The Belle of Belgrave Square (Belles of London #2)(54)

“You’re the solicitor, of course,” Jasper said. The same solicitor he’d been planning to call on in Fleet Street. The one whose advice he required to set his mind at ease. He motioned to a chair. “Ridgeway’s mentioned you.”

Finchley sat, appearing perfectly at his ease. “I’ve heard about you, as well. It’s difficult not to, given your reputation.”

Jasper took a seat on the settee across from him. “I wouldn’t believe everything you hear.”

“I rarely do.” Finchley’s tone was conversational, just as it had been when Skipforth had admitted him into the hall. As if it were the most normal thing in the world to apply at the front door of a bachelor’s household asking to speak to the young lady who had been carried inside wrapped in a quilt. “In my experience, the truth is often much more complex than rumor.”

Jasper wondered which rumors Finchley had heard. Whispers of both Jasper’s heroism and his brutality were rife in London. The former was mentioned often enough in his presence, but no one had yet dared broach the latter subject to his face.

No one except Julia.

He was painfully conscious of her presence upstairs, weak and vulnerable after her double round of bloodletting. If he could have, he’d have turned the Finchleys away at the door. But their arrival, though ill-timed, was also rather fortuitous.

Yesterday, after Sir Eustace had sent him packing, Jasper had been in no mood to make his planned visit to Fleet Street. And today, it had seemed there would be no opportunity to do so.

But Finchley was here now, by some miracle.

Jasper fully intended to make the most of his presence. “Quite complex, in fact. In both my case and Miss Wychwood’s.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Finchley said. “You can, nevertheless, understand my wife’s concerns.”

Jasper hadn’t taken the man as a henpecked husband. “She won’t be overlong, I trust. Miss Wychwood is in no fit state to be interrogated.”

Finchley looked at him evenly. There was a layer of steel beneath his amiable manner. “Is she fit enough to give her consent to marriage?”

Jasper stiffened at the intimation. “Of course she is.”

“You can imagine how all this looks. An unmarried lady of good family arriving as she did at a bachelor’s establishment, with not one but two bachelors in residence.”

“Ridgeway isn’t here.”

“When do you expect him back?”

“I’ve no idea,” Jasper said. “Not anytime soon.”

Julia was in no danger of encountering the viscount. If it weren’t for the Finchleys, she and Jasper might have already been on their way.

It wouldn’t be long before her absence from Belgrave Square was remarked. Her parents wouldn’t bestir themselves, not with their ill health, but they’d likely send someone after her. Lord only knew who it would be. Servants? The magistrate? A hastily hired private inquiry agent?

Jasper was confident he could repel all comers, but the more people involved in the affair, the greater the chance of a scandal. And there would be scandal enough to contend with once the fashionable world learned he’d spirited away a vulnerable heiress.

He needed to get Julia out of London. To marry her and convey her, with all speed, to Goldfinch Hall. There, she could rest and recover her strength, if not in luxury, at least in safety; free from the dangerous influence of her parents and the oppressive attentions of Lord Gresham. Every moment spent in the parlor with Finchley was a moment wasted.

Unless Jasper could turn the conversation to matters of law.

It was difficult to do so given Finchley’s suspicions.

“Is Ridgeway aware of your plans?” he asked.

“There’s no plan in effect,” Jasper said, “other than a desire to render Miss Wychwood assistance. She finds herself in an impossible situation.”

“In such cases, marriage can provide a viable escape. I don’t disapprove of it.”

Jasper fixed the solicitor with an icy glare. “Your approval makes little difference. My affairs and those of Miss Wychwood are no concern of yours.”

Finchley only smiled. “I concern myself with the plight of all people in impossible situations. A habit of my profession.”

“Miss Wychwood isn’t your client. You’d be of no use to her. What she needs is a husband. Someone to look after her—to protect her. She hasn’t anyone else to do the job.”

Understanding registered on Finchley’s face. “You care for her.”

Jasper felt a rare twinge of vulnerability. It wasn’t safe to want something as much as he wanted Julia Wychwood. It threatened to make him incautious. To strip him of his carefully wrought armor, leaving him entirely exposed. “I count myself her friend,” he said.

“And she feels the same about you, I gather.” Finchley frowned. “I know something of her family situation. An unfortunate one, to be sure, but . . . are you certain this isn’t making things worse?”

“She’s not safe in Belgrave Square any longer.”

“And you can make her safe?”

“I can,” Jasper said. “I will.” He’d never been so certain of anything in his life.

Finchley’s expression turned thoughtful. “You’re right, it is none of my business. However, if you’d like my advice—”