Chapter 27

Eleanor blinked up at Jasper, disbelieving.

Why had she thought she could make love with Jasper and escape without consequences? She was a Weatherby Wallflower. She had the most rotten luck in the world.

Jasper was peering down at her, brow creased. “It might have torn afterward, while I was seeing to your pleasure. But even if it tore while I was inside you, you shouldn’t trouble yourself. Ultimately, it’s not a problem.”

Eleanor propped herself up on one elbow, annoyance piercing her sense of panic. “Not a problem? That’s easy for you to say! What if I conceive? I will be ruined, my sisters will be ruined, and—”

Jasper sat up on the bed, taking her hands. “That’s not what I meant. The reason I said it’s not a problem is because… Damn it.” He glanced around at the rumpled bedclothes. “I was hoping to make this a little more romantic.”

Eleanor had absolutely no idea what he was talking about. “Romantic? I don’t expect romance, Jasper. I’ve always understood that nothing would come of this. You can save the romance for your future duchess.”

“You are my future duchess!” Jasper snapped. He rubbed an eye with the heel of his hand. “God, I’m making a hash of this.”

“What are you talking about?” Eleanor screeched. “I’m not your future duchess! You shouldn’t joke about such things!”

“I’m not joking.” He squeezed her hands. “That’s the reason I said it wasn’t a problem that the sheath broke—because I had already decided that you are the one I want for my wife.”

Eleanor blinked at him, uncomprehending. “But you hate me!”

He shrugged. “It’s a degree to love.”

Eleanor sat all the way up, yanking her hands from his. “It is not, and you’ve butchered the quote! Viola tells Olivia that she pities her, not hates her. And in the end—”

He waved a hand, dismissive. “Yes, yes, they agree that pity is not a degree to love, after all. See, this is precisely why I want to marry you. Who else will even recognize my obscure Shakespearean references, much less correct them?”

“That is scarcely a foundation for marriage!” Eleanor hissed. “We’ve just established that you hate me—”

“I don’t,” he said, managing to recapture her flailing hands in his.

Eleanor had never been so confused. “That’s not what you said yesterday!”

Jasper was unperturbed. “Yes, but I was wrong. What I hated—quite desperately—was the idea of someone taking advantage of Felix. Which I sincerely believed was what you and your sisters were doing. Once I discovered that I had been mistaken, the supposed hatred I harbored toward you vanished in an instant.” His brown eyes bore into hers, appealing and sincere. “I never hated you, Eleanor. Not really. From the moment I first spotted you, I thought you were lovely—”

“Lovely?” Eleanor felt a deranged laugh bubbling up inside her. No one had ever thought her lovely, not once in her life. “I’m not lovely!”

“You certainly are. You mustn’t give credence to all that Weatherby Wallflowers nonsense. That’s nothing but a bunch of rot the gossip columnists made up to sell newspapers. Have you ever been to London?”

Eleanor didn’t see what that had to do with anything. “No, but—”

Jasper shook his head. “See, those journalists have never even clapped eyes on you. Felix told me the same thing as soon as he met you—that the four of you were all very handsome.”

Eleanor was utterly befuddled. “Felix said that?”

“He did. And the reason I became fixated upon you from the start was that I immediately perceived that you would be a formidable opponent. You were so clearly determined, intelligent—”

“Jasper! This is ridiculous. You detested me!”

“I respected you,” he countered. “And that respect only grew the more I came to know you. You stood up to me. You were completely uncowed.”

“Oh, yes—just what every man desires, a harpy to contradict every word he utters.”

Jasper seemed unperturbed. “I, for one, could use someone to tell me when I’m acting like a horse’s arse. Especially when it’s you, whose good judgment I trust implicitly.”

Eleanor laughed, disbelieving. “You have taken leave of your senses!”

“I have not. This is the best and most sensible thing I’ve ever done. What do you say, Eleanor? Will you make me the happiest man in all of Christendom?”

“I will not!” she hissed. “Or maybe I will, by refusing you. I’m sure come morning, you will realize your mistake and be glad I decided not to hold you to this ill-considered proposal.”

“I will realize no such thing.” His expression turned smug, and he somehow managed to look ducal and commanding sitting naked amongst the rumpled bedclothes. “In the morning, I shall make you a proper proposal. And you, Eleanor Weatherby, are going to accept it.”

She shot off the bed, snatching her night rail from off the floor. “I will do no such thing!” she snapped as she pulled it over her head.

When the flannel settled into place, she found him leaning back against the headboard, hands behind his head, a smug smile upon his face. Lud, but his arms looked gorgeous in that pose…

“Ah,” he said, “but you will. Have you forgotten that you and your sisters will find yourselves homeless at the end of this house party? You’re obliged to accept any respectable offer of marriage.” His eyes gleamed with triumph. “Including mine.”

Eleanor’s fingers fumbled the ties on her cloak. He was, of course, right. A few short days ago, she would have considered herself lucky to receive the address of Lord Oglesby, a man old enough to be her grandfather. So why was she now filled with trepidation to receive a proposal from Jasper, the man she had pined after from the second she laid eyes on him?

The answer came to her at once. She risked nothing by accepting Lord Oglesby, at least, where her heart was concerned.

With Jasper, on the other hand, her heart was already in twelve different kinds of peril. She would be devastated when he came to the sad realization that marriage to the likes of her was not what he wanted after all.

“We’ll speak in the morning, then,” he said as she laid her hand upon the doorknob.

Eleanor fled, for once having nothing in the way of a retort.