the looming, majestic shire horses. And, of course, it was the thoroughbreds
that drew Jason.
Standing near the edge of a
scarlet-roped ring where the animals were paraded and bids called for, he was
admiring a particularly sleek chestnut filly when he had the uneasy feeling
that someone was staring at him. He ignored the sensation at first, but it
persisted and somewhat curiously he glanced over the shifting, colorful crowd
for its source. But his searching gaze revealed no one who appeared to be
unduly interested in him, and shrugging his shoulders, he was about to turn
back to the animal in the ring when he spied a fashionably dressed young woman
and gentleman making their way through the crowd towards him. At that same
instant, Barrymore said out of the corner of his mouth, "Don't look now my
friend, but here comes the Markham woman with Clive Pendleton in
attendance."
A wary smile on his face,
Jason watched their approach, wondering if it was coincidence or design that
brought them here.
Elizabeth Markham was a
handsome widow of some five-and-twenty years. Her figure was lush, and she was
displaying it admirably today in a high-waisted gown of lavender-sprigged
muslin. A chipped straw bonnet with an outrageously large green velvet ribbon
tied in a bow under one ear and kid gloves of soft green completed the ensemble
of this wealthy young woman of the aristocracy. Her father was the earl of
Mount, Lord Tremayne, a title he had inherited less than a year before upon the
death of his brother Robert. Jason had met Elizabeth and her parents when,
with Roxbury, he had recently attended a dinner held at their home in London.
Attracted to Elizabeth by the sparkling sherry brown eyes and hair that, while
not red, shone as richly brilliant as the silken coat of the chestnut filly in
the ring, he had enjoyed a polite flirtation with her and had made it a point
to seek out her company discreetly. She was a damned handsome woman, he decided,
and felt his senses stir, a flicker of desire racing through his veins as she
smiled up at him just now.
"How
nice to see you again, Jason!
It seems we are forever meeting lately. Did you
enjoy your ride in Hyde Park the other morning? I was desolate that I could not
go with you, but as I said then, I was already committed to other plans."
Placing her gloved hand on his arm and glancing at him through spiky,
gold-tipped lashes she added flirtatiously, "I do hope that you will ask
me again.'*
Jason murmured a polite
rejoinder. She would have been extremely vexed if that had been his only
action, but at the same time he also shot her a lazy-lidded glance, and seeing
the sudden hint of more than just casual awareness in his eyes, she felt her
heart beat faster in her breast. Jason Savage was certainly a handsome animal!
she
decided with satisfaction. Olive's request that
she make herself agreeable to him wasn't going to be all that hard, she
thought, liking the way his coat of deep claret emphasized the darkness of his
skin and set off his broad shoulders. The manner in which the elegant fawn
pantaloons displayed his long, well-turned legs found pleasure with her as
well—it wasn't every man who had the body to wear them to advantage.
Just then she looked up and
caught him staring at her, his eyes lingering deliberately for a moment on her
bosom, as if knowing the excitement his very nearness aroused within her. And
she admitted to herself that even without Clive's prompting she would have been
attracted to him—he was that kind of man. Her own gaze was drawn irresistibly
to his full, mobile mouth, and she wished suddenly that they were alone and
that the muscled arm beneath her hand was crushing her to him and that his mouth
was claiming hers. It was a heady thought, and one she suspected Jason guessed
from the tantalizing smile he flashed her way. It said so much—and yet she was
left uncertain.
An impatient cough behind
her made her look over her shoulder at her escort and smiling prettily she
said, "Forgive me! How rude you must think me. May I introduce Clive
Pendleton to
you.
" Then clapping a hand to her
mouth, she laughed.
"How silly of me!
You met him
at my father's party, did you not?"
Jason acknowledged
Pendleton's bow with one of his own. He knew Pendleton had been a captain in
the army before his return to civilian life and was thought of as a family
relation of the Tremaynes. His godfather had been the present earl's late
brother, Robert. Jason did not care for Pendleton, disliking the cold gray eyes
and the thin, dark, sarcastic features. As Barrymore put it, "Pendleton's
a damned dirty dish! Every family has 'em, and the Tremayne's are no
different." And Jason was inclined to agree with that revealing statement.
There was nothing one could put a finger on: Pendleton's clothes were impeccable,
fitting his manly figure with grace, his manners were acceptable, and he
appeared to live in the style and fashion of a member of the ton. But in spite
of all that, Jason thought, there appeared to cling to him a faint odor of
dark, rank alleys and less than honorable dealings with his fellow men and
women.
Concealing his aversion,
Jason smiled and offered his hand to Clive. "Will you both join us?"
It was Elizabeth who answered.
Looking doubtful she said. "Oh, I don't think so. Truly we just came out
for the ride. We cannot stay."
Barrymore and Harris, after
murmuring a polite greeting, rather pointedly turned their backs and displayed
a sudden, absorbed interest in the bidding. Jason would have liked to have done
the same, for although he was perfectly agreeable to the idea of paying lazy
court to Elizabeth, at the moment his mind was more on the action in the ring.
But unlike his friends, he could not just turn away—especially when her hand
was still on his arm. Smiling down at her, he said mendaciously, "How
unfortunate that we cannot convince you to join us. But perhaps we shall meet
at your mother's ball at the end of next week? I hope you will save a dance or
two for me."
"Oh, yes, of
course," Elizabeth replied, her fine eyes narrowing just a little at
Barrymore's and Harris's actions. The fact that they were ignoring her was
irritating, and determinedly she asked, "Freddy, are you and Tom coming
to the ball?"
"Eh?" Tom said,
startled that Elizabeth should address a question to him, but it was Barrymore
who answered smoothly, "Regretfully, no. Tom and I leave tomorrow for
Leicestershire. I have a hunting box there, you know, and we hope to get in a
fortnight or better of hunting before joining Brownleigh's house party in
March."
"Oh,
how pleasant!"
Elizabeth replied untruthfully. "We shall see you then at
Melton Mowbray, for my parents and I as well as Clive are also
attending." Looking at Jason she asked, "Do you intend to be
there?"
"Yes. Although I know
the Brownleigh's only slightly, Tom and Freddy have managed to get an
invitation for me. I've made arrangements to put up at an inn nearby, so I
shall not be inconveniencing them any more than possible. Despite the fact that
Letitia Brownleigh has assured me that it will be no trouble at all, I am a
latecomer."
"Oh," Elizabeth
said, the word plainly indicating her disappointment that he would not be as
available as she would have preferred.
Laying his hand over her
slim gloved one still resting on his arm, Jason said softly, "Never fear,
you
will still see a great deal of me." Then, his voice losing its intimate
tone, he continued, "I would also like to purchase a few more
horses—mostly with an eye to resale in New Orleans, and by lodging at the inn,
I shall be able to combine business with pleasure." Smiling, he added,
"I do not think that the Brownleighs would appreciate my taking advantage
' of their hospitality to transact personal business."
Barrymore, tearing his gaze
away from the horses in the ring, tossed over his shoulder, "Damned horse
trader, that's what he is!"