Chapter: An Idle Jason Up to No Good
"Have you chanced upon my sister?"
A pair of startled brown eyes darted in his direction. Jason hadn't meant to frighten her but obviously the lady he'd addressed had been so absorbed in her writing that she had not heard him enter through the parlor doors.
A frantic, almost panicked look came over her face and her hands clumsily gathered and hid the parchments she was scribing on under a book, then she simply plonked her elbows on top of that to secure the privacy of her musings. Needless to say, Jason's curiosity was wildly piqued.
"I b-beg your pardon, my lord?" Nicola Eversley stammered from the other end of the chamber.
Slowly, Jason ambled towards her and allowed a wicked smile to play across his lips. The mischievous side in him adored teasing a flustered lady, and the cool and composed Nicola Eversley, his youngest sister's most treasured friend, suddenly became no exception. "Blanche," he told her in a voice that could make a woman swoon out of her skirts. "I am looking for Blanche." Meaningfully, he propped his hip against the edge of the mahogany escritoire that she was utilizing and grinned down at her. A blush leapt up her neck and for all her years at Northwick, Jason could not recall a moment this young lady had honoured him with a blush.
She had been young when Jason had first met her, a tawny-haired sprite who enjoyed caking herself in mud whenever she explored the vast lands of the estate. Nicola had made a close friendship with his sister and, as they were of similar age and standing, they had been schooled together. In fact, Nicola spent the majority of her time here at Northwick and had even acquired chambers of her own.
From what he knew of his sister's closest friend was that she was rather quiet and coolly composed. As she was seated at this moment, her demeanour was shielded by her posture and dwarfed by his height. If she chose to stand, and politeness dictated that she should, Nicola would be quite tall and only a few inches shorter than himself. However, she was guarding the notes she had been scribbling with a steadfastness that would put any mastiff to shame.
Presently, she shook her head and those riotous coppery curls loosened the pins that vainly attempted to hold them in place. She had the most unruly mane of hair he had ever beheld on a woman- impossibly thick, curly and flyaway. "Apologies, my lord," she murmured a tad hesitantly, "but I haven't seen Blanche in over an hour."
"Hmm." His eyes dropped to the book and pile of papers she was shielding with her elbows. "Are you busy presently, Miss Eversley?"
Her eyes narrowed shrewdly, knowing the question to be a trick. If she answered affirmatively, Jason would demand that she tell him with what, while if she answered in the negative, she would have opened the unspoken invitation for him to join her tea or something to that equivalent. It seemed that whatever Nicola was working on was too important for her to even chance him enquiring after it and she said, "No, why do you ask, my lord?"
After all her years at Northwick, Jason found it slightly ridiculous that she insisted calling him by titled formality. She was practically family and even though he wasn't as close to her as Blanche was, he still regarded her as part of the Blackwood household. "Perhaps you'd like to keep me company while I wait out her presence," he suggested in a manner which certainly did not pertain to actually asking her.
Knowing that it would be unforgivably rude to deny her host such a thing, Nicola hurriedly gathered the papers beneath the book and stuffed them into the top drawer of the desk. Safe from an unwanted gaze, she stood and gave him a tentative smile. "Of course, my lord." With a gesture that spoke multitudes about the state of her nerves, she smoothed the creases of her creamy skirts. "Shall I ring for tea?"
Jason ignored her, marvelling at the feel of her anxiety. Just what the devil was she endeavouring to keep hidden from him? His eyes lingered on the top drawer and Nicola noticed it. "May I read whatever it was you were writing?" Jason drawled in a light, cajoling tone.
The colour plummeted from her cheeks and her eyes widened with what he could only describe as terror. However, he was able to deduce the precise colour of Miss Eversley's hazel eyes. There were shining flecks of gold in the iris, mesmerizing to behold, and her dark lashes flanked those orbs with grace and appeal. He hadn't noticed it before, but Nicola was quite a pretty thing.
"I hardly think you'd enjoy the drivel I had been writing," she gushed nervously. "It would bore you, I'm sure!"
He stepped closer to her, forcing her to back her bottom against the drawer she had previously closed. Nicola braced her hands against the desk and threw him a startled look, her lips pursing with mildly concealed annoyance. Mmm, he liked that- annoyance looked rather attractive on her. Her pert nose rose into the air, straightening her deliciously long neck. His eyes leisurely studied the contours of her face, the delicate curves of her cheeks and the sharp point of her chin. Her lips were cat-like and naturally rosy, a quality sure to make many of the ladies of the ton venomously envious. The slant of her neck dipped towards her narrow shoulders and pressed against her peach coloured skin were the ridges of her collar bones and, Lord, one perfect, light brown little mole just above. Jason resisted the urge to lick his lips and instead reversed his gaze back to her face. "Bore me, you say?"
"Yes, terribly so."
By her fervent desire to prevent him from viewing the contents of her parchments, Jason highly doubted it, but he'd had his fun for the day. Languidly, he moved away from her, his nostrils awash with the faint scent of... jasmine? Something floral. "I shall have to take your word for it," he purred and turned away, walking towards the other end of the chamber where two large sofas were situated against a pair of windows that looked over a manicured lawn outside. Here, he sat and gestured for her to join him.
Her face mirrored her hesitation and, seeming to inwardly come to the decision that Jason would not attempt to procure her documents again, Nicola finally did join him, carefully seating herself on the opposite sofa. She smoothed her dress straight and tucked a woebegone curl of hair behind her ear, studying him carefully from where she sat. She was not built delicately- there was a hardness about her that he didn't normally come across in other women. Nicola looked the sort to enjoy physically exertion, which was odd, ergo her limbs were defined with lithe muscle. He doubted somewhat that she'd feel very soft... unless he counted her breasts. Now those looked soft-
"I believe Blanche may be down in the kitchens, my lord," Nicola told him, drawing his gaze away from those two moderately sized mounds. "You know how she enjoys her pastries."
Blanche was a little brat but, as the youngest, she had been adored and spoiled by all of them. She was definitely the most beautiful Blackwood, as well, and the only one of his sisters who had yet to take a husband. The family had vowed to place no pressure on her since their father had passed three years prior, during Blanche's debut into the London season. As the littlest Blackwood, Blanche had been their father's favourite- his death had affected her particularly. They had been forced to remove her from the events of the season and embark on a solemn period of mourning in which a deathly forlornness had fallen over Northwick estate. It had not been a pleasant time in any of their lives and the laughter and merriment that had so often filled the halls of the manor house had dwindled away to hushed whispers and the occasional sob from one of the women.
Thomas Blackwood had been an exceptional father. He had enjoyed spending time with his family, had cherished and adored stolen moments with each of his daughters and his one and only son. Unlike many gentlemen of the ton, Thomas would rather have spent his day pursuing leisurely activities with his family than spend time away from them. Indeed, much of his business was conducted from the sanctity of his study here at Northwick rather than the bustling rooms of his London townhouse. Northwick was, after all, merely a couple hours carriage ride out of the busy city and this ensured that it wasn't too inconvenient for callers to travel the distance, or for Thomas to venture into London. Naturally, everyone who called upon anyone at Northwick would be offered the warmest hospitality and a room would be procured in which they could comfortably enjoy their stay.
Adapting to Thomas's absence had taken some getting used to. Routine had changed drastically. Jason had no choice but to abandon his frivolous pursuits of debauchery and adopt the title of Marquess of Northwick, something he knew was his duty. Not that he didn't enjoy tackling the administration of his family, he did- he adored all of them- but, Lord, they could be demanding. His mother had changed, too. Even though three years had passed since his father's death, Kathleen still pined for him. It was there in the blankness of her grey eyes- once filled with tenacity and humour. Oh, she still found it in herself to laugh and try enjoy certain things, but Jason could tell that she longed for her husband dearly. Maybe enough time hadn't passed for her to move on or perhaps the loved Thomas and Kathleen had been too deep and too fortified- whatever it was, Jason had been keeping a close eye on his mother since.
Then there was Nicola... always present- a quiet sentinel at Northwick. Her only attachment appeared to be Blanche and Jason couldn't recall if she had ever grown close to his other sisters. He knew Kathleen was quite fond of the girl, but other than that... He studied her now, wondering over her presence. Brown, curious eyes scrutinized him in return. She was bold, yet reserved and that made her an interesting combination to observe, indeed. She sat still and pensive, her face poised and regal. Her eyes, he thought, were remarkably wide and pretty and he enjoyed the wild curl of her hair as it rebelliously loosened the pins in her coiffure.
"How have you been, Nicola?" he asked earnestly, suddenly curious about her and just her.
That seemed to catch her off-guard. If possible, those eyes widened even further before her brows puckered forward in a thoughtful frown. "I have been rather well, my lord," she told him softly. "Why do you ask?"
"Merely curious," he explained, leaning forward slightly. "We have been acquaintances for many a year now. Please, call me Jason."
She shook her head and a pin fell loose of those tawny curls and plopped against the back of the sofa. "It is not proper, my lord."
"I insist." He waved the matter aside with a quick gesture of his wrist. "What events are you and Blanche attending this season?"
Her eyes narrowed at him, dubious and sharp. She was probably wondering just what the hell he was doing taking an interest in the activities of two young debutantes. In fact, he began to wonder the exact same thing. "Well," she began to tell him slowly, "Lady Crosthwaite is hosting a ball this evening-"
"Excellent." Jason leaned back indulgently. "I should like to accompany you and Blanche."
"Y-you would?"
"Of course. Why ever not?"
Her fingers played nervously with the lace of her dress. "I don't believe you have ever escorted us to a ball before, my lord," she said. "Nor have I seen you at such an event since Blanche and I first made our debut."
"About time I make an appearance then, don't you think?"
Nicola met his gaze unwaveringly and then, quite surprisingly, a tiny smile lift the corners of her sultry lips. She had, he thought, quite a seductive smile. "My lord," she told him with a lilt of slyness in her voice, "you do realise that Lady Crosthwaite is renowned for her balls... every debutante and her mother is sure to attend... and then you, well... dare I say your attention will be in high demand."
She had a very valid point. Pride however was a damnable quality of his and wouldn't allow him to back down now. In any event, he had a rather curious urge to behold Miss Nicola Eversley in a comely evening gown and see for himself just how she intended to tame that wild mane of hers. "I look forward to it," he murmured.
"That is... unusual," Nicola mused before Blanche made an appearance.
His sister, like the rest of the Blackwood siblings, shared the same colouring as Jason and his other sisters- dark hair and grey eyes. Where Jason and his sisters were tall though, Blanche had inherited their mother's unfortunate penchant for small stature. She was a little thing with an appetite that could put any man to shame and even now she was carrying a plate of confectionaries that she had pillaged from the kitchen's larder.
"Nicola!" Blanche said around a mouthful of pastry. "Just look at what Miss Cathy is making in the- Oh! Hello, Jason." His sister brandished the plate at him like an ill-fated weapon. "Would you care for a tart?"
Jason could never resist an offer from a tart. Gladly, he took one- strawberry, it seemed. "I do hope," he told his sister, amused, "that you left some for all of us."
Blanche threw him a droll look. "Don't be a fool," she scoffed. Then, turning to her friend, she offered the plate to her. "Would you care for a tart, Nicola?"
With a smile, Nicola daintily chose a tartlet and began to nibble on it intriguingly. Jason's eyes were drawn to the perfect rectangles of her teeth and the manner in which she chose to eat her food- so carefully, nary a crumb was spilt. His sister, on the other hand, simply shovelled tart after tart into her face.
The unconventional manner in which food was offered was quite the norm at Northwick, especially among close companions and, naturally, one's family. It was unavoidable should one have a sister like Blanche who adored anything sweet or delicious. The fondness for the delectable trumped Blanche's desire to be civilised, and Jason couldn't help but enjoy his youngest sister's antics.
"Hasth Jasthon beenth uhmmf botherthung youth?"
Nicola blinked. "I beg your pardon?"
Blanche swallowed and Jason swore he witnessed the parcel of food move down her throat. "Has Jason been bothering you?" she asked again.
"Oh." Nicola glanced at Jason thoughtfully. "Not really. He has expressed a desire to escort us to the Crosthwaite ball, however."
The tart that had been crammed into Blanche's mouth shot out in a furious spray- right into Jason's lap. "You are?" Blanche asked, shocked.
"I can hardly fathom why you seem so shocked by this news," Jason drawled, annoyed. "It perturbs me greatly."
"It is just unlike you, is all," Blanch pointed out with a vague gesture of her free hand. "No matter though, I am sure the evening will be a grand success!"
As Jason studied the movement of Nicola's curious lips as they wrapped around the edge of a strawberry tart, he couldn't help but agree with his sister's prediction, but for a wholly different reason entirely.