Chapter 4

London, 1820

"Damn that stupid man," Elizabeth muttered, wiping sweat from her brow as she leaned over a boiling pot of stew in her kitchen.

Frowning, she dipped her spoon into the pot and brought a steaming bite to her lips. She paused to blow before sliding it into her mouth. "Oh, that is just foul," she hissed, grabbing a cloth napkin from the counter and spitting into it. Granted it wasn't the most ladylike of gestures, but it wasn't as if someone was around to see her.

"Fair Eliza-"

"Goodness," she cried, clasping a hand to her chest as she turned to see Mr. Spinelli standing in the door. "You gave me quite a fright. I didn't realize you were standing there." Her cheeks flushed, and she balled the napkin up in her fist as if she could make it disappear. "I – I am just preparing our dinner. Mr. Morgan asked if I could, but I'm afraid it has been a while since I've been in the kitchen."

Biting her cheeks, she turned back to the pot at her obvious lie, but she couldn't explain to Mr. Spinelli that all too often Carly helped prepare her meals, only today she'd refused. The woman had been less than thrilled to hear that Elizabeth was betrothed to some stranger who had shown up on her doorstep. Even after she explained about her father's wishes and the letter, she was still disgusted that Jeffrey expected her to do such a thing, and Elizabeth couldn't rightly tell Carly that her father wasn't forcing her to marry Mr. Morgan.

No, they'd done just fine creating that mess on their own.

"Perhaps, I could provide my services," he said hesitantly, stepping into the kitchen and giving her a smile.

"You cook?" she asked excitedly, relenting when she realized this may be some kind of set up. "It's not that I can't handle this on my own. It's just a silly stew, you know."

"I, myself, am a jack of all trades for my brooding boss," he replied kindly, standing beside her at the stove. "While Jason is a rather fine cook, he often implores me to take to the stove."

"Is that so?" she asked, releasing her grip on the wooden spoon when he nodded. "Well, I do suppose – if it wouldn't be much trouble. After all, this is Mr. Morgan's first meal and I would rather him not know of my poorer attributes."

"At least not until you two are married," Mr. Spinelli joked, taking the spoon and stirring the stew. Elizabeth's eyes widened in horror, mostly because she was too busy thinking about what Mr. Morgan would say if he knew he'd proposed – as backwards a proposal as it was – to a woman who wasn't fit to keep a home. "I was merely jesting, my lady."

"Oh," she said, flashing him a smile as she stepped away to give him space to work.

Mr. Spinelli eyed the vegetables she'd not so neatly chopped on the counter as he took a bite of the stew. He winced, coughing loudly and muttering something about the steam getting to him, and she nearly fainted on the spot, knowing he would surely report this back to Mr. Morgan. While she didn't want to marry the fool, the idea of him breaking the engagement was rather humiliating.

"Not a problem, miss," he murmured, making a face as he took a second bite. "If you don't mind me asking, did you perhaps use sugar instead of salt?"

"Oh, dear I hope not," she replied, looking away as he poked around on the counter, sticking his finger into a bowl that she knew was salt.

"I believe you did," he said apologetically, clearly feeling terrible that she was so upset. "No need to worry. I will have this fixed in no time, and Jason will never know. It can be our secret."

"You would keep this from Mr. Morgan?" she asked, not sure why he'd be willing to hide her lacking characteristics when he was Mr. Morgan's most trusted confidant.

"This is a stew. It won't hurt anyone if you say you made it," he replied, tossing some vegetables into the pot and stirring them around. "Have you thought about calling him Jason instead of Mr. Morgan? Once you are married…"

"I suppose I should," she frowned, wondering if Mr. Morgan – Jason was prepared for such intimacy. He hadn't requested her to make a change, but maybe he'd asked Mr. Spinelli to talk to her seeing as they'd gotten off to such a terrible start.

"You can drop the mister from my name also, Fair Elizabeth," he murmured, stirring the stew in one direction, and then switching to the other.

He noticed her watching and started to mutter something about it being a technique of his mother's, and she knew she'd never try it because she would somehow ruin it. And it just didn't seem right to ruin the method of a woman she didn't know.

"Mr. – Damien-"

"Drop the mister," he interrupted, looking over his shoulder at her. "Simply Spinelli, no mister or Damien. It is what I have always been called, and I wish – Unless you want to call me by Damien. I didn't intend to sound rude or put off by your choice of name-"

"No, it's quite fine, Da – Spinelli," she said firmly, leaning against the counter and watching him closely as he expertly chopped an onion and tossed it in to the bubbling pot. "May I ask you a question? Several questions actually."

"You may ask whatever you'd like," he grinned, sounding pleased to have some sort of attention.

Elizabeth imagined that Jason wasn't the best of companions for travel, and she briefly thought about what their own trip to Italy would have been like. Something told her that before they even got out of the city, she would have done her best to overturn the carriage, all the while telling him to go to hell.

"How long have you worked for Mister – for Jason?"

"Many years."

"How many?"

"Close to ten. I believe I came into contact with Jason shortly after his arrival to Italy."

"He is good to you?" she asked, waiting for him to tell her she was asking too many questions. Her father always told her she didn't know when to stop bothering strangers, but it wasn't her fault she was so interested in people.

"Jason is one of the most trustworthy and kindest people I have met."

Her heart swelled at his sincere tone, relieved to find that someone who worked beneath Jason respected him this much. Of course, as an employee, he would never openly speak against his boss, but Spinelli seemed to be the kind of man who was very forward with his beliefs.

"I take it you are worried," he murmured, laying his spoon across the top of the pot.

"I may have expressed my distaste for Jason this morning, but that doesn't mean that I don't long to be a good wife," she admitted, feeling uncomfortable that she was saying all this to Spinelli.

It wasn't as if she and Jason had really discussed their marriage and what exactly it would entail. She wouldn't be surprised if he petitioned for an annulment the second he freed her father – if he freed her father. He clearly wished to force her into a place where she had no choice but to submit to him so he could do so. The stupid man better think twice if he expected her to be some sort of woman that wouldn't speak because she was told not to, or maybe that's what he wanted. She really hated not being able to read him.

"One last question," she murmured, her mouth watering at the smell coming from the pot. She couldn't believe he'd managed to turn her stew into something that smelled so unbelievably delicious.

"Yes?"

"How does Jason know my father?" she asked hesitantly, positive that he would tell her to shut her mouth and stop prying.

Instead he turned to her, a bemused smile on his face. "You don't remember?"

"Remem-"

"Spinelli," Jason barked, appearing in the doorway, scowling at the two of them standing beside one another. His frame was as wide and tall as the doorframe, and he looked so angry that he might burst it to pieces. The blue of his eyes wasn't bright and kind like before, and he looked almost menacing.

"Forgive me, sir," he replied, dropping the spoon into the pot and hurrying away from Elizabeth. "I was simply doing as you asked and looking out for your fair-"

"It's fine. I need to talk with you," he snarled, walking out of the room.

She stood frozen next to the stove, not sure what to do exactly with the stew, and she craned her neck trying to pick up their conversation in the hallway. Thankfully, Jason didn't sound as though he was scolding Spinelli. They were whispering, and she knew she wasn't supposed to hear, but that didn't stop her from trying.

Carefully, she crossed the room and stood next to the doorway, only to hear that Jason was giving Spinelli a list of tasks. Something about a woman named Georgie, a pub, and a piece of paper, and while Elizabeth knew that Jason was the type of man to engage in wenches, she couldn't believe he was having Spinelli arrange it for him.

Oh, she was disgusted.

To think, she was going to marry this horrid fool.

"Oh, bloody hell!" she cried, glancing at the stove to see the stew boiling over the pot. She felt Jason's presence over her shoulder as she hurried to wipe up the mess and didn't have to look at him to know he was wearing the same angered look as before.

"What?" she spat, swearing again under her breath when she bumped the side of her hand against the scolding hot stew pot.

"Those are hardly appropriate words for a woman to use," he hissed, hurrying over to grab her hand and look over the red, blistering burn. Her hand was small and delicate in his as he gently stroked the burn with his slender fingers. He didn't feel as rough as she imagined he would, tender in fact, and that shocked her. "But I do suppose that's your punishment for eavesdropping."

"I was doing no such thing," she cried, jerking her hand away from him. Her elbow nearly crashed into the stove, but thankfully he moved to steady her. "This is my home, and if I want to stand in doorways-"

"For someone who is so concerned with being proper, you sure as hell don't act like it," he replied, narrowing his gaze at her.

"Don't curse at me," she said disgustedly, grabbing another washcloth from the counter and pressing it against her hand. The rough cloth did nothing except agitate the burn, but that didn't stop her from holding the rag against it.

Choosing neither to apologize nor harass her any longer, he turned to the stove and started to clean up the rest of the mess. The stew had boiled over everywhere, and she'd done it no favor by knocking against it. Her entire afternoon spent chopping and stirring and trying to figure out what she was doing had been completely wasted. She winced when she pulled the cloth back to see her bubbled skin and hissed as she opened and closed her fist, surprised by how badly it hurt.

"You're making it worse," he muttered, shaking his head as he continued to wipe up the stove. She rolled her eyes at the back of his head and pressed the cloth to her hand, refusing to let him know that it hurt. "Elizabeth, stop hurting yourself to prove something."

"I am not."

"You are," he grunted, piling the dirty rags on the counter before starting to look through the cabinets.

"What are you doing?" she asked, knowing she shouldn't feel violated that he was going through her things seeing as they were technically engaged, but still.

He ignored her, pulling a small bowl from the cabinet, and she watched as he poured water into it, and then added something white, like flour – no, baking soda, and stirred it around with his fingertip. She would have smiled at the gesture, but was too busy scolding herself for not thinking of it first, considering her father was a doctor.

"Give me your hand," he said, holding his hand out.

"I'm quite capable of doing it my-"

He cut her off, by grabbing her hand and pulling her towards him. Almost instantly, he became tender again, using his fingertips to gently apply the paste to the burn. She grimaced, not sure whether to blame the burn or being so close to him for upsetting her. "Sorry," he murmured, thinking it was the burn bothering her. He lifted her hand to his lips and blew gently on her skin.

"Really, Jason, you didn't have to…," she sighed, relieved when he let go of her hand and turned to wipe his fingers on the pile of dirty rags.

"I see you've taken to using first names," he commented, shifting his eyes to hers.

"Well, Spin – Mr. Spinelli – he, uh, he suggested that since we are to be married…" She paused, feeling overly flustered. "We are still getting…"

"Yes," he answered, arching an eyebrow as if challenging her to say otherwise. His lips turned into a grin. "And I'd rather you call me Jason. I like the way it sounds on your lips." He stopped long enough to let his comment sink in, looking pleased when she let out a groan of annoyance. "But we don't need to discuss the engagement yet."

"Oh," she said quietly, holding one hand across her middle, leaving her burned one to hang limply at her side. "Clearly you have something you do wish to discuss."

"I met with someone about your father's case," he replied, surprising her completely. Of all the things she expected Jason to discuss with her, anything related to her father was the last. "I was given some very telling information."

"Nothing to free him I'm sure," she murmured, looking away from him as his expression hardened.

"You lied to me." She shook her head, preparing to defend herself, but he didn't give her the chance. "You said you knew nothing about your father's case, and yet you're connected to all the parties involved, including the man your father supposedly murdered."

She stiffened, not knowing how or what to say and she hated that she'd allowed him to back her into a corner, especially when he seemed to enjoy doing so.

"Both Lucas Spencer and Richard Lansing were suitors of yours," he replied, as if to remind her.

"Did you think I forgot?" she snapped, her lips quivering.

"Did you think I wouldn't find out?"

"You seemed so determined to figure things out on your own," she stammered. "So I thought…"

"You didn't want me to know," he said smugly, giving her no time to dispute his claim. "That only leads me to think you know more than you're letting on."

"What kind of fool do you think I am?" she cried, throwing up her hands. "You show up on my doorstep and simply expect me to drop to my knees, giving you whatever you want – be it information, a bed, or a wife, and you never stop for a moment to ask how I feel about any of this."

"Forgive me, Elizabeth," he replied, rolling his eyes. "I thought maybe you wanted to free your father as badly as I do."

Her eyes welled up with tears, but there was no way she would let him see her cry. "Don't you dare throw my father's freedom in my face," she warned, pointing a trembling finger at him. It was a good thing she didn't have a staff or else they'd all be crowded into the hallway, soaking up every word. "No one wants him out of prison more than I do, and not a day has passed in the last six months when I haven't thought of him."

"Then perhaps you could act as if you gave a damn and provide the information you have," he cried, raising his voice to shout over hers.

"Nothing you find out will change the outcome of this," she shouted, practically shrieking in hopes that he would just listen to her. "You think you can ride in like some silly hero from Italy and change the law? Someone was murdered, and Richard won't give up until someone pays."

"That person will be your father," he growled, gritting his teeth.

"Because there is no one else," she whispered through her tears. "To prove that he's innocent means you have to find another suspect, and have you bothered to think that might just get you more than you bargained for?"

Gripping her skirt, she gave him no time to answer and started to rush past him, but he grabbed her wrist, jerking her against him. She crashed into him, her entire body tensing up as she looked up at him with fear-filled eyes, too scared to pull away.

"Let go of me," she pleaded, a tear slipping down her cheek. "Please."

"I'm trying to repay your father."

"You may owe my father a favor, Jason," she murmured, her voice trembling as she spoke, "but I assure you showing up and treating me like some invalid is not a way to repay that favor." His eyes softened immediately and he loosened his grip, but didn't let go completely, forcing her pull away from him. "Do not ever touch me like that again."

Jason nodded, unable to find words as she turned and fled from the room, her sob bursting through the kitchen the second she disappeared from the room. Her feet were heavy on the stairs as she hurried to put distance between them, and the slamming of her door practically rattled the entire frame of the house. Scowling, he raked a hand through his hair, suddenly jerking the pot from the stove and flinging it across the room.

"I take it dinner did not go as planned," Spinelli murmured, an hour or so later as he returned to the house, a stack of papers beneath his arm.

"Not exactly," Jason said, his gaze locked on the pan in front of him, doing his best to prepare some kind of dinner that all of them could eat.

Carly obviously either cooked for her or kept her kitchen stocked daily, or maybe Elizabeth just didn't eat. That would explain why she was so thin.

"Did you take care of what I asked?" Jason asked, opening the cabinets and searching around for a tray of some kind.

"Yes, I did," he replied, setting the papers on the counter. "Newspapers from the past few months, documents that Johnny managed to get a hold of, and some other things he thought you might want to look over."

"Georgie?" he asked, stooping down to dig through more cabinets, annoyed that the kitchen had so many damn places to put things.

Not that Elizabeth would know where anything was if she was down here.

The poor girl clearly knew nothing about cooking, and he was thankful he'd learned his way long ago, or else they'd all starve. He surely wasn't going to hire someone in London when they had no desire but to collect whatever gossip they could about Jeffrey Webber.

"She is at your disposal," Spinelli replied, watching his boss closely. "Sir, may I help you?"

"I need a tray," he spat, slamming the cabinet doors. "Forgive me, Spinelli."

"Not a problem sir," he said, going through the places that Jason just had, but he didn't stop him. A moment later, he pulled a fancy silver tray from one of the top shelves. It was tarnished, in desperate need of shining, but it would do.

"Thank you," he grunted, taking it from his assistant and placing it next to the stove.

He was too distracted with Elizabeth to see straight, and he'd spent the last hour fighting the urge to stalk up to her bedroom and demand that she let him apologize. The only thing that really stopped him was that he'd have to kick her door in, and that would just start another fight he wasn't ready for.

Part of him longed to hold her in contempt for keeping such important information from him, while the other wanted to coddle and hold her like Jeffrey would. However, she was a damn grown woman; full of attitude and opinions and a mouth that would disgust most men, therefore she could coddle herself.

"If I may be so bold, Jason," Spinelli said, watching as he filled three bowls with some concoction that didn't appear to be a stew, but was supposed to be.

"What?" he sighed, knowing he would say whatever he wanted anyway.

"I believe that you and Fair Elizabeth are equally distressed over your situation," he replied seriously. "And that instead of working from opposing sides, you should find some common ground. You both want Jeffrey free, and if that requires a marriage or a vow for the time being, there's no one to be angry with. You could simply call off the engagement, send her to Italy, and stay behind…"

"I can't," Jason said, dipping a spoon into a bowl and sliding it down the counter to Spinelli.

Regardless of whether she wanted him to know it, Elizabeth was already afraid that Jason would break the engagement. He could see in her eyes that she trusted him to fix this in some way, and he felt too guilty about everything that had happened to just throw her in a carriage and send her out of the city. It didn't mean he hadn't thought about it. One more outburst like what he witnessed earlier, and their entire marriage would be spent slamming doors, and Jeffrey would never get free.

"Besides, marrying her keeps her close and she'll calm down once the initial shock settles," he murmured, talking mostly to himself. "Maybe you are right. She needs time. I need time, but sadly, we don't have much. Jeffrey could go to trial any day now, and if Lansing realizes that someone is working to free him…"

"He could push for the trial to move up," Spinelli filled in, shaking his head. "I can't imagine how much it pains you to have to come back here after why you left." Jason glared at him, reminding him of the conversation he'd come across earlier. "Fair Elizabeth simply asked, and I would have thought she'd remember that you once liv-"

"Don't answer her questions," he interrupted, slapping a piece of burnt bread onto a plate and setting it on the tray. Elizabeth had put a loaf of bread in the oven, and by the time he'd realized it, the entire kitchen was filled with smoke. It had all finally cleared out a few minutes before Spinelli arrived. "It's my past and I'll tell it at my choosing." Sighing, he lifted the tray with his hands and nodded towards Spinelli's bowl. "Eat your dinner."

The young man nodded, reaching for the bowl. Jason paused in the doorway, looking over his shoulder. "Spinelli?"

"Yes, sir?" he asked, wiping stew from his chin as chewed.

"Thank you for helping Elizabeth today," he replied, heading out of the kitchen and for the stairs.

His heart tightened in his chest as he started upstairs only to be greeted with the sound of Elizabeth's sobs sneaking out from beneath her door.

Frowning, he headed to his room at the far end of the hall, kicking the door open with his foot. He set the tray on the table by the door and crossed the room to his bag, digging around for a piece of paper. He quickly scrawled a messy note and folded it in half, before walking back over to the chair and tucking it under the bowl of food.

Swallowing hard, he picked up the chair and started into the hall, shaking his head as he listened to her cry through the bedroom door. "Elizabeth," he murmured, rapping gently on the door.

"Go away!" she screamed, giving him the reaction he'd precisely expected.

"I'm leaving your dinner in the hall," he replied, setting the tray outside her door and heading for the stairs.

He returned to the kitchen to find Spinelli had already gone to bed, his bowl cleaned and placed back into the cabinet. Jason's had already turned cold, giving him no desire to eat, so he tossed it out and cleaned up the rest of the dishes, before heading up to bed.

When he reached the top of the stairs, he was surprised to find the tray of food still in the hallway, knowing that Elizabeth must have been starving by now. Upon closer inspection, he found that her bowl was empty, and her bread was now a pile of crumbs. The note he'd written, however, was crumbled up and placed in the center of the tray as if to make a point, but still, it was some kind of start.