But for his sake, she would try and explain it. “I know who Lady Archer is—what she is. You told me from the start. But when she found me that night, those things she said . . .”
“She knows how to lie.”
“Yes. I never thought anyone could be so cruel, and I wasn’t prepared.” She’d been looking down at their joined hands, but now she looked up into his eyes, her own eyes damp. “Once I had a chance to think about it, I knew it was all lies.”
“Clever lies, yes. It was Mrs. Stritch who told Selina the lie about our wedding night.”
“Mrs. Stritch!” She stared up at him. “Ofcourse! My God, I never even thought of her, but she was there that morning. She saw the bedsheets and must have drawn her own conclusions.”
“Or Selina did. I daresay Mrs. Stritch merely told Selina what she’d seen, and Selina seized on it as a thin justification to spread an outrageous lie.”
“Then you never believed, that is, you never thought . . .” She swallowed, her gaze dropping away from him. Oh God, she couldn’t bear to say it.
“Look at me.” He caught her chin and raised her face to his. “No, Prue. Notever.”
“Oh.” She let out a breath, her shoulders sagging with relief. “It was silly of me to think—”
“No, sweetheart, it wasn’t. The fault lies with me, not you. I should have realized you might have questions and talked to you about it. Did you think our marriage hadn’t been consummated?”
“It, ah, it might have occurred to me, yes.” Dear God, her cheeks were on fire.
He gazed down at her, his eyes bleak. “I’m sorry, Prue. If I’d done as I ought to, we might have avoided all this.”
Perhaps there was truth to that, but what did it matter now? He was here. That was all she cared about. “How did you find out about Mrs. Stritch?”
“Lord Quincy. As it turned out, it was Quincy who let Selina into Basingstoke’s house that night.”
“Ah, I see. Did Lord Quincy simply volunteer this information about Mrs. Stritch, then?” She’d wager every last gown in her wardrobe that wasn’t the case. Jasper could be formidable, indeed.
“Not exactly, no. He, ah . . . well, he became a good deal more forthcoming once I had a blade pressed against his chest.”
“Jasper! You didn’t fight a duel with Lord Quincy?” Good God, he might have been killed!
“Just a little one. But I don’t want to talk about Quincy anymore, or Mrs. Stritch, or that devil Selina. They don’t matter.” He cradled her face in his hands. “You’re all that matters. I love you, Prue, so much I think I may have panicked at first. I’ve never loved anyone the way I love you.”
Oh, my. Had she truly thought she didn’t need to hear those words from his lips? Her heart melted into a puddle inside her chest. She drew in a shaky breath, lifted her arms, and twined them around his neck. “I love you, too, Jasper. More than anything.”
He squeezed his eyes closed. “You love me, Prue?”
“Yes.” She looked into his dear, handsome face, his features lost in shadows, that silky lock of tousled dark hair lying across his forehead. “Take me to bed, Your Grace.”
Jasper’s hands were shaking as they fell to her waist, his fingers curling against her as he backed her toward the bed, but he was gentle, always so gentle as he laid her down and eased himself on top of her. “Like this?”
“Yes. Just like that.” She caught a handful of his thick hair and urged his head down. “Now kiss me.”
He took her lips with a groan, his mouth sweet and demanding at once, his tongue slipping out to tease the seam of her lips until she opened to him with a gasp. “That’s it, sweetheart,” he whispered. “Give me everything, Prue.”
She did—oh, she did, because it washim, and she couldn’t do anything less, her body straining against his as he took her mouth again and again, her heart overflowing with love.
“Did you think of me when we were each in our separate bedchambers, Prue? Did you miss me?”
She grasped a handful of his shirt in her fist to bring him closer. “Yes, I—I thought about you, and about our wedding night.”
He let out a desperate moan, trailing his lips down her neck. “Did you touch yourself when you thought of me? Did you caress that sweet little spot between your legs, and bring yourself pleasure?”
Dear God, he was wicked, his words inflaming her almost as much as his touch. She arched her neck, going mad from the warm drift of his breath against her damp skin. “Yes, yes.”
He sucked in a breath, his hand cupping her breast, his thumb tracing her nipple. “I thought of you, too. You’re all I can think about, Prue.”
