The Belle of Belgrave Square (Belles of London #2)(50)

And why shouldn’t he if she was offering herself to him?

She was so sweet. So beautiful. Like an enchanted princess in a fairy tale; lying there, rosy lips half-parted in expectation, waiting for true love’s kiss to break the spell.

It wasn’t meant to be him. She deserved someone better. Kinder, gentler. A man who could give himself to her absolutely, with no dark secrets. No sinister past.

Jasper was keenly aware that, in this story, he was the villain, not the hero. It should have stopped him. And perhaps it might have if he’d been nobler.

But he wasn’t noble.

He was tired and bitter—so ungodly bitter at the injustice of it. After all he’d suffered. All he’d sacrificed. Fate couldn’t be so cruel as to offer up his heart’s desire and expect him to refuse it.

“Did you?” she asked again.

He didn’t answer her, asking instead: “What if there were no money?”

Her brows notched. “What do you mean?”

“Just that.” He refrained from going into specifics. Her father’s duplicity was the last thing she needed to hear about right now. Her parents had already betrayed her enough. “What if you had no dowry at all? What if there was no means to afford servants, fine clothes, or carriages? What if there was only me?”

“Only you?” She didn’t sound at all put off by the idea.

Jasper’s pulse jumped on a ridiculous surge of hope. He forced it to calm. He was getting ahead of himself. “And the children,” he added. “And a house that’s crumbling to its foundation.”

“What if? What if?” She squeezed his hand. “I don’t care about the money. Not so long as I have my books to read and a safe place to lay my head. It’s that I want. Safety. I don’t ever wish to be afraid again.”

“Everyone’s afraid of something. It’s the nature of being human.”

“You’re not afraid.”

“Yes, I am.” He was very much afraid he was going to accept her reckless proposition. “It isn’t wise to tempt me, Julia. You may not like what happens next.”

“I’m not a child. I shall be three and twenty soon. An old maid, too long on the shelf. And—” She faltered, lips trembling. “I don’t feel safe here anymore. I would dearly like to leave.”

He absorbed her words in solemn silence. It wasn’t only what she said that persuaded him. It was that lip wobble. When coupled with her fingers twined around his, he was powerless to refuse her.

“Very well,” he said.

She exhaled. “You’ll marry me?”

“I will.”

Tears started in her eyes. She made a visible effort to keep her composure. “I have conditions.”

He felt a rush of tenderness for her. “Ah.”

“Perhaps I should have mentioned those first?”

“You might have done.” He brushed his lips to her knuckles. “What are they?”

“First, that you promise never to restrict my reading.”

“Done. What else?”

“Cossack must come with me as my riding horse. And you must promise to allow me to have a cat and a dog, too. More than one each if I choose. And they may stay in the house with me. Even in my room.”

“Conditions accepted. Is that all?”

Color tinged her cheeks—a delicate wash of damask pink so faint he might have missed it if he wasn’t gazing at her so intently. “I-I want us to wait to consummate the marriage.”

By some miracle, he kept his countenance. “For how long?”

Her embarrassment was palpable. “A month or two. Until we know each other better.”

Heat crept up his neck. This wasn’t a conversation to be having with a lady. Not even one’s future wife. But he’d promised her she could speak plainly with him. He did her the courtesy of the same.

“It’s often the best way to get to know each other,” he said.

Her blush darkened. “I daresay it is, but I would still rather wait. I’d like a proper courtship. And there isn’t time for that. I want to be married as soon as may be.”

“How soon?”

“I wish it could be today. That we could go to Gretna Green like Lord Worth and Lady Elizabeth in The Fire Opal.”

The title wasn’t among those stacked on her bedside table, but he recognized it all the same. It was another of J. Marshland’s romantic novels. One of his earliest works and, by far, the most popular.

Jasper frowned. “Gretna Green doesn’t perform same-day marriages any longer. What we’ll need is a vicar—and a special license.”

The latter was still in his pocketbook. It had been there ever since yesterday morning when he’d obtained it in Doctors’ Commons. But there was no reason she need know about any of that.

“Can you—”

“I’ll arrange it. But before I do . . .” He paused. “I have a few conditions of my own.”

Her expression turned wary. “What sorts of conditions?”

He was matter-of-fact. Never mind that they’d just been discussing courtship and the marriage bed. “I have a past,” he said. “You know some of it. The rest I prefer to keep private. You’re to ask me no questions about my parents or about my time before the war.”