It could not be for her.
A hand fluttered about her breast, as she tried to still her fast-beating heart.
The crowd parted for Jasper. Lords and ladies melting away to clear his path across the marble ballroom floor, over to Katherine’s pillar. He cut an impressive figure. Several inches past six feet, and all great big muscles, his frame better suited a man who worked the land with his broad hands and not a duke just a smidgeon shy of royalty.
At last he reached her.
Katherine swallowed hard, and tipped her head back. Her eyes searched the hard, angular planes of his face. Since Michael’s carriage had taken her away from Castle Blackwood, she’d tormented herself with a slip of a dream in which Jasper came for her. In all her grandest dreams, he would come, take her from London, and profess his love. In the cold light of day’s reality, however, she knew it unlikely she’d ever again see her husband—not with his love for Lydia.
And because she’d never dared to believe he would come to London, she had no words for him, this man whose life meant more to her than even her own.
Her throat moved up and down as his hard, fiery stare slipped over her face, down lower. He paused at her daring décolletage, and then returned his gaze to hers. “Katherine,” he said, in the same, harsh tones he’d used when rescuing her from the Thames.
His words transported her back to that hellish day, a day that had brought him into her life, and for which she would have suffered that icy plunge again.
“Jasper,” she whispered.
Jasper’s neck burned from the bold stares directed upon him and Katherine. He ignored their whisperings of the Mad Duke. All the ton could go hang. They mattered not at all.
None of them did.
No one…
But her.
He reacquainted himself with each precious line of her heart-shaped face. He took in her rich brown hair, artfully arranged atop her head, with diamond teardrop-shaped combs holding back deliberately placed strands. Two loose tresses hung over her right shoulder, drawing his attention momentarily to the swell of her bosom. A vise-like pressure tightened about his heart as he mourned the loss of those tight brown ringlets. Gone was the young lady in ivory skirts with too many ruffles. In her place stood this boldly clad siren with her generously curved body and slim waist.
Jasper’s skin tingled at the sudden awareness of eyes upon his person. He stiffened, and glanced at a point beyond Katherine’s shoulder. His gaze locked on a tall, unfamiliar gentleman. And Jasper knew.
Knew with all the intuitiveness of a man hopelessly in love with his wife, that the golden-haired Michelangelo hovering nearby, with a flinty expression in his eyes was none other than Lord Stanhope.
Jasper’s fists curled into tight balls at his side. With a growl, he grasped Katherine by the hand, and tugged her forward. His bold actions were met with horrified gasps and increased whispers.
Katherine gasped and nearly stumbled. He righted her, and proceeded to guide her forward.
“Jasper, what are you doing?” she whispered at his side.
He gritted his teeth, unwilling to have this exchange. Not here. Not in front of the ton.
Not in front of Stanhope.
“Will you slow down,” she implored.
Jasper cursed, earning another flurry of whispers and ever-widening stares. But he slowed his stride. They made their way up the long staircase, through the corridor, out to the foyer.
When they remained free of Society’s impolite stares, Katherine dug her heels in. Her brows stitched into a single line. “Jasper, what are you about?”
Jasper took a deep breath. “Come with me, Katherine.” He really was creating quite a scene and she really did require her cloak…but he needed to be free of this crowded hell. His throat closed up choking off breath and he feared he’d suffocate from the attention fixed on him.
Her lips dipped in a frown. She folded her arms across her chest.
He closed his eyes a moment, and then opened them to find her standing there, an insolent brow arched. Jasper tried again. “Katherine, will you please come with me?” Come away with me.
She hesitated a moment. And for that seemingly infinitesimal moment, he suspected she intended to deny his request. His breath came faster. Then, she nodded slowly, and marched toward Lord and Lady Harrison’s front doors.
This time, Jasper hurried to catch his wife. She started for his black lacquer carriage, and accepted the hand of a nearby servant, who reached out to hand her up.
Jasper glared at the young man who dared touch her hand.
The servant paled to the color of his white, powdered wig, and then scurried off.
Jasper leapt into the carriage. His eyes struggled to adjust to the dimness of the space. When they did, they alighted upon Katherine seated in the far corner of his carriage. An unreadable expression on the face that had haunted his dreams.