“Anne was perfectly polite—”
“And your mother?” he interjected, his voice as cold as the hard edge of a knife.
Katherine took another step toward him until they were a mere hand’s-breadth apart. “I’d not find fault with you for the crimes of your father or mother.”
His body went ramrod straight; his broad shoulders stiffened within the fabric of his black coat.
Some volatile emotion flared in his eyes, and Katherine took a hasty step backward. Of a sudden, her mother’s outrageous charge about Jasper surfaced. Katherine knew with certainty the words to be false; Jasper could never commit an act of violence, most especially against a woman…yet, his hardened eyes and the rigid set to his square jaw would be enough to give the most courageous gentleman, pause.
It struck Katherine that she knew nothing of Jasper’s parents, and that she’d quite callously insulted them. “Is your mother—?”
“Dead,” he said flatly.
Her heart twisted with pain for him. “I’m sorry,” she said.
He flexed his jaw. “Don’t be.”
Just that. Two words. A chill ran along her spine. What manner of man was he that he could be so emotionless when speaking of his parents?
He brushed his fingertips along the edge of her cheek, and she flinched.
A wintry smile formed on his lips. “What, are you regretting your offer, my lady?”
Katherine hesitated. “Of course not.” However, even he seemed to detect the uncertainty in her reply.
He cupped his hand around the nape of her neck, and warmth fanned out from the point where his fingers touched her skin, and raced through her. Her heartbeat fluttered wildly in her breast with a heady awareness of him.
Jasper dipped his head, so close their lips nearly met. “Not even with your mother’s charges against me?”
Her heart paused a beat. Something in his question begged her to ask him more, and God help her for being a coward, even as she longed to know the details surrounding his wife’s death, she couldn’t bring herself to ask the words.
He touched his finger to the tip of her nose. “Come, Katherine. I’d imagine you’re very curious to know the details? What? Silence?” He made a tsking sound. “How very disappointing when I’ve come to expect boldness from you.”
Katherine took a step backwards, placing distance between them. She yearned for the gentleman who’d given her the last copy of Wordsworth’s volume. Not this…not this…coolly mocking stranger.
Ultimately, her desire to know the secrets of his past won out. She took a deep breath. “What happened to your wife?”
~15~
Ahh, so there was the bold-spirited, inquisitive woman he’d come to anticipate since their meeting at the Frost Fair.
Since he’d entered the parlor, she’d eyed him with that wariness he’d come to expect from members of Society. Not her. Not Katherine.
Jasper stalked over to the corner of the room and pulled back the curtains to peer down into the bustling London streets. Something about that hesitancy in her brown eyes, the shade of disapproval in her tone did something to him. He gripped the edge of the window sill. Goddamn him for caring.
“I must say, I’m still disappointed, Katherine.”
From the glass windowpane he detected the nervous manner in which she shifted upon her feet. “Your Grace?”
With her telltale reactions, Katherine conveyed her every unspoken word and emotion; she’d be wise to avoid any gaming table.
He turned around slowly to face her. “Surely you intend to ask the question?”
Her chest rose and fell in a rhythmic slowness. She met his gaze squarely. “And what question is that, Jasper?”
A mirthless laugh burst from his chest, bitter and angry to his own ears. “Come now, Katherine. Surely you’re curious enough to ask the question of the man you’ll wed. Do you wonder as to the truth of the rumors? Did the Mad Duke truly kill his wife?"
Katherine shook her head quickly. “I don’t listen to gossip, Jasper.” She folded her hands in front of her. “I know you aren’t capable of hurting anyone.”
He’d killed Lydia as if he’d plunged a dagger through her heart.
Bitter pain dug at his heart like a thousand rusty, jagged knives being applied to the deadened organ. Katherine’s tone and the directness of her gaze spoke to her conviction. Oh, how misguided she was in her faith. Guilford’s words trickled into his consciousness. A young lady would not brave your stern, miserable countenance if there were not feelings on her part.
The sooner he disabused his wife-to-be of any grand illusions of him, the better off they’d be.