Free Pride and Pleasure by Sylvia Day Page A

who intruded on their conversation. “Sir Richard,” she managed. “How lovely to see you here.”
    Sir Richard Tolliver was an average man, neither young nor old, neither tall nor short, neither portly nor lean. His hair was a soft brown and his eyes a gentle green. He was quiet and unassuming, one of the least aggressive of her suitors.
    “You remember my sister, Miss Amanda Tolliver,” he said, with a sidelong glance at Jasper.
    “Yes, of course. Good to see you, Miss Tolliver.” Eliza made the appropriate introductions offhandedly. But when Jasper bowed over Miss Tolliver’s hand and the young lady blushed to the roots of her lovely dark hair, Eliza found her mood altering drastically.
    Sir Richard offered a tight smile. “I see now why you declined my invitation to escort you to the exhibition, Miss Martin. I did not understand you had a prior engagement.”
    Eliza realized with some surprise that he was upset. He felt slighted, although that hadn’t been her intent. She’d simply been aware that accepting his offer of escort would lead to spending hours in the company of someone with whom she had nothing in common. She thought it best to spare them both the awkwardness.
    That was not, however, the explanation she could give. Conversing in society had little to do with truth. It was more about keeping everyone’s feelings as neutral as possible. For many, the truth was not a neutral topic.
    She was considering how she could reply in an acceptable manner when Miss Tolliver batted her thick lashes at Jasper. Eliza froze with her mouth partially formed around a word. Suddenly she knew precisely how Tolliver felt, and how little sound reasoning had to do with it.
    What a morass the art of courting was.
    “Will I see you tonight at the Lansing rout, Sir Richard?” she asked.
    “If you will be there, Miss Martin, I will certainly attend.”
    “If you are obliged, I should like to save the first waltz for you.”
    Tolliver’s sudden grin lit up the room. Eliza was slightly frightened by its fervency.
    “What about you, Mr. Bond?” Miss Tolliver asked. “Will you be at the Lansing rout? Shall I save a place on my dance card for you?”
    Eliza felt Jasper’s forearm tense beneath her fingers. When he said nothing, she realized he didn’t know how to reply. The truth he’d shared so readily with her was not one he wished to share with others.
    “Mr. Bond was injured yesterday,” she lied. “His horse was ill-mannered and stepped quite harshly on his foot. While he can walk, dancing is out of the question for now.”
    “Oh. I’m so sorry to hear that.” Miss Tolliver did indeed look crestfallen. “I hope you recover quickly, Mr. Bond.”
    Jasper nodded and bid the siblings farewell. He led Eliza away with a briskness that belied the injury she’d invented for him. He drew to a halt when they reached a corner and glared at the painting in front of him.
    His foot tapped against the floor. “The dance you gave to Tolliver was mine.”
    Eliza was confused. “But you do not dance.”
    “Moments ago,” he said in a low, biting tone, “you were asking if I wanted to be inside you and the next, you’re encouraging another man’s obvious interest in you.”
    Astonished by the physical response she had to his choice of phrasing, she stared at the painting he was directing his ire at and tried to piece an explanation together.
    “I was not encouraging him,” she said carefully. “I was commiserating with him. I collected that he was perturbed and perhaps felt . . . marginalized.”
    Jasper glanced at her with a sardonically raised brow. “You know how he feels, but not how I feel. Care to explain why?”
    “Miss Tolliver is clearly taken with you, and she’s lovely and charming. As many times as we’ve met before, today was the first time I resented those qualities in her.”
    He grew very still.
    Unsure if that was a positive or negative sign, she pressed on. “Sir Richard must feel similarly in