Crossings was up to no good, with his daughter, but also in his business dealings. And from what he’d learned from Dudley, her father was dabbling in the particular dealings Jasper and a few of his peers were working to curtail.
A few delicate strands of hair tickled his chin, and he instinctively drifted forward, liking the feeling of fine hairs clinging to his whiskers.
"Where are we going?" She glanced around with narrowed eyes. “If you’re of a mind to take me back, you can set me down right now.”
"I’m not taking you back,” he admitted. “But neither can we return to my townhouse.” He didn’t wish to distress her further, but events had taken on a life of their own, and Jasper hadn’t formulated an actual plan.
Yet.
Because he would.
"Someone saw you?" she asked.
“No one witnessed us riding away,” he said. “But I did speak with Mr. Bulwark before I saw you hanging from the trellis. I asked after you specifically. West House will be the first place they look for you." But he had other options. Jasper was not without friends.
“But why did you come in the first place?” she asked. “You were well rid of me.”
Rather than attempt to explain actions he didn’t fully understand himself, he reached into his coat, grabbed the pins, and answered her question by opening his fist.
“To return my pins?” She did not take them, and rather than argue with her, he tucked them away again.
“They are not without value.” He shrugged.
She twisted around to meet his eyes, twin lines of doubt forming between hers. "You never answered my question, though. Why are you helping me now? Why, when a few hours ago, you were happy to turn me over to my father?"
A mere few inches separated her face from his, and Jasper couldn’t help but drop his gaze to her mouth. Her bottom lip was rose pink and perfectly plump, her upper lip even more so.
Reining his thoughts in, Jasper slid his gaze higher and realized the red mark on her cheek was not from her fall. It stood out in the shape of a handprint. He’d known it was a possibility, but the reality set him off.
That fucking bastard!
"He struck you?" Jasper demanded. It wasn’t a question really, because who else would dare lay a hand on her?
Lady Gardenia, again exhibiting her unusual amount of courage, dipped her chin without answering. She wasn’t only courageous, but proud.
He swallowed hard. She’d asked a question, and she deserved an answer.
"I didn't send for your father." Jasper stiffened, unaccustomed to explaining himself.
The notion that he had betrayed her was a natural assumption for her to have made, but it irritated Jasper just the same. Admittedly, Jasper was not above twisting the truth for the greater good, but this didn’t fall into that category. If he’d intended to send for her father, he would have told her so.
"Why should I believe you? You handed me over easily enough,” she persisted.
"I'm here, aren't I?"
“True." She exhaled and rested more of her weight against him. "Dewberry was waiting in the parlor for the bishop to arrive. My father was still going to force me to marry him. I had thought that he would understand..." She turned her head. "I just couldn't do it.” He felt her shudder from head to toe.
Jasper had no idea how to respond to this sort of thing, having been in control of his own destiny for most of his life. No doubt, she’d made a lucky escape.
Twice, now.
"Did I hurt you?" Concern laced her voice.
"Hurt me?" Jasper searched his brain to try to make sense of her question.
“When I landed on you," she explained.
“Of course not.”
