Chapter 21

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

D ear Readers,

It is with great delight that we report on one of society's most eligible and illustrious dukes, appears to be showing a keen interest in none other than Miss S. The Duke of W singled her out at no fewer than three grand balls and was seen riding with her in his phaeton in Hyde Park. Yet another sighting occurred at His Majesty's Theatre last evening. As you may recall, Miss S was recently entangled in scandalous rumors involving an illicit tryst with the notorious Earl of W.

While the duke's attentions to Miss S have been noted by many, his true intentions remain unclear. Could it be that he is finally in search of a bride this season? However, the stain on Miss S's reputation lingers despite his interest. No other gentlemen seem willing to ask her to stand up at balls, though she continues to bravely make her appearances. Will the duke's regard lead to a happy event or more scandal?

"Have you seen this?" his mother's voice cut through the air like the crack of a whip as she slapped the gossip sheet onto the polished oak desk.

"I don't read gossip rags," Jasper replied with indifferent civility, not bothering to look up from the investment reports he had been studying.

"Windermere!"

Sighing, he gave her his attention. His mother, seated with her posture ramrod straight, bristled with disapproval, her eyes narrowing as if the air itself had offended her. She was the very picture of aristocratic grace, her gown impeccable, not a strand of her silver-threaded hair out of place. Even seated, she held an aura of authority, a regal presence that had once silenced entire drawing rooms with a mere glance.

"You danced with Miss Shelton at least three times and took her to see the opera last night," she said sharply. "And three days ago, you rode with her in your phaeton through Hyde Park."

Jasper closed his reports with a deliberate slowness. His mother resided primarily in her dowager house in Russell Square and rarely visited his residence. Grace, on the other hand, enjoyed the freedom to move between both homes as she pleased, a privilege that never failed to delight her. "Surely you didn't leave your home to inform me of something I am already well aware of."

Her lips thinned as she regarded him, her tone growing colder. "I thought you were being kind at Lady Tilby's ball, as Graceann considers Miss Shelton a friend. But now, you've danced with her at three events, and she is the only woman you've singled out. Are you completely indifferent to the rumors swirling in every drawing room, linking your name with hers? I do not approve of this association."

"Oh?" Jasper arched a brow, his tone edged with disdain. "Is there something about Miss Shelton that I ought to find distasteful?"

His mother's mouth pressed into a thin line. "She was caught in a compromising—"

"Miss Shelton was defending herself against a libertine's advances," he interrupted icily. "A fact that should earn her admiration, not condemnation. She is not responsible for the cruelty of others."

She appeared taken aback by his tone for a moment, but she recovered quickly, her eyes hardening. "Have you forgotten the promise you made your father?"

Jasper's gut clenched, the tension in the room tightening like a noose.

"Why do you bring that up now, madam?" His voice was clipped, betraying the storm brewing beneath his calm exterior. "What does it have to do with Miss Shelton?"

His mother's gaze didn't waver. "I merely wish to remind you that your duty is to marry the Earl of Redfield's daughter, as you vowed to your father on his deathbed."

"I am well aware of my duty," he ground out, his tone cold enough to freeze the air between them. "There is no need to remind me."

Satisfied, the duchess nodded once before rising gracefully to her feet. Without another word, she swept from the library. Even as she disappeared, her words lingered like a specter of duty, ever watchful, ever reminding.

Jasper leaned back in his chair, pressing his thumb and forefinger against the bridge of his nose. His mother never missed an opportunity to remind him of the promise he had made. It was as though she feared he might forget the last request his father had made of him to marry Lady Cassandra.

Bloody hell .

Perhaps he should have explained it was all a pretense, that he was not truly courting Honor. However, he wanted to preserve her pride and dignity.

Jasper had just settled back into his chair when the door to his study swung open again. This time, his sister barged in, her face set with determination.

"Jasper, I need to speak with you," she announced, not waiting for an invitation to stride inside.

He raised an eyebrow, leaning back in his chair. "Has everyone taken to invading my study unannounced today? What is it now?"

Grace didn't seem in the mood for his sarcasm. She strode to the center of the room, her brow furrowed. "Honor explained everything to me."

Jasper straightened slightly, narrowing his eyes. "What do you mean by everything?"

"Given your recent interactions and speculation from the scandal sheets, I was concerned. We met at Berkeley Square for fencing lessons, and I asked her what was happening. She explained the arrangement between the two of you," she said, crossing her arms over her chest. "The fake courtship, the pretense you put on for society."

He was relieved she wasn't speaking of anything more personal. "And what of it? We both agreed it was necessary to restore her reputation. It's nothing more than that."

Grace's troubled expression didn't ease. "I know that. But there's something else ... something you might not see."

Jasper lifted a brow. "What is it?"

His sister hesitated, biting her lip before speaking again. "I've always felt that Honor has been remarkably attracted to you, even though she has done her best to hide it. She is my friend, Jasper, and I am afraid you might eventually shatter her heart."

He stiffened at the accusation. "Don't be silly, Grace. This is a mere show of pretense, nothing more. How in the hell would matters of the heart come into it?"

Grace gave him a long, searching look, her doubt evident. "You should know better than anyone that matters of the heart have a way of creeping in when you least expect them."

"Given I have never been entangled with matters of the heart, I do not know," he clipped. Yet, his sister's words struck deeper than he liked to admit, but he kept his expression neutral, his tone terse. "There's nothing to worry about. I am not going to hurt Honor."

She didn't look convinced, but she merely sighed. "I hope you're right. Because if you do hurt her, Jasper, you will feel my vengeance," she warned, her voice serious, though a faint smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. "Now, I am off to go shopping with Mother."

With that, Graceann turned and left the room. Jasper watched her go, bemused, his thoughts circling back to what she had said about Honor always wanting him. Desire curled through him at the thought, and for a moment, he let it linger, imagining what it would be like to feel more than just her admiration. But then he ruthlessly pushed it aside, determined to keep things respectable between them. He would not let this charade spiral into something more.

Another week had passed, and despite Jasper's attentions, it was painfully clear to Honor that society still deemed her supposed transgression too great to forgive. The whispers that reached her ears were enough to confirm it.

"I think His Grace pities her," one lady murmured. "Why else would he be so kind?"

"Perhaps he is indeed courting her," another suggested.

"I've heard the duke already has an understanding with someone. It's all very secretive, but it exists."

Gasps rippled through the group.

"Well, should he marry her, everyone will scramble to be invited into her circle. But until then, everyone is waiting, and so should we."

Honor fought the urge to flinch, a growing heaviness pressing against her chest. But she refused to let it take root. In truth, she had no desire to be accepted by such hypocritical vipers. Real friends were like Grace—loyal, steadfast, unafraid to stand by her in times of hardship.

Her thoughts momentarily shifted when she saw Moriah, dancing with Viscount Creswick, stumble before righting herself. Honor's gaze darted around to see if anyone else had noticed the misstep, her worry easing as she caught sight of the bright smile on her sister's face.

"Windermere has arrived!" someone whispered excitedly.

"Do you suppose he'll dance with another lady tonight?" came another speculative voice. "It is truly outrageous that he only stands up with Miss Shelton."

Honor's fingers tightened around her fan, and predictably, her heartbeat quickened. Jasper had arrived, looking impeccably elegant as always—his black trousers tailored to perfection, a form-fitting evening coat emphasizing his broad shoulders, and a dark blue waistcoat that she knew, somewhat conceitedly, matched the intense blue of his eyes. Grace strolled beside him, ravishing in a golden gown that draped her body with an understated elegance.

As they made their way through the crowd, exchanging pleasantries with several guests, a young lord approached Grace, inviting her to the dance floor. She accepted, leaving Jasper to make his way toward Honor. She could feel the eyes of the room on them, some guests clearly crestfallen while others looked pleased, perhaps speculating or even privately wagering on his intentions.

When he reached her, Jasper bowed. "Will you honor me with this dance, Miss Shelton?"

Honor smiled and placed her hand on his arm, allowing him to lead her to where the other dancers gathered. As they took their places, she placed her left hand on his shoulder, feeling the steady warmth of his body through his coat. His right hand settled firmly at the arch of her back, and she slipped her other hand into his, feeling the strength and control in his hold. The waltz began, and Jasper swept her effortlessly into the rhythm of the music, spinning her into a world of pure feeling.

"You seem unhappy tonight," he remarked, his voice low but filled with quiet concern.

Honor's gaze flickered up to meet his. "Not unhappy. Bored," she confessed.

"Bored?"

A soft, self-deprecating laugh escaped her. "I feel almost angry, and I am uncertain why. Is that not the most baffling thing?"

"No," he said, his gaze intent on her face. "Tell me your worries."

"Why?"

"So that I can solve them for you."

Why did his promise etch so deeply into her soul? Honor peered at him, hardly daring to read too much in his implacable words yet longing to have such a steadfast partner in her life opened inside her heart. Why would he do this for her? "Are we friends, Jasper?"

"Yes."

Do friends kiss each other often? Instead of asking that provocative question, she said, "I feel disenchanted with this constant cycle of social events. Life must have more to offer than this—endless rounds of pleasantries and hope that people will like you enough to invite you into their circles."

Jasper's gaze intensified, studying her face with the kind of attention that provoked flutters low in her belly.

"You're longing for something more," he said, more a statement than a question.

The discontent in her heart was a palpable ache. "I wish I were at 48 Berkeley Square," she said, glancing briefly at the crowd around them, "or somewhere else entirely. I know with utmost certainty I do not wish to be here."

His grip on her waist tightened slightly. Jasper spun her in wide arcs before drawing her close. "Tell me where you want to go, Honor, and I will take you."

Her heart gave a wild thud at his words, rebellion and excitement warring within her. For so long, she had followed the unspoken rules of society, keeping her desires neatly contained. But here was Jasper, offering her a way out—if only for a moment. The wild, reckless part of her, the one that longed for adventure but had always been too uncertain to step forward, reared its head.

"First, take me to 48 Berkeley Square so that I might don a masquerade mask ... and then take me to a gambling den."

Jasper's steps faltered slightly as he processed her words. His gaze locked with hers, sharp and unreadable as if trying to decide whether she was serious.

"You cannot be serious," he murmured, though a spark of intrigue flashed in his eyes.

Honor lifted her chin. "Why not? Surely, if I am to step out of society's expectations, I should do it thoroughly."

His mouth twitched, the ghost of a smile threatening to break through his serious expression.

"Do not do anything you will regret," he said, his voice low and laced with something almost dangerous.

"I will not regret it," she said achingly. "Not as long as I am with you."

Jasper's gaze darkened, and for a moment, Honor thought he might refuse her. But then he leaned and said, "Very well. If it's a gambling den you wish to experience, I will take you."

"Do you not think it is wrong for me to want to experience this?"

"No. Life gets tedious when one stays within the limit of what is already known."

Exhilaration crashed over her senses, thrumming through her veins. "How perfectly said," she whispered.

The night suddenly seemed full of possibilities—dangerous, thrilling, and far from boring.