Page 130 of The Belle of Belgrave Square

“I don’t know what you’re doing in the tower all day.” She straightened her fingers on his chest, smoothing the wrinkles she’d created in his waistcoat. “Some of the villagers have been putting it about that you’re a forger.”

“What?”

“The boys have heard their schoolmates say so. And they’re inclined to believe them. They’ve no other explanation for your being cloistered in the tower every morning.”

Jasper scowled. “Hardholme is populated by fools with nothing but baseless gossip to entertain them. The boys know better than to believe anything they hear there.” He pulled away from her. It took all his strength to do so.

Her eyes followed him, a stricken expression in her gaze. “Now you’re angry with me.”

“I’m not angry.” He raked his hand through his hair. “If you must know . . . I’m bloody tempted to give you want you want.” He glared at her, wanting her so much it hurt to look at her. “Tell me, is this the only secret you demand of me? Some proof that I’m not forging documents up there?”

“I don’t believe you’re a forger,” she said. “And I don’t demand anything.”

He scoffed. If she were any other lady, he’d accuse her of attempting a variety of blackmail. One of his secrets in exchange for the right to bed her? An unscrupulous bargain.

But Julia wasn’t some calculating Delilah. She was his wife. His sweet, vulnerable—and quite virginal—romantic-minded little wife. A lady who, having heard about his history in the Crimea and his even worse history with Dolly and the children, had every right to suspect him of continued villainy.

And her suspicions weren’t far wrong.

But perhaps . . .

Perhaps there was a way he could satisfy her without putting anything else at risk. Another portion of the truth, whittled to suit the situation, carved clean of the darker truth to which it belonged.

Jasper didn’t like it. He didn’t like any of it. But what other choice had he?

“I can’t think,” he said. “Not with this visit to York hanging over my head.”

Her face fell. “Of course. That must come first.”

He stalked back to her with a growl, framing her face in his hands. “You come first,” he informed her. “You.” He kissed her hard on the mouth. “As for all the rest of it . . . we shall discuss it when I return tomorrow evening.”

When Julia woke in the morning, Jasper was already gone. She wasn’t surprised. Nothing had been resolved yesterday. She rather suspected she’d made the situation worse.

Rising from bed, she went to the marble-topped mahogany washstand. Water was still in the porcelain pitcher from Jasper’s morning ablutions. It was no longer hot.

She sighed. It was either wash with cold or summon Mr. Beecham or one of the children to fetch hot water for her from the kitchen. Given those choices, she’d rather shiver a little than make a nuisance of herself.

The sun streamed in through the patterned damask draperies as she filled the basin. A glint of something metallic twinkled at the corner of her eye. Returning the pitcher to its place, she turned to look, and was alarmed to see Jasper’s keys and pocket watch sitting on the chest of drawers by the window. In his haste to leave, he’d forgotten them. It wasn’t the first time he’d done so.

As if she needed more evidence of his eagerness to quit her presence!

But no. He wasn’t leaving her so abruptly because he found her company distasteful. It was the opposite. He’d admitted as much yesterday. He was finding her increasingly hard to resist.

Any other man might have simply broken his promise. Either that, or endeavored to persuade her to change her mind.

Jasper had done neither.

It was yet more evidence of his being a good and decent man. A man who was doing his utmost to adhere to the conditions she’d given him.

She finished washing and dressing, and after arranging her hair in an invisible net, she made her way downstairs to the dining room.

Charlie and Alfred were seated at the table with Mr. Beecham, their plates already heaped high with steaming eggs, toast, and sausages. Daisy was there as well, a bowl of porridge and cream in front of her.

Mr. Beecham stood as Julia entered, his linen napkin clutched in his hand. “Mrs. Blunt. Good morning.”

“Good morning, Mr. Beecham. Charlie, Alfred.” Julia smiled at Daisy. “You’re up early today, my dear.”

“I wanted to see father leave,” Daisy said.