Jasper’s head whipped around. He stared at her, incredulous she’d admit her intention outright. “You swore that if I married you, you would stop abducting young women.”
She folded her arms across her chest. “But I am a villain and a liar. Irredeemable. You only now said as much. Why should I keep my promise?”
A desperate rage flared in him. “What do you want from me, Clementine?”
“I want us to go back to the way we were,” she cried. “We were happy, you and me, before that chit and her ridiculous Little Hook disguise and that accursed Aubrey Saint Lawrence came to London. Back when you wanted me for your wife. Don’t you remember, Jasper? We had fun together.”
“We were living a lie, only, you knew as much and I did not.”
Clementine turned to the window and yanked back the curtain, then crossed her arms under her bosom. Familiar buildings crawled by. As always after services, the streets were crowded with people, horses, and conveyances.
Jasper turned to his own window and tugged open that curtain, as well. A breeze wafted through the carriage. He could open the door. Jump out. Run back to that balcony.
But what good would it do? He and Clementine were wed, before man and in the eyes of God. Even if he had her declared mad, which he just might do, he would still be wed. The only way out now was for Clementine to die.
He closed his eyes. Sunlight danced against his lids. Gray, black, gray, black, as buildings and trees blocked the sun where it hung, climbing higher. Warming rays pressed his cold flesh.
Greydrake’s revelations came back to him. His father, the late marquess, a man who could and did murder at least one bride, and Jasper suspected, two. Jasper couldn’t become that man. Even assuming he could, would Madelina want him then? A man who murdered the women he married, like the father she’d trained to kill? No, he was stuck with Clementine as his wife.
“We’re nearly there,” Clementine said.
Jasper could tell from her even tone that she’d decided to be reasonable again or, at least, present a façade of equanimity.
“When we get there,” she continued, “you will alight and hand me down. You will give me your arm and walk me up the steps, and you will smile. Then, you shall introduce me to each member of your staff. I am mistress of the house now. I require their respect. Don’t undermine me in this, Jasper.”
Jasper kept his eyes closed, his face angled to catch any stray rays of sunlight.
“You won’t like how I gain their respect if I’m forced to work for it, dearest,” Clementine said. “I’m afraid my upbringing lacked sophistication. My methods can be rather…rough.”
“I’ll properly introduce you to the staff, Clementine, although they already know you.”
“Thank you. See how easy agreeing with me is?”
He let that hang between them, aware she wished for a reply. Petty, he knew. Maybe petty was all he had left.
“Furthermore, this evening we will consummate our union.”
His eyes opened. They were on his street. “I will not.”
“Jasper,” her tone was silken-sweet. “I still have your precious Madelina.”
He turned to her. Anger seemed almost to shimmer in the air between them. “You said that when we married, you would let her go.”
“I did say that.” Clementine folded her hands in her lap. “I fully admit that I promised to free her once we wed.” She held up a hand, raised a finger. “However, I do not believe the union to be official until it’s consummated.”
Jasper ground his teeth together. “How do I know that you won’t keep holding her? That this is the final stipulation?” What the devil had happened to Greydrake?
Clementine refolded her hands. “I suppose you will have to take my word for that.”
Jasper let out a bark of humorless laughter. “Why would I ever take your word for anything again?”
Clementine offered her sweetest, most innocent smile. “Obviously, I can’t simply ask for your trust, dearest.” Her smile grew, turning vicious, smug. “However, I can offer you this truth. If you do not come to my bed tonight and take me in your arms and make me believe I am your wife, I’ll have Lady Madelina’s throat slit from ear to ear.”
He’d been wrong. He could kill her. A tightness coiled within, born of the desire to leap across the carriage and throttle the life from her.
Clementine held up a finger again. “Oh, and in case I forget again to mention it, I’ve left orders for just that. If my men don’t hear from me by midnight, your precious Madelina dies.” She let out a little laugh. “I almost forgot that part. How silly of me.”
She lied. She would have used that ploy earlier. She said it now only because she saw murder in his eyes.
