Chapter 4

Four

C andlelight filled the room as stemware clinked and silverware clattered. The Duke and Duchess's guests conversed and laughed as they dined. To Jasper's displeasure, he had not been seated near Celia. Instead, he was across the table and several chairs down with the dowager countess Grayling and Miss Harrington flanking him. The first was a stern old woman who did nothing to hide her distaste for him, and the second was a mousey young chit who could not bring herself to partake in conversation.

The fact suited him fine, as he only had eyes for Celia. Though he wished to seated close enough to engage with her, watching her was second best. Given his dinner companions' aversions, he would not be distracted from watching her. And watch her, he did. Every time she lifted her glass to her lips, he wished he could kiss them. Every smile she bestowed on her companions sent a pang of jealousy through him. And every time she laughed, he wished he'd been the catalyst for her joy.

It was a foreign sensation, one he had rarely, if ever, felt before. In fact, he did not recognize it for jealousy until he had experienced it several times. But what other emotion could make a man want to pummel another simply because a woman smiled at him?

Her gaze meet his, and her tongue darted out to wet her lower lip. His body reacted immediately, tightening all over as his pulse increased. Based on the wicked grin she shot him, the minx was well aware of what she had done. The sensual game lasted throughout the rest of the meal.

When she left the dining room with the ladies, she tossed a saucy glance his way before disappearing into the hall. The preceding hour he spent smoking cigars and drinking brandy with the men felt like an eternity. Talk of crops and tenant farmers could not compete with his desire to get Celia alone.

Grateful to be rejoining the ladies, Jasper strode into the parlor. His gaze searched for Celia, and heart rejoiced when he found her. She stood near a window chatting like a magpie with a group of ladies. Content to watch her for the time being, Jasper leaned against a marble column flanking the wall. He could spend the rest of his life observing her.

"Lord Crawford."

He turned his attention to the speaker, then straightened and offered a bow. "Your Grace."

"I had hoped to thank you again for your donation, but now I am more interested in your intentions." The Duchess seemed to assess him as she searched his face.

"Hum." Jasper cleared his throat. "My intentions?"

The duchess angled her head toward Celia. "I could not help but notice the way you and my sister-in-law carried on during dinner. And now, well, you have been staring at her since you entered the parlor."

He smoothed his cravat, thinking he should be embarrassed, or at the least chagrined at being caught. But he did not care to pretend. Instead, he smiled, then said, "I find her captivating."

"She is a beautiful girl. I daresay, a diamond," The Duchess said.

"She is, but I am interested in more than her beauty," Jasper said.

"That is reassuring." The duchess pointed her fan toward her husband. "I would be remiss if I did not tell you how protective the duke is of his sister. Tread carefully."

Jasper did not miss the warning in her gaze. But neither did he care. He would die a thousand deaths if it meant he got to spend one more second in Celia's company. Still, he would not dare insult the duchess, so he said, "My intentions are honorable. You have my word."

"Very good." She nodded, then pivoted and strode away.

Jasper returned his gaze to Celia. The group of ladies had dispersed, leaving her with only her companion at her side. He strode toward her. "Good evening, ladies."

"Good evening, Lord Crawford," Rosie said, then pressed her lips together, casting her gaze to Celia.

The woman's disapproval did not bother him. He knew it was born of the high regard she held for Celia. That and the knowledge she had of the time they had spent together. He would leave it to Celia to manage her companion.

"Please excuse us," Celia said to her.

The woman gave a slight "hump" then went to sit on a nearby sofa, her attention trained on them.

"She detests me," Jasper said.

Celia shook her head. "Certainly not."

"You are a terrible liar."

"Very well. She dislikes you, but surely you did not come over here to speak of my companion's feelings." Celia turned, her gaze moving to the window and the snow-covered ground that lay beyond. "Do you like the snow?"

"I have never thought too much about it. The stuff makes a devil of a mess, and it is cold. Still, there is a beauty about it when it falls. A peacefulness to it when it blankets the ground."

Celia turned a wistful grin on him. "As a girl, I used to love to run through freshly fallen snow, and I could spend hours staring at a set of tracks left by one animal or another."

"I used to make a game of following the tracks," he admitted. Jasper turned his attention back to the snow-covered ground. "Let us go out and see if we can find a set."

Excitement lit her blue gaze. "I will meet you behind the house in thirty minutes."

Forty minutes later, Jasper stood outside in the freshly fallen snow, his greatcoat blocking the cold. To his surprise, there was no wind. Just still air between the glistening snow and sparkling sky. It was a perfect night save for one thing. Celia had yet to arrive. He turned to glance at the house, wondering if she had changed her mind.

Thwack!

Something crashed into his shoulder. He turned in time to see a snowball soaring through the air.

Thwack!

It exploded into a powdery cloud against his chest. His gaze followed the sound of feminine laughter that rang out nearby. "Minx," he yelled when he caught sight of Celia forming another ball.

He bent and scooped up a handful of snow. Two could play this game. As he took aim, her snowball struck him in the abdomen. Laughter filled the night air as she danced away, ducking behind a tree.

Jasper let his snowball fall to the ground and ran toward her hiding spot. He charged across the space, ducking and weaving through her assault of round white missiles. When he reached her, he wrapped his arm around her and tugged her against him, so they stood chest to chest.

She notched her chin. Her gaze turning sultry. "Will you kiss me now?"

He shook his head. "Not unless you have accepted my proposal."

She brought her hand up and rubbed the snow she held against his face. Shocked at her antics, he released her, and she bolted. Celia laughed as she ran breakneck across the snow.

He found her vivacious personality contagious, as he, too, laughed. Moments before he caught her, she stopped and said, "Look."

He did not have time to stop and instead crashed into her, sending them both to the ground. She landed with her head against his chest and a cloak wrapped around their legs. He pulled her close and asked, "Are you hurt?"

"No." She nibbled at her lower lip and looked up at the inky black sky. "I saw a shooting star."

"Oh?" He asked, his hand coming up to stroke her cheek.

"Do you know what they say about shooting stars?" She asked as she rolled onto her back.

"That someone has passed onto their last reward."

"That is dreadful and not at all what they say."

It did not surprise him in the least that she would have an entirely different idea. He smiled, his arm still beneath her head, and said, "Enlighten me."

"Papa used to say that every time a star shoots across the sky, someone has fallen in love." Her voice took on a wistful tone laced with sadness.

Jasper rolled onto his side and stared into her eyes. "How old were you when you lost your parents?"

"Fifteen," she replied. "How old were you?"

"Nineteen."

Celia sighed, then asked, "Do you miss them very much?"

"It gets better with time, but I still think of them far too often." He settled back into the snow, holding her close. "Tell me about your parents."

He listened intently as she spoke of her childhood and her memories. Then he returned the favor by telling her about his. Seconds passed into minutes, and when he felt her shiver, he realized he had lost all sense of time. "You are chilled through. Let us get you inside."

"I'm perfectly comfortable."

He trailed his gaze over her red cheeks and blue lips. "Lier," he teased as he stood, then helped her to her feet.

"You could warm me with a kiss." She stared at him from beneath a veil of thick lashes.

"Not until you agree to marry me."

"We could compromise," she said, pressing closer against him.

His entire body thrummed with the need to possess her, and he nearly caved to the temptation. His lips pressed against hers, and if not for the icy feel of her flesh, he would have succumbed. Instead, he scooped her into his arms and made haste for the house.