For Love of the Duke(38)

She snatched the list out of his hands. “You needn’t laugh at me.”

Jasper continued to shake, as he laughed for the first time in three years. He laughed until tears seeped from the corners of his eyes, the feel and sound of it foreign, and yet, freeing. He’d never thought to laugh again.

As his laughter subsided to a small chuckle, he reached for the list. “If I may?” He took it from her hands.

She grabbed for it but he held the velum beyond her reach. “Obviously you aren’t aware that it is ungentlemanly to grab something from a lady’s hands.”

“Obviously,” he muttered under his breath. He scanned the list.

I am well-versed in poetry. There was that.

I despise London. Well, they were of like opinions, there.

I’ll not require a large wardrobe or fine jewels. He had enough money to shower her daily with diamonds and sapphires if she so wished.

I can provide as many children as desired. His eyes fixed on that item. The images that crept into his mind of Katherine’s satiny smooth skin bared to his gaze shifted, to an image of her abed, staring up with sightless eyes, the bed soaked in a pool of blood as she gave her life for one of those children. Nausea rolled in his gut. He crushed the page in his hands.

“You needn’t wrinkle it,” Katherine groused, pulling it out of his white-knuckled grip, seeming unaware of the hell that ravaged Jasper’s mind. “I’m certain there are other reasons.”

“And what of you, my lady? I don’t imagine the contract be mutually beneficial for you. What desperation would drive a lady to ask a gentleman who is so, how did you phrase it? Condescending and mocking? To be her husband?”

Humiliated pain flashed in Katherine’s eyes, and Jasper, who’d thought himself deadened on the inside, was knifed with guilt.

She stuffed the list angrily into her reticule. Her jerky movements sent Wordsworth’s work tumbling to the ground. “It was silly of me to ask you.” She spoke so quickly, her words spilled over one another, and blurred together. “I don’t know what manner of madness would ever compel me to do something as foolhardy as to ask you for—”

Jasper kissed her.

He dimly registered the reticule slipping from between her fingers, and landing in the snow with a faint thump. He grasped her hips, and pulled her close, so that his shaft nestled the soft flesh of her belly. His mouth slanted over hers angrily until her lips parted, and he slid his tongue inside to taste her; she tasted of cinnamon and mint leaves, and he wanted to lose himself forever in her.

Katherine reached up and wrapped her arms about his neck; her full breasts crushed against the expanse of his chest. She moaned, and he swallowed that sound. Jasper cupped her buttocks in his hands, and anchored her to him.

The distant echo of screeching kestrel split the silence; more powerful than the blare of a pistol. Jasper wrenched his mouth away. His breathing came in fast, deep pants, and it was all he could do to keep from pulling her into his arms again.

Her thick lashes fluttered open. “Well,” she said, breathlessly. “I believe we might add that to my list, then.”

Reality intruded, swiftly.

Ah yes, the list.

Katherine must have seen something in his expression for she cleared her throat. “I should be going then.” She bent down and retrieved the leather volume and her reticule.

He should let her go. It would be wise to let her dip her curtsy, turn on her heel, leave, and forget they’d ever met at the Frost Fair. At the possibility of never again seeing her again, something wrenched inside him. She took a step to leave. “You did not ever explain what would be the benefit in marrying me, Katherine.”

The tip of her boot hovered above the ground. She set it down, and eyed him warily, as though he’d set out some kind of trap that she were taking great pains to avoid.

“Well, I hate ringlets.”

Jasper furrowed his brow. “I beg your pardon.”

“And gowns made of too much ivory and lace.” She waved her hand. “Mother insists I wear them because it is the ladylike thing to do. It would be such good fun to wear vibrant shades. I should like to wear a silken gown of the deepest sapphire hue. I imagine as your wife, I’d have a good deal of freedom in selecting my wardrobe.”

“Undoubtedly,” he said in serious tones. If Katherine were his wife, he would hire the finest modiste and let her select whatever fancy laces and satins she desired.

Her brows knitted into a single line. “Are you making light of me again?”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” he said, dryly. “You’d wed me then to wear fine fabrics?”

She shook her head, dislodging one of those brown ringlets. “You misunderstand me, Your Grace. I don’t give a fig about the type or quality of the fabrics. I merely want to make a selection of my own. It is rather tedious going through life having every decision made for you. It seems like such a very small thing, selecting ones fabric, and yet it is a luxury I’m not afforded. Instead, I must do as my mother sees fit, whether how happy or unhappy those decisions make me.”