She raised a brow. “That is the official account, is it not?”
“Ah,” he said, moving to sit upon her bed. “I suppose it is.”
Lottie moved to sit beside him. “I was only thinking just now that Lord Marchmont did always enjoy making himself the centre of attention. I suppose he has at last achieved it permanently.”
She looked to Jasper, but he was frowning.
“What is it?” she asked.
He bit his cheek. “I have been given an ultimatum, Charlotte, and it is time I told you of it.”
“By whom?”
“Langley. Morleigh.” He sighed. “The terms were very simple. I am to marry you, or never see you again.”
Lottie stilled. There were many excellent remarks available to her. Several were sharp, a few profane, one or two quite magnificent. Instead, what came out was, “Oh.”
Jasper’s brows rose faintly. “Oh?”
“Oh. Because I am far too tired to find a response. What have you decided? Shall you cage me, then, so that I might be your tame pet?”
He looked terribly pained. “No. No, I cannot. You could never be a bird in a cage, Charlotte. I have realised that now. You are a falcon, born to take to the skies.”
She laughed sadly. Would that she were a falcon. Falcons had wings and talons, and no mothers writing lists of suitable husbands.
She stared at Jasper, noting that his face had lost every trace of teasing now. This was not Jasper the rake, nor Jasper the dandy, nor Jasper of the wicked smile and clever forfeit.
“I have come to offer you a choice,” he said.
She waited.
“America.”
Lottie stared at him, and then laughed softly. “I beg your pardon?”
“America,” he repeated. “Or somewhere beyond it. Somewhere far away enough that no one gives a damn who you are or who your parents are.”
“You are mad. Truly mad.”
“Yes. Come away with me, Charlotte.”
“To America?”
“To America.”
“Unmarried?”
“If you wish it. I do not care for the form, Charlotte. I care for the choice being yours.”
She looked at him as though he had spoken in Greek. “You do not care whether I marry you?”
“No. Be my friend, my companion. A lover. A fellow fugitive. Whatever name you choose. I have money enough. Connections enough. A mother who will faint, a father who will disinherit me for at least a fortnight before remembering he likes heirs, and a sister who will write us pamphlets on liberty from her sickbed.”
“Jasper.”
“Say no and I shall leave this room at once.”
Lottie studied him closely. She had known Jasper reckless, flirtatious, vain, clever, wounded, and absurd by turns—but this was something else entirely. A man did not offer America lightly… or perhaps he did, if he was the sort of man who wanted escape as badly as she did. Was this love, then?
