Sylvia Day: Pride and Pleasure

“Eliza…” The earl stared at his clasped hands and shook his head.

“My lord,” Bond began in a casual tone. “Were you aware of the nature of Miss Martin’s inquiry?”

“Trying times these are,” Lord Melville muttered. “Trying times.”

Bond’s precise gaze moved back to Eliza. Her brow lifted.

“Is he daft?” Bond queried.

“His brain is so advanced, it stumbles over mediocrity.”

“Or perhaps it’s tangled by your reasoning in this endeavor?”

Her shoulders went back. “My reasoning is sound. And sarcasm is unproductive, Mr. Bond. Please refrain from it.”

“Oh?” His tone took on a dangerous quality. “And what is it you hope to produce by procuring a suitor?”

“I am not in want of stud service, sir. Only a depraved mind would leap to that conclusion.”

“Stud service…”

“Is that not what you are thinking?”

A wicked smile came to his lips. Eliza was certain her heart skipped a beat at the sight of it. “It wasn’t, no.”

Wanting to conclude this meeting as swiftly as possible, she rushed forward. “Do you have someone who can assist me or not?”

Bond snorted softly, but the derisive sound seemed to be directed inward and not at her. “From the beginning, if you would please, Miss Martin. Why do you need protection?”

“I have recently found myself to be a repeated victim of various unfortunate-and suspicious-events.”

Eliza expected him to laugh or perhaps give her a doubtful look. He did neither. Instead, she watched a transformation sweep over him. As fiercely focused as he’d been since his arrival, he became more so when presented with the problem. She found herself appreciating him for more than his good looks.

He leaned slightly forward. “What manner of events?”

“I was pushed into the Serpentine. My saddle was tampered with. A snake was loosed in my bedroom-”

“I understand it was a Runner who referred you to Mr. Lynd, who in turn referred you to me.”

“Yes. I hired a Runner for a month, but Mr. Bell discovered nothing. No attacks occurred while he was engaged.”

“Who would want to injure you, and why?”

She offered him a slight smile, a small show of gratitude for the gravity he was displaying. Anthony Bell had come highly recommended, but he’d never taken her seriously. In fact, he had been amused by her tales and she’d never felt he was dedicated to the task of discovery. “Truthfully, I am not certain whether they intend bodily harm, or if they simply want to goad me into marriage as a way to establish some permanent security. I see no reason to any of it.”

“Are you wealthy, Miss Martin? Or certain to be?”

“Yes. Which is why I doubt they sincerely aim to cause me grievous injury-I am worth more alive. But there are some who believe it isn’t safe for me in my uncle’s household. They claim he is an insufficient guardian, that he is touched and ready for Bedlam. As if any individual capable of compassion would put a stray dog in such a place, let alone a beloved relative.”

“Poppycock,” the earl scoffed. “I am fit as a fiddle, in mind and body.”

“You are, my lord,” Eliza agreed, smiling fondly at him. “I have made it clear to all and sundry that Lord Melville will likely live to be one hundred years of age.”

“And you hope that adding me to your stable of suitors will accomplish what, precisely?” Bond asked. “Deter the culprit?”

“I hope that by adding one of your associates,” she corrected, “I can avoid further incidents over the next six weeks of the Season. In addition, if my new suitor is perceived to be a threat, perhaps the scoundrel will turn his malicious attentions toward him. Then, perhaps, we can catch the fiend. Truly, I should like to know by what methods of deduction he formulated this plan and what he hoped to gain by it.”

Bond settled back into his seat and appeared deep in thought.

“I would never suggest such a hazardous role for someone untrained,” she said quickly. “But a thief-taker, a man accustomed to associating with criminals and other unfortunates…I should think those who engage in your profession would be more than a match for a nefarious fortune hunter.”

“I see.”

Beside her, her uncle murmured to himself, working out puzzles and equations in his mind. Like herself, he was most comfortable with events and reactions that could be quantified or predicted with some surety. Dealing with issues defying reason was too taxing.

“What type of individual would you consider ideal to play this role of suitor, protector, and investigator?” Bond asked finally.

“He should be quiet, even-tempered, and a proficient dancer.”

Scowling, he queried, “How do dullness and the ability to dance signify in catching a possible murderer?”

“I did not say ‘dull,’ Mr. Bond. Kindly do not attribute words to me that I have not spoken. In order to be acknowledged as a true rival for my attentions, he should be someone whom everyone will believe I would be attracted to.”

“You are not attracted to handsome men?”

“Mr. Bond, I dislike being rude. However, you leave me no recourse. The fact is, you clearly are not the sort of man whose temperament is compatible with matrimony.”

“I am quite relieved to hear a female recognize that,” he drawled.

“How could anyone doubt it?” She made a sweeping gesture with her hand. “I can more easily picture you in a swordfight or fisticuffs than I can see you enjoying an afternoon of croquet, after-dinner chess, or a quiet evening at home with family and friends. I am an intellectual, sir. And while I don’t mean to imply a lack of mental acuity, you are obviously built for more physically strenuous pursuits.”

“I see.”

“Why, one has only to look at you to ascertain you aren’t like the others at all! It would be evident straightaway that I would never consider a man such as you with even remote seriousness. It is quite obvious you and I do not suit in the most fundamental of ways, and everyone knows I am too observant to fail to see that. Quite frankly, sir, you are not my type of male.”

The look he gave her was wry but without the smugness that would have made it irritating. He conveyed solid self-confidence free of conceit. She was dismayed to find herself strongly attracted to the quality.

He would be troublesome. Eliza did not like trouble overmuch.

He glanced at the earl. “Please forgive me, my lord, but I must speak bluntly in regard to this subject. Most especially because this is a matter concerning Miss Martin’s physical well-being.”

“Quite right,” Melville agreed. “Straight to the point, I always say. Time is too precious to waste on inanities.”

“Agreed.” Bond’s gaze returned to Eliza and he smiled. “Miss Martin, forgive me, but I must point out that your inexperience is limiting your understanding of the situation.”

“Inexperience with what?”

“Men. More precisely, fortune-hunting men.”

“I would have you know,” she retorted, “that over the course of six Seasons I have had more than enough experience with gentlemen in want of funds.”

“Then why,” he drawled, “are you unaware that they are successful for reasons far removed from social suitability?”

Eliza blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

“Women do not marry fortune hunters because they can dance and sit quietly. They marry them for their appearance and physical prowess-two attributes you have already established I have.”

“I do not see-”

“Evidently, you do not, so I shall explain.” His smile continued to grow. “Fortune hunters who flourish do not strive to satisfy a woman’s intellectual needs. Those can be met through friends and acquaintances. They do not seek to provide the type of companionship one enjoys in social settings or with a game table between them. Again, there are others who can do so.”