And he did.
Love her, that is.
He’d like to say he had come to a grand realization after he saved her from drowning. But the truth of the matter was he had fallen in love with her when she was lecturing him on carriage parking etiquette. Yes, he’d thought she was an overbearing little shrew (which, for the record, she certainly was). But that was what made her different. That was what made her Honora.
Without her unapologetic intelligence, her sharp wit, and her dry sense of humor, she’d be just like anybody else. Except he hadn’t fallen in love with just anybody else. He’d fallen in love with Lady Honora Appleton.
Then she’d almost died before he had the chance to tell her.
Jasper’s chest tightened.
“When can we see her?” he asked gruffly.
“I believe Lady Rebecca already answered that question.” Bridget nudged him subtly in the ribs. “I’m sure once Lady Honora has regained some of her strength, she would very much like to thank her dashing rescuer. Until then, we need to allow her to rest. Mayhap we can see her tomorrow.”
Tomorrow?
Tomorrow seemed like an eternity away.
“Your sister is right,” Rebecca agreed. “However…”
Jasper held his breath, as his entire life dangled on the end of that “however.”
“I have a feeling Honora would make an exception for Lord Slatington.” Rebecca’s lips curved above the rim of her teacup. “She was rather adamant that you be told she was awake, my lord. She was also very concerned for your welfare. If she could see with her own eyes that you’re perfectly fine, I’m sure her sleep would be much more peaceful. Don’t you agree?”
“I…” Jasper tongue knotted. He nodded vigorously. “I do. I do agree.”
“Excellent. My mother was going to have some broth brought up. Why don’t you deliver it?” Rebecca suggested. “You and Lady Bridget, that is. Of course it wouldn’t be proper or seemly for you to be in my sister’s private bedchamber without a chaperone.”
“Of course,” Jasper repeated.
“Excellent. Why don’t you wait here, and I’ll have a maid put together a platter. Poor Honora hasn’t eaten in two days. I’m sure she is famished.”
“Famished,” he echoed.
Bridget gave him another well-deserved poke with her elbow, and Jasper bit back a curse. He knew he sounded like a damned parrot, but he couldn’t help himself. Not when he was so busy trying to think of what he was going to say to Honora when he saw her.
‘I’m terribly sorry you almost died. By the way, I love you’ didn’t quite seem to be the best direction to take. Then neither did, ‘We’ve only known each other for a very short period and most of that time has been spent arguing and to be honest I thought you were a shrew when we first met but I really think we have something here’.
Which was why, until he found the words he needed, he was going to keep repeating ones he’d already heard.
A bed tray, complete with a covered bowl of broth and a crusty chunk of bead, was promptly delivered by a maid in a white cap. Rebecca accompanied them to the foot of the stairs, gave directions to Honora’s room, and then flitted off on some errand or another.
Bridget gave two cheerful knocks and the muscles in Jasper’s abdomen tightened when he heard Honora’s muffled response. His sister glanced at him out of the corner of her eye.
“Why don’t you bring the food in?” she said. “I’ll wait here and, ah…fix this painting. It’s awfully crooked, don’t you think?”
For being a general pain in the arse, there were times when Bridget was absolutely angelic, and Jasper gave her a grateful look before he stepped into the bedroom and leaned back against the door until it was all but closed.
“Lady Honora?” he said, his gaze automatically drawn to the canopied bed in the middle of the large, sundrenched room. He’d seen her chamber, albeit briefly, when he had carried her into it two days ago. When he didn’t know whether or not it would be the last time that he ever held her. When he didn’t know whether he was saying goodbye forever.
The walls were a soft, pastel green. Rosewood furniture, subtly feminine in design, was strategically placed around the room. In addition to the bed, there was a writing desk and several chairs, as well as an armoire and matching dresser. It was a pleasant room. The sort one thought of when they pictured a young lady.
But then, there were the books.
Scattered on top of her dressing table. Stacked on the windowsills. Piled beside a curved chaise lounge. He imagined Honora sitting there, a book open on her lap, while she enjoyed a cup of tea and morning sunlight turned her hair from mahogany to amber. Looking pretty as a painting. One he wanted to place in his own bedchamber.
“Lord Slatington?” Squinting, Honora sat up amidst a mountain of pillows. “What…what are you doing here?”
“I’ve brought you something to eat.” He lifted the tray. “Where would you like me to put it?”
“Over there is fine.” She pointed vaguely towards a small table, her smoky gray eyes never leaving his. Jasper was relieved to see that aside from some lingering paleness in her cheeks, most of her color had returned. Her hair had been washed and brushed and was piled high on her head in a tumble of curls. She wore an ivory nightdress with delicate lace at the bodice, and a pale blue wrapper that had fallen off her shoulders.
She was both a vulnerable innocent and a tempting siren, and Jasper didn’t know whether he wanted to gather her in his arms and gently rock her until she fell asleep or lay her back amidst the pillows and devour her delectable little body inch by inch.
Not trusting himself to make the right decision, he quickly put down the tray and then retreated to the nearest window. It was five feet from the bed, a fair enough distance to keep his mind out of the gutter while still being close enough to detect the faintest whiff of her delicate scent, a mixture of lavender and mint.
Pushing aside a pile of books, he braced his hands on the sill and leaned back against the cool glass plane as Honora watched him with all the wary concern of a field mouse observing the actions of a cat.
“Thank you,” she said at last, hugging a pillow to her chest as she sat up even more. An ebony tendril came loose from her coiffure, distracting him as it curled around her ear before slithering between her breasts.
“For what?” he said blankly.
Her brows gathered. “For saving my life.”
“Oh, that.” He gave a dismissive shake of his head. “That was nothing.”
“It was hardly nothing,” she protested. “You dove into a freezing cold pond to rescue someone you hardly know. Take credit where credit is due, Lord Slatington.” The hint of a smile tugged at the edges of her mouth. “Heaven knows you’re comfortable enough taking credit when it’s not due.”
“What do you mean, we hardly know each other?” he demanded, ignoring the quip.
Honora’s smile faded. “Because we don’t know each other. I met you three days ago.”
“Five,” he corrected. “It was five days ago.”
“I was unconscious for two of them.”
“But we still knew each other.”
A line of bewilderment appeared in the middle of her forehead. “Does it really matter?”
“Yes!” Startled by his own vehemence, he shoved away from the window and stalked to the edge of the bed to glare down at her. “It bloody well does matter.”
“You’re being ridiculous.” Honora threw aside the pillow and started to swing her legs over the edge of the mattress. But before her bare toes could hit the floor, he grabbed onto her arm, the smooth silk of her wrapper bunching between his fingers.
“What are you doing?” he scowled. “You need to rest.”
“What I need is not to be berated in my own chamber.” Lifting her chin, she scowled right back at him. “Something you would understand if we did, in fact, know each other. Which we don’t. Furthermore, I fail to understand what all the fuss is about! What concern
is it if our acquaintance has been for two days or four?”
“Because I can’t fall in love with someone that I’ve only known for two days!” he shouted, knowing full well he was being a complete arse, but having gone this far down the road towards arsedom, he could hardly turn back now. “That would be…that would be…”
“Absurd?” she suggested. “Ludicrous? Nonsensible?”
“Yes,” he growled. “All of those things.”
“I agree.” Her head canted curiously to the side. “Who have you fallen in love with?”
Jasper stared at her. “You, Honora. I’ve fallen in love with you.”
Her lips parted on a gasp of surprise. “But…we’ve only known each other for three days!”
This really wasn’t going at all how he’d envisioned it.
“Five,” he gritted out. “We’ve known each other for five goddamned days.”
“I don’t understand,” she whispered.
Neither did he.
His grip tightened on her arm before he released her and stepped back, throwing his hands into the air in a gesture of frustrated surrender. “All I know is that I haven’t stopped thinking about you since we first met. You’re the most irritating, irksome female I’ve ever known.”
She lifted a brow. “I’m hardly an expert on proclamations of love, but I don’t think this is how it’s done.”
“I know that,” he snapped, glaring at her. “I’m getting to the good parts.”
“I see.”
His eyes narrowed even further. “Are you laughing?” he asked suspiciously.
“No,” she said even as her shoulders started to quake. “It’s – it’s from being submerged in the ice. The doctor assured me it would stop in t-time.”
“Really? Because it sounds like you’re giggling.”
“I’m n-not.” She clapped a hand over her mouth as a giggle escaped. “T-truly.”
He crossed his arms. “This is not amusing, Honora.”
“N-no, you’re right.” She took a deep breath. “It’s not.”
“I’m trying to bare my heart to you.” His jaw clenched. “I’ve never done this before, and your entertainment at my expense is not helping.”
“Really?” she said skeptically. “You’ve never confessed your love to someone? As a self-proclaimed rake extraordinaire, I find that hard to believe.”
Jasper closed his eyes and prayed for patience.
“First of all,” he said after taking a deep breath, “I’ve never self-proclaimed myself as anything.”
“I rather thought it was implied by all of your arrogance.”
His eyes opened. “Secondly, if I’d done this before, do you think I’d be messing it up this badly?”
She pursed her lips. “That’s a fair point.”
“I don’t want to love you.” Angry with himself and annoyed with her, he turned and stalked back to the window. From this height, he had a clear view of the pond. The ice had already refrozen, but he didn’t think he would ever forget where Honora had disappeared. There one second and gone the next. In the time it took to snap his fingers, he could have lost the person that had become the most precious to him. He’d been unable to sleep these past two nights for fear of her dying on him, and now, having recovered even better than he’d hoped to dream, she was laughing at him.
“As I said, you’re irritating.” His short nails bit into the windowsill. “And irksome. And a few other choice adjectives I shouldn’t use in the presence of a lady.”
“I thought there were good parts,” she complained.
“I don’t know if I want to say them anymore,” he said sullenly.
“That’s too bad…because I’d very much like to hear them.”
Jasper reluctantly turned to find her gaze upon him, and the tenderness he saw in her expression was warm enough to melt the snow outside. In two paces, he was across the room and had her in his arms. Not to rock, not to kiss, but simply to hold. To have. Now, and hopefully – if he could pry his bloody foot out of his mouth – forever.
“You’re beautiful inside and out.” He cupped the side of her face in his palm, his thumb resting just below her bottom lip. “You’re not afraid to speak your mind. You challenge me in ways no one else ever has. And you comfort me in ways no one else ever could. In five days, you’ve come to know me better than my oldest friends–”
“Strictly speaking it really has been three, but…I’ll let you finish,” she squeaked when his eyes flashed.
“When you fell into the water there was a second when I thought I would never see you again. It was the worst second of my life. A life that wouldn’t be nearly as bright without you in it.” He paused as his voice thickened, but before he could continue, Honora’s gray eyes welled with tears.
“Are you crying?” he asked incredulously. Bollocks, but he really had made a muck of it, hadn’t he? “Please don’t cry. Let me start over. I can do better. I promise.”
“I’m not crying,” she scoffed as a tear rolled down her cheek. “It’s – it’s just from the ice. The doctor said it would stop in time. Oh, Jasper. I think you’re irksome too. And irritating. And beyond arrogant.” She sniffled loudly. “But there’s no one else I’d rather be annoyed with than you.”
“Well then there’s only one thing left to do,” he said tenderly as he brushed her tears away.
“What’s that?” she asked.
“Kiss you under the mistletoe.”
About the Author
Jillian Eaton grew up in Maine and now lives in Pennsylvania on a 5-acre farmette with her husband, their three young boys, an eleven-year-old cattle dog x jack russell, half-blind draft mule, sassy mini donkey, and chronically lame thoroughbred (all beloved animal rescues).
When she isn’t visiting the ton, Jillian can be found up at the barn or chasing after her children. She enjoys gardening, working on house projects, and reading. She also loves to hear from her readers! Jillian can always be reaching at [email protected] or her Facebook page.
Please enjoy an excerpt from the first book in Jillian’s newest series, the Secret Wallflower Society! Winning the Earl of Winchester is available on Amazon in e-book and paperback.
Miss Calliope Haversham has eighteen days.
Eighteen days before she turns twenty-one and becomes a spinster.
Eighteen days before her inheritance is passed on to her loathsome cousin Beatrice.
Eighteen days before she must marry a stranger… or lose everything she has.
But Calliope isn’t worried. She has a plan. One that involves a bit of luck, the help of her daring best friend, and the curmudgeonly (albeit very handsome) Earl of Winchester. All she needs to do is secure an invitation to London’s most elite ball (something which she has no hope of getting), convince the earl to dance (something he never does), and have him propose before the night is over (something he has vowed never to do).
How hard can it possibly be?
Exclusive Excerpt
“Is the priest ready?” Calliope whispered, her gaze flicking nervously to the church doors. Lady Helena Darby, her maid of honor, nodded with unguarded enthusiasm.
“Any moment,” she said brightly. “They’ll let us know when it’s time.”
Beyond the tall church tower with its large bronze bell, the sun was slowly sinking into a pink and orange sky. Soon night would fall, and when it did Calliope would emerge through those doors not as an orphan or a wallflower or a spinster, titles that had followed her through her entire life, but as a wife.
A wife.
She could hardly believe it, and a tremulous smile curved her lips as she waited for them to be called inside the church. A gust of wind stirred, catching on the train of her gown and pulling at the plain blue shawl she had wrapped around her shoulders. She trembled, and Helena noted the tiny, involuntary motion with an arched russet brow.
“Are you nervous?” she asked.
“Yes,” Calliope admitted, for she was. Nervous and exc
ited and happy and afraid. The emotions were all jumbled up inside of her, each one fighting for dominance as her heart began to race and her palms began to perspire inside of her white satin gloves.
“That’s normal, I suppose. But there’s really nothing to be nervous about. We’re still several hours before the deadline.” Helena patted her hand. “It’s all worked out splendidly, hasn’t it? You and him. Not that I ever doubted it would.”
“Splendidly,” Calliope echoed.
But if that were completely true, why was she suddenly filled with the urge to turn on her heel and bolt in the opposite direction?
Pre-wedding jitters, she told herself as one of the doors slowly creaked open and a servant whom she recognized as her future husband’s valet gestured them inside. It’s just pre-wedding jitters.
“Calliope,” her maid of honor hissed in her ear.
“What?”
“It’s time to go inside now.” Helena looked at her oddly, and too late Calliope realized she’d been standing and staring at the church for the better part of a minute.
“Of course. I was just…gathering my thoughts.”
“I know I just said we have hours, but it’s really best not to push things. Here, let me take your shawl.” Removing the garment, Helena passed it off to one of the footmen standing by the carriage that would ferry the newly wedded couple off to their country estate and then fixed Calliope with an encouraging smile. “Are you ready, darling?”
“I’m ready.” And she was. Because she did love the man waiting for her inside the church.
Of that, if nothing else, she was absolutely certain.
Lifting her chin, she started to put on foot in front of the other and before she knew it she was inside the church and poised in front of the man who was about to be her husband. Her heart warmed at the sight of him, and when he reached out to take her hand at the direction of the priest all of her doubts faded away.
Marquess Under the Mistletoe Page 9