Chapter 14

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

J asper Endicott, the Duke of Windermere, pulled his stallion's reins, slowing as he rode through the rain-soaked streets. What had started as a light drizzle in Hyde Park had quickly turned into a downpour. He hadn't minded at first—the solitude, combined with the rhythmic sound of rain, had given him space to think. His good friend, the Marquess of Hollybrook, had earlier filled his ear with the latest scandal over drinks at White's. It wasn't like Jasper to be invested in gossip, but the mention of Miss Honoria Shelton had piqued his interest.

Jasper found the entire situation dubious. The elder Miss Shelton, the quiet wallflower and a close friend of his sister Grace was hardly the sort to engage in scandal. On the other hand, the Earl of Whitby had a notorious reputation as a libertine. He had ruined his fair share of debutantes and, more than once had weaseled his way out of any real consequence. Jasper had seen firsthand how Whitby worked, always keeping one foot within the boundaries of propriety. But ruining a lady like Honor? The thought had filled him with cold fury.

He frowned as he spotted a figure stumbling through the rain ahead. The person's gait was unsteady, and their head was bowed as if they were oblivious to everything around them. Jasper's eyes narrowed as he drew closer. He recognized the unmistakable petite yet voluptuous figure of Miss Honoria Shelton.

She was soaked to the bone, her dark hair plastered to her face and neck, and her gown clinging to her, heavy with rain. Worse yet, she was crying. She hadn't noticed him, nor had she heard his approach. Jasper clicked his tongue and gently pulled his horse to a stop beside her.

"Miss Shelton," he called out, raising his voice to be heard over the rain.

She didn't respond, lost in her own world of anguish. Jasper swung himself down from the saddle. He shrugged out of his own coat, though it was already wet, and stepped toward her.

"Miss Shelton," he said softly, reaching out to drape the coat over her shoulders.

She flinched at the touch, startled. Her wide, tear-filled, bright silver eyes met his, filled with confusion and despair. Even then, they were astoundingly beautiful.

"Your Grace?" Her voice trembled, barely audible.

"You are likely to fall ill, Miss Shelton. Please allow me to assist you."

She looked like a drowned rat, albeit an incredibly pretty one, and it was clear she'd been walking for some time.

"You shouldn't be out in this weather," he murmured, carefully bundling her into his coat.

It swallowed her small frame, but it should offer some warmth and protection from the downpour. He lifted her onto his horse, guiding her legs over the saddle. Miss Shelton didn't resist; she simply followed his lead, clearly too exhausted to argue.

Jasper mounted behind her, wrapping an arm around her waist to keep her steady. He urged his stallion toward his townhouse at Grosvenor Square. He didn't take her home. Not yet. He needed to understand what had driven her to such a state. They rode in silence, the only sound between them the steady clop of hooves on the wet cobblestones and the relentless patter of rain. Miss Shelton shivered slightly against him, but she didn't speak or ask where they were going. Jasper respected that silence. He knew what it was like to want to disappear into it.

By the time they reached his townhouse, the rain had slowed to a steady drizzle, though both were thoroughly soaked. Jasper dismounted first and then turned to help Honor down. Her legs wobbled as her feet hit the ground, and she stumbled forward. Jasper caught her easily, lifting her into his arms in one smooth motion.

"Your Grace," she gasped, her voice sounding hoarse. "Please ... I ... I can walk!"

"Easy there," he murmured, his voice soothing as he held her close. "It is not inconvenient for me to carry you, Miss Shelton."

As if she had no more will to fight, her head rested against his shoulder, and without another word, he carried her inside. The front door swung open quietly, and Jasper entered.

His butler's eyes widened. "Is Miss Shelton well, Your Grace? Should I request Lady Grace's presence?"

"Yes. Miss Shelton could do with a friendly shoulder. Fetch a hot pot of tea and some towels, Hornsby. Quickly."

The butler bowed and hurried off.

Jasper continued through the hall, carrying her up the stairs toward a private parlor on the second floor. Once inside the room, he set her down gently on a chaise near the fireplace, the warmth from the hearth immediately chasing away some of the chill. Miss Shelton huddled in the oversized coat, pulling it tighter around herself as she shivered.

Jasper stood back, his gaze lingering on her. He had known Miss Shelton for a few years, mostly through his sister Grace, who was very fond of her. But now, seeing her like this—vulnerable, broken by something beyond her control—made something tighten in his chest.

"I will have towels brought up and some dry clothes for you," he said quietly, watching as she blinked up at him through red-rimmed eyes.

Miss Shelton whispered, "Thank you."

Jasper nodded, feeling an odd sense of protectiveness wash over him. Whoever was responsible for her pain—whether it was Lord Whitby or their unforgiving society—wouldn't go unchallenged. Not if he had anything to say about it.

He looked away and raked his fingers through his hair. What the blazes am I thinking?

The door creaked open, and the housekeeper entered, carrying several fluffy towels draped over her arm. She glanced at Honor, then back at Jasper, her brow furrowing slightly in concern.

"Your Grace, Lady Graceann went out with the duchess for afternoon calls and hasn't yet returned home," she informed him quietly, setting the towels on a nearby chair. "I have instructed the staff to prepare warm water and tea as you requested."

"Thank you, Mrs. Statham," Jasper replied, his voice steady. "Have a room prepared for Miss Shelton."

"Yes, Your Grace." After a slight curtsy, his housekeeper exited the room, leaving them alone again.

"A room will be ready for you in a few minutes. However, I do not think it wise to remain in those sodden clothes even a moment longer. Would you like for me to summon a lady's maid to assist you?"

Miss Shelton shook her head, her fingers fluttering to her throat. How delicate she seemed as if at any moment she would shatter.

"I will leave," he said, walking toward the door.

She shifted slightly then reached down to remove her sodden walking boots. She tugged them off, setting them aside before pulling off her soaked stockings. She unpinned her hair, allowing the weight of it to fall in heavy, damp waves down her back.

His intention to leave momentarily forgotten, Jasper sucked in a harsh breath, unable to stop himself from staring. Her hair tumbled to her hips in a cascade of dark waves, gleaming in the firelight, and for a moment, he found himself speechless. He'd never noticed before how truly lovely she was. He wanted to touch that hair. To sink his fingers into its thickness. To bury his face in it and inhale.

Bloody hell . Jasper scrubbed his hand over his face. His reaction was unpardonable.

Her slender fingers trembled as she tried to wrap a towel around her wet tresses. The task seemed to overwhelm her, and after a brief pause, her shoulders shook under the weight of her sobs. Jasper walked over, gently took the towel from her, and wrapped it around her hair, twisting it to absorb the dampness. Each of her sobs felt like a sharp stab in his chest, the sound cutting through him. Since knowing Miss Shelton, she always seemed polite and reserved. Grace had told him that the stronger Miss Shelton felt something, the more withdrawn she became, as if her inner shell protected her against anything that would leave her vulnerable. Whatever she experienced must have been profoundly upsetting for her to lose her composure like this in front of him.

Miss Shelton pressed a hand over her mouth, clearly trying to stifle the sounds of her anguish. Jasper carefully removed the soaked towel and used another to wrap her hair into a turban. Her body shook so violently that he couldn't tell if it was from the cold or the force of her emotions. Gently, he tugged her toward the warmth of the fireplace. Settling into the armchair, he pulled her into his lap. She didn't resist, instead collapsing against him, burying her face in his chest as if seeking refuge from the world.

His heart squeezed. Jasper understood all too well that instinctive need for comfort. He was intimately familiar with how a touch, a hug, or a quiet word could offer solace. As he held her, he murmured, keeping his voice low and soothing. "Whatever it is, all will be well."

She shook her head fiercely in denial, her voice raw as she croaked, "I cannot marry him. I couldn't bear it."

"Then don't marry him," he replied quietly.

"But I must secure my sister's happiness."

Ah, he understood the pull of duty and family's expectations well. Miss Shelton cried until she had no tears left, and the entire time, he held her close, stroking her hair and whispering gentle reassurances. The trembling that had wracked her body eased. Gradually, Miss Shelton's sobs quieted, her breathing slowing as the storm of her emotions began to subside. For a moment, her body softened completely against his, as if she now felt safe and secure.

Then, as if realizing the intimacy of their position, Miss Shelton's body went rigid, and her fingers, which had been tightly clenched into his waistcoat, loosened as if she'd been burned. Slowly, she pulled back, her movements hesitant and awkward. Jasper watched her, his heart suddenly pounding in his chest.

She looked up at him, her silver eyes still shimmering with unshed tears but now filled with something else—mortification, uncertainty, and something deeper that he couldn't quite place. He raised a hand to cup her cheek, to feather his thumb along her delicate jawline. Jasper's gaze dropped to her lips. The shape of her mouth fascinated him. He had never seen such kissable lips on another.

He lowered his hand, not liking the train of his thoughts. They stared at each other, the air between them thick with an inexplicable tension. Then, to his utter shock, she leaned forward, closing the small distance between them, and pressed her mouth to his. The kiss was soft, tentative, and fleeting—yet it sent a bolt of heat through him, catching him completely off guard. He froze, too stunned to react, his mind struggling to process what had just happened. But he couldn't ignore the warmth of her lips, the sweetness of her breath mingling with his.

Miss Shelton pulled back almost as quickly as she had leaned in, her breath shallow, her cheeks flushed with the boldness of what she had done. Jasper's heart jerked an erratic beat in his chest. Her eyes were wide with confusion, as if she, too, couldn't believe her actions.

Suddenly, she scrambled from his lap, stumbling in her haste, her face red with mortification.

"Forgive me," she cried. "I ... I don't know what came over me. I've taken leave of my good senses and judgment!"

Jasper stood slowly, hiding the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"There's nothing to forgive, Miss Shelton," he said calmly. "Your nerves were understandably overwrought. This ... lapse in judgment is not at all worrying."

"It cannot be," she croaked, her fingers fluttering to her throat. "I took advantage of you! It was a most wretched thing to do, and I deeply apologize, Your Grace."

Jasper smiled, a wave of amusement and fascination stirring within him. Took advantage of him? With that fleeting brush of her mouth?

"Miss Shelton—" he began, but she cut him off, her voice rising with self-reproach.

"I should not have kissed you. It was improper, and I—"

"That," he interrupted drily, "was hardly a kiss."

Her eyes flared in shock. "It was most certainly a kiss!" she retorted, her indignation making him blink.

Jasper stared at her for a long moment, her affronted expression only deepening his fascination. With a slow, deliberate movement, he stepped toward her. Before Miss Shelton could react, Jasper reached out, his hand wrapping gently around her wrist. He tugged her forward and hauled her against his chest.

"This," he said, his voice low and rough, "is a kiss."

He lowered his mouth to hers, capturing her lips in a deep, searing kiss that sent unexpected fire coursing through his veins. Miss Shelton froze at first, her breath catching in her throat, but then she melted into him, her hands clutching the front of his waistcoat as she responded to the intensity of his embrace. His hand slid into her hair, loosening the towel that still bound her damp tresses as he pulled her closer, his mouth moving over hers with fierce possession.

The world seemed to fall away, leaving only the two of them wrapped in the heat of the moment. Her soft lips moved against his, and every brush of her mouth sent a jolt of desire through him, igniting a fire he wasn't sure he could extinguish.

That awareness made Jasper pull back, his breath ragged as he stared down at her. Miss Shelton's eyes were wide, her lips slightly parted, and her cheeks flushed with shock and desire.

"That," he murmured, "is what you should be mortified over."

Miss Shelton blinked up at him, clearly dazed by the force of the kiss. She seemed at a loss for words, her breathing uneven. Jasper couldn't help the small, satisfied smile that tugged at the corners of his lips as he gently brushed a stray lock of hair from her cheek. "Now, do you still think you took advantage of me, Miss Shelton?"

"I'm a bit dazed," she admitted softly, "but, Your Grace, I'm not quite mortified yet."

And with that, Miss Shelton pulled him down and kissed him, this time with deliberate intent.