The Belle of Belgrave Square (Belles of London #2)(64)

“You’ll be dreadfully uncomfortable,” she said.

“I’ve slept in worse places.” He stood. “And no. I’m not going to discuss where.” He came around the table and offered her his hand.

She slid her fingers into his large grasp. His skin was warm and faintly calloused from work, abrading her palm in the most delicious way. It sent a delicate thrill through her core.

Good gracious. He was her husband. They were married.

As he assisted her from her chair, a perilous thought occurred to her. “We could share it.”

Jasper’s hand tightened reflexively on hers. It was the only sign that he was affected by her words. There was no other indication—not in his voice or in his expression. His tone was entirely calm. “My dear, are you suggesting that we sleep together?”





Twenty





Jasper knew the answer before she gave it. He couldn’t think why he’d bothered to ask. She obviously hadn’t been proposing they consummate their marriage. Even if she had suggested it, he wouldn’t have obliged her. Not when she was so weak with exhaustion she could scarcely keep her eyes open.

“I could do little else in this state,” she responded ingenuously. “And I’m a sound sleeper. You needn’t worry about disturbing me.”

“Plainly, it’s only me who’s going to be disturbed this evening,” he said.

“Because the bed’s so small? I don’t expect it will be too unpleasant. Not in comparison to? sleeping on the floor.”

“‘Unpleasant’ isn’t the word I’d use to describe it.” He frowned at her for a moment. “Very well,” he said at last. If he was going to torture himself, he may as well fully commit to the business. “Shall I leave you to change?”

“As to that . . .” Her cheeks pinkened with embarrassment. “I’m afraid I’ve never undressed without a maid to assist me. Not since I started wearing a corset.”

Jasper’s blood stirred with warmth.

So, this was what marriage was like. Standing in a tiny room at an inn with his bride, listening to her reference the difficulties of disrobing. It was a topic no lady would ever broach in mixed company. And yet, a few muttered words from the vicar and here Jasper and Julia were, husband and wife, on terms of the greatest intimacy.

It was difficult not to be affected by it.

“Would you like me to assist you?” he asked.

Her blush deepened. “If you wouldn’t mind.”

“You’ll have to direct me.” He attempted to keep his voice light and failed miserably. It sounded as raspy as the devil. “I’m not accustomed to undressing fine ladies.”

She touched the front of her bodice with unsteady fingers. Her condition had already been weakened when they departed London, but after the rigors of their long journey, her remaining strength had faded to a shadow. She wouldn’t last much longer.

“There are interior hooks all the way down,” she said. “I can unfasten them myself, but—”

“Let me.” He gently brushed aside her hands. “It will be quicker.”

It wasn’t.

Indeed, it took him an abominable length of time. His large hands kept fumbling over the delicate little closures. He was distracted by the lushly feminine shape of her. By the way every unfastened hook spread the two violet-dyed halves of her bodice open a little further, revealing another glimpse of the voluptuous swell of her bosom, confined behind a lace-trimmed cambric chemise and matching corset cover.

By the time he finally finished, he was perspiring.

Good God. There was torture and there was torture.

He nevertheless soldiered on, slipping her bodice from her shoulders and tugging her sleeves down over her arms. It was then he saw them—the twin bandages wound tight around her forearms.

A rush of concern swept through him like wildfire, burning away every other emotion. It was accompanied by something very like rage.

She tucked her arms behind her back. “It isn’t as bad as it looks.”

“Let me see.” Jasper held out his hand. He was relieved when she took it, however reluctantly. “I won’t hurt you.”

“I know that.” She permitted him to draw her right arm out to inspect it. “But you needn’t fuss over me. I’d really rather you didn’t.”

“Naturally, I’m going to fuss over you. You’re my wife.” He examined her bandages. “What did the villain use? A lancet?”

“A scarificator.”

Jasper made a soft sound of disgust as he took her left arm. It was bandaged even more heavily than her right. He glanced up at her in question.

“It wouldn’t stop bleeding,” she said.

He clenched his jaw, so angry on her behalf he could scarcely get the words out without snarling them. “Where were your parents?”

“They’d gone to their rooms by then. It was only Mary and me. And Dr. Cordingley.”

Jasper couldn’t understand how her mother and father could have allowed her to be subjected to such an outrage. “You must have been very ill for them to summon the man.”

“I wasn’t ill,” Julia said quietly. It was the same thing she’d said in her bedroom at Belgrave Square.