by Shana Galen
“Who was he?” she asked when they were only a couple yards from the cottage.
“A good soldier and a good man. He was the fourth or fifth son of a baron, so he’s not well known.”
“How did he die?”
“In a fire.”
He heard her inhale sharply as he walked away.
Eleven
She couldn’t sleep. She should have been exhausted. Between Richard’s unending questions and the unending tasks to be completed before morning, she hadn’t gone to bed until well after midnight. Jasper hadn’t gone to bed at all. If she turned her head, she could still see him. He sat with his chair angled toward the door, keeping a silent, watchful vigil. He’d keep watch all night, she knew. He would keep them safe. She hadn’t trusted a man in so long that it was strange to be able to trust one now. It was strange to know that she could sleep and he would make certain no harm came to her.
She only wished she could sleep because now they would both be exhausted on the morrow and they’d probably both be impatient at Richard’s new onslaught of questions.
She allowed her gaze to roam over the shadowy room. The banked fire gave it a warm glow and produced enough light so that she could see far more than she wanted. There was the piece of wood where she had marked Richard’s height every few months. She’d have to leave that behind, of course. And if she opened the door and looked out into the yard, she’d see the spot where Richard had taken his first steps. It had been only a few days after she had found this place. They’d spent hours and hours outside, enjoying the sunlight after over a year in the small, dark flat where she’d hidden previously. Richard had taken to the fresh air and before she knew it he’d stood on unsteady legs and then walked in faltering steps into her waiting arms.
She glanced toward the loft and thought of the books they must leave behind. They didn’t have many, nothing compared to the library her father had, and even that was small compared to some. But she’d read them all to Richard. She’d spent hours up there, reading, singing, and rocking him.
Before she could stop it, a sob escaped her lips. She pressed her fist to her mouth to try and stifle it, but the scrape of Jasper’s chair told her she’d not been successful. “I’m fine,” she said, turning away from him.
For a long moment she thought he might believe it. She managed to tamp down the other sobs welling up inside her, but then he was before her, crouching beside the bed and taking her hand in his.
“I’m fine,” she said again.
“You’re crying.”
She wiped her eyes with her free hand. “Nothing more than sentiment. I’ll be fine. I should sleep.”
He nodded. “I’ll go back to my chair.”
She closed her eyes and really did try to sleep but a few minutes later she heard what sounded like the crack of a pistol. She sat upright. “What was that?”
Jasper was still sitting in his chair, looking at ease. “A tree branch. The winds are strong tonight.”
She rose and pulled her robe on. “Are you certain no one is outside?” She padded to the window and peered out of the curtains. All she could see was darkness. There wasn’t even a moon to shed some light.
“I can go outside and check if you’d like.” He stood.
“No!” she hissed quietly. “If someone is out there, it’s safer inside.” She crossed the room.
“If someone is out there, I want to know who the devil it is.” He reached for the latch, and she grabbed his wrist.
“No!” She couldn’t explain the irrational fear that seized her. “Don’t leave!”
“You won’t go to sleep unless I investigate, though I don’t think there’s anything to worry about. It was only a tree limb falling.”
“Then stay inside.” She dragged him back from the door. “Stay with me.” She put her arms around him and pressed her cheek to his chest, thankfully covered by the white shirt she had made him. He stood stiffly for a long moment then put his hands gingerly on her back, patting her tentatively.
“You’re shaking,” he said. “You should go back to bed.”
“I’m not cold,” she murmured. “I’m scared. Just hold me for one minute.” How long had it been since she’d been held? How long had it been since she’d given in to this small bit of comfort? For years she had been the one to comfort and calm. Tonight she wanted to feel safe.
A minute or two passed, and then he said, “You should go back to bed now.”
“Come with me.” She winced, glad he could not see her face, which she could feel was red as a flame. “Just to sleep,” she said to his chest. “We can barricade the door.”
“That’s not a good idea—sharing a bed, I mean.”
Now she did look up. “I know I can trust you.”
He blew out a breath. “What about him?” He glanced at the loft. “What if he wakes and sees us lying together?”
“I’ll tell him you were scared.” Jasper barked out a laugh, and she couldn’t help but smile too. “I hold him while he falls asleep when he’s scared.”
She took Jasper’s hand and led him to the bed before she could reconsider what she was doing. Then she slid under the covers and held them up for him.
He shook his head. “I’ll sleep on top. I want my boots on.” He didn’t have to say more. She nodded and moved over to make room for him. Jasper raised a finger and circled it. “You face that way, and I’ll lay behind you.”
She frowned. She’d rather liked burying her face in his chest, and she wanted to do that again.
“Olivia.” His voice was quiet. “Even a man with a great deal of self-control has limits.”
A slash of heat knifed through her. He wanted her. That had to be what he meant. Lying with her would tempt him and possibly arouse him. She, on the other hand, really had only wanted comfort. But now that he’d introduced the idea of more...
“No,” he said, almost as though he could read her mind. “You need sleep, and I’m too tired to trust myself to stop at mere kisses. I’ll hold you and nothing else. Agreed?”
She nodded and turned her back toward him. When he lay down next to her and pressed his body to hers, though, the feeling was a revelation. Her body instantly flashed hot and parts of her she rarely thought about tingled and ached slightly. He laid a hand over her waist, lightly and casually, and she wished he would hold her tighter, caress her hip, her belly, lower...
She let out a choked gasp at the throb between her legs.
“What’s wrong?” He immediately lifted his hand. “I apologize.”
She took his hand and put it back where it had been, too afraid to put it anywhere else. “Nothing is wrong. I’m just relieved you’re here.”
His stiff arm gradually relaxed. She lay with her eyes open for a long time, waiting for her heightened sensations to fade. Was this desire? Was this what it felt like to want someone so much it was almost a yearning? And how could she feel that way about a man she barely knew? A man she didn’t love, though she could see herself falling in love with him. He was the sort of man she’d always imagined she’d fall in love with and marry. Lord Jasper was honorable and brave and handsome. Yes, the scar marred what must have been, at one time, a perfect face, but it didn’t make him any less handsome to her. Now that he’d stopped wearing his mask, she might not have noticed the scar at all except to worry if it pained him.
Olivia could tell from the tension in his body, Jasper was still awake and on watch. Gradually, she was able to fall asleep, safe in his arms.
She woke early and opened her eyes. The cottage was still dark and all was quiet. Jasper’s arm was still over her body, but it was heavy and lax now. His breathing was slow and even. She listened to him for a few minutes and then because her arm had fallen asleep, she wriggled onto her other side and snuggled into his chest. His arm tightened on her, pulling her close against him as his breathing resumed that slow, even pattern.
Gradually, the room turned charcoal and then pewter, and Olivia looked up at the stubbl
e on Jasper’s chin. Adjusting her position, she propped herself on her elbow and peered down at his face. His head was turned toward her, and the uninjured side lay on the pillow. This was the first time she’d had time to look at his scar without being observed. The skin of the scar seemed thinner and pulled tighter over the bones of Jasper’s cheek and temple. She could imagine that as much as the initial injury had pained him, the healing and stretching of that raw skin had also hurt. How had he withstood the pain? She’d burned herself seriously while cooking three or four times, mostly when she was first on her own and trying to teach herself, and she remembered crying at the pain and doing all she could to numb it. But nothing seemed to help. The pain lasted several hours and continued, in milder form, for several days.
And while she might have burnt two fingers or the skin of her forearm, it was a small area compared to what he’d injured. His burns were so much worse than any she’d sustained.
Olivia reached out and lightly brushed her hand over the raw area of the scar, where it had been chafed by the mask. She should apply more ointment, especially as she couldn’t take it with her. She wished she had known him when he’d been injured, wished she could have been there to ease his pain. She ran her fingers over the shiny skin near his temple and he reached up and caught her wrist.
She hadn’t even known he’d awakened. His eyes, browner now than green, opened. “What are you doing?”
“I was thinking I should put more ointment on since I don’t have room to take it with me.”
He moved his head, tilting the damaged side away from her. Her chest tightened at the defensive gesture. She wanted so much for him to believe that he was not a monster, that she did not see him that way.
“You don’t have to do that, you know. It doesn’t bother me. I was just wondering how you endured the pain.”
“I didn’t have a choice.” He kept his good side toward her. “How long have you been staring at me?”
“Not long. It’s still dark outside.”
“Not for long.” He pushed himself up on an elbow. “We should get up and—”
She put her arms around his neck, holding him in place. “Not yet. Let Richard sleep a little longer.”
Reluctantly, he lay back and she released him, lying beside him again. He was quiet for only a moment. “What should we do while we wait for him to wake?”
“You could tell me more about the war. How did you get your scar?”
He shook his head. “I don’t want to talk about that.”
“Then tell me about before the war. Did we ever dance together at a ball? I think I would have remembered.”
“I can’t talk about that either.”
“Why not?”
“Because I can’t think right now,” he said, almost angrily. “I can’t concentrate on anything but how warm you are and how much I want to bloody well kiss you.”
She shrank back, dread making the hair on the back of her arms prickle. “You’re angry.”
“Not at you.” His tone softened. “I’m angry at myself for having to struggle so much for control.”
“I should tend the fire.”
He grasped her wrist before she could flee. “Olivia, there’s something you need to know about me. I don’t beat men weaker than me. I don’t kick dogs or throw rocks at cats. I don’t poison rats or backhand children. And I have never, never touched a woman in anger.”
She appreciated the words, but it was hard to feel the same sense of trust she had before. His anger frightened her. “I shouldn’t have forced you to lie with me.”
He laughed. “You didn’t force me. There’s nothing I wanted more, and now I’m dealing with the consequences.”
“What consequences?”
“I want you,” he said, his low voice making her heart thump. “And I know I can’t have you.”
“You want...like Withernsea...”
“No. Not that. But I look at your lips and I want to taste them. I see that little pulse beating here.” He touched her throat below her jaw. “And I want to lick it.”
She inhaled sharply.
“That feeling there.” He pointed at her. “That’s the consequences.”
She felt her cheeks redden, but he’d been honest with her. “I want you too,” she whispered.
“I know. That’s what makes this all the more difficult. You don’t really know what you want.”
“I know I liked what you said you would do yesterday.”
He raised a brow in question. He’d turned his face toward her again, apparently no longer self-conscious of his scar. “What was that?”
She ducked her head. “With your tongue?”
He made a low sound in his throat. “Should I try it now? You can tell me whether you like it or not.”
“But won’t that make it more difficult for you?” She thought of her own feelings of longing the night before and at the present moment. “Won’t you have to struggle more?”
“It will be torture,” he admitted, lifting her chin. “But it’s the sort of torture I welcome.”
“That makes no sense.”
“True enough. Can I kiss you?”
She glanced up to the loft, but she saw no sign of movement yet. She looked back at Jasper, her gaze colliding with his. She couldn’t breathe when she saw the look in his eye. She didn’t even know how to describe it. It reminded her of the way Richard looked at a sweet on the rare occasion she bought him one from the village.
“Yes.”
His lips brushed hers gently, carefully, and she knew he was holding back. He didn’t want to frighten her, but she wasn’t frightened anymore. He wasn’t the kind of man who would hurt her or anyone except in self-defense. And all the pent-up desire she had felt the night before rushed out. She tangled her fingers in his hair and kissed him more deeply.
He groaned and pushed her onto her back, his lips taking hers in the way she wanted. And yet as passionately as he kissed her, his hands remained on either side of her body, not touching her, and his tongue did no more than taste her lips.
And then his mouth was gone from hers, and she felt his lips on her chin. He kissed a path to her neck, where she felt his tongue dart out and flick the spot where her pulse thrummed. Now she was the one who groaned. His hands closed on her shoulders as though he must hold on to something for support. His mouth moved higher, tickling and tantalizing her flesh, until it paused at her earlobe and he tasted her there. Her breath hitched and caught then hitched again when he lightly bit her earlobe then teased the sting away with his tongue.
She was panting now, her body on fire, her mind reeling. She wanted to pull him closer, touch his bare skin, but she tried to remember where she was and why she should hold back. It became increasingly difficult to remember as his tongue slid to her shoulder. With his teeth, Jasper pulled the loose neck of her night rail aside, baring her shoulder and kissing it. She had no idea she would like having her shoulder kissed and licked so much. She didn’t want him to stop.
But he rose on his elbow and looked down at her. His eyes locked on hers and then slid to her bare shoulder and then down. She followed his gaze and saw the hard point of her nipple visible against the thin fabric of the night rail.
“I know somewhere else you might like me to taste,” he said, his gaze still on her nipple, which hardened at the attention. “Shall I draw down the neckline and show you?”
Her body screamed yes. At this point she would have believed she’d enjoy the way he kissed her elbow, but then the memory of Withernsea ripping her bodice and grabbing her breast and squeezing made her shudder.
“No.” She shook her head. “I—"
But Jasper had already pulled back, perhaps having felt the shudder. “You don’t have to explain,” he said. “‘No’ is sufficient.”
She slid her hands from where they’d wrapped around him, and he caught one of her hands in his and threaded his fingers through hers. His eyes were almost green now in the soft morning light. He looked do
wn at her face. “I thought you were pretty the first time I saw you,” he said.
She braced herself, half afraid he would punish her for her refusal with harsh words.
“It’s not very often I’m wrong about my first impression. You’re not merely pretty. You’re beautiful.”
HE ROSE AND LEFT THE bed then. He’d known the words would soften her, but he hadn’t said them to try and take advantage of her. He’d said them because they were the truth. And he’d made himself disentangle from her because she’d said no, and if he stayed where he could feel her curves cushion him and smell her light feminine scent all around him, he might be tempted to try and change her mind.
She’d tasted better than he’d imagined. The sea was nearby and her skin held a slight saltiness, but under that it was velvet soft and so warm. Every inch he touched made him want more. The more he touched her, the more he wanted to touch her.
And then she’d put her arms around him. He doubted she’d even noticed, but he couldn’t help but notice. Her touch awakened every one of his senses. When she wrapped her arms about him, her small breasts pushed against his chest and the points of her nipples scraped enticingly against his shirt.
He’d forgotten what it had been like to want a woman so much. He’d been so young when he’d gone to war, but he liked to think he’d cultivated some finesse when it came to bedsport. He liked to take his time, but with Olivia he found it increasingly difficult. Here was one woman who demanded he take his time, who would probably never have allowed more than she already had, even if they hadn’t been leaving, and all Jasper could think was how much he wanted to plunge into her and rut like some sort of randy beast.
And so he stood and walked to the door, determined to step into the cool of the morning and douse his passion and his erection. But he was not so blinded by desire that he forgot to look about him, searching for signs anyone had been at the cottage. He’d wet the ground outside the door and by the windows so he could see footprints easily enough, but it was undisturbed. After seeing to his body’s needs, he’d walked to the stable and the garden. All was undisturbed there as well.