Page 142 of The Belle of Belgrave Square

“No, indeed. It’s diminishing by the day.” She hesitated to ask, “Did Mr. Piggott tell you when we might expect the rest of my funds?”

“He’s setting things in motion.”

“How?”

“Sending a telegraph to the bank to start, with a formal letter to follow. I gave him a copy of our marriage lines, and I instructed him to contact Mr. Finchley if there should be any difficulties.”

She nodded, praying there wouldn’t be any difficulties to speak of. “Should I do anything?”

“Not a thing.” He bent his head to nuzzle her ear. “Except . . .”

A delicate shiver of pleasure traced down her spine. “What?”

He kissed her neck. “I wonder if you’d be willing to read my manuscript?”

Julia’s face spread into a smile.

He’d called his writing the most private part of himself. And now he was offering to share it with her. As gestures went, it felt almost as important as him telling her he loved her.

“I would be honored,” she said. “When would you like me to start?”

“Not at this precise moment.”

Warmth ignited in her veins. “Do you have something else in mind?”

He took her in his arms. “As a matter of fact,” he said, “I do.”

Thirty-One

The next three days passed in a whirlwind of activity. In the mornings, while the children were at their lessons, Julia repaired to Jasper’s tower room to pore over the pages of his manuscript. Jasper came with her, pacing in front of the bookshelves as she read, as restive as a caged lion.

On the afternoon of the third day, reading still unfinished, Julia was obliged to carry the manuscript out to the garden. There, settled on an old blanket beneath an alder tree, she continued reading as Jasper supervised the children’s riding lesson with Plimstock.

Alfred was mounted on Quintus, and Daisy was perched atop Cossack, acclimating herself to Julia’s sidesaddle. Charlie led the black gelding back and forth along the edge of the overgrown garden, encouraging his little sister to stop fidgeting and sit up straight.

Jasper eventually left the three of them in the groom’s charge. Crossing the garden, he came to join Julia. “Haven’t you finished yet?”

“Unfortunately not.” She moved her full skirts out of the way, making room for him on the blanket.

He sank down beside her. He was in his shirtsleeves, his collar open at the neck. Her gaze flitted over the column of his throat. She’d kissed him there last night as he made love to her.

But he wouldn’t be distracted by memories of their marital intimacies.

“In London you claimed you could finish a book in but a few hours,” he said.

“I can,” she replied, “if I’m left alone uninterrupted.”

That hadn’t been possible these past days. Not with the children and all the demands of the household. She’d had Cossack to exercise, letters to write, and kittens to visit with Daisy. Indeed, at any given moment, Julia’s attention was pulled in a dozen different directions.

Jasper was jealous of every moment she spent away from him.

It took an effort not to distract her. Not to touch her as often as he would have liked. Indeed, since they’d consummated their marriage, he couldn’t seem to stop touching her, in their bed as well as out of it.

He was becoming insatiable.

Becoming. As if he wasn’t already a lovestruck madman. A besotted fool who, at any given moment, was stroking his wife’s cheek, kissing her hand, or tucking a stray lock of her hair back into her coiffure.

“I love you,” he’d told her after he’d taken her for the first time. “You’re not obliged to say it back.”