The Belle of Belgrave Square (Belles of London #2)(52)

She supposed she should feel mortified. She was, after all, in her nightdress, with her hair unbound and her arms bandaged heavily beneath her sleeves. But Jasper had respected her dignity. Her quilt was wrapped around her, shielding most of her body from view as he crossed the hall.

“I don’t feel safe here anymore,” she’d told him. “I would dearly like to leave.”

And he’d listened to her. He’d actually listened and understood.

He was right to say he was rescuing her. Julia didn’t think she could survive another visit from Dr. Cordingley.

Jenkins trotted alongside them. “I have your gloves, sir. You left them when last you called.”

“He’s not interested in his gloves,” Mary snapped, dragging Julia’s bags down the steps. “Attend to the door. And then come and get these.”

Jenkins rushed to open it, standing back as Jasper passed through with Julia in his arms.

A glossy black carriage waited in the street, with a liveried coachman on the box and a footman standing by the door. At the sight of them, he opened it and set down the steps.

In seconds, Julia was safely ensconced inside with Jasper. He cradled her on his lap, holding her firmly against his chest. His thighs beneath the thin barrier of her quilt and her cotton nightgown felt as solidly muscular as all the rest of him.

Goodness.

She looked up at him in wide-eyed astonishment. He’d actually taken her in her underclothes. Not figuratively, as she’d told Mary she wished a suitor might do, but quite literally.

“In broad daylight, too,” Julia murmured. “A proper scandal.”

Jasper’s gray eyes shone briefly with wry humor. “You’ll have to marry me now, ma’am.”

“Is that where you’re taking me? To a church?”

His expression became serious. He had the look of a ruthless soldier embarking on a military campaign. “No,” he said. “I’m taking you to Lord Ridgeway’s house.”



* * *





?The bedroom on the third floor of Lord Ridgeway’s town house was light and airy, the curtains opened to let in the afternoon sun. Traces of lemon polish, washing soda, and beeswax lingered in the air. The fragrance was a comfort to Julia. Surely, nothing depraved could happen in a room that smelled so fresh and clean—even if it was a room in a bachelor’s household.

A stack of pillows at her back, she sat up further in bed to better see what Mary was doing.

Jasper had ordered the maid to accompany them. Mary wasn’t best pleased about it. She grumbled loudly as she reorganized Julia’s clothing in her bags—folding petticoats, bodices, and underthings.

“It’s all creased and rumpled,” she muttered. “That’s what you get for cramming things into luggage willy-nilly. If he’d given me five minutes to fold it properly—”

“We didn’t have five minutes,” Julia said. “We had to leave right away.”

“Why? So he could bring you here? To a bachelor’s establishment?” Mary snorted. “And you a well-bred girl.”

“It’s only temporary. Until he can procure a license.”

“On a Saturday? Bah. He might have left you safe in your bed at home.”

Julia gave her maid a weighted look. “Safe, was I? And what would I have done if my mother summoned Dr. Cordingley again? How would I have managed?” As it was, it would probably take her days to recover. Until then, she’d be nothing but a burden on those around her, Jasper especially.

Mary’s lips flattened in a stubborn line. She was too peeved to admit Julia was right. “He didn’t need to parade you through the streets in your nightclothes.”

“I was covered in a blanket,” Julia said. “I might have been a bundle of laundry for all anyone knew. Besides, nobody saw me.”

That wasn’t wholly true.

While no one save Mary, Jenkins, the coachman, and the footman had witnessed her escape from Belgrave Square, her arrival in Half Moon Street hadn’t gone unremarked. As Viscount Ridgeway’s carriage had rolled up outside of his town house, another carriage had stopped in front of the house next door. The occupants disembarked at the same time Jasper was carrying Julia up the stone steps to Lord Ridgeway’s front door.

Julia glanced back only once, just long enough to form the impression of a bespectacled gentleman and a handsome lady with thickly plaited auburn hair. They’d been staring at Jasper quite unashamedly.

For all they knew, he was abducting some helpless young woman he’d drugged, bound, and wrapped up in a quilt. Julia had read a similar story once in a penny novel, though it had been a carpet, not a quilt. The young woman in the tale hadn’t awakened until she and her seducer were halfway to Calais. By then, her fate had been sealed.

Julia was slightly more confident about her own fate.

On entering Ridgeway’s house, Jasper had carried her upstairs to one of the bedchambers. He hadn’t lingered long enough to debauch her. After setting her down in the bed, he’d promptly gone away, leaving her with Mary.

“It ain’t proper,” Mary said again. It had become her refrain. “And my being here don’t make it proper.”

Julia sighed. Short as the journey had been, it had overtaxed her. She was exhausted, her limbs weak and her breath shallow. “I must get dressed.”