Page 144 of The Belle of Belgrave Square

He brushed a kiss to her temple. The unruly hedges at the edge of the garden all but shielded them from view. One of the rare benefits of being unable to afford a gardener.

She leaned into him, his manuscript clutched protectively to her bosom. “I’m not a writer myself, but I’ve read more novels than I can count. If you like, I could offer some general advice.”

“I’d prefer the specific kind.”

“You won’t take offense?”

“How could I? I already know you think my stories lack excitement.” He flashed her a wry look. “Even the ones with actual knights. Or the ones that take place on smoking Belgian battlefields.”

“There’s excitement and there’s excitement,” she said. “The history in your latest stories is fascinating, but these are novels, not history books. Most of us shopping at places like Bloxham’s aren’t looking to be educated. We’re looking to be thrilled.”

“Yes, I know. Falsified deaths, bigamy, and murder.” He shook his head. “Such subjects fail to inspire my interest.”

“They did once. Your old novels are all exceedingly thrilling.”

“Perhaps I’m past the point of providing thrills.”

Julia gave him a speaking glance. “I doubt that very much.”

He grinned. “Very well,” he said. “Tell me what it is about this story that you suggest I change.”

Thirty-Two

The week that followed was the most idyllic in Julia’s memory. When she wasn’t in company with the children or Mr. Beecham—attending to the house, riding Cossack, or visiting the kittens—she was closeted with Jasper, talking to him about his novel.

He seemed to value her opinions no matter how unhinged some of them might sound. And they were unhinged; even she recognized that.

She had a lifetime of reading to draw upon. Everything from sensation romances to horror stories, adventure novels, and gothics. She shared it all with him, delighting in the conversations they had together, often punctuated by kisses and embraces, and once—though she blushed to recall it—an instance of lovemaking in his tower study.

“How can we?” she’d asked naively as he’d taken her in his arms. “There’s not even a bed.”

“It doesn’t require a bed,” he’d told her. “Let me show you.”

Thinking of it now, as she sat primly coiffed and clad in the library, Julia feared she was becoming a wanton. Only this morning, she’d lingered in bed with her husband so long that the two of them had missed breakfast. Surely, the entire household was aware of what they were doing.

She’d mentioned as much to Jasper as he’d helped her dress. In response, he’d only twined his fingers in her hair and kissed her deeply.

Infuriating man.

He was seated at the library desk, head propped in his hand as he wrote. His quill pen scratched over the page.

It wasn’t his custom to work in the library. He preferred the privacy of his study. But the heat was oppressive today, and the tower, with its high, narrow window, wasn’t best disposed for elevated temperatures.

The library was more comfortable. Its line of windows faced out over the garden, providing a view of the children at play. Free from their morning lessons, the boys were clacking sticks in a mock battle while Daisy hovered around them, wringing her hands and looking mournful.

“I believe she’s pretending to be the heroine in their little play,” Julia remarked. “And the boys are two rivals dueling for her favor.”

Jasper glanced up, frowning. “They what?”

“Nothing,” she said. “Forgive me. I didn’t mean to disturb you.” Jasper required silence to write. Julia was forever having to remind herself not to be a nuisance to him.

She was obliged to remind the children, too, and even Mr. Beecham. Since she and Jasper had come downstairs, it seemed one of them had rapped at the library door every ten minutes—the boys asking about taking the horses out, Daisy inquiring about whether she could go swimming, and Mr. Beecham offering to bring them refreshment.

No wonder Jasper preferred the tower.

The thought had just crossed her mind when another knock came to disrupt her husband’s peace.

Mr. Beecham poked his head in. “Excuse me, Captain Blunt. Could I have a private word, sir?”