Having known one another since their early years at Eton, Jasper noticed the Marquess of Guilford was the only individual of his acquaintance who seemed undaunted by his presence. “Very well, then. You frightened that young woman off.”
Jasper thought of the tart-mouthed, fiery-eyed miss who’d stumbled into him.
“She was not scared.” The plain young woman with her brown ringlets didn’t take him as one to scare easily—mores the fool was she. The nameless creature should have sensed the peril in merely crossing in front of him.
Guilford chuckled and slapped Jasper on the back hard. “Come, Bainbridge. It is nearly Christmas, a time of merriment and joy.” He gave Jasper a long look. “You cannot be miserable forever.”
Except Jasper hadn’t been miserable forever. He’d been miserable for three, very nearly four years. He clenched and unclenched his hands into fists at his side, as he absently studied the rustic enjoyment being had by the lords and ladies upon the ice.
Laughter carried on the crisp winter wind and surrounded Jasper, mocking him, taunting him for having once been happy, and as lighthearted as the fools at the fair.
“Bainbridge,” Guilford said quietly, all traces of amusement gone from his tone.
Jasper shrugged his shoulders. “It is fine,” he bit out.
Another round of laughter in the distance punctuated his words, a jeering testament to his lie.
He felt Guilford’s stare on him, and stiffened under the scrutiny. Then, Guilford said, “It will serve you well to escape that bleak, dark castle you call home.”
The bleak, dark castle as Guilford referred to it was in fact, Castle Blackwood, Jasper’s ducal seat, a Norman castle. Significant portions of the original medieval structure remained, including five towers. Imposing, dark, and menacing, it rather suited Jasper’s foul mood.
He balled his hands into fists. Then, it hadn’t always been that way. At one time there’d been laughter and joy and cheer within the castle walls.
“Bainbridge? Are you all right?”
Jasper shook his head. “Foolish taking part in such inane amusements,” he said, his tone harsh and guttural.
Guilford’s patent grin was back in place. He slapped Jasper on the back once again. “Perhaps. But it is Christmastide and the time for inane amusements.”
Jasper grunted and fell reluctantly into step beside Guilford. He kept his hard-stare trained forward, not sparing so much as a sideways glance at the brightly colored tents and the eager young ladies moving between them to purchase their fripperies.
“Egads, man, must you scowl so?”
“Yes,” Jasper bit out.
His friend rubbed his gloved hands together, as though trying to infuse warmth into the frozen digits. Served the blighter right for forcing him back into this very public setting. “Ah, just a moment.” Guilford stopped beside a tent. He pulled several coins out of his pocket and approached an old man. Passing the coins to the vendor, Guilford accepted two tankards of ale.
“I don’t want ale,” Jasper snapped, when his friend pushed the glass into his hand.
“Drink it. If for no other reason than it will warm you.”
“I’m not cold.”
Guilford snorted. “You’re always cold. A frigid, icy man, and you’ve been that way as long as I’ve known you.”
Yes, Jasper hadn’t ever been the laughing, carefree boy. Born to a loveless marriage between two unfaithful parents, Jasper had scoffed at the empty sentiment called love—until he’d met Lady Lydia Wilkes. A smiling, bright-eyed debutante, she’d captivated him, melted his chilled heart.
A muscle in the corner of his eye twitched. And how had he repaid that great gift she’d shown him? By killing her. Oh God, the muscles in his stomach tightened. The pain of her loss, a pain he’d thought he’d finally buried with her cold, dead body, mocked him for daring to think he’d ever be rid of the pain.
He shook his head. He’d not be melancholy. Lydia was—dead. Dead. Forever gone. He lashed himself with the reminder of it. His lips twisted. As though he could ever truly forget.
Jasper raised the ale to his lips, and downed it in one long, slow, steady swallow. The brew did little to thaw the cold ice that now moved through his veins. From over the rim of his glass he spied the too plain young lady who’d walked into him. With her nondescript brown hair and brown eyes, she was a foil to Lydia’s golden blonde ringlets and pale porcelain skin. There was nothing at all captivating about the fiery-eyed vixen who’d glared at him.
“She is rather lovely,” Guilford murmured at his elbow.
Jasper gave his head a curt shake. “Hardly the type of creature to ever be considered a true beauty.”
“Goodness, you are in an even blacker mood than usual,” his friend chided.
Jasper handed his tankard off to the vendor and continued walking.
Guilford hurried his step to match his stride. “Perhaps we might inspect the peddlers’ goods?”
To what end? Jasper had no family. Born the only child to the late Duke and Duchess of Bainbridge, the nearest relative was a distant gentleman on his great-great-great grandfather’s side, who resided in Northumberland. Jasper couldn’t be more different than Guilford, who had a mother, three sisters, and one brother. He motioned to the tents. “I’ll remain here and,” his lip pulled back, “enjoy the festivities while you see to the fripperies inside the tent.”
Guilford opened his mouth, and then closed it. He shook his head, dislodging his top hat. He readjusted it back into place. “I’ll be just a moment.” With that he hurried ahead to a canary yellow tent.
Jasper fought back a yawn of tedium, and continued to survey the tableau with disinterest. Ladies clinging to their suitors’ arms as they skated upon the thick surface of the frozen river, peddlers barking their wares at the passing nobles. The strangers’ echoing words, empty and meaningless.
His gaze caught sight of the young lady who’d stumbled into him mere moments ago. She hurried outside of a grey tent removed from the bustling activity throughout the fair. A gust of wind tugged free her bonnet, and released several of her brown ringlets into the cool, winter wind. They whipped about her face, and with her high-cheeks and an almost cat-like slant to her eyes, she had the look of a kind of ice princess. He frowned, thinking of her frigid stare. Yes, ice princess was an apt moniker for the young lady.
With the serious set to her face, she was vastly different than the young ladies he remembered from three years ago. Something slipped from her fingers and slid along the ice. Tired of studying the nameless creature, Jasper glanced over to the tent Guilford had disappeared into.
A blood curdling scream rent the still winter air. The ungodly cry sent the kestrels noisily into flight; and gooseflesh dotted Jasper’s skin. With an intuitiveness born of a man who’d witnessed and experienced horrific things in life, Jasper immediately sought the nameless ice princess.
Time stood still for an infinitesimal moment that seemed to stretch to eternity, and then with a curse, Jasper sprinted down the river toward the gaping hole in the ice. He cursed the slippery surface that slowed his pace, and then tossing aside his cloak, skidded toward the desperate arms flailing through the surface.
Jasper slid forward upon his stomach, arms extended. “Take my hand,” he barked, as the woman’s head broke through the water.
She sucked in deep, panicky, gasped breaths. Unholy terror lit her eyes; the kind of eyes that had stared into the face of death and knew death would inevitably prevail.
Jasper cursed. “Listen to me,” he snapped.
Her brown eyes locked on his. Her bonnet hung sopping down the side of her tangled mat of brown curls. “Help,” she rasped, and then her skirts tugged her downward.
Jasper’s stomach lurched, and with another curse he inched ever closer. The thin ice cracked under his weight. He made one desperate grab and connected with her hand, tugging her up to the surface.
“Listen to me,” he ordered, his tone harsh and hard
. “Do not fight me. Allow me to pull you up.”
Something in either his words or tone penetrated her fear, calming her, for the panic dimmed in her eyes, and she nodded.
Jasper pulled her soaking wet form, tugging her up, up, up, and then her slim frame broke the surface of the shattered ice.
Short of breath from his exertions, Jasper registered the ice’s protest to their efforts, and he found a last surge of energy to edge back, back, ever farther with the young lady and her heavy skirts held close to his chest.
Jasper edged them over to the hard, solid land, and collapsed with the young woman’s lifeless body draped over his. He dimly registered the steady crack, and then splash as the wide ice surface fell beneath the Thames River. He sucked in great big, heaving gasps for air and registered the lady’s absolute stillness.
His chest tightened as he turned her over; his eyes quickly scanned the pale white of her cheeks, and he searched for breath.
With a curse he thumped her on the back.
By God he’d not been dragged to this infernal affair to pull a woman from the water.
Another thump.
Only to watch her die amidst the mindless amusements.
A harder thump.
Not another woman.
Even harder.
Not again.
Water surged from her lips, gurgling and bubbling and he turned her onto her side as she choked and gasped for the sweet taste of breath.
Jasper collapsed hard against the earth, and lay back, staring up at the fat, white snowflakes as they fell from the sky. He closed his eyes a moment, and then rolled to his side to study the quiet stranger.
She lay with her knees pulled close to her trim waist, her arms folded across her chest. Tremors wracked her lithe body. Jasper cursed.
Christ, at this rate the young lady would have survived her plunge under the water’s surface only to die of a chill.
He searched around for his cloak, and found it on the opposite side of the gaping hole left from the missing slab of ice. Then in a great show of irony, at that very moment, his black cloak slid into the surface of the water. With a sigh, he shrugged out of his somewhat damp coat and tossed it atop the lady. “Here,” he said.
His jacket, too large for her diminutive frame, hung upon her, making her appear even smaller. She burrowed deep into the folds.
“Th-thank y-you,” she said, between teeth that chattered.
He waved his hand.
“I-I c-can’t ever re-pay you.”
He raked a gaze over her. “Madam, you have nothing I want, nor anything I need.”
She appeared to flinch and Jasper wasn’t certain if it was his bluntly spoken words or the cold ravaging her frame.
Something stirred inside him, something he’d thought dead—emotion. Guilt dug at him. Jasper cursed. He didn’t want to feel guilt for his treatment of the lady. He didn’t want to feel anything where she was concerned. Hell, he didn’t want to feel anything where anyone was concerned.
Jasper shoved himself to his feet. “Here, now,” he said gruffly, and held a hand out to her. She eyed it a moment, and then placed her fingers in his.
A charge like the kind one received when walking in stockinged feet across a carpet, surged through him. He dropped her hand as if burned.
“Where is your chaperone?”
She shook her head. “I-I’ve not b-brought one.”
With another curse, he scanned the area.
“D-do y-you a-always c-curse in fr-front of l-ladies?” she shot at him.
Ah, the ice princess was back. He found he preferred the snapping, spitting catlike vixen to the nearly drowned, destitute creature he’d pulled from the river. “Ladies do not run around London without a chaperone.”
Her brown brows knitted into a single line. Her eyes slid away from his.
Jasper followed her glance to a point beyond his shoulder. “Bloody h—” He snapped his lips closed, remembering her earlier charge. A crowd of observers stood at the central portion of the river eyeing the cracked ice, and Jasper, and…and…
The Ice Princess.
He stood, and staring down at her was struck by how frail and helpless she appeared under that icy veneer. Something shifted inside him again. Jasper shook his head, dispelling all hint of emotion. He was now a man who operated under stiff logic and reason.
Fact. The woman had nearly drowned.
Fact. He might be a heartless bastard but he couldn’t have let her drown.
Fact. She was a shivering mass of slim, graceful limbs.
Fact. He needed to return her home immediately or she’d perish from cold.
His jaw tightened. And he’d not caused a great scene, and risked his own miserable life to save her from the frigid waters only to die of a chill.
Jasper scooped her up.
“Wh-what a-are y-you d-doing?” she squeaked. It didn’t fail to escape his notice the manner in which she buried herself close against him, like a kitten seeking warmth from its master.
He stiffened at the feel of her nubile body pressed to his. In spite of the cold, her skin against his, heated him.
Jasper tamped down the irrational yearnings. He’d been without a woman for more than three years. His body’s reaction was a physical one, nothing more than that.
“I am returning you home,” he forced out between tight lips.
The sooner he could be rid of the creature the better off he’d be.
Chapter 3
Katherine’s body ached as though jagged icicles had pierced every portion of her skin. A chill filled her inside and out until she wondered if she’d freeze from the cold. Her disjointed thoughts still murky from her near drowning dulled logical thinking.
He’d saved her. This great, hulking, frowning bear of a man. The same stranger who’d nearly bowled her over and raked his gaze condescendingly over her person, had risked his life to pluck her from the frozen river.
His flinty glare, the dark expression on the harsh planes of his face, suggested he regretted the decision.
“I am returning you home,” he said again. His voice emerged a kind of growl that would give most small children night terrors.
Katherine burrowed deeper into the damp folds of his too-large, black jacket.
For a moment she wondered at what life had done to turn him into such a miserable, odious creature. Because certainly no person could be so deliberately callous…so deliberately unfeeling, without reason.
“Has the ice dulled your wits,” he snapped.
She gave her head a clearing shake. “I-I c-can’t l-leave.”
There was the matter of her sister, Anne. Katherine’s eyes slid closed as she imagined their mother’s fury. They would be fortunate to live to see the eve of Christmas. But then, considering her fall into the Thames, she was fortunate to have lived even the day.
He gathered her close against his oaken-hard chest. For a moment the events of the day melted away; her and Anne’s clandestine efforts to find a silly pendant, the chilling terror of the ice cracking, her submersion under the frozen water…the certainty of death. This stranger’s arms filled her with a soothing sense of calm she’d never before known from another person. He strode toward the pavement, handling her as easily as if she were a porcelain doll. Katherine closed her eyes a moment and selfishly stole of that warmth provided by his body.
They passed a throng of on-lookers and Katherine blinked, remembering…
“My sister!” she blurted. She could not leave Anne to find her own way home.
“How old is your sister,” he rumbled.
“Nineteen.”
“Then she can certainly find her way,” he said, not breaking his stride.
Katherine gasped at his ungentlemanly reaction. “Y-you a-are a m-monster,” she stammered.
Since she’d first stumbled into the gentleman, the unyielding expression gave way to a smile; it was a dark, hard, rendering devoid of all merriment and it chilled her like the frozen River T
hames. “Yes. Yes, I am.”
He stopped beside a black lacquer carriage with a golden crest emblazoned upon the door. A lion reared upon its legs, a blade clenched between its vicious teeth.
The sight of it gave her pause, and she shoved against him. He was a monster.
A servant attired in crimson red livery with gold epaulets pulled the door open.
The monster tossed her unceremoniously inside the carriage. Katherine landed amidst the thick, upholstered red velvet seats. She crawled into the corner of the conveyance, and huddled into the folds of his jacket.
“R-release m-me. I-I need t-to f-find m-my sister.”
He climbed inside, and the enormous space shrunk, filled instead with his overwhelming presence.
The door closed behind him and he settled into the seat as though he were King George himself. He folded his arms across his chest and stared at the point above her forehead. “Where is your residence?”
She glanced at the back of the carriage, until she realized he was in fact directing his question her way. He refused to meet her eyes, as though she were some kind of Medusa…her lips flattened into a hard line. Well, with his unbending countenance and hard coldness, he’d been turned to stone long before her. “I demand…”
He leveled her with a hard glare, and her breath caught.
Perhaps he possessed the potent stare of Medusa.
She wet her lips.
Katherine provided the address of her residence.
He barked the directions of her Mayfair townhouse, and then the carriage lurched forward.
Katherine gulped as the carriage wheels rolled along. They picked up in speed, and her heart’s rhythm increased until her pulse pounded loudly in her ears. Her sister was alone….and yet, she trusted Anne would take the very same hackney that had been paid to wait for them back, without difficulty. After all, Anne was the mastermind of all the great schemes and scrapes they found themselves in.
The budding panic blended with the terror that had consumed her that day, only exacerbated by the foul stranger’s presence, and she reached for the carriage handle.
He settled his large, hand over hers.
A Heart of a Duke Collection: Volume 1-A Regency Bundle Page 13