“She wants her sister, sir.”
“Don’t we all,” Jasper muttered, hearing the female in question scurrying around behind him, probably in full view of the butler while she retrieved her clothing. Not that Mr. Greer would dare even the tiniest peek.
“Very well. Tell Lady Worthington Miss Sudbury and I shall be down upon the instant. If she tries to come up here again, you have my permission to lay hands upon her and restrain her. In fact, since I’ve re-hired you, it’s an order.”
“Yes, my lord.” With the slightest inclination of his head, Mr. Greer retreated.
Shutting the door, Jasper turned around.
Chapter Seventeen
“What type of party was it, dear reader? Lord M__ and Miss S__ showed up at Lady Ch__’s home at a late hour. Separately. Neither stayed long enough for a civilized dining experience.”
-The Sun
Julia was tying theneckline of her chemise with trembling fingers. Not an excited, anticipatory, please-Jasper-touch-me-again trembling either. This was the true trembling of fear. Her older sister had come to the earl’s house. Worse, she was downstairs and knew Julia was upstairs.
Upstairs, about to be ruined!
And how she had wanted to be ruined, too. Even then, she couldn’t keep her gaze off of Jasper’s magnificent figure as he stalked around the room, snatching up his clothes. The muscles of his rear end particularly fascinated her, slowing her attempt to do up her stays. She finished with them a little loose but hurriedly stepped into her petticoat, thankful he hadn’t removed her stockings.
Far more swiftly than her, Jasper was dressed, albeit not as neatly as when his valet assisted him. He stood beside her holding her gown. Raising her arms, Julia allowed him to slip it over her head before she donned her short bustier.
“My spencer,” she urged, and he jumped to grab it from the chair. She shrugged into her favorite blue and gray coat. “Ready.”
“Your hair,” he said. “I’m afraid it is hopeless to think I can recreate the style in which it was done before I caused you to writhe upon my bed.”
Had she been writhing?
She ran to his long mirror. Plainly, she looked a fright. With quick fingers, she smoothed through the locks of her hair before snatching up his comb and using it. Even more quickly, she made one thick braid.
“Do you have a ribbon?”
Surprisingly, he nodded. “I believe so.” From the drawer of his side table, the same one from which he’d extracted the strange covering for his lengthy organ, the sheath that had long since been discarded, he withdrew a gray ribbon.
She didn’t even ask whose it was or why he had it, but used it to secure the end of her thick plait.
