Page 146 of The Belle of Belgrave Square

A moment during which Julia’s already strained nerves began to fray even further. She moved away from the bookcase, resting her hand on the back of a nearby chair to steady herself. “You’re making me very anxious.”

“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to.” He crossed the library to her, only to stop short—too far away to touch her. “Perhaps you should sit down.”

She didn’t hesitate to obey him. Her knees felt like jelly. “What else did Mr. Piggott say? If my father refuses to accept the validity of our marriage—”

“He isn’t refusing.” Jasper came to stand in front of the cold fireplace. He turned to face her. His jaw was rigid with tension. “Not outright.”

“I don’t understand.”

“He’ll accept it. He’s even agreed to convey your fifty thousand pounds to me without delay. On one condition.”

Her mouth was so dry she could scarcely formulate a reply. “Which is?”

“You must return to London. You must resume living with your parents in their house in Belgrave Square. If you refuse, he’s vowed to delve into my past, to expose me as a villain and a reprobate. To make various arguments about fraud or deceit on my part—and lack of capacity on yours. In other words, he plans to slander us both, and tie up your fortune in perpetuity. Worse than that, he intends for us to expend an additional fortune in fighting his charges in the courts. A fortune he knows I do not have.”

Julia’s stomach was shaking out of control. For a moment, she feared she would be sick. “I see.”

A muscle ticked in Jasper’s cheek. “Yes, I believe you do.”

Her parents wanted her back. Back in that house and in that room. Back at their beck and call. Not because they loved her or valued her, but because Papa was too spoiled and querulous to accept her defection with good grace. She felt a fool to have ever thought he might.

“My father hasn’t any right to interfere with my money,” she said.

“Your money is in your father’s bank.”

“He doesn’t own the bank.”

“He’s one of their largest depositors. They have reason to oblige him. And it isn’t as if he’s making these accusations in a vacuum. He’s employed a respected firm of solicitors to do it for him—Birchall, Crawley, and Micklethwait. Piggott says they’ve a reputation for tying matters up in the courts for years. By the time a case is resolved, the money in dispute has been entirely expended in fees.”

“Like in Mr. Dickens’s Bleak House,” she said faintly. “Jarndyce and Jarndyce.”

“Something like that.” Jasper’s gray eyes had gone the color of hoarfrost. Julia had no idea what he was thinking. Every last vestige of warmth was gone.

She clasped her hands in her lap to stop their trembling. “What do you propose we do?”

“I would have thought it obvious.”

It wasn’t, not to her. “You’re not suggesting I return home?”

Jasper’s gaze locked with hers. And he no longer looked cold and remote. He looked furious. “This is your home.”

“But my fortune—”

“To hell with your fortune.” He came to her, sinking down on his haunches in front of her chair. “If it must come between having you and having your fifty thousand pounds, my choice is clear. Let your father have the money and be damned.”

His words should have reassured her.

They didn’t.

“What about my choice?” she asked.

Mr. Piggott’s letter had unsettled Jasper deeply. Standing in the drawing room, poring over its contents, he’d recognized at once the very real danger to their lives here. The legitimate risk to the children, and to himself.

And not just to them.

He had a wife to think of now. The mere idea of losing her—of giving her up—was enough to make his blood run cold. By the time he’d finished reading the solicitor’s words, the paper those words were written on had been crumpled in Jasper’s fist. It had taken a herculean effort to bring his anger under control.

And now this.