Natalie paused in thought. She'd had a question for him for a while now. One she had thought better of asking, but now that she was presented with the opportunity, she did not want to pass it up. It was not as simple as why he was the Rogue.
"What birthed the Masked Rogue, Jasper," she asked.
She saw him visibly tense, but he straightened his shoulders and took off his fencing mask with a sigh. "Obligation birthed the rogue, Natalie," he said, and she felt her brows crease in puzzlement. She was about to ask him to explain when he offered it to her. “My grandfather told his wife one afternoon that he had a headache, and that he wanted to sleep for a short while. He did not wake up from that slumber. He was thirty-five years old and in perfect health. How could he have died so suddenly?”
Natalie’s chest tightened. “I am sorry, Jasper.”
He gave her a ghost of a smile before continuing. “One week after my father turned five-and-thirty, he told me that he had a headache. I was ten years old at the time.” He passed a hand over his brow, and Natalie went to him. He was reliving a painful memory for her sake. “I sent for some tea for him, but five minutes later, I saw him slump in his chair. He did not wake up.” He held her gaze, and she realized that his story had answered her question.
"You think you might suffer the same fate.”
"The same curse," he corrected, and Natalie never saw him more pained. What she thought was a coincidence seemed so real to him that he depended upon it, planned his life around it. His birthday was drawing near, and she could understand him becoming afraid.
“Is there a chance that it could be a coincidence?” she asked, her throat tight. Natalie did not want to believe he was cursed.
"My father and grandfather dying of the same mysterious condition at the same age? It is too precise to be coincidental. Whatever my fate, I owe an obligation to my family name," Jasper continued elaborating. "I need to leave it as pristine as my father and grandfather left it. Thus, I created the Rogue to live as freely as I could, and according to my own terms. The Duke is perfect, and the Rogue is the opposite.”
It all made sense now, but Natalie’s heart ached for him. The thought of losing Jasper arose a consternation so deep within her it pained.No.Sherefusedto lose him.
"You,sir, are not going anywhere until we have finished fencing," she quipped, trying to find some levity in the grim situation.
Wearing their masks again, they carried on with their game, and when Jasper scored, he grinned. “My moment has come,” he declared, imitating her gloating earlier.
“What do you wish to know?”
His expression softened, and when he spoke, it was in the gentlest manner possible. “What happened to your hands?”
The question embarrassed her, but she answered honestly. “All of England knows that my family lives in genteel poverty. I happened to be very fond of sewing, and I began to make dresses. My friend May Lynch owns a shop on Bond Street, and I give her the dresses to sell for me.”
Natalie sewed a lot lately, and she was having more than calluses on her hands. Her neck and shoulders ached from the strain, and her eyes sometimes felt dull and heavy.
Something passed over Jasper's features at her confession, and she wondered if she had told him too much. Would it make him see her as a lesser person now? As the thoughts circled in her mind like a flock of restless birds, she grew so self-conscious that she lost some concentration when they resumed their bout.
She took a step back to evade him, but she slipped and landed ungracefully on her right ankle. Natalie winced, and Jasper was quickly by her side.
“Are you hurt?” he asked.
“No, I only landed improperly. I am well.”
He knelt and took her foot in his gentle hands despite her reassurances of being fine. Carefully, he examined the foot. It felt a little tender, but it was unhurt.
"An impressive, but rather clumsy fencer, I must say," Jasper gibed, clucking his tongue.
They had a bit of a laugh before Natalie realized how close to her he was when he rose. As if he had read her thoughts, he placed a finger beneath her chin and tilted her face up to his.
Jasper softly brushed his lips to hers before kissing her. Natalie's body took the reins, and she leaned into his touch, throwing her arms around his neck.
Chapter 29
When the Masked Rogue of London made his first appearance six years ago, we thought, “How difficult can it be to reveal the face of a man. He is only wearing a mask.” We are sad to admit that we have been shamed. Not only has the Rogue revealed himself to be a cunning man without a heart, he brought us a Comtesse that now prevents us from sleeping at night. Sir Marcus is at the fore of the search, for he believes he has found his bride. Some argue that it is not done, but the poor man insists upon it. After all, she is a Comtesse!
Jasper pulled away from her, his eyes dark with the desire that reflected hers. “Give me a moment,” he whispered before moving away to pick up the cloak he had draped over the chair earlier. He spread it on the parquet and took her in his arms again, undoing her clothes.
Natalie shivered when he exposed her bare and the cold air touched her skin, but his lips warmed her. Pushing the jacket off her shoulders, he unbound her breasts, inhaling when they fell softly. “You are truly magnificent, Natalie,” he murmured, and she bit her bottom lip, reaching for him. She wanted him to quickly divest her of her clothing so she could feel his searing touch all over. He caught her hands and shook his head, chuckling, “Patience, darling.” Then he glanced down at her breeches. “We must rid you of that first…slowly.”
Bringing his mouth close, he brushed her lips before kissing a fiery path down her body, his hands unfastening the buttons. As he pulled it down her legs, he sank to his knees, kissing her belly, her feminine mound, and finally, her quivering sex.
“Jasper!” she mewled, grasping locks of his hair and raising one of her legs, but he did not oblige her by kissing her more as she expected. He withdrew and rose, his gaze caressing her body.
