Chapter 9
London, 1820…
Elizabeth frowned at the poorly filled tray of tea she'd managed to put together. It would have helped to have some kind of crackers or cookies to set with it or even some flowers, but instead she had nothing, leaving the silver to appear extremely bare. For most, it would have been embarrassing and they would have decided against serving the tea, but this was for Jason, and surely he was used to her being a disappointment.
Taking a deep breath, she lifted the tray with her trembling hands and started towards the study where her husband had been hiding out since last evening. He'd said goodnight in the foyer after offering to walk her to her room, which she declined as always, and then disappeared to the end of the hall. She knew what he was doing and knew that she should be helping him, but the idea of Jason freeing her father was completely overwhelming.
She wanted him to more than anything, but to put such faith in something she didn't believe was possible seemed daunting. Jason, however, was extremely determined. She assumed that was why they'd visited the Zacharras yesterday and wondered if Johnny was the one feeding him information. While Jason knew so little of the actual facts regarding the case, he'd learned a lot in a short period of time, and as far as she knew Johnny had been his only contact.
She had no idea what her husband was planning or how he'd go about it, and she longed to take back the desperate plea she'd made in front of the jail. Maybe he would lose hope soon and realize it was an impossible task, and he should just annul their marriage and return to Italy. Though something told her that regardless of what happened regarding her father, she wouldn't be getting rid of Jason so easily.
Hence the peace offering in the form of tea.
Shifting the tray in her arms, she lifted her fist to knock on the door just as Jason opened it on the other side. Elizabeth jumped back in such a hurry that she dropped the tray and the china fell to the floor, liquid pooling across the hardwood floor as it shattered.
"I'm sorry," he murmured, kneeling down beside her as she stooped down and used the skirt of her dress to stop the liquid from running all over the hallway floor.
It may have no been the most lady-like of gestures, but well, she wasn't much of a lady. "It's alright. You just gave me a fright," she said weakly, pressing her skirt against the floor.
"Don't do that," he said, shifting to pull a handkerchief from his pocket. "You'll ruin your dress."
"It's just tea," she replied, shaking her head at her clumsy antics. "I thought – you didn't come out for breakfast, so I – I thought you would like…something."
The corner of his mouth twitched, as it always did when he fought a smile. "Thank you," he muttered, his eyes sweeping over the broken china. "Were you going to drink with me?"
"What?" she asked, tipping her head to the side to look at him, and then realizing she'd brought more than one cup. "Well, not exactly. I thought maybe Spinelli was in there with you."
"I sent him into town an hour ago. He was supposed to ask if you needed anything," Jason replied confused. She could tell from his face that he wasn't trying to call her a liar. He just wanted to make sure Spinelli had done as he asked.
And Spinelli had.
She'd just been lying.
"Oh, he did," she said, raking the china into a neat pile. "I – well – my father used to hide in his study a lot, but he never liked to drink tea…alone."
"You wanted to have tea with me?" he asked, a slow grin breaking across his face. He looked almost smug, which instantly disgusted her.
"Not exactly," she huffed, continuing to rake the china up with her hands. "Perhaps I imagined you had a wench over for lunch."
He chuckled loudly, his cerulean eyes lighting up with amusement. "Do men have wenches for lunch?"
She arched an eyebrow, determined not to let him make her out to be a fool. "Are you saying Jason Morgan treats his wenches like everyone else?" she asked, looking up from the floor. "I would assume that you like to give a little more in an attempt to be less of a disgusting pig than the other men like you."
"So if I feed a woman before I take her to bed I am a better man?" he asked, raking a hand through his blonde locks as he winked. "I'll be sure and remember that."
"No, I was simply saying that you would like to outdo…other men…in certain areas because it would give – you think it would give you…something to brag about," she stammered, turning her attention back to the floor.
He let out a laugh as he leaned forward and narrowed his eyes. "I most certainly outdo men in a certain area."
"Oh, you are such a – ow!" she howled, shaking her handhead as she lifted it from the floor, a thin stream of blood trickling down the side of her hand.
"You should have been careful," Jason muttered, taking her hand in his to look at the cut as he grabbed the handkerchief with his other and pressed it against her hand. He pulled her to her feet as he stood up and gently nodded his head in the direction of the kitchen. "I have no idea how you manage to injure yourself doing the simplest of tasks."
"It was broken china, and you distracted me with all your-"
"Comments about taking wenches to bed?" he asked, his hand still wrapped around hers as they stepped into the kitchen. He didn't even release her as they stepped through the doorway, insteadand just pressedsed himself against her so they'd fit through the narrow opening.
"I was busy being disgusteding by the idea of you taking wenches to bed," she hissed, stopping in front of the counter as he reached for a clean cloth that was folded on the counter.
"Does it make you jealous?" he asked, pulling the handkerchief away and puttinglling her hand up to his face.
"It makes me nauseous," she spat, holding one hand across her middle as she waited impatiently for him to release her. "It's just a tiny cut. Not the first I ever had – and ow! What are you doing?"
"There," he muttered, holding out a tiny piece of china on his fingertip. "If I wouldn't have gotten that out you would have had a nasty infection."
"Oh," she said, looking at herhand as he wrapped a cloth around it.
"It'll only bleed for a second or two more. I'll clean up the mess and the hallway, and perhaps the next time you want tea, you should let me prepare it," he teased, grinning at her as he headed out of the kitchen.
"Or maybe I should just toss it at your head!" she called after him, leaning against the counter as she frowned at her hand.
So much for nice gestures.
"You're quiet this afternoon," Johnny murmured, pointing to a tiny house at the end of the street. "That's Lulu's house."
"I had an interesting morning," Jason replied secretively, grinning to himself as he thought about how fun it had been to tease Elizabeth.
It felt almost normal, as if he'd been doing it for years. Her father's case and the possibility that she was a suspect seemed so far away, even after he'd stayed upthey'd kept him up all night worrying over those very issues. He felt rude for dismissing Elizabeth and all but sending her to her room when they'd gotten home last night, but he just needed time to think about what his friend had told him. The entire night had been spent playing with the possibilities surrounding the case, and he wanted to help Jeffrey and Elizabeth, but he worried he'd gotten himself into more than he bargained for.
"Things with Mrs. Morgan are pleasant?" his friend asked as they neared the house.
"Far from it," he grunted, shaking his head.
"Must you be so short with her?"
"How do you know I'm short?"
Johnny gave him a knowing ly look as they climbed the stairs to the front of the house. "Jason Morgan is only kind to a woman when he's in bed with her."
"You think so little of me," he said stiffly, looking around at the rickety front porch and flimsy door. It was barely hanging on the hinges, and he was pretty sure that if he knocked hard enough it would fall in.
"I could survey half the women in London and they would agree."
"None of those women are my wife."
Johnny grinned, arching an eyebrow. "So now Elizabeth means something?"
Honestly, he had no idea what she meant, but he sure as hell wasn't going to tell his friend this.
"Knock," Jason growled, nodding at the door.
Johnny just looked at him. "Being a Viscount has gone to your head," he hissed playfully, gently rapping on the door. "Let me talk to her at first, and get you in. Then you may-" He stopped when the door swung open to reveal a petite, timid blonde.
"Mr. Zacharra," she murmured, her hand clutching the door.
"Ms. Spencer," he replied, nodding politely. "If you could forgive the imposition, this is a detective that's been hired to look further into Jeffrey's case."
"I've already spoken to Mr. Lansing and-"
"He will compensate you for whatever you are willing to tell him."
"Oh, well. Then it's fine, I suppose," she said, stepping back and motioning them inside. "You'll have to be quick. My father's just stepped out, and if he comes home to find you here…"
"Understood," Johnny said, following her into the parlor room where she motioned for them to sit.
On the way over, he'd explained to Jason that Lulu's father was the town drunk, and he didn't take well to the law in any form. There were rumors around town that he'd practically chased Richard Lansing from his home with a pistol the day he'd come to question Lulu about the murder.
Thankfully Johnny knew the way to get to her and said that the mention of a payment would surely get her to talk. She'd found no employment upon being dismissed from his home, and sadly she was the only one to support herself and her alcoholic father.
"Forgive me, but I don't think Mr. Zacharra mentioned your name," she said nervously, sitting down across from them.
Jason hesitated briefly, not good with lying, but Johnny stepped in immediately. "This is Mr. Benjamin Keats."
"Mr. Keats," she repeated quietly, taking a deep breath. "What would you like to know?"
"You were there the night of Lucas Spencer's murder, correct?" She nodded obediently. "What do you remember?"
She grew flushed, clearly thinking of what she'd really been doing. "I was outside with another servant. I don't remember much. Elizabeth, Jeffrey's daughter – I remember her yelling, but I was later told that was after the man had already been murdered. When I – when I went back into the house Sonny – another servant – quickly ushered me out and sent me home."
Jason nodded slowly, trying to make sure he would remember everything she was saying. "And the other servant you were outside with? Where was he?"
"Cleaning up…the outside," she said hesitantly, her cheeks turning red again. "It was his last chore. He simply went home afterward."
"I see," he muttered, looking over at Johnny who was clearly amused by the idea of her romping around with the staff. "What do you know about Richard and Lucas? Primarily their relationship with Ms. Mor - Webber?"
The blonde barely noticed his stutter, her eyes lighting up with amusement. "Elizabeth marrying either of those men would have been a travesty. She was so cold and bitter to every suitor her father brought into the house. Heaven forbid she marry someone wealthy and handsome and have to leave her poor daddy behind. It was all very ridiculous, if I may say so."
"If you must," Jason interjected angrily, ignoring Johnny's glare.
No one was going to talk about his wife that way in front of him.
"Both Mr. Spencer and Mr. Lansing adored Elizabeth so very much. Mr. Lansing used to call her a china doll, and from the very moment they met he placed her on a pedestal. He worshipped her and she was very aware of it. As for Mr. Spencer, he wanted her just as badly. Honestly, I would not be surprised if she was going back and forth between both men like some dreadful tramp."
Jason clenched his fists at his sides. "You're bold to call her such a name," he hissed, getting up from the couch. "Were you not going to bed with most of the Webber staff?"
Her face hardened instantly, and she got up from her seat and pointed towards the door. "You may see yourselves out."
"Gladly," he grunted, heading for the door.
"I may be inclined to tell Mr. Lansing about your visit, Mr. Keats," she called after him.
"If you must," Johnny replied, dropping a small roll of cash onto the couch before following after his friend.
Jason started down the stairs to the street when Johnny appeared on the porch. He scrubbed a hand over his face, doing his best not to allow Lulu's words to upset him. He may be stupid about a lot of things when it came to women, but he knew his wife was no whore and that if anything, Lulu was jealous of the life Elizabeth had.
"That went well," Johnny chuckled, falling into step behind him.
"Elizabeth is not a tramp," he said firmly.
"You care what people think," he replied, flashing him a smile.
"I don't, but she's simply not, and for some jealous little shrew to spread lies – just think of everyone she's probably told."
"You care," he repeated, humming quietly to himself.
"This is about Jeffrey – freeing him and reuniting him with his daughter," he said seriously, sliding his hands into his pants pockets.
"Where will you go after?" Johnny asked pointedly, tugging his ear nervously as if he'd said something that would really offend Jason.
"Back to Italy," he answered simply, not sure why that was so difficult to understand.
"You'll free Jeffrey. Divorce his daughter. Then disappear," he murmured, letting out a heavy sigh as he looked over at his friend.
"Yes. And it will be an annulment."
"For now," he teased, arching his eyebrows at him. "I'm saying this seriously though, Jason. Be it an annulment or a divorce – are you telling me you'll pack your things and disappear back to Italy without so much as a second thought?"
"She won't need me. Neither will Jeffrey."
Johnny clucked his tongue and reached over to slap his hand on Jason's shoulder. "You can't even see what's right in front of you," he frowned. "Elizabeth already needs you. She did before you came, and she'll need you after you're gone."
He stiffened, jerking himself away from his friend's touch. "Being married has really gone to your head."
Elizabeth sat at the kitchen table, tracing her fingertip over the tiny slice from the china. It'd already scabbed over and was just a speck on her skin, and for some reason she'd found herself fascinated by it.
She assumed it was her father's influence; having always enjoyed cuts and bruises and broken bones. She even knew how to take care of most of those injuries, yet Jason acted as if she knew nothing at all. It almost reminded her of her father with the way he'd fret every time she stubbed a toe or pricked her finger. Only she knew her father was looking at it from the eyes of a doctor, and Jason – well, she couldn't figure out exactly how he looked at her.
Sure, she was an obligation, a promise made to her father, but he touched her so tenderly and his eyes were worried. She could still feel his hand on hers, how warm and rough his palm was against her hand, and how empty her hand felt when he let go. It was a strange feeling, one of complete safety. She'd only felt that with her father, and even then it was different. His touch was delicate and sensual, the way she imagined a woman should feel when she was touched by a man, and that was an overwhelming thought on its own.
It made her blush in the most delicious of ways, yet she felt dirty and wrong, not to mention that she had no idea what she was supposed to do with such feelings.
"Good evening," she heard him mutter, his voice smooth as silk as she slipped into the kitchen. "Did Spinelli prepare dinner?"
She got up from the table and held her hands behind her back as if she got caught doing something wrong. "Um – yes, he did…" Her voice trailed off when she settled on his warm gaze, and she felt her cheeks flush. " He – he left again…said – said you had more errands for him."
"Yes," he muttered, opening the pot on the stove and leaning over it as he sniffed. "Smells wonderful."
"It was quite good," she agreed, walking over to him, feeling eager to close their distance.
"You ate?" he asked, sounding disappointed.
"I wasn't sure how long you were going to be out, and I was quite famished," she apologized, holding a hand to her stomach. She wasn't going to explain about the flutters in her stomach and how she'd only managed to get down a bite or two before having to stop.
Perhaps this was just the way a wife was supposed to feel.
She'd have to find someone to ask about these feelings.
It was difficult enough to live in the house with this man she barely knew, let alone realizing; only to realize she was attracted him. That is what it was right? She found herself wanting to be around him, to know about him, and wanting to make him happy.
She'd have to find someone to ask about these feelings. Perhaps this was just the way a wife was supposed to feel.
Carly was most definitely out, seeing as she hadn't exactly warmed up to Elizabeth's sudden marriage. Or worse, she'd question why Elizabeth had yet to go to bed with her husband, and she couldn't rightly explain why.
This entire situation confused her so very much.
She supposed she could ask Spinelli, but that seemed too personal for the man, especially seeing as he worked for Jason.
That only left Nadine, who was probably the most ideal out of the handful of people she knew, only she wasn't sure how to go about asking such questions.
"Elizabeth?"
"Wha – Yes," she nodded, realizing he'd asked her a question, but she'd been too focused on anything but his words.
"Tomorrow, then?" he asked again, as he plated his food.
"Erm…"
"You weren't listening," he grinned.
"I'm afraid not," she apologized, returning his smile, which was quite nice.
"I would like to see Sonny Corinthos," he said, taking a bite of his food. "Johnny and I stopped by this afternoon, but no one answered, and I may be wrong, but I think he was home."
"Oh," she murmured, resting her hip against the counter. "He may have been. Sonny's quite a recluse."
"Why?" he asked curiously, and she couldn't help but wonder if he was prying for some sort of information.
She wondered lots of things about this man.
"His wife passed away days after the – the murder," she answered, nibbling her lip. It was almost instant these days for her eyes to well up with tears at the mention of her father. "He adored her so much, and he was heartbroken. I hated to let him go, but he worried that with the rest of the staff being gone people would say things."
"People always say things," he said, abandoning his food as he turned towards her.
"Well, a man who just lost his wife moving in with a young woman that no man will ever want – it would look inappropriate."
"Do you have to say it like that?" he asked, his eyes darkening as he looked at her. The question confused her so she didn't say anything. "You always say you're a woman that no man will ever want."
"My father has been labeled a murderer. No one will ever treat me kindly, and no man will ever want me."
"That isn't true," he replied thickly.
She felt that familiar flutter at his tone, and she could barely keep her eyes on his. "Well, this man, whoever he may be, is in the minority."
"He may not mind that," he said, tipping his head to the side as he dropped his head just a bit.
"Are you making fun of me?" she asked, bracing one hand against the counter.
"I would never," he quipped, causing her to roll her eyes.
"You're a terrible man, Jason," she murmured, rubbing a hand nervously over her chest as he continued to stare at her.
"I was looking out for you," he continued to tease.
"As you've been told to do," she retorted, telling herself that if Jason could pry her for information, she would figure out a way to getfor him to tell her what she wanted to know.
"If only you were as a coy as you believe yourself to be," he said, suddenly reaching for her hand and turning it in his to check the barely visible cut.
She'd like to think that he just wanted to touch her, but she had no idea what motivated either of them at this point.
"Do you wish for me to be honest?" she asked softly, the fluttering practically bursting inside her as he stroked his finger over the cut.
"Always."
"I want – I wanted to have tea with you this morning," she admitted, swallowing hard as he continued to hold her hand. "I want – want to help you, but I don't know how."
"Help me?" he asked softly, his face inching closer to hers.
"With…everything," she answered, not sure exactly how to answer. "My father's case mostly, I suppose, but I…" He waited patiently for her to finish. "Our situation is complicated and far from traditional, and like you, I don't wish for my – my husband to be miserable."
"You want to make me happy?" he asked surprised, his hand gently tightening around hers.
"Yes," she confessed, waiting for him to turn her admission into something it wasn't.
"Why?" he asked roughly.
"It's my duty as your wife," she answered seriously, confused when he dropped her hand and backed away.
He shook his head as he turned back to his food, his entire demeanor suddenly changing. "Don't do anything on my part," he said, picking up his plate and walking over to the table. "You owe me nothing. Just bide your time until your father is free."
"Oh," she whispered, frowning as she watched him take a seat at the table. "I thought you wanted me." He didn't look up or even acknowledged that she'd spoken, so she assumed he hadn't heard her and headed out of the kitchen.
It was only when she started up the stairs that Jason turned his head towards where she'd been standing. He'd heard her.
He'd heard herveryher very clearly.