“Are you warm, madam?”
Katherine blinked. “I beg your pardon?”
Jasper gestured to her. “You are fanning yourself, my lady.”
Katherine stopped abruptly, and stared at her hand as though it belonged to another. “Katherine,” she reminded him. She dropped her palm to her side. “After all we are…”
“Friends,” he finished for her.
Something about the way he delivered that word; a silken caress, warmed in molten lava cascaded over her, it unfurled in her belly, like a small flame, that grew, and spread like a great conflagration. Why, it would seem she was rather warm after all.
“Yes.” Did that breathless response belong to her? It seemed more suited to scandalous ladies with rouged lips and daring décolletage.
His body stiffened, and she suspected he was of a like opinion. “Yes?” he whispered.
Oh goodness, this was not how she’d imagined this very direct, very matter-of-fact conversation to go. Katherine shook her head. “Yes, we are friends,” she said.
His gaze remained fixed upon her, unblinking and unfathomable. “As my friend, perhaps you should enlighten me as to this pressing dilemma I’m unaware of,” he said, wryly.
Katherine’s mouth went dry. She took a deep breath, and pressed on before her courage deserted her. “Your Grace, will you do me the honor of marrying me?”
Jasper angled his head, and studied the lovely Lady Katherine, nay…just Katherine, as they were friends. He was just twenty-seven years of age so did not think it likely his hearing was failing him. It would appear he was madder than even Society believed him to be, because Jasper was ever so certain Lady Katherine Adamson had just proposed marriage to him.
He removed his black hat from atop his head, and beat it against his side.
Katherine cleared her throat. “I—er…will you? Marry me, that is, Your Grace?”
He ceased his distracted movement, and jammed his hat back on top his head. It would appear he’d heard her correctly, after all.
Still, it did beg for clarification.
“Did you just propose marriage, my lady?”
“Katherine,” she corrected. She nodded; the abrupt movement dislodged the drab, brown bonnet atop her head. Several strands of brown ringlets slipped down the side of her cheek.
Jasper’s fingers twitched with the sudden desire to brush the silken tresses back, and tuck them behind her ears.
He shook his head. What in hell was wrong with him?
“And yes, I did.” She took a step toward him, seeming unaware of his body’s physical awareness of her lean, lithe frame. “Will you marry me?” she asked for a third time.
He opened his mouth to reply but no words came out. He promptly closed it. Surely she jested?
And because he was at a loss of words, he said nothing.
Katherine caught her lower lip between her teeth, and worried that delectable flesh. She held her gloved palms up. “Of course, it would only be to solve your dilemma,” she said.
Jasper folded his arms across his chest. “Ahh, yes, my dilemma. Do tell me about this dilemma.”
Her eyes lit, and his response seemed to energize her for she began to pace a short path in front of him. Her boots left imprints upon the previously untouched snow. “Well, surely you know as a duke you have a certain ducal responsibility.”
His body froze. Surely she did not imply what he thought she implied? Blood rushed to his shaft as he considered just then one very specific ducal responsibility. “Oh, and what is that?” he said hoarsely.
She glanced up at him. “Why, the matter of an heir, of course.”
Jasper’s eyes slid closed. Good Christ, she had referred to exactly what he’d believed she’d spoken of. What manner of innocent young lady proposed to a duke and spoke to him of his ducal responsibilities of acquiring an heir? Jasper waited for the familiar stirrings of agony and guilt at the mere mention of a babe. Instead, a forbidden image filled his mind. Katherine spread out upon satin sheets, her thick brown waves cascading about his naked skin, her generous breasts exposed for his worship. He counted to ten.
She ceased pacing. “Are you counting, Jasper?”
Not Your Grace.
Jasper.
He counted to ten, once again.
“I am.”
“Oh,” she said. She steepled her fingers and tapped the tips of them together. “Should I continue?”
“Please, do.” he said.
She either failed to detect or care about the sarcasm in that two-word response.
Katherine resumed pacing. “Well, you do not care for life in London or the Seasons, which is very good because neither do I. You won’t have to go to the trouble of leaving your estate and journeying to London and taking part in the marriage game. We can wed, and carry on quite amicably.”