Chapter Thirty-Five
“A certain Miss S__ appears to be the very likeness of a person of interest in the Bow Street magistrate’s latest pamphlet. So far, Lord M__ has not had the dubious honor of being included in that particular listing.”
-The London Post
Julia stormed backto her room.That’s what she got for trying to be pleasant!It had taken her ages to give in to the desire swirling between them, to throw her morals to the wind, to shred the rules of hospitality and go to Jasper for a satisfying swiving. She knew he would be thrilled.
So why did he have to make it complicated?
And then he’d mentioned being her husband. The minute the words were out of his sensual mouth, she saw the outright fear in his eyes.
A rake did not want to think about a wife.
He wanted to save her from the gallows, though. She put a hand to her throat and paced her room. It was a goal they shared, but it was hard not to believe his concern was based on wanting to control her, first by keeping her ruby ring and now by withholding pleasure. And the more he tried to rein her in, the more she struggled against him.
Besides, ever since losing her own ring, she’d lost all stomach for thieving, particularly with Sarah risking her own safety by returning jewelry. Julia had already done precisely what Jasper wanted, but his arrogance in thinking she would obey to have him tup her was intolerable.
But how would she ever sleep that night?Her intimate parts were still tingling.The beast!She should go back and demand he finish the job.
Finally, with such a silly notion, she made herself smile and at last lay down on the soft, comfortable bed, snuggling beneath the covers.
“Julia,” she could almost hear her sister saying, “you are acting like a pudding-head!”
***
SURPRISINGLY, THE NEXTmorning, Jasper didn’t look daggers at her. Ostensibly, he had decided to behave like a gentleman instead of a spoiled and thwarted libertine.
And then at the first opportunity to torment her, he jumped.
“Ow!” Julia exclaimed, scalding her tongue on a too-eager sip of chocolate that morning.
“Would you like me to blow on your ... chocolate?” he asked, his expression beatific, as if butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth.
Instantly, heat pooled low at her core, making her squirm in her seat.
Lady Marshfield entered at that moment, forcing him to turn away and stop his wicked gaze.
“Cook said her knee is twinging and there might be rain,” said the dowager countess. “We can only hope it comes and goes or doesn’t become snow. Gracious! It might be a blizzard and not a soul will come to the party.”
