For Love of the Duke(66)

What in hell was she doing out in this godforsaken day? A blast of cold air blew snow into his eyes. He brushed the bothersome flakes back, and set out in search of his wife.

His footsteps ground the untouched blanket of snow into large booted imprints. Here, he’d imagined Katherine with a quivering lip and hopelessly sad eyes as she cowered away in her chambers like a wounded doe.

Jasper snorted. He should have known better. Katherine might have been shocked, even hurt by the great misunderstanding of the terms of their marital arrangement, but not even those momentary injuries would blight her spirit.

His black cloak whipped about his legs.

And she’d taken down the blasted sheets he’d ordered up upon the death of his son. In the span of not even a day as lady of the keep, she’d toppled his carefully ordered world, and somehow managed to sway Wrinkleton's loyalty toward her plans for Castle Blackwood.

He’d expected the sight of Lydia’s work, boldly exposed in the foyer should have ravaged his heart, and yet, instead he’d eyed it with a fond remembrance. None of the gripping pain or bitter resentment for his loss had filled him.

In that moment, standing in the foyer, he’d not thought more beyond the tapestries than that. Instead, he’d thought of Katherine, defying his orders, wreaking havoc upon his household, and more, setting out in such foul weather.

Jasper froze and squinted off into the distance. He made out the ever so faint slightness of a figure; the splash of her green emerald cloak a beacon amidst the pure white snow.

His heart kicked up a funny beat within his chest, and he set out after her. As his legs ate up the distance to the rise, the quiet winter air caught the husky, purity of her tinkling laugh and carried it to his ears.

When last he’d left Katherine, she’d alternated between hurt indignation and wounded sadness, of the like that had robbed him of sleep. It had taken all of his self-control to keep from tearing down the door between their chambers, and taking her into his bloody arms, sending his plans of a marriage of convenience to the devil.

Jasper quickened his step, filled with a sudden desire to know just what had accounted for her joy.

He marched up the rise, and froze, mid-step.

A young footman, a bloody handsome footman grinned down at Katherine.

Jasper narrowed his eyes into impenetrable slits as the servant said something to her, and a red blush stained her cheeks.

By Christ, he’d kill him. Enlivened by an unholy rage at the sight of the appreciative glimmer in the man’s expression, Jasper tramped the remaining way.

The servant looked up and caught sight of Jasper. The color leeched from his olive-hue cheeks, leaving him the color of the snow. He shifted the burden of evergreen branches in his hands, and sketched an awkward bow. “Your Grace.”

Jasper’s scowl darkened.

The young man gulped.

Good. He should be afraid. Very afraid.

Katherine belonged to him.

Katherine stiffened and slowly turned to face him. “You.” So much bored resignation filled that single utterance, that Jasper had to resist the urge to gnash his teeth like the foul beast that reigned within him: the beast who wanted to gnash his teeth and toss down the knoll the handsome servant who’d dared to look at Katherine.

Jasper shook his head. What manner of madness was this? He was not one given to fits of jealousy. He never had been. Until Katherine. What was she doing to him?

Without removing his gaze from Katherine’s, Jasper said to the young man. “You may return to the castle.”

The servant bowed, and at Jasper’s low, commanding tone hurried off with the load in his arms. Jasper looked at him from the corner of his eye until he’d disappeared from his periphery.

And, unlike the pale blush and smile she’d worn for the servant, she had nothing but a frown for Jasper. “What is that about, Jasper?” As though she intended to start off after too-handsome-footman, she took a step around him.

Jasper stepped into her path.

She took a step in the other direction.

Jasper matched her movement.

Katherine tipped her head back and glared up at him. “Hmph.”

All the rage he’d carried at the sight of her alone with too-handsome-footman faded, replaced with a sudden, overwhelming urge to take her in his arms and reacquaint himself with the moist heat of her mint scented breath.

She bent down and retrieved a large evergreen branch, which only served to remind him that it was late in the afternoon and they were out in a storm, doing…doing…

Whatever it is she was doing.

“What are those?” he asked, as she bent down to pick up another.

“They are branches.”

Jasper began to count…only she continued to fill her arms with the greenery. With a curse, Jasper bent and rescued the burden from her arms. “I see that they are branches, Katherine. What exactly are your intentions for them?”