Chapter 16

CHAPTER 16

" Y ou sweet boy," laughed a beautiful, rich voice. As Jasper looked up, his mother smiled down at him. He could have described her smile with his eyes closed. Eyes crinkled at the corners, high cheekbones giving way to a broad, genuine smile that seemed to bring light to her whole face.

He realized he was sitting with his mother at the outdoor table they always used to frequent. It had been placed specifically in the shade of a large tree just behind the manor, allowing the people sitting there to admire the sprawling scene of the lush, green estate.

"You shouldn't have," his mother continued, reaching out to give his hand a squeeze.

"I – I just wanted to do something nice for you," Jasper replied, the words feeling strangely woolen in his mouth.

Glancing around him, Jasper tried to remember how he had gotten here. He was overcome with the strangest feeling that he was missing something. Forgetting something that he had to do.

"This afternoon, I will take you into ton," his mother mused as Jasper continued to take in the bright sun overhead and the familiar yet strangely colored scene before him. "It was time we got you some new clothes. You've already outgrown the last pair of trousers we had you fitted for, and I fear, if we do not get you a new pair soon, you will sprout right up so that hem comes right up to your knees!"

She laughed again, putting Jasper a little more at ease.

"I have asked your uncle Reginald to join us," she added.

Yes, Reginald. Jasper had needed to do something about Reginald. Or was it something for Reginald? Why could he not seem to remember anything?

As Jasper sat there, wracking his brain, he suddenly became aware of a strange, unsettling silence. Looking up, he realized that something was wrong. Very wrong.

"Jasper?" his mother gasped, her eyes going wide as she stared at him with a mixture of horror and confusion.

"Mother, what is the matter?" For some reason, Jasper's voice sounded strange in his ears. Young, childish. But he could not help it. She was scaring him.

But his mother would not answer him. She could not. Jasper's heart raced, his breathing coming quick and unsteadily. He wanted to jump up and run for help, but his body would not seem to obey him.

Then, as his mother cried out, Jasper lurched into motion.

But just as he reached for her, he felt his chair slip out from underneath him. Then, somehow, he was falling. Falling past the ground and down, down into the darkness below.

His father's voice came to him in the darkness. It spoke of duty and expectations, but the words were muddled and difficult to understand. Jasper tried to call out, but the sound of his voice was absorbed in the void around him.

So, helpless, he continued to fall. And fall. And fall. Until…

With a gasp, Jasper shot up in bed. His forehead was covered in sweat. Breathing hard, he blinked as his eyes reaccustomed themselves to the darkened room.

A nightmare. One that was all too familiar to him. But he had not had it for several years.

As the cold of the room washed over him, Jasper shivered. There had to be a reason why this dream had returned to him after all this time.

And there was. Arabella.

Trying to get a hold of himself, Jasper leaned forward, head in his hands. Guilt flooded through him, as painful as the sharp, thin pinpricks of his condition.

Arabella was what had brought this on again. And his own behavior toward her. Now he was being reminded of why he had chosen this lifestyle. Why it was so important that he keep everyone at bay.

Still shaken, Jasper rose and went to fetch the pitcher on the table near the window. Pouring some water into a glass, he raised it to his lips. But, as he did, an image from the dream flashed through his mind once more. His body tensed in response and, before he knew what was happening, Jasper felt a fresh, raw pain in his hand.

Glancing down he realized that he was bleeding.

A moment later, there was a knock at the door. But not the main door. It was at the other one, the one that had been as yet unopened. The door that separated his room from his wife's. "Your Grace?"

Jasper opened his mouth to tell her to go back to sleep but, before he could speak, the door cracked open.

A flicker of light was cast into the room as Arabella, candle in hand, stepped inside. Her eyes went wide as she took in the sight before her. "Your Grace!" she breathed. "What on earth has happened. I, I heard some sort of a crash –"

"I have broken a glass, that is all."

She stepped forward. "Then let me help you –"

"No." Jasper's tone was hard. "I can manage on my own. Please, return to your room."

Though Arabella hesitate a moment, her determined expression did not falter. "I will go," she replied, "once I have taken care of your wound."

"A maid will happily –"

"I know now," Arabella assured him, cutting him off. "I have done this many times. Thomas is as clumsy as he is adventurous, unfortunately."

Before Jasper could protest again, Arabella had located one of the duke's handkerchiefs and had dipped it into the pitcher of water. "Sit down," she told him gently.

He was going to tell her no. He was going to insist that she returned to her room and let him be. But no such words came out of his mouth. Instead, Jasper found himself doing as she asked, moving to sit on the edge of his bed.

Standing before him, practically wreathed in the light of the candle which now sat beside her on the bedside table, Arabella gently took hold of Jasper's hand.

At first, Jasper braced himself against the touch. It was only habit, after all. But, when his body did not react to her touch, he told himself that he must be in too much pain to react to anything else.

Silently, Arabella set about cleaning his wound. Dabbing the wet handkerchief over his palm, she seemed to take extra care to only touch him with her fingers when necessary. She stood at a bit of a distance too. A part of Jasper wondered if she was trying to stick to his command, trying to keep her distance as he had asked.

But, as she worked, Jasper found he could not look at his injured hand. Not because the sight of blood made him ill – it did not – but because there was something else he would much rather look at. Someone else.

Arabella was beautiful. The candlelight shimmered over her fine hair, flickering over it as little draughts caught the small flame and cast it to and fro. Arabella's eyes were entrancing, focused as wholly as they were on the work at hand.

And her mouth…those lips parted ever so slightly in concentration. Jasper did not think he could have looked away if he had wanted to.

"This might hurt a little," Arabella warned him. Taking up a fresh handkerchief, she wound it around the cut in his palm. When Jasper winced sightly, Arabella hurried to apologize. "I'm sorry," she said, concern creasing her features. "I have to bind it tightly to keep the wound clean."

Jasper shook his head, showing that he did not intend to complain. "I understand."

When Arabella was finally done, she surprised Jasper by stepping back, her eyes flicking toward the door her to her room. "Well…"

Confused, Jasper wondered why Arabella seemed eager to leave his presence. Never before had she passed up an opportunity to press him further for details. Surely, in such a situation as this, she at least wanted to ask what had happened to him, and how the glass had broken.

But she did no such thing. Remembering, again, his stern warning to her to keep her distance, Jasper felt a strange pinprick of regret.

Then, he recalled his dream. There was a reason why she needed to leave the duke to his own devices. His still stinging palm was a reminder of that.

Standing, Jasper nodded. "Thank you for your assistance."

"Of course." Arabella moved to take up her candle once more. Hesitating only a moment, she turned to go. "Goodnight, Your Grace."

"Goodnight, Duchess."

Jasper moved, following Arabella as she crossed to the door. He was not sure why he did it. But as she turned to close it after her, Jasper stepped forward. "Allow me."

Looking a little confused, Arabella nodded, watching him as Jasper pulled the door shut between them, her face disappearing behind the thick wooden barrier.

For a long time, Jasper stood by the door, listening to the faint rustle of bedclothes as Arabella once more took to her bed and fell asleep. He told himself it was because he was disoriented by the nightmare. Or that he wanted to make sure Arabella was able to fall back asleep after inconveniencing her with his injury.

But whatever the reason, when the duke finally retired himself, he did not fall back asleep.

Arabella sighed, standing as she crossed out of the drawing room and into the hall. She needed something to occupy her mind. She had just spent the last hour or so sitting before a blank page of parchment, trying to decide how to begin yet another letter to Charlotte. But she had not the faintest idea of how to do it. Nor could she figure out why she could not seem to get the duke off her mind either.

He had taken her by surprise last night. Walking in on him, his hand dripping with blood, had certainly not been what she had been expecting when she first awoke in the dark.

She had done what she could for the wound, but now she found herself wondering how he was faring, and whether the wound was showing any sign of infection.

Then, reminding herself that she should not concern herself with such matters – she was still angry with him, and he had specifically requested she keep her distance – Arabella set off in search of a distraction.

Very shortly after, she found herself in the library. Wandering through the shelves for a few minutes, Arabella discovered a section near the top of one that she had not yet explored. Moving the rolling ladder closer so that she could reach it, Arabella climbed up to inspect the untouched novels.

Running her fingers over the volumes, she paused as one unexpectedly caught her eye. She pulled it out to inspect it further. The Widow of the Moors . Arabella had never heard such a title. Though it did bring to mind a certain genera of story that seemed to include such mysterious, romantic titles.

Opening it, Arabella scanned the first page. A hot flush crept up her cheek as she turned to the next page. She had been right. Not only was this a romance story, but it was an improper one too.

Slamming the book shut, Arabella gasped. She had heard of such stories, but had never come across one herself.

Still…

Her interest was piqued. Telling herself that it did not hurt simply to have a look, Arabella glanced around for something to disguise her choice of novel. If she brought two books with her out of the library, she could put the other overtop the romantic novel, hiding its title from any judgmental eyes.

Looking for a moment longer, Arabella spotted something related to horticulture. Perfect. It was nondescript and innocent.

Tucking her scandalous story beneath her arm, Arabella reached up to select the second book. But it was out of reach. Climbing up to the next rung of the ladder, Arabella tried again.

Still, it was just beyond her grasp.

As Arabella stood on tiptoe, sure that another inch or so would allow her to pull the book from the shelf, the silence of the room was split open with a low, taunting voice.

"Careful there."

They were simple words, not too loud or shocking and yet, with as focused as Arabella had been, she reacted as if someone had barged in and begun shouting.

She jumped, her foot slipping on the ladder. Falling backwards, Arabella reached out desperately, trying to catch herself, but with no such luck.

Letting out a cry, Arabella plummeted backward toward the ground.

Then, just as she braced herself for a hard and possibly dangerous impact, two strong, warm arms caught her.

"Wha –?" Arabella blinked, gazing up at Jasper who was now standing over her, her body safely cradled in his arms.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. Arabella tried to understand what had happened. One moment she had been up on the ladder, and then the next…

Jasper carefully set her down on the ground, but he did not pull away. Instead, he continued to stand before her, his eyes roaming her face. "I did try to warn you," he murmured.

It took Arabella a moment to realize that he might have been teasing her. "It was you!" she breathed, still too shaken to sound convincingly angry. "You should not have scared me so."

"You should not have stood on tiptoe to reach a book far out of your reach," came his quick, curt reply.

To this, Arabella had no retort. She hesitated, still trying to assure herself that she had not been hurt in the fall.

But, finally, the world stopped spinning and she could properly face the man before her. Yet, as she glanced up at him, Arabella's confidence flew once more out of the window.

Why was he looking at her like that?

Arabella's face grew hot as she found that her mouth was suddenly too dry to allow for speech.

Jasper was regarding Arabella with an intensity that she had never before seen. And, as she watched, his gaze travelled the length of her face, finally coming to rest upon her lips.

As her cheeks began to burn, Arabella found herself, for the first time, free to take a good, long look at Jasper.

He was handsome. Far too handsome than he had any business being. It were as if a sculptor had chiseled him out of some pure, untouched stone, taking his inspiration from the heavens instead of earth's frail, faulted creatures.

Then, unable to help herself, Arabella's gaze too traveled to his lips.

He was so close now. Near enough to touch. Near enough for…

Jasper cleared his throat, turning to his right and breaking the strange spell they both had been caught up in. "I must ask you to be more careful in future," he informed her. "It would not do to have the ton gossiping about my wife tumbling from the bookshelves in pursuit of –"

He paused, glancing around. Before Arabella knew what he was doing, Jasper had stepped past her and sunk to a knee. She turned, realizing too slowly just what was happening.

When Jasper stood, a fallen book in his hand, Arabella suddenly felt ill. "-in pursuit of ‘The Widow of the Moors,'" he finished. Then, his eyes went skyward. Fixing her with a steady, knowing gaze, Jasper tutted. "Really, Duchess, I had thought better of you."

Shame burnt a straight line from the top of Arabella's spine all the way to the soles of her feet. "I did not – that is, I – this was not – nor could I have known –"

"I believe you knew exactly which novel you were selecting from my library," Jasper replied, still regarding her like a pup who had been caught stealing food from the kitchens. Was that a smile fighting at the corner of his mouth?

"I had only seen the title," Arabella protested. "I do not know what the story is about. If it is improper –"

"Improper?" Jasper's eyebrow went even higher. "What exactly might make this book improper? What had you hoped to find described between the pages of such a novel?"

Arabella wished the floor might open up and swallow her whole. She could not answer him. How could she? Anything she said now would give her away. How could she admit to him that she had indeed been curious about such a scandalous story? That she did suspect she might find matters of a lascivious nature hidden within.

As her body continued to burn beneath his gaze, Arabella silently resigned herself to whatever terrible assumptions her husband was making about her.

Then, to her surprise, a smirk crossed Jasper's features. "I am teasing you," he murmured, leaning in a little as he spoke.

"I – I beg your pardon?"

"I was merely teasing you. I have not read this novel. Though I can guess what it might be about." Jasper turned it over, inspecting the book as if it were something truly fascinating. "I had not expected a lady such as yourself to go looking for such a story."

Arabella opened her mouth to protest again, but Jasper continued. "You surprise me, Duchess," he mused, his gaze once more running up and down her. "Though you seem to be a lady who is full of surprises."

She did not know what to say to that. There seemed to be far too much behind that statement for her to puzzle out. And the way he was still looking at her…

"I did not come here with the intention of surprising you, nor of putting you in danger," Jasper admitted with another half-smile.

"Oh? You could have fooled me."

Jasper chuckled. "Indeed. My intent was to thank you."

This was not what Arabella had expected to hear. "To thank me?"

"For your aid last night."

Flushing again, Arabella thought of her boldness in the night. What must have Jasper thought, seeing her push her way into his bedroom without invitation?

He had not given her permission to use the door between their rooms. In fact, she never would have found the boldness to do such a thing if she had not been worried for his safety.

"How is your hand?" she asked tentatively.

"It still smarts a little, but I think I shall survive."

"You are teasing me again?" she guessed.

Jasper regarded her again, his brow furrowing ever so slightly. "Indeed. I cannot help but do so today, it would seem. Still, I wish to express my gratitude. I had been half asleep. In shattering my glass, I did not intend to wake you. But I am grateful that I did."

Wondering faintly why she seemed to be blushing so much today, Arabella nodded.

"Thank you for your assistance last night. I am sure the wound will heal well thanks to your expert care." Then, to her further surprise, Jasper offered her a small bow.

"I – I am used to such things," she tried to explain.

"Ah, yes, your brother. He must be glad to have such a skilled sister as you."

Arabella was having trouble keeping up. This man had come in here, saved her from a dangerous accident, then set about teasing her for her choice of novel. Now he was treating her with the utmost seriousness? She felt as if she were speaking to two different men.

"I only became skilled because I had to take care of him so much," Arabella offered, making a small joke at her brother's expense.

Again, a small smile threatened to twist up the corner of Jasper's mouth.

"I should thank you, then," Arabella said in reply. "For your actions the other day. When you came to find me in the storm. I imagine spending the night in an old hunting lodge was not something you had intended to do that day."

"No indeed." The hardness in Jasper's expression fell away. He was looking at her with a gentleness now. And it had even more of an effect on her. Arabella suddenly forgot where she was and why she had come to the library in the first place. She could think of nothing but the man now standing before her.

Then, all too soon, it was over. Nodding, the duke turned to go.

Arabella might have let him walk away. She should have. She certainly shouldn't have said anything. The moment the words were out of her mouth, Arabella regretted them. But, spotting the book still in his hand, Arabella stepped forward after him. "Your Grace –"

Jasper stopped, turning back around to face her. Then, following her gaze to the book in his hand, Jasper grinned.

Arabella once again thought about making a break for it. Perhaps she could run out into the hall and avoid yet another embarrassing situation that she had somehow walked straight into.

"Ah. Of course. Your novel." Jasper inspected the book once more. Then he glanced back at Arabella. "I am afraid, Duchess, that I will be keeping this book. I am not sure you may be trusted with such a scandalous novel. Nor should anyone catch you reading such a thing. But do not worry," he added, already turning back to the door. "I shall tell you what happens at the end, if you wish."

Then, without another word, he was gone.

Arabella sank into a nearby chair, burring her head in her hands. Mortified did not even begin to describe how she felt. She would have run up to her room and hidden there for the rest of her life if she thought she might get away with it.

To have the duke catch her with such a novel! To have him tease her about it! And now he was threatening to read it just to see what she lascivious scenes she had been about to discover herself?

Arabella did not think she could bear it.

And yet.

She raised her head, regarding the now empty doorway. His gesture of thanks had been utterly sincere. There was no hint of amusement when he had genuinely thanked her for her help.

This man was no good. He was confusing and convoluted and he never did or said what Arabella expected. She would have every right to keep her distance from him. That was what he wanted of her, after all,was it not?

But why, then could she not stop thinking about him? Why, whenever he left the room, did Arabella secretly wish that he might return?