It Happened One Night: Six Scandalous Novels

by Grace Burrowes

  Alas, it appeared this husband-to-be of hers was wholly unaffected by her sister’s gentle charm. Jasper peered down the length of his slightly crooked, Roman nose at her, and remained silent.

  Nor did it fail to escape Katherine’s notice that he’d failed to bow.

  Anne’s smile dipped.

  Katherine’s gaze moved between Jasper, and her sister, as she considered for the first time how very important it was for Jasper and her sister Anne to like one another.

  She hurried across the room. “Your Grace,” she said.

  He froze her with a look…and the words died on her lips.

  This was clearly not a man eager to make her his wife. This was the coldhearted beast who’d harshly reprimanded her after he’d pulled her from the Thames.

  She staggered to a stop several feet from him, hating the unease that coursed through her. The Jasper she’d come to know did not elicit this uncertainty. He laughed; albeit rusty and harsh, but he laughed. And he spoke in gentle tones.

  Mother seemed to compose herself. She tilted her chin up a notch, and cleared her throat. “Your Grace, may I offer you—?”

  “A moment alone with Lady Katherine,” he interrupted in a low, dark tone.

  Mother paled, and managed a jerky nod. “V-very w-well. Come along, Anne,” she said, and snatched Anne by the forearm and steered her from the room as though she were an archangel saving her daughter from a dark demon.

  The door closed behind them, and Katherine stood stock still in the middle of the room with that dark demon. She folded her hands in front of her. “Jasper,” she said quietly.

  He said nothing.

  Katherine caught her lower lip between her teeth and troubled the flesh. His eyes narrowed as he followed that distracted movement.

  She stopped. “You know, there really is no reason for you to be so surly.”

  His nostrils flared, but other than that he gave no outward reaction to her statement.

  “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?”

  Chapter Fifteen

  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.

  “I fear you are wrong on that score, my lady.”

  Katherine’s small, lithe frame stilled. Then, her arms fell to her side and hung there, awkwardly. “I don’t…” He took a step toward her. She wet her lips and went on. “I don’t…”

  “You don’t what?” he said on a silken whisper. “Believe it?”

  She glanced over her shoulder toward the closed door, and Jasper suspected she considered her escape. Good, Katherine, that is wise. You should turn on your heel and run as far and fast as your slippers will carry you from my miserable self. You’d have been fortunate to have any other gentleman rescue you that day at the Frost Fair.

  Katherine looked back at him. “No, Jasper,” she said at last, with that same misplaced faith in him. “I don’t believe you killed your wife.”

  “Oh, you would be wrong, my lady.” He reached a hand up, and captured one of those tight brown ringlets between his thumb and forefinger.

  Katherine winced, as if his nearness caused her physical distress.

  “Should I tell you of the blood and the screams?” he hissed.

  Katherine swatted his hand away. “Stop it,” she commanded. She clamped her hands over her ears. “I do not believe you. If you do not want to wed me, then you should say as much. You shouldn’t tell these…these…great, horrific lies.” Her voice shook under the weight of her fear. It lit
her eyes, and caused her lean limbs to tremble.

  He circled her wrists with his hands and gently removed them from her ears. “They aren’t lies,” Jasper went on. If she wanted to wed him, then she should know what kind of monster she’d take for a husband.

  Katherine’s breath came fast and heavy, as though she’d just run a good a distance. If she were wise, she would run a good distance away from this room, away from him.

  She yanked her hands back, and for a brief moment he thought she might flee. He should have known better of his bold-spirited, indomitable Katherine.

  She folded her arms across her chest, and tapped her foot in a fast, staccato rhythm upon the wood floor. “Well, then. Tell me the details, Jasper. I want to know. I deserve to know.”

  Yes, she did. All of it.

  “I loved my wife,” he said without preamble.

  Katherine’s lips parted ever so slightly, and then she seemed to remember herself, and snapped them closed.

  “Would you care to hear the details, Katherine?” he taunted.

  Katherine’s heart froze. She reminded herself to breathe.

  I loved my wife.

  Of course he had. Jasper’s retreat from Society, and the private manner in which he lived his life alluded to a love for the woman who’d been his wife. But there had been no details, nothing more than suppositions—until now. The knowing somehow made the agony of his indifference all the more painful.

  Did she care for the details? Why she’d rather have the lashes upon her lids plucked one at a time than hear of his love for the paragon of a woman who’d been his wife. It was selfish and wrong…but she could no more stop the ugly sentiments than she could stop from breathing.

  Instead she said, “Yes, Jasper. Tell me the details.” Because I’m a glutton for pain and suffering.

  “Her name was Lydia and she was the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen; her hair was the color of spun gold, and her eyes like the deepest, clearest blue seas.” He wandered back to the window, his carriage proudly erect and unmoving.

  As he stared down into the streets below, silent and unspeaking, her heart spasmed. The image he so poetically painted of his wife, nay, Lydia—was one of a woman who’d inspired romantic words from this now cold, unfeeling Jasper. Lydia, the grand beauty, and surely a diamond of the first water. Not like Katherine with her silly brown ringlets and dull brown eyes, who would never inspire any grand sentiments in a gentleman.

  She sank into the nearest seat, an overstuffed King Louis chair.

  Jasper glanced over his shoulder and ran a disinterested stare over her still form. “I courted her. I fell in love with her. The kind of love those foolish poets write of.”

  Oh God, why did her heart crack in the manner it did? She swallowed past a swell of emotion in her throat.

  He carried on. There was no need for questions or prodding on her part. Jasper had retreated to that place inside himself he’d dwelt since she’d first met him at the Frost Fair.

  “She loved London, and I, once upon a lifetime ago, also loved London. I was so very comfortable, there.”

  Something else she’d not known of him. She’d believed his absence from London these years had been because he’d detested the overcrowded, dirty, gossip-driven glittery world. No, his self-imposed exile had been motivated of his love for Lydia.

  Katherine gripped the corners of her seat. It would appear they had even less in common than she’d ever believed.

  Jasper gave his head the slightest shake. “The day I learned Lydia was with child, I insisted we retreat to my holdings in the country. And those eight months were the happiest of my life.”

  Oh, God surely he could detect the loud cracking of her heart. Why? Why would the blasted organ splinter apart if she weren’t in love with him? She could not love him. Not this…stranger who still mourned his dead, paragon of a wife.

  Jasper went on. “It was a Sunday when she felt a tightening pain. I insisted she rest. I sent round for a doctor but continued to carry on with the estates business while she suffered in the solitary confines of her own chambers.” His face contorted in such unguarded grief, Katherine dropped her gaze. “That is the kind of man you’d wed.”

  “What happened?” Did that whisper belong to her?

  His fiery gaze flew to hers. “Would you care for the details, Katherine?”

  She shook her head quickly. “N…”

  “The doctor summoned me.”

  His eyes took on a faraway look of a man who’d come close to the fiery pits of hell and had been forever scorched by its flames. “Would you hear how she screamed for three long days, until her voice went hoarse and then silent from the bloody shouts of terror and agony that ravaged her throat?”

  Katherine again shook her head. “No…” She cried, and surged to her feet, filled with an image of him beside his wife as she fought to birth their child.

  “Or would you have me tell you of how with her last gasping breath she gave life to a small, blue babe?”

  A muscle ticked in the corner of his eye, and his hard visage blurred before her. She dashed a hand across her eyes, realizing she cried for the agony he’d known, for the loss of his love, and for the tiny babe. Katherine angrily swiped at the mementos of despair; Jasper would not welcome her pity.

  As she expected, his gaze momentarily fell to her tear-stained cheeks, and when he looked back at her, a stiff, macabre grin turned his lips.

  “Or would you rather I tell you of how I held that babe, who struggled to breath for two days, sucking in raspy gasps for air?”

  She closed her eyes at the heart-rending image he painted.

  “Would you hear of how he turned into me, and then drew his last breath?”

  Katherine struggled to swallow around the enormous lump of pain that clogged her throat. She forced her gaze to Jasper’s. He stood stock-still, the harsh angles of his face etched in grief, as though the moments of years past were as fresh as if they’d just transpired.

  In that moment, confronting the depth of her feelings for this man, Katherine realized if she could bring back Lydia and that small, nameless babe, she’d relinquish him…even if that meant he’d never been there to save her at the Frost Fair. “I am so sorry, Jasper.” She willed him to hear the depth of sincerity in those five words.

  His square jaw flexed. “You and Society, wonder if I killed my wife.” His long-legged stride closed the distance between them. He stopped at the foot of her chair, so she was forced to crane her head back to look at him. “And the truth is, I did, Katherine. I killed her as surely as if I’d put a pistol to her.”

  Katherine surged to her feet. “You didn’t,” her voice shook with emotion. She reached a hand up and touched his cheek. As though the pain of his loss had not been great enough, he’d had to contend with Society’s jeering whispers and horrid accusations. The Mad Duke, they called him. His only madness had been in loving so very much.

  He flinched at her touch, and she dropped it back to her side with humiliated rejection.

  “Would you still wed me, Katherine? Would you wed me, knowing I’m a monster?”

  She studied him; her heart squeezing. Oh, Jasper. He’d loved so very much, it had turned him into this black, empty shell of a man. She could no sooner turn and walk away from him than she could cut her hand from her own person. “I would,” she said softly.

  Jasper’s eyes locked with hers; the dark black of his green irises moved over her face. Then, he dropped his brow to hers. “Then you are a fool,” he said on a harsh whisper.

  Perhaps, she was. But the moment his hand had closed around her wrist, and he’d pulled her gasping and desperate from the frozen waters of the Thames, their lives had become irrevocably connected, and she’d become his, as he was hers.

  She wrapped her arms around his massive frame and turned her cheek into his chest. Katherine detected the hard, rapid beat of his heart. It thumped hard against the wall of his chest, the muted beat muffled by her ear. His arms hun
g by his side, and then he raised them ever so slightly, as if to enfold her in his embrace. But then he let them fall back down.

  Katherine edged away from him; she leaned up on tiptoe and pressed her lips to his.

  Jasper’s muscles strained the fabric of his midnight black garments, and then he took her in his arms. His mouth slanted over hers again and again; fast, hard, and furious as he tasted her lips. Theirs was not a gentle exchange but a volatile explosion of passion to rival the most violent of summer thunderstorms.

  She opened her mouth and allowed him entry. His tongue slid inside, possessive and searching and she met the bold thrust and parry of his kiss.

  He folded his hand around her neck, and angled her head, so he could better plunge his expert tongue into the cavern of her mouth.

  Katherine moaned and the life seeped down her legs, and down her feet, until she was reduced to nothingness in his arms. He caught her to him, and anchored her against his chest.

  His kiss was what drove poets to memorialize their words upon a written page and drove women to sin, and young ladies to toss aside their good name and respectability. And she took his kiss. All of it.

  A gasping cry escaped her as his hand cupped her breast, the breathless sound swallowed by his mouth. His mouth left hers, and she tangled her fingers into the thick strands of his black hair and tugged, in a desperate attempt to bring his lips back to hers.

  Her efforts proved ineffectual and he continued his quest. He kissed a path down her temple, and to the sensitive flesh where her neck met her ear.

  A breathless giggle escaped her.

  Jasper pulled back and glanced up at her, questioningly.

  “It tickled,” she said weakly, wanting to toss her head back and shout with frustration, desperate for him to continue.

  Jasper touched the tip of his finger to that sensitive patch of flesh, and then lowered his lips again to the skin there.

  “Oh, Jasper,” she whispered on a breathy laugh.

  “You are certain you still wish to wed me?” he asked again. The faintest hint of uncertainty underlined that question and her heart flipped at the crack in the cold veneer he’d perfected these many years.