The Jasper Waincourt who’d attended the Frost Fair and rescued a young, unchaperoned lady, bent down, and opened the scrap.
Your Grace,
I understand you find my company objectionable, which is all right, considering I’m not overly fond of your frowning countenance.
Jasper smiled, and continued reading.
I am, however, eternally grateful for your rescue. Even if you are not. Grateful to have rescued me, that is.
That gave Jasper pause.
The young lady couldn’t be more wrong. It would have been a dark day if the light in Lady Katherine’s eyes had been forever darkened by the icy river waters. The velum crackled in his hands, and he forced himself to lighten his hold upon the page. He didn’t care to consider just why it should matter so much to him. It just did.
I greatly appreciate the kindness you showed this afternoon in offering me the sole copy of The Excursion. In spite of how it may have seemed, I was not merely baiting you. I am in fact, an ardent admirer of Wordsworth’s work. Though in actuality, I did have a good deal of fun teasing you as well.
I digress…
I hope you enjoy the pages, as they should be enjoyed.
Signed,
Lady Katherine Adamson
Jasper examined the note, almost willing there to be more than— his finger tapped the parchment as he counted—ten…he blinked. She’d dashed ten sentences upon the page.
That diversionary number that had brought him temporary distractions over the years.
He strode over to the hearth, paper in hand, and extended it toward the flame. Black singed the thick ivory velum, as the hint of a flame licked at the corners.
Jasper cursed and with his hand, killed the faint stirrings of a flame. The ink used by Lady Katherine smeared and smudged, but it remained readable.
Letter in hand, Jasper made his way over to his desk, pulled out the overstuffed leather chair, and sat.
It would be madness to send a note to the young lady. Jasper didn’t give three goddamns on Sunday about propriety. Society could go hang.
It was this desire to write the note in the first place that should reserve him a spot at Bedlam.
But then, they did not call him the Mad Duke for little reason.
He tugged open the front drawer of his desk and pulled out a single sheet of parchment. Then, reaching for a pen, he dipped it in an inkwell, and proceeded to write a note to Lady Katherine.
The tip of his pen upon the paper tapped an annoyingly loud rhythm upon the hard surface of his desk. Jasper, again dipped his pen in ink.
A knock sounded at the door.
“Enter,” Jasper barked, not picking his head up.
What the hell did his butler want with him now? “Has the bloody Queen of England come to visit,” he called, heavy sarcasm intended in that question.
“I do say I’ve never been confused for the Queen of England. That is certainly the first.”
Jasper ‘s head whipped up so quickly, he wrenched his neck. “Guilford,” he said. He rubbed the aching muscles.
His friend strode over to the table with crystal decanters and poured himself a brandy. Glass in hand, he wandered over to claim the seat across from Jasper. His gaze paused a moment on the empty brandy glass. His eyes narrowed, and then his probing stare swung to the nearly completed letter. “What are you doing?” Guilford craned his neck in an apparent attempt to read Jasper’s private correspondence.
Not that Lady Katherine was his business. She wasn’t.
She was…
A winsome, fiery miss.
Where the hell did that thought come from.
One. Two. Three. Fou—
“Bainbridge, I say are you all right?”
“Fine,” he snapped.
“Because you don’t seem nearly as surly as your usual self. Oh, do not be mistaken, you’re still quite foul, just not as foul as you usually are.”
He’d had enough of his friend bating him. Jasper tossed his pen down. “What do you want?” He personally wanted the other man gone so he could see to his letter for Lady Katherine.
Guilford hooked his ankle across his knee. “I wanted to issue an invitation to join my family for the Christmastide—”
“No,” Jasper cut in. He did not celebrate the holiday season. The godforsaken time of year represented birth and life. His lips twisted at the bitter irony that it also coincided with the time Lydia and his child had been cruelly ripped from the living.
Guilford continued, either unaware or uncaring of Jasper’s silent tumult. “I’d also wanted to inquire as to whether you’d returned the young lady’s reticule?”
Lady Katherine as she’d been earlier that afternoon, with a mischievous smile and too-full laugh, flashed to mind. It would appear the Ice Princess had thawed, and in her place was a lively creature that continued to wreak havoc upon his life. He’d not encourage Guilford questioning. “Which lady?” Jasper growled.