by Shana Galen
“I’d appreciate that.”
She nodded and left him to gather the mask. He watched as she washed the parts carefully then hung them to dry. “It would really be best, my lord, if you didn’t wear it for a few days. Your skin needs air to heal.”
“I fear I will terrify your son.”
Her brow furrowed in what seemed genuine confusion. “I doubt it. The mask is far more terrifying than your wound.”
Jasper studied her face, but she gave no appearance of lying.
She looked back at him unflinchingly. “You really do think you look terrifying, don’t you?”
“And you don’t?”
She shook her head. “It’s a serious burn. I can see that you were lucky not to lose an eye. I imagine it hurt beyond anything I’ve ever experienced, but you just look like a man who has been burned. You don’t look like a monster. In fact, you’re more handsome now that I can see your whole face than you were with only half of it visible.”
Jasper didn’t speak. He simply could not believe a word of what she said. He had been handsome once. He knew this, had been told he was attractive. But now—now he was as ugly as the devil.
“You don’t believe me?” she said, as though she’d read his thoughts. “Don’t you ever look in a mirror?”
“Not if I can avoid it.” And when he did, he only looked at the half of his face that had not been damaged.
“Then you’ve no doubt built your scar up into something awful. It’s not that at all.” She reached out and cupped her hand over his cheek, cupping his wound as well. Jasper wanted to flinch back, but he didn’t. And she didn’t lower her hand.
“You don’t think it’s repulsive?” he whispered.
“No one would.” That was not true. His own family had avoided looking at him at his niece’s baptism recently. They’d forbid him from wearing his mask and then they all seemed horrified by the sight of him.
“I assure you, they do.”
“Then they are blind.” The way she looked down at him, the heat of her hand, the closeness of her body stirred Jasper. What would happen if he kissed her now? He hadn’t kissed a woman in years, hadn’t thought a woman would ever touch him again without being paid. But this woman, so pretty and tender, stood above him, looking at him with...appreciation. What if he kissed her? Then would she recoil?
“Or you are blind,” he said.
“I’m not blind. I have—”
He reached out, cupped the back of her neck and pulled her to him. She stiffened in surprise, but she didn’t protest when his lips brushed over hers. He pulled back and studied her. Her cheeks were flushed and her dusky blue eyes wide, but she did not look sickened.
“What was that?” she whispered.
“A thank you.”
She lowered her hand from his face. “You’re welcome.”
He rose. “I’d like to kiss you again, Olivia. But that one would be...more than a thank you.”
She shook her head and stepped back. “I don’t think that’s wise. I-I don’t like to be touched.”
Jasper stood rooted in place, unwilling to step forward and pursue her. He’d forgotten for a moment about Withernsea. “I overstepped. Forgive me.”
She waved a hand and ducked her head to hide her flaming cheeks. “It’s nothing.”
“It was careless. I...” He paused, not wanting to bring up what the duke had done to her. “I had forgotten what it felt like to be touched.”
Her head jerked up. “I can’t believe that. Surely in Town they see you as a war hero. I can hardly believe a superficial burn scar matters to anyone.”
He gave a low laugh. “I’m sure any number of mamas would be willing to sacrifice their daughters to me, being that I am the son of a marquess, but I’m unwilling, as yet, to accept their burnt offerings.” Not that he had a chance to reject young ladies as he avoided all social engagements. But the few times he had been unable to avoid them, he had only pretended not to hear the whispers behind fans or not to see the way no young lady would meet his eyes, even though he wore his mask.
“And why should you? I forgot we were discussing the ton. Of course the ladies are superficial.”
But she wasn’t. Had she been, when she’d been younger, before Withernsea? Probably. But she’d grown out of it now.
Leave it to him to meet the one woman who found him handsome despite his scars but who was absolutely untouchable.
Jasper prayed the ground would dry quickly. The longer he was stuck here with her, the more unbearable it would become. He’d wanted her before, but that was in an abstract way. Any man would look at her and find her attractive, wonder what it would feel like to kiss her, touch her. But now the abstract had become concrete. She didn’t find him vile, and she’d treated him kindly, tenderly even. He’d admired her appearance, but now he could not help but admire her character.
A dangerous thing when she was so unattainable.
He had no chance with her when she was so utterly and completely afraid of him, when she jumped because he moved without warning and trembled when he was nearby. That fleeting kiss was all he’d ever have of her unless...
He looked at her, his gaze roving over her lovely face.
Unless he could convince her that he was different than Withernsea. Unless he could persuade her to give him a chance to show her not all men were monsters.
Eight
Olivia could scarcely breathe from the heat of his gaze on her. It wasn’t difficult to divine his thoughts. He wanted her, and she supposed she’d fueled that desire by touching him unnecessarily and allowing the kiss. The kiss had definitely gone too far. She should have stopped him. She could have. He hadn’t grabbed her or forced himself on her. He’d given her time to stop him. So why hadn’t she?
The short answer was that she wanted to kiss him.
She hadn’t lied when she’d told him she found him attractive, even with the scar. She understood why he hid it. The wound hurt her to look upon because she could imagine the pain he must have felt. Whatever had caused it had all but melted the flesh on one side of his face. The skin on his forehead and temple seemed to slide down toward his brow, then miraculously cut away from his eye. His eye had been saved, but his ear and the side of his head were damaged. His golden-brown hair grew in patches on what was otherwise a bald section of skull. And then below his eye, the damage continued, though the burn there must not have been as severe. That skin was merely pink and smooth, highlighting his high cheekbones.
She’d had to clear the blood away on his temple. The mask probably rubbed him there, and that skin had taken the worst of the injury. He really shouldn’t wear the mask again for a few days, but she doubted she could convince him to leave it off with Richard awake. She wasn’t certain what Richard’s reaction would be. She did not think it would be fear, but he’d inevitably ask a thousand questions and be morbidly curious.
So maybe it was for the best if Lord Jasper wore his mask again. They’d already shared more intimacies than she was comfortable with, and she suspected Lord Jasper felt quite vulnerable tonight as well. That was probably why he’d wanted to kiss her again. Neither of them was thinking straight.
“You’ll forgive me if I don’t wish to discuss the ton tonight,” he said, referring back to their earlier conversation.
“I will. No one should ever have to discuss the ton. And since it’s late and we both worked hard today, I propose we go to bed.” As soon as the words left her mouth, she wished she could take them back. They’d come out all wrong. “That is...what I meant to say—”
“I know what you meant, Olivia.”
Oh, why had she given him leave to use her Christian name? That only made her feel more uncomfortable.
“I’ll go to sleep in the chair. You take the bed,” he said.
“Are you certain you don’t need the bed?”
“I’ve occupied it long enough.”
Olivia didn’t argue. Her back ached, and she knew lying in her bed would feel
much better than the rocking chair. Without another word, Lord Jasper moved the chair away from the bed and closer to the fire. Then he settled into it, taking the blanket he wore as a shirt and draping it over himself for warmth.
The blanket reminded her she’d wanted him to try on the shirt she’d sewn him, but that could wait until tomorrow. One more evening and she could finish the cuffs. She turned the lamps down and started for her bed then detoured to her changing area. She’d only used it when he’d been unconscious or outside, but there was no hope of either of those possibilities tonight and she did not want to sleep in her dress. She drew the curtains closed and even though she knew he could not see, she felt exposed as she disrobed and slipped on a nightrail and robe. When she opened the curtains again, he was in the same place she had left him, and he didn’t look toward her as she tiptoed to her bed. Quickly, she removed her robe and laid it on the end of the bed. Then she slid under the sheets, determined to sleep deeply and forget all about Jasper Grantham.
But that was impossible.
She hadn’t had the time or forethought to wash her sheets. She’d changed them several times when he’d been ill. She’d cleaned him and had made certain his bedding was fresh as well. But she hadn’t changed it in a couple days and when she lay down, she could smell him. His scent lingered on the sheets and seemed to envelop her in its novelty. He smelled of man. She didn’t know how else to describe it. She’d caught the scent on him tonight when she’d moved close to clean his wound. It was smoke from the fire, strong soap, and...man.
She’d feared men for the past few years and done everything she could to avoid them. But now she had a man in her house, one she couldn’t escape. One—dare she admit it?—she did not want to escape. He was everywhere she looked and now his very scent touched her. She could practically imagine his hands on her.
Olivia shifted, trying to escape Lord Jasper and her own feelings. She didn’t want a man’s hands on her. She’d suffered through that once, and she’d sworn she’d never allow it again. Logically, she knew not all men were like Withernsea, but she had also heard and read enough to know what Withernsea had done to her was common among married people. She didn’t ever want any man to do that to her again.
So why was her body rebelling against her mind and reacting to Lord Jasper’s scent? Why did she have the urge to put her arms around him, allow him to kiss her, find ways to brush against him? She had thought those sorts of feelings were dead. As she rolled over again she promised herself she would manage to destroy them one way or another.
In the morning, she woke later than usual. She knew it was late because the sun was already in the sky, and she usually woke before sunrise. Not to mention, if she ever did try to snatch a few extra moments of sleep, Richard always woke her.
Richard!
She sat, glanced at Lord Jasper’s chair by the fireplace and saw it was empty. “Richard?” she called.
No answer.
“Richard?” She was already up and on her way to the ladder. “Richard!”
She climbed the ladder faster than she ever had and then stared at the empty bed in the loft. Her head spun, and she barely managed to hold on to the ladder to avoid taking a spill. She didn’t want to allow the thoughts to come into her head. She didn’t want to even consider what she most feared had happened. She’d let her guard down, and now she would pay the consequences. Again. And not only her, but Richard as well. She started down the ladder, frantic to find Richard, when she heard a high-pitched giggle.
There was no mistaking the sound. It was Richard’s. After it she heard a low murmur and then Richard’s voice, quieter now but still audible. Olivia practically slid down the ladder in her haste. She ran across the cottage and yanked the door open. Lord Jasper and Richard were in the yard, just a few feet away, and clearly on their way toward the door she’d thrown open. Richard’s face broke into a smile, but Lord Jasper’s eyes widened. He’d donned his mask again, but it didn’t conceal his hazel eyes. In fact, now that she knew what he looked like beneath it, she could easily picture his brows rising and his forehead creasing.
“Mama, you’re supposed to be in bed.”
“And you are not supposed to go outside without waking me.”
Richard looked at Lord Jasper. “But I was with—”
“And you, sir”—she pointed to Jasper, who was looking studiously at the ground—“you should not have taken him out without waking me.”
“We just wanted to let you sleep a bit longer. I was awake and so was the boy.”
“And did you consider what I would think when I woke up and found the two of you gone?”
“We weren’t gone long.”
“We just went to feed Clover, Mama. We were coming back to make the morning meal.”
Olivia’s heart had ceased hammering so hard it hurt, and she was able to take a breath.
Richard, tears in his eyes now, rushed to her and threw his arms about her. “I’m sorry, Mama. I just wanted to help you.”
Olivia clutched her son tightly. Sweet boy. She didn’t know what she would ever do if anything happened to him. If she lost him, there would be no reason to go on living. He was everything to her.
“You are forgiven,” she said, kissing the top of his head. He smelled of the sea air and fresh straw. “I might have overreacted just a little.” She glanced at Lord Jasper who had closed the distance between them but looked down again when their eyes met.
“Can we still make the morning meal?” Richard asked.
Olivia frowned. “I don’t know about that. What did you plan to make?”
“Lord Jasper can cook.”
She looked at Lord Jasper again, but he was looking at Richard, who still held onto Olivia. “Perhaps we had better leave it to your mother. My skills are fairly rudimentary, and I can’t promise what I make will be edible.”
“What’s rudimentary?”
Olivia tousled his hair. “It means he’s still learning. Like you,” she said. Lord Jasper was dressed in his trousers and belted blanket, but Richard still wore his nightshirt. He’d put shoes on, at least. “Now, you’d better go dress yourself while I start on the meal.”
“Yes, Mama.” Richard squeezed her again then scampered up the ladder. Olivia moved back, so Lord Jasper could enter. He closed the door behind him, eyes still on his boots.
“I really did only mean to help.”
“I know.” She almost reached over and touched his arm, but she couldn’t quite find the courage. “But I don’t want you taking Richard anywhere without telling me first.”
“Understood,” he said.
She would let that be the end of it. The gesture had been kind, and if she had awakened just a few moments later, she might have appreciated it more. “I suppose I will start on the meal.” She headed toward the hearth to stoke the fire and move the large pot there into the flames to heat.
“Don’t you want to...” Lord Jasper trailed off.
She glanced back at him, and he dropped his gaze again. He’d never been hesitant to look at her before. In fact, his direct gaze had made her catch her breath a time or two. Was he shy now that she’d seen him without the mask or...she looked down at the floor and noticed her bare feet. With a start, she realized she wore nothing but her night rail. It reached to her ankles, but the material was flimsy linen that tended to slide off one shoulder. She had nothing on underneath, and she couldn’t be certain how much was visible. In her panic this morning, she hadn’t thought about what she’d worn. Or rather, what she hadn’t worn.
She flew to her bed, snatched up the robe, and slid it on over the night rail. But even that wasn’t enough. She went to her dressing area, snapped the curtains closed, and dressed quickly in the same dress she’d worn the day before. She secured her hair in a long tail down her back, determined to pin it up later.
When she emerged, Lord Jasper was looking out the window. “I thought I might look at the trail again. See if the ground has dried out enough to try it.�
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“Good idea.” She began gathering her supplies. She had porridge and tea. That would do until she could make bread later in the day.
“If you’ll excuse me then.” And he was gone.
Alone, except for the sound of Richard singing to himself in the loft, Olivia let her shoulders drop and closed her eyes. What was she supposed to make of him? A man who was considerate enough to try and give her a few more minutes of sleep. A man who averted his eyes when she was in dishabille. A man who challenged her with a kiss—time had given her perspective and she knew his actions to be a challenge now—to see if she would reject him. They were both vulnerable, in their ways, and he had shown her the same courtesy this morning that she had given him last night.
Either that or he really didn’t see anything he found interesting when he looked at her.
THE BLOODY TRAIL WAS still muddy and wet. He’d go sliding right down and break his neck if he tried to descend from the cliff that way. And perhaps he liked that alternative better than the one currently facing him.
Olivia Carlisle, with her dark hair and her blue eyes, was driving him mad. She didn’t mean to drive him mad. She probably didn’t even realize she did it, which made it that much worse.
Jasper walked the perimeter of the cliff until he had a view of the sea, dark blue and choppy today. The brisk wind blew his hair off his neck.
He’d had a hard enough time sleeping last night when he could hear her sighing and tossing and turning. He’d not been able to forget touching his lips to hers, however briefly. She hadn’t pulled away, hadn’t reacted with disgust. Jasper hadn’t thought such a thing possible, especially not with such a pretty woman. He didn’t think a woman like her would ever look at a man like him.
And if that wasn’t bad enough, this morning he’d awakened far too early and had plenty of time to observe her as she slept. He tried not to. It was ill-mannered, but how was he not supposed to look at her when she looked so lovely and tempting? Her loose hair swirled about her pillow like a collection of glossy mahogany ribbons. Her head was turned toward the fire, her hand tucked under her chin, and her cheeks pink. He couldn’t see anything of her body. That was hidden under her bedclothes, but he could imagine where her breasts, hips, and legs might be.