“Then there is no reason for you to continue to address me as Lady Phoebe, is there?” She grinned.
“I suppose not,” Natalie giggled, feeling that kinship Phoebe had mentioned earlier. And after learning some of Jasper’s tale, she did not feel the overwhelming desire to seek revenge. It was still there but at a low ebb.
Her friendship with Phoebe could shine more light on her path to those secrets she was seeking.
Chapter 13
London’s plague was not seen last night. Perhaps he is sitting at a corner in an obscure pub contemplating what he had done. We doubt that is the situation, but a guess is always entertaining. We have learned that the pillaged warehouse belongs to the Marquess of Commerton. How is it that we discover the names of the gentlemen who have fallen prey to the Masked Rogue, yet not the scoundrel himself? What is keeping us from finding him?
Jasper had remained in the manor the night before, not because he did not wish to leave but because he had much to do. He was addressing his will, and that involved poring over everything he possessed, which he learned was more than he had initially thought.
He walked into the breakfast room to see Phoebe seated at the table, sipping tea and perusing The Londoner.
He had not seen her since the dinner he had walked away from, and that was over a day ago. “Good morning, Aunt Phoebe,” he greeted, approaching the table.
"I see you have decided to come out of hibernation," she drawled without raising her eyes from the news sheet.
“Yes, Auntie,” he replied as he sat across from her, reaching for a cup and filling it with tea from the urn beside him. His head still pounded from the aftermath of drinking excessively the night before. He was aware that he needed to be kinder to his body, but there was nothing else that could stave off the pain in his heart. There was another thing that could help him, but he was not going to depend upon it. "What are the gossips saying about me now?" he asked. “There must be something interesting there if you are unable to put it down.”
“There is not a word about you, Jasper.”
He gathered that his aunt was still displeased with him, and she had every reason to be. She was a very expressive woman, unafraid to show both her pleasure and displeasure—especially the latter.
“There is always a word about me, Auntie," Jasper chuckled, wincing at the increased throbbing of his head. He waited for Phoebe to ask him what he meant by what he had just said, but she simply turned the single sheet to read the other side, utterly unaware that he had just revealed a hint about him being the Masked Rogue of London.
“Have you always been this conceited, or am I only realizing it now?” Phoebe asked, and he laughed, relieved to hear the jesting tone in her voice.
“You are only discovering it, and a bit too late, if I might add.” She set the sheet down, at last, and looked up at him, a tiny smile playing on her lips. “Am I forgiven?” Jasper took her hand and gave it a contrite squeeze. “I did not mean to disrespect or wound you when I left.”
“I know you did not, but what displeased me was how abruptly you departed. You know that I will lend you an ear whenever you wish to relieve what grieves you.”
He smiled softly at her. “I will come to you, Auntie, but not every time.”
“Very well,” she sniffed, “You are forgiven, and I shan’t dwell on the subject.”
“Thank you!” Jasper grinned and raised his teacup to his mouth. He served himself some fruits and cream cheese because his headache would not allow him to eat more than that at this time.
“I wanted to talk to you about Lady Natalie,” his aunt said, and his gut tightened, the memories of their encounters rushing back into his mind and hardening his body. Just when he had managed to remove Natalie from his thoughts and rejoiced over his triumph, Phoebe had to remind him of her and cause his battle to begin anew.
“I am not courting her if that is what you wish to inquire about,” he said.
“Yes, but I am not blind.” Jasper looked up at that, and he saw his aunt’s large blue eyes examining him. “I needed only to mention her name, and you shifted in your seat.”
His jaw tightened. “What are you saying?”
“That I know you enough to know when you are affected by a woman. You are not indifferent to Lady Natalie, and I want to encourage you to consider proposing to her.”
A slice of apple stopped midway to his lips, and he raised an eyebrow. “When I am yet to court her?”
“You do not have to court her,” Phoebe laughed. “You already know she would be a good wife for you or any other gentleman who is fortunate enough to have her.”
The mention of another gentleman having Natalie made him swallow the bile rising in his throat. His aunt was right, of course. Natalie had the intelligence, poise, and grace to be a duchess. His eyebrows furrowed when the throbbing in his groin became more persistent. She could cure his heartache in the little time he had left, yet he hesitated in his pursuit.
He did not want to leave a young widow, and it would pain him more if that widow was Natalie, but indulging in his desires could wound her just as much. Keeping away from her was not an option he was willing to consider either. Thus, he found himself in quite a conundrum.
“Will you consider it?” Phoebe asked, pulling him from the grasp of his thoughts.
Jasper nodded, but only to placate her. Pleased, she rose and patted his shoulder. “I have to see Cook now to taste samples of the dishes he is preparing for the ball.”
