by Darcy Burke
JUST past twilight Jasper strolled through the Grove at Vauxhall. He nodded at people promenading and sitting at the tables surrounding the orchestra. Music filled the warm night air as he made his way to Lady Badby’s supper box.
His gaze immediately fell on Olivia. Her auburn hair was artfully styled with pearl-encrusted combs. Though she sat, her upper body was visible, revealing a blue gown also decorated with pearls along the bodice. She sat next to Louisa and laughed at something his aunt said. He’d never seen Olivia look lovelier.
He forced himself to look around the table for Lord Prewitt. He easily found the man’s mother, a small, ancient creature seated next to Lady Badby, their host. At last, he caught sight of Prewitt just returning from walking with…Sevrin? What the devil was he doing here?
Jasper strode to meet them. “Good evening Prewitt, Sevrin,” he said as he joined them.
“Evening, Saxton.” Prewitt nodded his head, covered in a wealth of dark gray hair.
Jasper sent Sevrin a questioning glance. “Saxton, I was just accompanying Lord Prewitt to Lady Badby’s box. I understood you would be here this evening and thought I’d stop by.”
Jasper wanted to ask, but why did Prewitt allow you to speak with him? Had Sevrin’s reputation improved that much since Jasper had befriended him?
“I’m glad you did. Capital evening.” Jasper searched for a way to broach the subject of Prewitt’s recognition of Olivia.
“Say, Saxton. There’s something a bit familiar about your aunt’s ward,” Sevrin said, casting a long look in Olivia’s direction. Jasper wasn’t sure what Sevrin had in mind, but he seemed to have a strategy so he followed along.
“Is there?” Jasper subtly directed the question at Prewitt, slightly turning his body toward the older man.
“I thought so, too,” Prewitt agreed then shook his head. “But I have to be mistaken. I thought she looked like an actress. That was before you lads were out in Society.”
“An actress?” Sevrin tapped his chin as if he were contemplating this notion. Suddenly he held up his finger and grinned. “I’ve figured it out. Lady Dalrymple.”
Prewitt frowned. “His aunt’s ward doesn’t look a bit like her. Lady Dalrymple has a wide…shoulders and very dark hair.”
Jasper held his breath. What tangle was Sevrin creating? Was Prewitt about to insist Olivia looked like Fiona Scarlet?
Sevrin chuckled. “You’re quite right, she doesn’t resemble Lady Dalrymple at all, but Lady Dalrymple has a portrait in her drawing room—I believe it’s her husband’s great-grandmother—and the subject is the exact replica of Miss West, I swear.”
Jasper nodded slowly. He knew the painting Sevrin spoke of—though he briefly wondered how Sevrin did—and while the woman did possess the same color hair, he wouldn’t go so far as to say Olivia was an ‘exact replica’. Nevertheless, he went along with Sevrin. “I do believe you’re right. It’s a striking portrait, quite large. Surely you’ve seen it, Prewitt?” He waited anxiously for Prewitt’s response.
“I have. Indeed, I think you’re right, Sevrin. I knew she looked familiar.”
Sevrin smiled. “Ah well, mystery solved.”
“Incidentally, what actress did you mean?” Jasper wanted to know Prewitt’s relationship—if there was one—with Olivia’s mother.
“Oh, I can’t even recall her name. Scarlet maybe? Ruby?” He waved a hand. “I saw her at Drury Lane once. Remarkable talent.”
Jasper tried not to let his relief show.
Lord Prewitt gave a slight bow. “Now, please excuse me while I check on Mother.” He turned and joined Lady Badby’s party.
“I wasn’t sure where you were going with that,” Jasper said softly.
“That was rather fun.” Sevrin looked about. “Is there anyone else we can bam?”
Jasper gave him an exasperated look. “Thank you for your help.”
“Any time. I don’t really plan on crashing Lady Badby’s party. Will I see you at the Black Horse later?”
“Probably.” His gaze strayed to Olivia. “I’m going to take Olivia for a promenade and tell her she has nothing to fear from Prewitt.”
“Now?” Sevrin elbowed him in the arm, drawing his attention from Olivia. “Do you think that’s wise?”
Jasper gave him an acerbic look. “What, are you the duke now?”
Sevrin snorted. “I know how difficult it is for you to keep your hands off of her. I’d inquire as to whether your affections have waned, but I can see from the way you look at her they haven’t.”
Christ, was Jasper that transparent? That wouldn’t do. Perhaps walking with her wasn’t the best idea. He could just as well visit her tomorrow.
He elbowed Sevrin back. “Mind your own business. I’ll see you later.”
“Good evening, my dear boy,” Louisa called as Jasper neared the box.
“Good evening, Aunt, Miss West.” He bowed to each of them before turning to his hostess. “Lady Badby, thank you for your invitation.”
A tall, slender woman with jet-black hair shot through with silver, Lady Badby had been a friend of Louisa’s as long as Jasper could remember. Though given to gossip, Lady Badby had always treated him with fondness and care. Tonight her eyes sparkled with ill-suppressed glee. “Thank you for gracing us with your presence. Is there any chance Lady Philippa will be joining us?” She fixed him with an inquisitive stare, her lips pulling up in an expectant smile.
So she hoped her little party might garner the summer’s most coveted on-dit? Was that why she’d included him?
Beyond Lady Badby, Louisa rolled her eyes. “Augusta, don’t be gauche.”
Lady Badby laughed, seemingly unbothered by Louisa’s admonition. “Oh, my dear Louisa, you know I had to ask.”
“You had to do no such thing. Now, Jasper, take Olivia for a promenade.”
Her command made Jasper’s decision regarding whether to talk with Olivia tonight or tomorrow. Tonight was just as well. Better to get this over with so he could focus on Lady Philippa. His insides felt hollow.
“It would be my pleasure.” He waited for Olivia to get up and move around the table. He offered his arm as soon as she joined him. Louisa beamed at them as he escorted Olivia away from the box and down the Grand Walk.
They were several yards removed when she said, “You’re wearing the waistcoat.”
He passed his hand over his chest. “It’s my favorite. Fits divinely. My valet thinks I should sack my tailor.”
She laughed, and his insides turned to jelly. He had to find a way to prevent such reactions to her.
“Have you been to Vauxhall before?” he asked.
“Yes, many times. My mother loved to come here.” There was a wistful quality to her voice that led him to believe Olivia loved the gardens too. “Do you mind if we go to the Hermit’s Walk? I often escaped there.”
“Certainly.” Jasper turned her onto the Grand Cross Walk. “What was your relationship with Fiona like?”
She was quiet a moment. “She didn’t treat me like a daughter, more like a friend who came to stay with her. And she wasn’t overly happy about it, especially when I wasn’t as free-spirited as her.”
Jasper knew what it felt like to disappoint a parent, and was frustrated on Olivia’s behalf even years later. “You’d been raised in a vicarage. What did she expect?”
Olivia smiled sadly. “That’s precisely what I wondered, but then she never wanted me.”
Jasper’s chest pulled. He’d been second choice, but to never have been wanted at all? He didn’t know what to say, so he simply laid his hand over hers.
She shrugged, the muscles of her neck and shoulder rippling elegantly with the soft gesture. “Fiona soon realized a fourteen year old girl wasn’t a hindrance like a baby or small child would have been.” Her gaze flicked up to his. “Not that she would have allowed such interruption. She simply carried on with her life while I kept out of her way.”
Her life, as Olivia put it. The life of a courtesan. �
��And were you privy to her activities?”
As they turned onto the Hermit’s Walk, she glanced up at him. “If you’re asking if I was aware of her profession, of course. She usually had a protector who paid for our lodgings, so we moved as often as she changed lovers. A few times, her protector didn’t want me in the same house and so he paid for me to lodge elsewhere. I preferred that, actually.”
It sounded lonely. He never wanted her to experience the hollowness of solitude or the sting of rejection again. “I spoke with Lord Prewitt this evening. Though you looked familiar to him, he couldn’t place you as Fiona’s daughter. And I made sure he never would.”
She paused near the end of the Hermit’s Walk and turned to look at him. “Goodness, what did you do?”
“Only steered him in another direction. He thinks you look like Lord Dalrymple’s ancestor.” She looked at him quizzically and he laughed softly. “Just trust me. He won’t bother you.”
“I do trust you.” She smiled. “Thank you.”
She trusted him. It sounded a simple thing, but he knew it had to be difficult for her, given her past. She’d never been able to rely on anyone until Louisa. He was only glad he’d ensured Olivia never had to leave her.
A whistle sounded and all of the lanterns in the gardens flamed with light. She jumped. “Oh!” Then she laughed.
Jasper smiled with her. “Have you never seen the lamps lit?”
“Yes, once or twice, but I wasn’t expecting it.” She looked around them at the glowing lanterns as the footmen who’d lit them disappeared into the foliage. “It’s so beautiful.”
Suddenly Jasper was grabbed from behind and thrown to the ground with brutal force. Olivia shrieked. Jasper turned over to see his attacker. Gifford? The young man stood over him with a look of fury. Dressed in breeches and a loose shirt with the sleeves rolled up, he looked ready to fight.
“Get up,” he growled.
Jasper leapt to his feet. “Olivia, go back to the Grove.”
She stepped forward. “Mr. Gifford, what are you doing here?”
“Protecting your honor. I know Saxton ruined you. The bastard thinks he can violate you without repercussion because of your station. His kind always takes advantage of people like us, Miss West.” He launched himself at Jasper, fists flying.
Jasper wasn’t ready for the speed and precision of the younger man’s attack. He’d watched Gifford fight and knew he was quite skilled. But now, on the receiving end of the man’s anger, and dressed in entirely too many close-fitting clothes, he wasn’t able to adequately deflect the blows.
“Mr. Gifford, stop!” Olivia cried.
“Stay back!” Jasper called. He danced backward to buy time to pull off his coat, but Gifford followed him and landed a punch to his cheek before Jasper got his arms free.
He charged forward, catching Gifford around the middle. They tumbled to the ground. Jasper quickly rolled and jumped back to his feet. He was ready for the man now.
They circled each other a moment, trying to gauge the other’s weakness. Gifford was well protected. Tall and lithe, he moved quickly, his hands perfectly poised to attack and defend.
Jasper needed to get Olivia out of here. “Olivia, go back to the Grove.”
“I won’t leave until he stops. Please, Mr. Gifford, I’m not angry with Saxton.”
“You should be! Why are you with him?”
Jasper took advantage of the younger man’s momentary focus on Olivia. He jabbed forward and hit Gifford in the face and gut. He retreated quickly before Gifford could answer.
Gifford grunted then turned his furious gaze on Jasper. “Olivia, you’re a fool if you think you’ll ever be accepted by Society.” He kept his attention on the fight. “Your true background will come out.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” Jasper asked. “You’re not threatening her, are you? That would be a grave mistake.”
“I’m threatening you!” Gifford struck out and caught him under the chin and again in the side of the head.
Pain radiated through Jasper’s temple. Gifford kicked at Jasper’s middle, catching him in the side as Jasper moved to avoid him. He spun, facing off with the younger man once more. But Gifford didn’t hesitate. He dashed forward and sent several blows, which Jasper barely deflected. Gifford may not have been the biggest man at the club, but he was easily one of the strongest.
Jasper needed to finish this. He flew at Gifford, his fists pummeling at his chest and head. Gifford stumbled backward. Off-balance, he couldn’t get his hands up. Jasper landed several punishing blows.
“Jasper, please, stop!” Olivia’s anguished plea broke through his focus. He paused, allowing Gifford to regain his footing. Then he glanced at Olivia. It was a terrible mistake.
From the corner of his eye, he saw Gifford’s arm move down to his boot. Steel flashed in the lantern-light. Jasper dodged to the right, but it wasn’t enough. Gifford sank a blade into Jasper’s left shoulder.
White-hot pain stabbed through his arm and down into his chest. Jasper’s vision darkened for a moment as he wobbled. Gifford raised his hand again, but the blow didn’t fall. He was pulled to the side and thrown to the ground. Sevrin stood over him, his boot crushing Gifford’s wrist into the dirt until he dropped the knife.
“Saxton, are you all right?”
Jasper nodded even though the agony in his shoulder was like fire. He looked at Olivia, pale and frightened in the lamplight, but unharmed.
“Miss West, take Jasper home. I’ll take care of Gifford.” Sevrin stared down at the young man in cold fury.
Olivia came and looked at Jasper’s shoulder. Her mouth tightened with worry.
“Get my coat. I don’t want to draw attention to this.” It was astounding no one had come at the sound of the fight, but then the Hermit’s Walk was small and rarely sported much traffic.
While Olivia fetched his coat, Jasper tipped his shoulder forward to see the wound. He was rewarded with an agonizing streak of pain up his neck and down his arm. Blood seeped through a hole in his waistcoat. His favorite waistcoat, damn it.
She tried to help him into his coat, but it hurt too goddamned much. “Are you all right?” she asked, her voice full of concern.
“Fine,” he gritted through his teeth. “Just drape it over my shoulders.”
“Saxton, you can’t go back through the Grand Walk. Cut through the garden here.” Sevrin pointed at the end of the walk. “There’s no path, but you’ll find your way out, I imagine. Go, quickly. I’ll come by later after I deal with this.”
Gifford hadn’t moved since Sevrin had pressed his foot into his wrist. He stared up at the sky in mute anger, his face taut.
Jasper nodded. “We’ll be at Queen Street.” He took Olivia’s hand and led her into the foliage. One of the lamplighters had disappeared this way. Sure enough, there was a slight path. It was dark, but enough light from the walks streamed through the trees and shrubbery to illuminate their way.
A branch hit him in the arm and he grunted. Olivia tightened her grip and took the lead. At long last, they emerged from the gardens and onto a path near the entrance.
Olivia paused. “We came by carriage. Did you also, or did you come by boat?”
“Carriage.”
She pulled him through the entrance. They found his coach first. The footman opened the door automatically, but then his gaze arrested on Jasper’s shoulder.
“March, I need you to fetch the doctor.” Jasper grimaced as a sharp wave of pain spiked his shoulder. “Have him meet us at my aunt’s townhouse on Queen Street.”
“Yes, my lord.” He darted away faster than Jasper had ever seen the man move.
The coachman climbed down and assisted Jasper inside. Olivia followed, sitting beside him. The coachman lit the lanterns, and asked, “Queen Street, then?”
Jasper nodded.
The door shut. Olivia eased his coat away and tossed it on the opposite seat. Carefully, she probed at his shoulder. Her face was drawn, a
nd she was paler than he’d ever seen her. “I’m sorry about your waistcoat. I’ll make you another.” She unbuttoned the garment and pulled it off. It followed the coat to the other seat.
She unknotted his cravat and slid it from his neck. Gently, she pushed his shirt away from the wound and then dabbed it with the cravat. The neck opening wasn’t large enough and so the shirt tried to creep back over his torn flesh.
“Pardon me.” She grasped both sides of the open neck and rent the fabric to his waist.
Lust flooded him. He would not have thought it possible to become aroused with the agony in his shoulder, but at this moment the pain faded until he was only aware of her leaning over him in the sensual lamplight of the swaying coach.
She bent one leg under herself and turned toward him while pressing the cravat against the wound. “The bleeding seems to be slowing.”
He forced himself to listen to her words, instead of mentally undressing her. “Does it require stitching?”
“I don’t know.” She turned her attention to his face. “I don’t understand why Gifford would attack you.”
Gifford’s actions made sense given he’d been the one who’d told Jasper about Olivia’s search for her father and her purported quest for a titled husband. “I think he possessed a tendre for you. He’s the one who told me Merry might not be your father. He listened to a conversation you had with some woman.”
Olivia drew back with a gasp. “He didn’t.”
Jasper nodded. “He also tried to make me think you’d infiltrated Louisa’s home with the sole purpose of snaring a wealthy, titled husband. He clearly didn’t want me thinking very highly of you.” They were the actions of a jealous man, something Jasper realized he could relate to. When he thought of Olivia with Gifford or anyone else, his gut churned.
She refolded the cravat to use a fresh length of the fabric as a compress. “He visited me at Queen Street this afternoon. I think he hoped to court me, but I wasn’t encouraging.” She looked at Jasper with regret.
He lifted his good arm to stroke her face. “It’s not your fault he stabbed me.”
“Nevertheless, I wish I could stab him back.”