The Dream by Jaycee Clark Page A

her eyes.
    And where had that thought come from? Perhaps he’d had more brandy than he’d thought? Spent too much time out on the cliffs today? Why did he care what a real smile on her looked liked? Her smile for God’s sake? Bloody hell. If he weren’t careful, he’d be penning an ode about her soon.
    Not bloody likely.
    “Actually, I do have aunts and uncles and cousins as well,” she said.
    He rather liked her voice, the lengthened syllables were different than what he was accustomed to hearing.
    Jason shook off the wayward thought. Smiles and voices? What next? Her eyes? Though very nice eyes they were. Frowning, he set his glass aside and forced his mind back to matters at hand. Why was she being so secretive? Did it matter if he knew who her family was?
    Mrs. Emily Smith was an enigma to him. He knew she enjoyed flowers, gardening and reading. She was hesitant and cautious with answers. He assumed her wary actions were due to the scars on her. But there had been rare times when she’d been open and honest. Politics seemed to enliven her. Especially when one poked at terming the Americans as Colonials. And even rarer were the small bits of sarcasm he caught from her.
    Jason presumed that if the woman learned to relax, she would find much enjoyment out of life. But as it was, she was a very controlled creature for one so young. Even now she sat ramrod straight on the edge of the green wingback chair. Her blue silk wrapper, one he knew had previously belonged to his sister, was belted tightly. No skin showing, not the slightest invitation given. If anyone heard the dear Mrs. Smith had spent all this time in his company, not a soul would believe nothing untoward had transpired between them. Her hands were fisted in her lap, the knuckles white. She was nervous and anxious.
    “You don’t like the idea of me accompanying you to London. Why?”
    He’d yet to figure her out. Sometimes he could get an answer out of her by being direct and other times he found patience afforded him what he wanted. But, obtain his answers he would.
    Her eyes, dark as obsidian, cut to him. “Hasn’t anyone ever informed you, it is impolite to pry into another’s affairs?”
    Jason shrugged. “Probably, but then, I’ve never really done the polite or expected thing. Ask anyone.”
    “I could just go on the stage.”
    He looked at her, and kept looking until she averted her gaze. Jason cleared his throat. “You could. But I wouldn’t feel comfortable putting you on another one, what with your last experience.” Since she appeared an honest, innocent bystander caught in the crossfire in a random, or not so random, stage robbery, she could be in danger.
    One eyebrow quirked at that. At least he got some reaction.
    “Do you go around saving people all the time and then bossing them about? Or do you have another talent or occupation?”
    Her question surprised him. Sarcasm indeed.
    “Just damsels in distress. As for other talents, I’ve all sorts.” She didn’t so much as smile. Just to get a rise out of her, he said, “Madam, I’m a gentleman, and gentlemen do not have occupations.” He even managed not to choke on that bit.
    Nothing could be farther from the truth in his case, but he wanted to see her reaction.
    Instead, she only looked at her lap and said quietly, yet fiercely, “I am not a damsel.”
    He thought she was more one than she realized. “Perhaps not. A damsel after all would hardly jump from a moving carriage.”
    “Runaway,” she corrected.
    And speaking of runaway carriages. “I’ve learned the men who did this to you were indeed French. They hit another stage several nights ago heading out of Portsmouth.” Among other various crimes.
    “I wonder what their aim is?” she murmured.
    Jason didn’t know for certain, but he had a suspicion, one he would verify at the first opportunity. The fact these incidents were so close to his estate was not lost on him.
    Emily yawned and covered her mouth, her dark