Read Online Poetic Justice by Alicia Rasley - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Alicia Rasley
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speak frankly while you were entertaining the Archbishop of Canterbury!"
"I would not! I've gotten much better than I was at school, I assure you. Living with my aunt and uncle has truly taught me the value of discretion in speech—blast!" A footman's tray collided with her arm, and after the exchange of apologies, she tugged at Ada. "We are in the way. Let's walk."
They strolled down the side of the ballroom, Jessica glancing sidelong at the other partygoers. It looked to be a glorious crush, all in all, for a rural entertainment. And Jessica was weary of the conundrum of her collection and its curator. It was easier to slip back into the irreverent camaraderie she and Ada had known at Miss Falesham's Institute for Young Ladies, when they were called "The Terrible Two."
Now she felt someone watching her intently, and raised her fan to hide her face. She stole a quick glance, though, and for just an instant met the gaze of the man standing a few yards away on the staircase leading up to the main part of the house. "What about that one?" she whispered. "I think he's staring at me."
She had to repeat it more loudly because the orchestra had struck up a mazurka, but finally Ada turned obediently and raised her lorgnette in the indicated direction.
Jessica groaned and tried discreetly to pull down her friend's arm. "You needn't let him know you're interested, Ada."
"I am not the interested one, you are! I'm merely doing reconnaissance work for you." But the lorgnette dropped, and Ada started away at a brisk pace, almost dragging Jessica along. "But that one is not a likely candidate, dear. Uncle would not approve, not in a thousand years, even with the spanking new title he's got."
Jessica risked a quick look back over her shoulder. He was still watching her. She kept walking, eyes forward, but his gaze felt like the brush of his fingers across the back of her neck. There was something indefinably alien about him, in his casual but wary stance, in the exotic lines of his face, in the opaque intensity of his gaze. "He's not English, is he?"
"Well, of course he is. He was born just down the road in Devlyn village. To the apothecary's wife."
Jessica felt a deep rush of disappointment. How very mundane, after all. But then, she reminded herself, that was rather mysterious. "A shopkeeper? At a ball like this?"
"He's not a shopkeeper," Ada replied. "He's the son of a shopkeeper. Or so the shopkeeper thought, anyway." Before Jessica could ask for elaboration of this cryptic statement, Ada had gone on with a hint of pride, "No, this one used to practice the South Coast's oldest profession."
Prostitution seemed unlikely, so Jessica ventured, "Fishing?"
"Nothing so dull! He does have a fleet of ships, I think, but he's after more impressive cargo. He was a pirate, you see."
Jessica couldn't help it. A deep thrill rippled through her, just as it might have years ago, when she and Ada were dreaming up outrageous Gothic plots for the edification of their schoolmates. But she sneaked another look and regretfully shook her head. "A pirate? Surely not. He looks the perfect gentleman."
"Oh, I agree, he does appear to advantage in evening dress. No one who didn't know him would ever imagine the truth, until they caught sight of him on the deck of a ship. The veriest corsair!"
Jessica stopped by the refreshment table and pretended to busy herself with a plate and fork. From this vantage point, she could see him out of the corner of her eye, without even turning her head. "He's not a pirate. I know that much. There aren't any left. And if he were a pirate, I hardly think Tressilian the naval hero would be stopping to address him."
It was true; the earl in his Navy uniform and the supposed pirate were deep into conversation now. Jessica felt a moment's regret that his apparent fascination with her had ended so soon. Wasn't that just like a man? But she supposed she was no more romantic than he, since she had already decided that this
"I would not! I've gotten much better than I was at school, I assure you. Living with my aunt and uncle has truly taught me the value of discretion in speech—blast!" A footman's tray collided with her arm, and after the exchange of apologies, she tugged at Ada. "We are in the way. Let's walk."
They strolled down the side of the ballroom, Jessica glancing sidelong at the other partygoers. It looked to be a glorious crush, all in all, for a rural entertainment. And Jessica was weary of the conundrum of her collection and its curator. It was easier to slip back into the irreverent camaraderie she and Ada had known at Miss Falesham's Institute for Young Ladies, when they were called "The Terrible Two."
Now she felt someone watching her intently, and raised her fan to hide her face. She stole a quick glance, though, and for just an instant met the gaze of the man standing a few yards away on the staircase leading up to the main part of the house. "What about that one?" she whispered. "I think he's staring at me."
She had to repeat it more loudly because the orchestra had struck up a mazurka, but finally Ada turned obediently and raised her lorgnette in the indicated direction.
Jessica groaned and tried discreetly to pull down her friend's arm. "You needn't let him know you're interested, Ada."
"I am not the interested one, you are! I'm merely doing reconnaissance work for you." But the lorgnette dropped, and Ada started away at a brisk pace, almost dragging Jessica along. "But that one is not a likely candidate, dear. Uncle would not approve, not in a thousand years, even with the spanking new title he's got."
Jessica risked a quick look back over her shoulder. He was still watching her. She kept walking, eyes forward, but his gaze felt like the brush of his fingers across the back of her neck. There was something indefinably alien about him, in his casual but wary stance, in the exotic lines of his face, in the opaque intensity of his gaze. "He's not English, is he?"
"Well, of course he is. He was born just down the road in Devlyn village. To the apothecary's wife."
Jessica felt a deep rush of disappointment. How very mundane, after all. But then, she reminded herself, that was rather mysterious. "A shopkeeper? At a ball like this?"
"He's not a shopkeeper," Ada replied. "He's the son of a shopkeeper. Or so the shopkeeper thought, anyway." Before Jessica could ask for elaboration of this cryptic statement, Ada had gone on with a hint of pride, "No, this one used to practice the South Coast's oldest profession."
Prostitution seemed unlikely, so Jessica ventured, "Fishing?"
"Nothing so dull! He does have a fleet of ships, I think, but he's after more impressive cargo. He was a pirate, you see."
Jessica couldn't help it. A deep thrill rippled through her, just as it might have years ago, when she and Ada were dreaming up outrageous Gothic plots for the edification of their schoolmates. But she sneaked another look and regretfully shook her head. "A pirate? Surely not. He looks the perfect gentleman."
"Oh, I agree, he does appear to advantage in evening dress. No one who didn't know him would ever imagine the truth, until they caught sight of him on the deck of a ship. The veriest corsair!"
Jessica stopped by the refreshment table and pretended to busy herself with a plate and fork. From this vantage point, she could see him out of the corner of her eye, without even turning her head. "He's not a pirate. I know that much. There aren't any left. And if he were a pirate, I hardly think Tressilian the naval hero would be stopping to address him."
It was true; the earl in his Navy uniform and the supposed pirate were deep into conversation now. Jessica felt a moment's regret that his apparent fascination with her had ended so soon. Wasn't that just like a man? But she supposed she was no more romantic than he, since she had already decided that this
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