The Belle of Belgrave Square (Belles of London #2)(51)

She looked as though she wanted to ask him already. But she didn’t. “I promise.”

Jasper continued with brutal frankness. “There are other things I wish to keep private, too. Work I do that must remain secret. As a consequence, the door of my study on the fourth floor of the Hall remains locked at all times. You’re never to enter it.”

Her eyes widened. He could well imagine what she thought. That he had some exciting double life as a criminal or as a spy for the Crown.

The truth was nothing so lucrative.

“I won’t,” she promised. “But the work you do . . . It isn’t nefarious, is it?”

“No,” he said. “It hurts no one.”

It helped no one, either. Not of late. But all that was going to have to change. Without a rich bride to smooth the way, the burden would, once again, be entirely on Jasper’s shoulders. If he didn’t make some alterations in his approach, he and his fledgling family would soon be worse off than they were now.

“Is there anything else?” she asked.

“Yes. The children. They’re a bit wild. A bit . . . difficult. They may not take to you right away. And they may say things about their mother that might upset you. I haven’t discouraged them from speaking of her. I wouldn’t wish them to feel they couldn’t.”

“I would never expect them to refrain. Not on my account. I know I’m not—” She broke off, something inexplicable in her face. A brief flicker of insecurity or, perhaps, resignation. “That is, I know ours won’t be a love match. I don’t ask that you accord me any special treatment.”

Jasper couldn’t fathom what he’d said to inspire her reply. Why wouldn’t he treat her specially? She was going to be his wife. The wife he was choosing for himself. The one he wanted most in all the world.

“I’ll try my hardest to fit in,” she went on in the same halting tone. “I hope I shall. But if I don’t—”

“You’ll fit.” He smoothed a damp lock of hair from her brow. “You’ll be mine.”

Her mouth trembled again.

He couldn’t resist. Leaning over her, he kissed her very softly on the lips. When he lifted his head, her blue eyes were smiling.

“I could almost imagine I was Sleeping Beauty,” she confided.

“Except that you’re not asleep,” he said. “You’re wide awake.”

“Naturally, I am. I don’t want to miss any of the good parts.”

His mouth ticked up at one corner. “In that case . . .” He released her hand and, standing from his chair, scooped her up in his arms, quilted coverlet and all.

“Gracious!” she gasped. “What on earth—?”

“Captain Blunt!” Mary whispered sharply. “Put her down this instant.”

“She’s not well, sir,” the footman said at the same time. “You mustn’t.”

Jasper ignored them. His gaze held Julia’s. “You told me you don’t feel safe here any longer.”

“I don’t.” Her arms circled his neck. “But that doesn’t explain what you’re doing.”

“Isn’t it obvious? I’m rescuing you.”





Sixteen





Julia pressed her face into Jasper’s shoulder. He was so strong—so solid and sure—holding her in his arms as effortlessly as if she were a piece of thistledown.

She was still bleary-headed from blood loss. Her eyelids were heavy, and she couldn’t focus as well as she otherwise might. Events seemed to unfold around her in a hazy romantic dream.

Jasper uttered terse commands to the servants—something about packing Julia’s bags and having Cossack collected from the stables. Jenkins obeyed with all haste, dashing from the room on silent feet. Mary complied, too, eventually.

Julia suspected she knew why.

Mary had been present for Dr. Cordingley’s second visit this morning. She’d stood beside the bed, lips pressed tight in disapproval. Afterward, it was she, not Mama, who had sponged Julia’s brow.

“It’s not right,” she’d muttered under her breath. “Your own mother leaving you to that man.”

Mary rarely criticized anything Mama and Papa did. But this time, Dr. Cordingley had gone too far, and it had been with Mama’s express approval. Perhaps that was why Mary hadn’t barred the door against Jasper or run to fetch Julia’s parents.

Not that any of them could have stopped him.

Julia had the feeling that, once he’d made up his mind, no one on earth could stand in Jasper Blunt’s way.

She tightened her arms around his neck.

“As much as you can fit,” he told Mary as she stuffed clothes into a pair of carpetbags and an old leather portmanteau. “She won’t have the luxury of coming back.”

Jenkins returned from the stables, ducking into the bedchamber to confer with Jasper in a lowered voice.

“Miss Wychwood’s horse is being led round, sir.”

“Excellent.” Jasper strode to the door with Julia in his arms.

Jenkins preceded them. He opened the door quietly, looking out into the hall before motioning Jasper to go through.

The next thing Julia knew, Jasper was carrying her down the stairs.