The Belle of Belgrave Square (Belles of London #2)(56)

Instead, like any earnest fool, she felt herself compelled to continue. “I only wonder why you didn’t tell me you called on my father yesterday.”

Just like that, the fire in his eyes flickered out. His gaze was once again as coolly unreadable as the ice over the surface of a frozen pond. Something dangerous lurked beneath. What it was, she couldn’t tell. But the fact that he’d put up his guard made her draw back from him.

“Do you deny it?”

“I have no reason to deny it,” he said brusquely. “It’s not a secret.”

Julia was no good at sparring at the best of times. Now, faint and clammy from blood loss, she felt herself even less so. She could only wait for him to explain on his own, hoping he would choose to be honest with her.

She looked at him in silent expectation.

A muscle tensed in Jasper’s jaw. “I asked his permission to court you. He refused me. That’s all there is to it.”

“Oh.” She fell quiet again.

“You don’t wish to inquire after his reasons?”

“I suspect I already know them,” she said.

When last she’d talked to her father, he’d remarked on the favorable location of Lord Gresham’s house in reference to Belgrave Square. “An easy distance,” he’d called it. As if residential proximity were all that mattered in a future husband. And to him, likely it was. Naturally, he wouldn’t consent to her being courted by someone who would take her away from London.

“I would have mentioned it,” Jasper said, “but there’s been no opportunity.”

“You might have told me last night in the Claverings’ garden.”

“To what end?”

“It would have explained why you didn’t seek me out at the start of the evening. Why you suddenly turned your attentions to Miss Throckmorton. That was the reason, wasn’t it? Because my father refused your suit?”

“It was,” he acknowledged.

She was vaguely disappointed. He didn’t seem like the kind of man who would fall back from a challenge. “You didn’t need his permission. I’m of age. I can wed whomever I choose.”

“Quite so. Which brings us to where we are today.” Jasper looked into her eyes. “I ask you again, do you still want to marry me?”

She bit her lip.

“Before you make your reply, I should warn you that failing to tell you about my call on your father isn’t the last mistake I’ll make. If you shackle your fate to mine, best prepare yourself for something less than perfection.”

“I don’t expect perfection.” She doubted whether the quality existed either in herself or in others. “And I do still want to marry you.”

The muscle in his jaw relaxed; a subtle indication of his relief.

Had he actually thought she’d change her mind? All because he hadn’t told her about calling on Papa?

She wasn’t so unreasonable as that.

The omission had hurt her a little, but it didn’t change how she felt about him. He was a good man; she was sure of it.

And besides, what gentleman didn’t withhold things from his wife? It was maddening, to be sure, but not at all surprising. In Julia’s limited experience, married people rarely existed on terms of equality.

The most a woman could hope for was to wed a man who was kind and understanding, and who—if she was lucky—might make her heart beat faster.

Jasper had those qualities in abundance.

“What happens next?” she asked him.

In answer, he took her hand in his. His clasp was firm, but gentle. Far gentler than one might expect from a man so powerfully made. As if he held something infinitely precious in his grasp. “I have a plan,” he said. “If you approve of it, we can leave directly.”

She hadn’t expected him to ask her approval. No one ever consulted with her about anything, least of all her own happiness. The fact that he was doing so—especially now, when things were so fraught and every second counted—moved her beyond measure.

Her fingers curved around his, just as they had when he’d taken her hand in her bedroom at Belgrave Square. “What do you have in mind?”

“There’s a small church in Camden where we can be married. After that, we’ll go to King’s Cross. There will be a train leaving for York around four o’clock. My hope is that we can be on it.” His gaze held hers. “Is that acceptable to you?”

Julia nodded. “Yes. Only . . .”

“What is it?”

She gave him an apologetic look. “I might have to lean on you a little.”

His expression softened. “What do you suppose I’m here for?”

Warmth infiltrated her veins. There were a thousand things she might have said—a thousand emotions waiting to be expressed—but before she could formulate a reply, Jasper had released her hand and was up and striding toward the door.

“I’ll summon the carriage,” he said.

“Wait!” Julia called out anxiously. “What about Cossack?”

“He’ll follow behind us along with Quintus. I’ll leave instructions for Ridgeway.”

She exhaled. She might have known Jasper would have a plan. “Thank you.”

A hint of a smile edged his scarred mouth. “You can thank me when we’re out of London.” He opened the door. “Have your maid ready your things.”