by Shana Galen
And so Jasper married Olivia very much as he’d found her—alone except for her son, who would be his son as soon as all the documents were signed by the appropriate people. But she wouldn’t be alone for long. He would be her family, and perhaps they would have a family together, brothers and sisters for Richard to play with.
After the wedding breakfast, which had been held at the Earl St. Maur’s residence, he took Olivia and Richard home. It wasn’t much of a home as he didn’t spend much time at his rooms near Lincolns Inn Fields, but he’d told Olivia they could look for somewhere together. He’d always kept his residence a secret to protect himself from his enemies. But now he’d retire from hunting those who did not want to be found. Perhaps he could help Neil with the orphanage—or perhaps not. Perhaps he could help Ewan in the boxing studio. That was a more likely scenario. And his father and brothers could always use assistance managing the Strathern estates. It was time he did his part there as well. They might not approve of his bride, but they would accept his help.
By the time Richard was tucked into his new bed in his new bedroom for the night and Olivia came to him, Jasper was having difficulty keeping his eyes open. He hadn’t slept the last several days, and the prospect of sleep was appealing—just not as appealing as Olivia in a revealing night rail.
She entered the bedroom, and Jasper sat up from where he’d been reclining on the bed. “Where did you find that?”
“A little something Lady Julia gave me. She said all brides need something pretty for their trousseau.”
She sat in the edge of the bed and he reached out to finger the lace and ribbons at her breasts. He could see the outline of them through the fine material. “I have a newfound respect for Lady Julia,” he said, tugging at a ribbon.
Olivia kissed him, and he pulled her down beside him, kissing her back and forcing himself to move slowly. He did not want to rush this. He did not want to rush her.
He kissed her until she was breathless and pressing seductively against him, then he began loosening the ribbons holding the bodice of the night rail in place. With his teeth.
As more flesh was revealed to him, Jasper used lips, teeth, and tongue to taste, tempt, and tease. When he had her almost naked, he reached for his own shirt, pulling it over his head.
And then he paused, just looking down at her.
This was his wife. In the home where he’d never brought a guest. In his bed, a bed no other woman had ever shared. She’d given him her trust and her life. She’d even given him her son. He wanted to give her something.
She reached up and stroked his cheek, just below his scar. He caught her hand, but instead of moving it away, he pressed it against the ruined flesh. Her eyes widened. “I didn’t think you liked to be touched there.”
“I like it when you touch me. Anywhere you touch me.”
Her fingers moved over the scar tenderly, then she raised her head and kissed him there. Her mouth slid back to his, but he pulled back slightly.
“I said I wasn’t hiding anymore. That wasn’t quite true.”
“What do you mean?”
He looked at her. She was so beautiful—her dark hair about her white shoulders, her cheeks flushed pink, her rounded breasts rosy-tipped and waiting for his lips.
“I’ve never told you how I got this scar.”
“You said it was a fire.”
“It was. We’d been ambushed.” He wanted to lay back and close his eyes, but he forced himself to look at her as he spoke. “Ewan, Peter, and I had gone into a warehouse looking for arms. Rafe had good intelligence that the French stored guns and ammunition there. Turns out the French knew we were coming. When we arrived, they tried to kill us. When that didn’t work and we took refuge in the building, they locked the doors and set it on fire.”
“Jasper, you don’t have to tell me this.”
“Yes, I do. I have to tell someone. I’ve never spoken of it before, and it’s time I took it out of the darkness.”
“Go on then.” She took his hand and twined her fingers with his.
“We were trapped, and Ewan, being the biggest of the three of us, argued he should be the one to break down the door. We knew there would be men outside waiting to kill us, but we’d rather die from a ball than burn to death. It took precious minutes for Ewan to break down the back door, the one we thought fewer soldiers would cover. Peter and I waited out of the way as Ewan rushed outside and into the line of fire. I went next and joined Ewan in combat. The smoke had obscured the soldiers’ line of sight, and they’d fired and missed. Now they had to fight Ewan hand to hand.”
“Not a winning prospect,” she observed.
“No. I fought with him, and then several others from our troop arrived and lent their support. It wasn’t until most of the French were dead or wounded that I noticed Peter wasn’t with us.” Jasper did close his eyes now. This was the part he dreaded. “No one had seen him, and I ran back inside the building. Everyone told me no, but I went anyway. He was there. He’d been trapped by a beam that had fallen as soon as I went through the door. He was alive and burning, screaming for help. I tried to lift that beam. I used every ounce of strength I possessed, but I couldn’t make it move. And all I could hear was Peter’s screams as he burned alive.”
He swallowed hard, taking comfort from the way Olivia squeezed his hand. “Then something hit me. A board, a piece of debris. I don’t know what it was. I just remember the pain was like nothing else I’d ever felt. I must have been rendered unconscious. They told me later Ewan carried me out. He couldn’t get Peter out. He was...”
She put a finger over his lips. “It’s over now.”
He nodded. It was over now. He’d told her and the last of the shame he’d felt faded with the confession. He’d worn the mask to hide his face because of the ugly scar but also because of the shame he felt at having survived when Peter had not. But he couldn’t let the past determine his future, any more than Olivia would let her past determine hers. They would begin again. Together.
“It is over now,” he said. “And this”—he kissed her gently—“is just beginning.”
“And what is this? Our marriage?” she teased.
“That, and also this night. I intend to make the best of the night.” He kissed her neck.
“You do know Richard will wake us at dawn.”
“Then I’d better not waste any time.” He kissed her again and pulled her close. She wrapped her arms around his neck.
“I love you.”
“And I you.” And he went about showing her just how very much he did indeed love her.
Acknowledgements
Thank you to all of my readers who asked for Jasper’s story. I loved him the first time he stepped on the page in Third Son’s a Charm, and I’m so glad some of you did too. Special thanks go Michelle Arnold for suggesting the title of the book and also to Abby Saul for her help with editing and production. Of course, any and all mistakes are my own.
More from Shana Galen
If you enjoyed this book, try Shana’s Scarlet Chronicles series, set during the tumultuous years of the French Revolution. The first in the series, To Ruin a Gentleman, is available for pre-order now.
The true story of the Scarlet Pimpernel...
Angelette, the recently widowed Comtesse d’Avignon, only invited Viscount Daventry to her country house party as a favor to her sister. When the handsome British lord arrives—two days late—he’s full of unnerving tales of unrest and violence in Paris. Angelette assumes it’s all exaggeration...until her chateau is attacked and her life threatened. Daventry rescues her, and the two are forced to run for their lives. But when danger closes in, will the viscount stand at her side or save himself?
Is not the one you’ve been told.
Hugh Daventry visits France frequently to import wine for the family business. On his way out of the country, he stops at the comtesse’s house party out of obligation. But after meeting the raven-haired beauty, he tries to persuade her to leave Fr
ance with him. When the peasants attack, he realizes he’s already too late, and now he must protect Angelette, whose sharp tongue is far from angelic. Too soon the couple is caught up in the rising revolution, dodging bloodthirsty mobs, hiding from soldiers, and embroiled in the attack of the Bastille. Hugh wants nothing but to leave tumultuous France for the calm of England. He knows Angelette is intelligent and resourceful—a survivor. But can Hugh survive without her?
One
Hampshire 1812
The Right Honorable Thomas Daventry, only son of the Viscount Daventry, hadn’t been home in ages. It wasn’t that he didn’t get on with his parents. He did. It was more that he didn’t get on with Hampshire. The rolling fields dotted with puffy white sheep were certainly bucolic, but they were also tedious as hell. At nineteen, what did Thomas want with sheep and fields and an old drafty pile? London with its artists and theaters and clubs was far more exciting than Daventry Hall.
Or was it?
After last night, Thomas wondered if perhaps the old pile and his staid father and mother had unplumbed depths. And if his father was keeping secrets, Thomas wanted to know.
Which was precisely why he’d ridden hell-for-leather the last few hours to reach home.
Just after noon the sun peeked out from behind low-hanging clouds that had threatened rain, and Thomas crested the rise overlooking the stately house. It had been built in the last century by some famous architect or another. Thomas considered the man an architect with little imagination. How difficult was it to design a gray stone rectangular building? Daventry Hall was all symmetry and proportion, right angles and clean lines. Not a column, not a tower, not a turret (whatever that was) to be seen. It was stable and predictable, like his parents.
Seeing the house again, Thomas almost turned right back around. It was foolishness coming here and confronting his parent about the information he’d received last night.
On the other hand, as long as he was here, he might as well have a meal.
Half an hour later, Thomas joined his father in the library. This dark-paneled room with plush couches and heavy draperies had always been his favorite room in the house, and he’d read most of the books it contained. Thomas had done his share of writing as well. He fancied himself a bit of a poet, though he’d yet to sell any of his verse.
Like the library, the viscount looked much as he always had, though his dark hair was mostly gray now, and he wore his spectacles more often than in the past. The viscount removed them now and gave Thomas a long look from behind the polished desk.
“What have you done now?”
Thomas scowled. “What’s that supposed to mean? Can’t I come for a visit?” He sat in one of the chairs across from the desk and admired the shelves of books.
The viscount tapped his fingers on the desk, while the low fire in the hearth crackled. “Have you gambled away your allowance?”
“No. Of course not.”
“Fallen in love with an actress?”
“You’ll need to increase my allowance if I’m to catch the eye of any actresses.”
“Noted. What is it then? Been challenged to a duel? Lost your credit—”
“None of those. I haven’t done anything except attend a dinner party.”
The viscount steepled his hands. “Go on.”
“I met an interesting gentleman there. A Sir Andrew Ffoulkes. He claims to know you.”
Thomas had been watching his father’s face, else he would not have noticed how all expression was wiped away. The viscount looked perfectly blank.
“Do you know him?” Thomas asked.
“No.” His father’s voice was level and without tone.
“That’s funny. He...well, it’s ludicrous really. I shouldn’t have bothered you with it.” He stood.
“What did this Ffoulkes say?”
Thomas shrugged. “He said to tell you hello and for me to ask you about the real Scarlet Pimpernel.”
The viscount’s fingers, steepled a moment before, now locked together. “The Scarlet Pimpernel.”
“You know, the old story about the Englishman who rescued Frenchies during their revolution. Everyone says Sir Percy Blakeney was the pimpernel, but this Ffoulkes said to ask you about the real pimpernel.”
The viscount rose and crossed to a small table with a crystal decanter. It wasn’t dusty—nothing in the house was dusty—but Thomas had never seen his father drink from its contents before. Now, he poured himself two fingers of the amber liquid and drank it down before pouring another two.
“Are quite you well?” Thomas asked, concern, and not a little excitement, beginning to grow. “Did you know the Scarlet Pimpernel? Was it Sir Percy?”
His father looked at him. “I suppose there’s no point in keeping it hidden any longer.”
Thomas sank back into his chair, his gaze fixed on his father. This was what he had come for, and yet, he couldn’t quite believe his father had a story to tell. Viscount Daventry—Dull Daventry, as everyone called him in Town.
“I did know Ffoulkes,” the viscount said. “It’s habit to deny it, but the truth is I knew him well. I knew Blakeney too. I knew them all—Dewhurst, Hastings, the whole league.” He sipped his drink. “And I suppose you are correct that Sir Percy was part of the League of the Scarlet Pimpernel.”
“He wasn’t the Scarlet Pimpernel?”
“He was a pimpernel, not the pimpernel.”
“I’m not sure I follow. If he was not the pimpernel, who was?”
His father set his drink on the desk and gave Thomas a hard look.
“Are you saying?” Thomas shook his head. It was not possible. His father could not be the Scarlet Pimpernel. “I-I cannot believe it.”
HUGH COULD HARDLY FAULT his son for the look of pure incredulity that crossed his face. It wasn’t every day a child’s parent admitted to being England’s most celebrated hero. Hugh had never wanted acclaim or recognition. That’s why he’d given it to Blakeney, but he couldn’t start there. If he was to tell his son the tale, he should start at the beginning. But what exactly was the beginning?
Even as he thought it, the remembered scent of fresh apples and cut hay and sweet clover seemed to infuse the room. Because, of course, it all began in Versailles, and it all began with her.
Pre-order To Ruin a Gentleman now!
About Shana Galen
Shana Galen is three-time Rita award nominee and the bestselling author of passionate Regency romps. "The road to happily-ever-after is intense, conflicted, suspenseful and fun," and RT Bookreviews calls her books “lighthearted yet poignant, humorous yet touching." She taught English at the middle and high school level off and on for eleven years. Most of those years were spent working in Houston's inner city. Now she writes full time, surrounded by three cats and one spoiled dog. She's happily married and has a daughter who is most definitely a romance heroine in the making.
Would you like exclusive content, book news, and a chance to win early copies of Shana’s books? Sign up for monthly emails here for exclusive news and giveaways.
Books by Shana Galen
If you enjoyed this story, read more from Shana.
The Scarlet Chronicles series continues with Traitor in Her Arms.
The Survivors series begins with Third Son’s a Charm.
Covent Garden Cubs series begins with Earls Just Want to Have Fun.
The Lord and Lady Spy series begins with Lord and Lady Spy.
The Jewels of the Ton series begins with When You Give a Duke a Diamond.
The Sons of the Revolution series begins with The Making of a Duchess.
The Misadventures in Matrimony series begins with No Man’s Bride.
The Regency Spies Series begins with While You Were Spying.
Other anthologies