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The footman had the basket out and open when they reached the carriage.
“Close it as soon as I put him in.” Vale eyed the man. “Ready?”
“Yes, my lord.”
The action was done in a flash, the footman wide-eyed, Mouse struggling desperately, and Vale grim. And then her pet was confined in a basket that rocked violently in the footman’s hands.
“Put it back under the seat,” Vale said to the footman. He took Melisande’s arm. “Let’s return home.”
HE MAY HAVE alienated her, perhaps made her hate him, but it couldn’t be helped. Jasper watched his wife as she sat opposite him in the carriage. She held herself rigidly erect, her back and shoulders straight, her head tilted down just a little as she stared at her lap. Her expression was veiled. She wasn’t a beautiful woman—a part of him was coldly aware of that fact. She dressed in demure, forgettable clothes, didn’t do anything, in fact, to make herself known. He’d engaged—bedded—women far more beautiful. She was an ordinary, plain woman.
And still, his mind furiously worked as he sat, planning his next assault against the fortress of her soul. Perhaps this was a kind of madness, for he was as fascinated by her as if she were a magical fairy come to lure him into another world.
“What are you thinking?” she asked, her voice dropping into his thoughts like a pebble into a pond.
“I’m wondering if you’re a fairy,” he replied.
Her eyebrows arched delicately upward. “You’re bamming me.”
“Alas, no, my heart.”
She looked at him, her light brown eyes unfathomable. Then her gaze lowered to his hand. He’d wrapped a handkerchief around the bite as soon as they’d entered the carriage.
She bit her lip. “Does it still hurt?”
He shook his head, even though his hand had begun to throb. “Not at all, I assure you.”
She still frowned down at his hand. “I should like Mr. Pynch to bandage it properly when we return. Dog bites can be ugly. Do make sure he washes it properly, please.”
“As you wish.”
She looked out the window and clasped her hands tightly together in her lap. “I’m so sorry Mouse bit you.”
“Has he ever done it to you?”
She stared at him, puzzled.
“Has the dog ever bitten you, my lady wife?” If the animal had, Jasper would have it put down.
Her eyes widened. “No. Oh, no. Mouse is terribly affectionate with me. In fact, he’s never bitten anyone else at all.”
Jasper smiled wryly. “Then I suppose I should be honored to be the Kredghtfirst.”
“What will you do with him?”
“Merely let him stew for a bit.”
Her face was once again expressionless. He knew how much the mongrel meant to her; she’d all but confessed that it was her only friend in the world.
He shifted on the seat. “Where did you get him?”
She was quiet so long that he thought she might not answer.
Then she sighed. “He was one of a litter of puppies found in my brother’s stables. The head groom wanted them drowned—he said they already had enough ratters about. He’d put the puppies into a sack while a stable boy went to fetch a bucket of water. I came into the stable yard just as the puppies escaped the sack. They scattered and all the men were running about and yelling, trying to catch the poor things. Mouse ran to me and immediately caught the hem of my dress between his teeth.”
“So you saved him,” Jasper said.
She shrugged. “It seemed the thing to do. I’m afraid Harold was not best pleased.”
