Another servant entered, bearing another silver tray.
Jasper frowned, and reached for the missive.
Jasper,
If you would please deign to send round a note, this time regarding my request for a meeting along the Serpentine. I’m afraid I received quite the dressing down from my mother, at a time when I can ill-afford to anger her.
The unwritten mention of Ekstrom. He clenched the parchment so tightly, he wrinkled the page. Jasper forced himself to keep reading.
If you are a man of integrity, then you’ll honor your word and provide me with your copy of Wordsworth’s work.
Jasper’s frown deepened. The insolent bit of baggage. He’d been called mad, a coldhearted bastard, but no one had dared to question his honor.
I do not mean to impugn your honor. Though, I can certainly see how the above mentioned words might seem that way.
His lips twitched.
But it is with some urgency that I request to meet with you. And obtain that volume.
Ever Yours,
Katherine
Something in those final two sentences gave him pause. The last sentence seemed an afterthought hastily scratched upon the page.
It is with some urgency that I request to meet with you.
Those were not the words of a woman merely eager to obtain a book of poetry.
Guilford chuckled. “I would trade my countryseat in Sussex to know the contents of those missives.”
Jasper folded the two notes, and stuffed them inside the front of his jacket. “Go to hell,” he muttered, and picked up his coffee. He took a quick sip. The now cold brew slid down his throat, and he grimaced in distaste.
Guilford sighed, and tipped back on the legs of his chair. “Does your recent correspondence perhaps have to do with your Lady Katherine?”
“She is not my…” Jasper shook his head, and took another sip. He would not continue to be goaded by his friend.
Lady Katherine Adamson was not Guilford’s business.
Jasper started as he realized that she was in fact, however, his business. His rescue, then their subsequent meeting at the bookshop, followed by their discourse on Wordsworth, and their assignation at Hyde Park made her more than a stranger.
His cup of coffee rattled in his hands, and liquid sloshed over the rim. A liveried footman rushed over to clean the liquid from the table.
Jasper ignored him, unable to form a coherent thought, his mind raced.
Since Lydia’s death, he’d gone to great lengths to shut himself off from the world. He had not wanted the emotional entanglements, the pitying stares, nor his name so much as breathed upon the lips of strangers who found a macabre fascination with his wife’s death.
Yet, in the course of a week, Lady Katherine Adamson had slipped past his defenses so that he wondered after her well-being. It could not be more than that. He’d not allow for it. She meant nothing to him.
Nothing…
He’d resolved to never care again.
“There could be far worse things than finding yourself wed to Lady Katherine Adamson,” Guilford interjected quietly.
Jasper started. His eyes narrowed. “Marriage?” he drawled. Perhaps it was Guilford who should earn the title of Mad Marquess. “I have no intentions of wedding again.” He could not subject another woman to the hell that had claimed Lydia’s life. His eyes closed and nausea churned in his stomach as he remembered the blood. There had been so much of it; a bright crimson puddle upon the stark white sheets. Only this time, in his remembrance, Lydia’s face shifted in and out of focus, alternating with a more recent visage; a minx with brown hair and brown eyes.
He clenched his eyes tighter, as bile burned its way up his throat and he forced himself to swallow, lest he cast the contents of his stomach in the midst of the breakfast table. He counted to ten, and then opened his eyes. No, he’d not subject another woman to that, not even to preserve the title.
The legs of Guilford’s chair rocked forward, and scraped along the wood floor. He propped his elbows upon the table and leaned over. “Surely you know you must honor your ducal responsibilities.”
Jasper’s jaw tightened. His ducal responsibilities could go hang. All they’d gotten him was a dead wife, and a dead babe.
“Is that why you’ve come by this morn, Guilford? To inquire as to my interest in Lady Katherine?”
“Well…”
“I helped pull the young lady from the river. Beyond that, I have little interest in Lady Katherine Adamson. My wife is dead. Dead.” Her body was nothing more than cold bones that served as fodder for the worms in his family’s cemetery.
“But Lady Katherine is very much alive,” Guilford said quietly. He shoved his chair back, and waved off a servant who rushed forward to help. “I do not care if you court Lady Katherine or a courtesan or some other nameless creature. You need to accept that you lived, Jasper,” his friend said, using his Christian name. “And no matter what self-imposed misery you create for yourself, it will never bring Lydia back.”
Jasper stared down, unblinking at his plate in front of him, as he confronted the truth of Guilford’s words. Nothing would ever bring Lydia back, and until he’d met Katherine, he’d thought his soul dead, as well.
He didn’t think himself capable of lust or passion or desire again. Then he’d taken Katherine in his arms, and been awakened to the reality that he was still very much a living, breathing man. He waited for the sting of guilt to slap him.
Only, it didn’t come.
Guilford stood, and adjusted the lapels of his blue jacket. “Do you know what I think more than an odd coincidence?”
Jasper just stared at him.
“You haven’t left that bloody castle in nearly four years. Aside from my fortunate self, you haven’t spoken a word to nearly anyone. What is the likelihood you’d attend a public event such as the Frost Fair—?”
“You made me—”
“You are the Duke of Bainbridge. No one makes you do anything. You were supposed to meet Lady Katherine. I’m certain of it. If you’ll excuse me, I’ve an appointment with Gentleman Jackson.” With a short bow, Guilford exited the breakfast room.
Once alone, Jasper withdrew the two notes sent round by Katherine. The gentle scent of lavender that clung to her, wafted from the thick sheets of velum; heady like a potent aphrodisiac.
The lady posed a danger to the thick walls he’d constructed around his heart. He’d be wise to burn her letters, ignore her request, and take himself back to Castle Blackwood, forgetting there had ever been a spirited, winsome lady named Katherine.
Since he’d met Lady Katherine Adamson, however, Jasper had been anything but wise.
Chapter Twelve
Nausea churned in Katherine’s belly, as she stared out over the frozen expanse of the Serpentine River.
Jasper had agreed to meet her.
He’d promised to meet her at precisely five minutes past six in the morning, when the park was silent, and the night sky still clung to the horizon. Oh, his words had been anything but poetic.
My Lady,
You can expect my presence at the place we’d last met at precisely five past six. I value punctuality. The volume will be yours.
Bainbridge
Bainbridge. Not Jasper. Not the man who’d taken her in his arms, whose touch had melted her like the hot sun upon a blanket of snow. She didn’t know what she’d expected of his missive. Mayhap, something…something…
Less precise.
She didn’t know why she expected him to be different than the calculated, unbending man he’d shown himself to be.
Katherine touched the tip of her glove-encased finger to her lips.
It had been, The Kiss, as she’d come to think of it, that accounted for this madcap scheme she was about to propose to him. That is, if he still intended to honor the words in his note.
“My lady.”
Katherine gasped, and spun on her heel. Snow crunched under the heels of her boots.
<
br /> Her gaze met Jasper’s, and she swallowed hard. “You.”
“Yes, me,” he murmured, his emotionless tone gave little indication as to the nature of his thoughts.
“You came.” Her cheeks blazed. “That is…” Her eyes fell to the book in his hands. “Oh, you have the book.”
He handed it over, and Katherine accepted the volume. She studied the leather tome etched in gold lettering.
“I am a gentleman who honors my word, my lady.”
Katherine glanced up at him, ever-serious, always frowning, and yet, somehow, his stoic reserve inspired a sense of confidence. This was not a man who’d squander his family’s wealth, leaving them destitute at the mercy of the creditors and loathsome lords who’d called in their vowels.
It was also why he would make her an ideal match.
He sketched a bow, and spun on his heel.
Panic bubbled up her throat. “You are leaving?” Her voice emerged as a high squeak.
He turned back to face her, his black cloak gaped open to reveal his long, powerful legs. Her mouth went dry. Ladies were not supposed to notice things such as the breadth of a gentleman’s thighs or the ripple of muscle in his forearms, or…she gulped.
“My lady?”
She swallowed back her improper musings.
“Er…are you leaving already?”
Jasper arched a single, black icy brow. “I didn’t believe there was another reason for me to stay.”
That honest admission chafed, more than she wished. She didn’t want to notice his uncharacteristic handsomeness or his honorable characteristics when he should disdain to notice her.
“Er…” She wet her lips, as the plan she’d concocted that had prompted her to send round the note requesting his presence seemed the height of foolishness. Had she imagined his kiss those two days ago?
Except…her body still burned in remembrance of his touch.
No, that had been no imagining.
“My lady?” he prompted again; a thread of impatience underlined that question.
Katherine jumped. “Katherine.”
His brow wrinkled.
“That is to say, considering our initial meeting, and then our chance encounter in the bookshop, and then the time we met at Hyde Park, and you and I k…” He quirked that icy brow yet again. She waved her hand. “That is to say, talked. We spoke that day,” she amended. If their kiss was wholly unmemorable to him, well, then she’d not do something so foolish as to mention that particular part of their meeting that day—even if it had been the single most passionate moment of her nineteen, nearly twenty years. “Well…”
“My lady?”
She stamped her boot in the snow. “I’m merely suggesting you call me Katherine because of, of…our friendship.” She balled her hands in pained embarrassment.
His green eyes deepened to the shade of jade. He took a step toward her, and she took a hasty step back in retreat. He continued advancing, and Katherine scrambled backwards until the heels of her boots reached the edge of the frozen river.
She glanced over, and her stomach lurched at how precariously close she’d come to the water. Her time at the Frost Fair had proven that even frozen water was not to be trusted.
When she turned back around, he was a mere hands width apart. Katherine gasped, and stumbled.
His arms shot out, and he gripped her by her forearms, steadying her.
“Thank you,” she murmured, hating the breathless note to those two words.
He dipped his head. “Is that what we are, Katherine? Friends?”
Katherine would have to be a lack wit to not hear the mocking sneer to those two words. Suddenly too aware of his body’s proximity to her own, she took a hesitant step around him, and placed several steps between them.
He advanced. A hunter stalking its prey.
Katherine picked her way carefully around the snow-covered trail, and tilted her chin up. “Yes. Why, I rather thought we were. You don’t strike me as a gentleman with very many friends, therefore you should accept friendship where you can.” His eyes narrowed further, to dark impenetrable slits. She wet her lips and backed up another step. She was rather certain he’d never harm her, but the dark look in his eyes would have made the most seasoned infantryman uneasy. “As your—”
“Friend?” he supplied, his voice dryer than a crisp autumn leaf.
She nodded emphatically. “Yes, as your friend, I thought I should provide a solution to your dilemma.”
His firm lips twitched. She narrowed her eyes, and studied him more closely. Or she might have imagined the very slight movement. Or mayhap it was mere coincidence…
“I was unaware I had a dilemma.”
Katherine jerked to the moment. She nodded, this time more slowly. “Oh, absolutely you do.”
He folded his arms across the broad expanse of his chest.
Her eyes dipped lower, and she swallowed as her body recalled his hot, strong hands upon her person. Dukes were supposed to be hopelessly old, impossibly wrinkled, and sporting monocles. Yes, they most certainly possessed monocles. Dukes, most certainly were not supposed to be great big, towering bears of men with their muscles straining the black expanse of their breeches.
“Are you warm, madam?”
Katherine blinked. “I beg your pardon?”
Jasper gestured to her. “You are fanning yourself, my lady.”
Katherine stopped abruptly, and stared at her hand as though it belonged to another. “Katherine,” she reminded him. She dropped her palm to her side. “After all we are…”
“Friends,” he finished for her.
Something about the way he delivered that word; a silken caress, warmed in molten lava cascaded over her, it unfurled in her belly, like a small flame, that grew, and spread like a great conflagration. Why, it would seem she was rather warm after all.
“Yes.” Did that breathless response belong to her? It seemed more suited to scandalous ladies with rouged lips and daring décolletage.
His body stiffened, and she suspected he was of a like opinion. “Yes?” he whispered.
Oh goodness, this was not how she’d imagined this very direct, very matter-of-fact conversation to go. Katherine shook her head. “Yes, we are friends,” she said.
His gaze remained fixed upon her, unblinking and unfathomable. “As my friend, perhaps you should enlighten me as to this pressing dilemma I’m unaware of,” he said, wryly.
Katherine’s mouth went dry. She took a deep breath, and pressed on before her courage deserted her. “Your Grace, will you do me the honor of marrying me?”
Jasper angled his head, and studied the lovely Lady Katherine, nay…just Katherine, as they were friends. He was just twenty-seven years of age so did not think it likely his hearing was failing him. It would appear he was madder than even Society believed him to be, because Jasper was ever so certain Lady Katherine Adamson had just proposed marriage to him.
He removed his black hat from atop his head, and beat it against his side.
Katherine cleared her throat. “I—er…will you? Marry me, that is, Your Grace?”
He ceased his distracted movement, and jammed his hat back on top his head. It would appear he’d heard her correctly, after all.
Still, it did beg for clarification.
“Did you just propose marriage, my lady?”
“Katherine,” she corrected. She nodded; the abrupt movement dislodged the drab, brown bonnet atop her head. Several strands of brown ringlets slipped down the side of her cheek.
Jasper’s fingers twitched with the sudden desire to brush the silken tresses back, and tuck them behind her ears.
He shook his head. What in hell was wrong with him?
“And yes, I did.” She took a step toward him, seeming unaware of his body’s physical awareness of her lean, lithe frame. “Will you marry me?” she asked for a third time.
He opened his mouth to reply but no words came out. He promptly closed it. Surely she jested?
; And because he was at a loss of words, he said nothing.
Katherine caught her lower lip between her teeth, and worried that delectable flesh. She held her gloved palms up. “Of course, it would only be to solve your dilemma,” she said.
Jasper folded his arms across his chest. “Ahh, yes, my dilemma. Do tell me about this dilemma.”
Her eyes lit, and his response seemed to energize her for she began to pace a short path in front of him. Her boots left imprints upon the previously untouched snow. “Well, surely you know as a duke you have a certain ducal responsibility.”
His body froze. Surely she did not imply what he thought she implied? Blood rushed to his shaft as he considered just then one very specific ducal responsibility. “Oh, and what is that?” he said hoarsely.
She glanced up at him. “Why, the matter of an heir, of course.”
Jasper’s eyes slid closed. Good Christ, she had referred to exactly what he’d believed she’d spoken of. What manner of innocent young lady proposed to a duke and spoke to him of his ducal responsibilities of acquiring an heir? Jasper waited for the familiar stirrings of agony and guilt at the mere mention of a babe. Instead, a forbidden image filled his mind. Katherine spread out upon satin sheets, her thick brown waves cascading about his naked skin, her generous breasts exposed for his worship. He counted to ten.
She ceased pacing. “Are you counting, Jasper?”
Not Your Grace.
Jasper.
He counted to ten, once again.
“I am.”
“Oh,” she said. She steepled her fingers and tapped the tips of them together. “Should I continue?”
“Please, do.” he said.
She either failed to detect or care about the sarcasm in that two-word response.
Katherine resumed pacing. “Well, you do not care for life in London or the Seasons, which is very good because neither do I. You won’t have to go to the trouble of leaving your estate and journeying to London and taking part in the marriage game. We can wed, and carry on quite amicably.”