“I can take you back to your father’s house.” That was the ticket. He’d drop her in front of Crossings’ Mayfair townhouse, and no one would be the wiser.
But when Jasper made the suggestion, any semblance of serenity she’d portrayed immediately fled. She looked away from him, shaking her head adamantly, and reached for the door. Panic visibly washed over her.
Jasper very quickly captured her hands so she couldn’t throw herself out of the carriage and onto the street.
“I—” She squeezed her eyes shut. “I can’t go there. I’d prefer you left me at the docks than return me to my father’s house.” The trembling of her chin threatened yet another bout of tears.
“No more crying!” Anything to quell her tears. “I’ll take you to my townhouse for now, so that you may dry off and regain your bearings. Perhaps my housekeeper can find you a change of clothes. But you can’t stay long. I don’t have a crest on this particular carriage, but it’s always possible one of your pursuers recognized it.”
And aside from the more personal complications that could easily result from having rescued the runaway bride, he preferred to avoid a battle with Crossings.
She nodded, looking grateful at his offer—for the moment, anyhow.
“I’m terribly sorry to inconvenience you.” She cast her eyes to the floor. “I just…” She frowned and cute little lines formed between her eyes.
She seemed utterly perplexed—as though she’d suddenly woken from a dream and had no idea where she was.
Jasper leaned forward and slid open the window between the interior and the driver box. “Home, Will. As long as no one has followed us.”
“All clear, my lord,” Will responded.
Having known his driver for most of his life, Jasper exhaled a sigh of relief as he slid the window closed and once again stared at his unexpected passenger.
Who ought to be, at this very moment, making her wedding vows to a duke.
“Did you climb out a window?” he asked. “Slip out one of the side exits before the ceremony?” Good God, who could blame her with Dewberry for the groom?
She stilled, and any flush she’d had in her cheeks from running faded as she paled.
“The priest asked me if I would… vow to honor and obey that… man.” Her shudder shook her entire frame. “For as long as we both lived, and…
She stared blankly.
“And?”
“And I could not.” Those little lines between her eyes deepened. “So, I ran.”
“You left him. Standing at the altar. Before a church filled with guests.”
“Yes.”
Jasper took a moment to imagine that scenario. Incense intermingling with the heavy aroma of flowers would have permeated the air, candles would be flickering in sconces and overhead, and the church would have been packed with the highest sticklers of the ton. Dewberry would have been well-dressed, of course. But he would also have been made up with paints and rouge. His valet would have doused him with cologne as Dewberry was known to be averse to bathing, and what hair remained on his head would have been slicked back with pomade.
The Duke and Duchess of Crossings would have been looking on from the front pew, pleased that their daughter would carry on the title of duchess, in a ceremony performed by the bishop, no less. In the most prestigious venue in all of London.
And the woman crumpled at his feet had denied them all. By God, he couldn’t help but admire that sort of pluck.
He might have even commended her under normal circumstances—under circumstances where he was not an active, albeit unsuspecting, participant.
“In the middle of your wedding ceremony?”
“Yes.” She winced.
“The Duke of Dewberry,” he marveled. “Jilted.”
But she’d also defied Crossings.
God save her.
