Chapter 15

Chapter Fifteen

She has such a mind of her own. I wish I knew how to change it.

~Crispin Sinclair’s journal entry, 1814

W hen he arrived, Cece was sitting on a stone bench by the servant’s entrance he’d broken into a few short weeks ago.

She’d been waiting her entire life for Crispin Sinclair.

When it was Jasper Noble who showed up.

He halted when he spotted her, his lips parting in surprise. Moonlight adored him, cutting shadowed hollows beneath his sculpted cheeks and casting a golden shimmer down his long body. He was dressed for a caper in head to toe black, the lock pick in his hand there one second and gone the next. Her man of mystery.

“I don’t want to talk,” Cece said because she didn’t. They weren’t going to agree. Either she gave in or he did. She accepted the man he’d become, and he accepted the woman she’d remain.

Only, she wasn’t sure they could do that.

Her heart ached at the notion—but desire was stronger than heartache.

Cece didn’t lead him to her bedchamber. Instead, she tugged him through the kitchen and into a scullery smelling of nutmeg and flour. The cookies she and Josiah had made earlier were on a tray in the parlor.

When the scarred pine door closed behind them, she pushed him against it and pressed her lips to his, offering herself. She recorded the mad flurry of sensation while urging Crispin to offer himself. It was only fair. Sliding his hands beneath her bottom, he lifted her high, giving her no choice but to loop her legs around his waist, her arms around his neck. Connected, finally , the lock pick tumbled to the floor, and he kicked it away with a ragged groan.

Thankfully, the kiss wiped her mind clean.

His ragged breath hit her cheek, his fingers curling around her thigh as he fit her body to his. His shaft was hard, and she was powerless to contain her cry when he ground himself against her core. His hoarse whisper floated free— God, yes —his need trailing like a hot ember down her spine.

In desperation, they toyed with each other.

Fingers tangled in sweat-dampened strands, in silk and pressed cotton, clips and buttons striking the planked floor. His murmured devotions tickled her ear as his teeth sank into the tender skin at her nape. The scent of spice and leather drifted into her throat when she pressed her lips to his jaw in reply. He cradled her face to hold her still and ravaged her mouth, his tongue circling hers until she couldn’t have stood had he placed her feet on the floor. A ripple of wind drifted in the window and across her in a coy caress.

Pulling out of the kiss, he guided her gaze to his. His eyes were hooded, lost to desire, burning a bright, brilliant blue. She knew the same ferocity was mirrored in hers. His heart thumped, matching the furious rhythm of her own. She braced her fist on the doorjamb and shifted her hips, grinding against his cock, no words needed. His lids fluttered, his head falling back. It was the most sensual second of her life, watching him crumble .

“Upstairs,” he whispered, the command streaking into the night.

“ Here ,” she returned.

Then, she added seven simple words.

“I want you to fuck me here”.

The world blurred as his control snapped. Arms tensing around her, his mouth captured hers as he carried her across the room. She twisted her fingers over his coat lapels, and when he placed her on the butcher’s block, shoved the garment from his body and to the floor. They didn’t disrobe any more than was necessary. His shirttail yanked from his trousers, the buttons opened by two sets of trembling fingers. Her skirt lifted and bunched around her waist. She’d worn nothing beneath her gown, her plan to have him the only plan she knew would succeed.

When he realized this fact, he went wild.

He teased her nipples through layers, thumbing the throbbing peaks as their kiss spun into eternity. His fingers danced through the damp hair at her core, lingering to slick her folds with her own nectar. “You’re so wet, minx,” he murmured, every delicious, dirty thing coming out of his mouth making her arousal soar. How he recognized her lewd side so clearly, how he knew she desired this, she couldn’t say.

She dropped her brow to his shoulder as he worked a finger inside her. Then two. Slowly, too slowly, like he was storing the shape and feel of her to memory.

“Harder,” she whispered and through the open neck of his shirt nipped his skin. “Faster.”

Surrendering in his own way, Crispin wrapped his arm around her waist and dragged her bottom forward on the block. She didn’t think to stop him when he dropped to his knees and shoved her thighs wide with his shoulders. The rush of pleasure when he sucked the nub topping her sex between his teeth was more than she could comprehend. Blinding, breathtaking bliss .

He understood how to destroy her. To turn any argument she might make to dust.

Tangling her hands in his hair, Cece urged him on, lifting her hips and helping him find a perfect fit. She’d never looped her legs over a man’s shoulders… but the fit was perfect. Unbelievably, he allowed her to control the pace as she closed in on her release. It was similar to ri ding astride him in some debauched, utterly delectable sense. Except this was his tongue and fingers, not his cock. The image of his head nestled between her thighs, the indigo gaze he turned to her dazed with longing, sent her over the edge.

She used him as she found what the world was missing, and he gladly let her. The orgasm was endless, cycle upon cycle of sensation. He stepped up and in before the ripples of pleasure had left her. Before her vision had cleared or her breath returned. Before she could speak or make a move to continue their interlude.

“I can’t wait, minx,” he whispered and positioned the engorged crown of his shaft between her tender folds. There was no reason to wait—she was ready, and he was breathless. Before he slid inside her, she touched him, her fingers curling around his smooth length. The sight of him so rigid amidst a thatch of dark brown hair left her thunderstruck. He let her stroke him, once, twice, three times, before ripping her hand away and taking control. In seconds, they were joined hip to hip, her leg hooked around his waist and pulling him in deeper. They rocked and grinded without thrusting, a novel experience. A merging without aggression. With tendrils of delight still coursing through her, this gentle abrasion stunned in its magnificence. She’d never imagined such a feeling from so simple an act—during what was not a simple act at all.

He exhaled sharply as he grasped her knee and locked it against his lean hip. “I’m going to come soon if we don’t slow down.” His voice was tattered, his plea desperate.

She held her body still until he opened his eyes, blinking as she came into view. His hair was an inky tumble about his face, his skin dewy, his cheeks flushed. His pupils were huge, black forcing out blue. He looked close to losing his mind, his senses. He was nearing his limit—because of her .

“I want to watch you, Cris,” she said and trailed her knuckle down the scar on his neck. She shifted her hips and squeezed her muscles around his shaft. He groaned, his throat pulling in a long swallow. The hand holding her knee tensed, his fingertips digging into her skin. “I want you to break apart before me. I want to be your fantasy.”

His chest hitched, and he shouldered away a bead of sweat trailing down his jaw. Dazed, he echoed her words like a child, “You want me to break apart. You want to be my fantasy.”

Statements with an edge of desperation attached to them.

She licked her lips in challenge, inviting danger, inviting him .

He pressed his brow to hers, his terse exhalation striking her lips. His gaze roved her face, calculating, deciding. “ Fantasy ,” he repeated. Seizing her mouth, he dove into a feral, almost angry kiss. Then without comment or warning, he lifted her from the block, disengaged from her body, and placed her feet on the floor. She grasped him to keep from pooling into a sated puddle at his feet.

“Remember later you asked for this,” he whispered as he turned her, bracing her hands on the block. “Hold on, Countess, because I’m going to prove you have always been my fantasy. My only fantasy.”

Then he growled and took hold of her hips, positioning her. His arm came around her, his hand sliding north to find her breast, his thumb her nipple as he thrust inside her. He curved his body over hers and, knocking her hair aside, kissed the nape of her neck as he pumped. His skin was moist, his body hot, his possession complete.

She moaned and arched, sending him deep, while discovering how exquisite lovemaking in this position could be. How spots, before untouched, came alive . In response to her enthusiasm, his hand covered hers on the block, their fingers linking.

After this, it was a race forged on passion and need. Their moans and the slap of skin echoing about the space, creating a brutal union, raw and unrestrained. She couldn’t imagine sharing this with another living soul. It was too intimate, too real. It was a part of her only Crispin could see.

The shimmer began as a heavy feeling between her thighs, a thickening of the blood in her veins. A raging heartbeat she couldn’t control. Her body quivered like a bow, vibrating into his. He groaned as his arm tensed about her, drawing her bottom into his pelvis with a hard thrust.

“I’m not leaving you,” he whispered urgently, his rhythm increasing. “Not ever again.”

Yes , she thought, but the sound arriving from her lips was garbled. Pleasure had her in its teeth, and there was no escaping the fury .

Knowing exactly what to do to make her come before he did, his talented fingers found the aroused nub of her sex and, within seconds, had her crying out, trembling against him. “Now,” she gasped, wave after wave rolling over her. “ Now .”

“We are each other’s fantasy, minx,” he vowed, his lips at her ear. “I am yours, you are mine .”

If nothing else, about this they agreed.

He clung to her as he found his release and swallowed hers whole, interlocked puzzle pieces bent on delight. In those moments, they were given a rare gift. One body, one mind, one purpose. Staggering and wondrous.

Cece didn’t recall sliding to the floor, Crispin’s arms wrapped protectively about her, where they huddled until their skin cooled and their breath slowed. Releasing a watery sigh as he tried unsuccessfully to rouse her, he bundled her up in his coat and carried her to her bedchamber. Cleaned her with a moist cloth while whispering endearments she couldn’t fathom, then tucking her beneath her counterpane like a child.

He’d taken her to a realm she had yet to return from.

She was dead to the world before her head hit the feather pillow.

Jasper checked the scullery twice before relaxing in the knowledge they weren’t going to get caught over a misplaced cravat or stray hairpin. Cece’s loupe had tumbled from his pocket at some point and rolled beneath the butcher’s block, a desperate search forcing him to crawl about on his hands and knees to locate it.

He was jittery, nerves thumping, a restless sort of energy that had him pacing the length of the parlor while Cece’s staff of exactly two placed breakfast dishes on the sideboard. They gave him curious glances but otherwise, as domestics were trained to do, didn’t speak a word. He wasn’t lounging about in her bed where he wished to be, his clothing was right as rain, his hair was only vaguely disheveled. He had the look of a titled aristocrat down pat .

He didn’t appear to be a man who’d tupped their employer until she was near expiration.

Hell, until he’d been near expiration.

The grin was uncontrollable, a wicked slant of his lips flashing in the cheval mirror he passed. The night had been a revelation, a confirmation, a bloody marvel. He’d never had sexual experiences like the ones he had with Cece. He’d never wanted to stretch out beside a woman and talk after he’d laid her across a butcher’s block and… gone a little mad. He’d never been anxious over an encounter. He considered himself an unselfish lover, he made sure pleasure was given if at all possible, but he’d never worried about securing love .

“Love,” he whispered and strode to the window as panicky as a groom on his wedding day. Which was what he was going to try to convince Cece they needed. A wedding.

He tapped the dirty pane and squinted into a brilliant burst of sunlight. Her lawn was overgrown, the hawthorns in a dismal state. He recalled the information received from his investigator about her meager finances, the trifling funds Edgerly had left her. Jasper had blunt enough for both of them for three lifetimes… but something told him Cece wouldn’t be overly swayed by a discussion about money.

Stressing again, he crossed the room to pour tea, then placed the cup on the sideboard without taking a sip. There were things to occupy his time while he prowled the space. Figurines on a shelf, staid portraits of Edgerly’s ancestors, a quite unattractive group, lining the walls. Plates and napkins on the table to straighten. He paused in the motion of polishing a spoon with his sleeve.

Cece would accept his proposal, wouldn’t she?

He had a plan, after all. Perhaps not as grand as Xander Macauley’s and the “making two signs for Pippa” business, but he had a very solid strategy. An offer. One he would never, ever make for another person. He glanced at the folio on the table, documents delivered this morning by an overly compensated emergency messenger.

He was offering to become that damned baron.

To step back into a persona he didn’t want. He wanted Constance Willoughby—Crispin Sinclair could fucking walk a plank for all he cared—and Cece wanted Crispin .

Tapping the spoon on his thigh, Jasper sighed and sank into the nearest chair. So, step back he would.

If that’s what it took to win her.

However, first , he planned to offer Jasper Noble on a silver platter along with a side business of sorts he thought would make her happy. If she wavered, he was prepared to toss the baron in to sweeten the deal.

After he talked to Josiah, that is. She didn’t have a father or brother to give their blessing.

But she had a son.

Josiah materialized as if Jasper had summoned him, sprinting into the breakfast room with Mara hot on his heels. His hair was damp at the tips, his clothing rumpled but clean. It was madness keeping a young boy in check, he realized with a slight, very slight pang of fear.

Josiah gave him a two-second glance and marched to the sideboard. Jasper had been around enough for the boy to accept his presence without question. This thawed the icy dread in his heart enough for him to jump in.

Mara, conversely, eyed him like a dead mouse the cat had dragged in. She was keen, that one. She knew exactly what his attendance at this early hour meant.

Jasper stepped in beside the lad before his keeper made it over, taking a plate, and starting to dish out food. “Eggs? Sausage?”

“Everything but them stewed tomatoes,” Josiah said and danced in place. “An extra slice of cheddar if you will.” He lowered his voice, a whisper that was no whisper. “Miss Mara doesn’t give me near enough cheese. Or biscuits, now that I think on it.”

Jasper smiled, picturing watching this boy grow up. Helping him mature into the man Jasper hoped he’d be. His own father had done a horrid job, and he had the scars to prove it, inside and out. He was determined to change the Sinclair pattern of parenting by example, starting today.

Jasper settled Josiah at the table on the shadowy side of the parlor. Thankfully, Mara took a seat by the window, giving them enough distance for some semblance of privacy. He felt as cagey as he would if there was a father to discuss his plans for Cece.

While Josiah shoveled in food, Jasper edged into a serious discussion. He spun his teacup three times on the saucer, earning a suspect glare from Mara, before he started. “Your mother is still asleep?”

“Headache,” Josiah mumbled around a bite of toast. “I jumped on her bed, woke her up, and she about tumbled to the floor. Her hair looks like a crazy animal got into it, a nest of squirrels or something. Her cheeks were really rosy, too. Like apples. She had the blankets all clutched up at her throat like it’s winter. Must be freezing or something. She’s always cold.”

This comment elicited another vexed stare from Mara.

Jasper coughed faintly, muffling the urge to pat his chest. He wasn’t having an asthmatic fit in front of some stoney-eyed governess, that was for damned sure. “You see, Jos, I have a question to ask you. A very important question.”

Chewing furiously, Josiah dragged his toast through a dollop of blackberry jam. “I’m listenin’, Mr. Noble.”

Jasper tapped his finger on the saucer, Cece’s loupe burning a hole in his trouser pocket. “You see, I’d like you to call me something else someday. I don’t feel much like a mister, actually. Jasper might suit us better for now.”

Josiah stilled, the gravity of the discussion finally dawning on him, in part at least. “Jasper,” he said, rolling the name around his mouth like a sweet. “For now… and then later?”

The gravity hit Jasper as well. He was offering to be this child’s father. Cece’s husband. His family was within grasp. He only had to convince everyone he was worth the effort. And the trust. “I would like to marry your mother, Jos. And have her—and you, of course—live with me in London. Or, if your mother wishes, for me to live with you in Northumberland. We’d have two homes, you see, if this makes you happy. Her father is no longer with us, so I’ve come to the man of the family to ask permission.”

The toast tumbled from Josiah’s hand. “ Me ?” he croaked and streaked jam-stained fingers down the front of his shirt. “I’m the man of the family?”

Jasper bowed his head. “You are.”

Josiah scooted back until his tiny bum hit the chair’s spindles. He straightened his shoulders with a grin. He’d lost a front tooth in the past day. Jasper didn’t want to miss the loss of the next one. “I suppose I am, girls being so weak and all.” He tilted his head, his gaze narrowing. “You ain’t asked her?”

Jasper laughed; he couldn’t help it. His hand covered Josiah’s sticky one where it rested on the table. “I haven’t, I swear.”

Josiah thought on this. “If she says yes, you’d be my da? And I might have a brother or sister someday? I’m hoping it’ll be a brother… but I’d try to be decent even with a silly old girl.”

He squeezed the boy’s hand, the kick of pulse beneath his fingertips flowing through him like a warm tide. Jasper’s eyes stung, and he swallowed past the emotion clogging his throat. Cece could be pregnant as he’d not taken the normal precautions. He promised never to take them again. “I’d like that. A big family sounds wonderful.”

Josiah got directly to the heart of the matter. “Is she still mad at you?”

Jasper paused, his lips parted. Was she? He had to be honest—Cece’s temper ran hot, probably not a surprising reality to her son. “Maybe.”

Josiah slumped back with a groan. “Oh, blimey, then. You’re doomed. My ma doesn’t hold much for fools, which you are, according to Miss Mara.”

Mara gasped from her spot in the sun, apparently not far enough away for true privacy.

Jasper propped his elbow on the table and turned to the lad, prepared to argue his case, when Cece marched into the parlor, her gorgeous ginger locks contained by a multitude of clips, her pale-yellow gown crumpled but mostly presentable.

However, her cheeks blazed with color no one in the room could miss.

Uh-oh , Jasper thought as Josiah murmured the same beneath his breath.

“I’d like a moment alone with our guest,” Cece said in a dulcet tone Jasper wouldn’t have bet two shillings was genuine.

Josiah grabbed a scone as he edged off his chair. His whispered “good luck” as he strolled past gave Jasper more courage than a thousand fatherly permissions would have. Even Mara, who obviously believed him to be one rung beneath a court jester, gave him an encouraging smile as she guided the boy from the room.

Cece stretched him on the proverbial rack as she crossed to the sideboard and poured tea. She added sugar and milk, then stirred with clicking motions of the spoon.

Jasper counted the taps, getting to twenty before his patience deserted him. “Am I in trouble here, Ce?”

She turned to lean against the sideboard. He hated that his body thrummed at her steady regard as surely as it had when she’d drawn her fingertip down his hip. A flitter of sunlight rippled over her, lighting up her dazzling ginger strands. He wanted to touch her, kiss her, but she seemed unapproachable. “I don’t know. Are you?”

Jasper exhaled and curled his fingers around her loop, an item she’d be vexed about him carrying around like a lovesick swan. He wished he had his spectacles on to provide a layer between him and her censure. Her gaze was brilliant this morn, an emerald slicing him to pieces.

To hell with it , Jasper decided and moved ahead with his plan.

Grabbing the folio, he rose and strolled to Cece, hemming her between his body and the sideboard. It was an approach meant to intimidate, a move a spy would make. It said a lot about her strength of character that she recorded it without a flicker of distress. She stood toe-to-toe with him, and bloody hell, he loved her for it.

He wasn’t a tender man. Or, if he’d been at one time, tenderness had departed somewhere along the brutal path he’d taken. But he adored this woman with every fiber of his being—and she was right. In the depths of his soul, he was kind.

He just didn’t want anyone but her to know it.

“You could do worse,” he said, the most inelegant start to a proposal he’d ever heard.

Cece laughed behind the teacup she’d lifted to her lips. “I have done worse.”

Not caring to discuss a topic set to anger them both, him particularly, he opened the folio and flipped through the pages before extracting a sheet. Turning to her, he offered the first part of his compromise. “Caroline Norton and Hildy Streeter wish to organize a women’s rights group, and they’d like you to lead. No forging required, by the way. You may not enjoy being a countess, but in this case, the title can only help you. This project requires time, and a substantial bit of it, spent in London. I had nothing to do with this beyond telling Hildy you might be here more often. Consider me the messenger.”

Cece licked her lips, sending a jolt to a part of his body he’d hoped was appeased for the moment after last night. The scent of her skin—teasing, delicate, sweet—drifted his way. If he tried, he could still taste her.

Taking the page, she scanned the message Hildy had sent him two days ago. “This terrace isn’t mine for long, as I mentioned. Edgerly’s cousin is moving in this winter. Therefore, I have no place to reside in Town.”

Jasper took a subtle breath of courage. “I have a lovely residence in Bloomsbury in need of feminine consideration. I’ve been told my breakfasts could be greatly improved upon, according to Nelson, my wise beyond his venerable years valet. There’s a back parlor that would make a suitable office if one were seeking such a space. It gets morning sunlight when London’s weather is charitable. A better situation than the smaller space you inhabited last time. Roomy and it has shelves. And two windows instead of the one.”

Cece pressed her lips together, hiding a soft smile.

She isn’t angry , he thought, delighted and frightened to the depths of his soul. His life was shifting beneath his feet, his world’s axis in a free spin.

She was going to say yes.

The air around him took note of the transformation and fairly crackled.

“I could find a tenancy, perhaps,” she said and placed Hildy’s offer atop his open folio. “Lady Thompkins-Reeve is retiring to the country and is leasing her home in Fitzrovia. Although I’m not sure I can afford it.”

“No more sneaking around, minx,” Jasper said, his patience leaking away on a fast exhale. “I’m not picking any more locks to get to you. I’m coming in the damned front door. You’re mine . You know it, and I know it. I’m yours . There’s never been a day since the first we met that this wasn’t true, not for me. ”

Cece placed her teacup on the sideboard and smoothed her hand down her bodice. An image of her pert, pink nipple disappearing between his lips flashed through his mind. His body responded instantly, reducing his negotiating power instantly.

“You’re missing a key element in this graceful argument of yours, Noble.”

He frowned, wishing again for his spectacles. Amazingly, wishing she would call him Crispin in that husky voice of hers. “It isn’t an argument, Countess,” he murmured, “but more a proposal.”

“Ah,” she said and cleared her throat of laughter.

He didn’t mind being laughed at. Not if she said yes. “Josiah gave his permission. I asked this morning. At least, I think he did. His mouth was so full of toast I can’t be completely sure.”

This statement shook her. Finally . “You asked Josiah about—” She stumbled, bouncing her hand between them like a ball.

Jasper paused, stunned, realizing he’d never asked her the question.

The legal document he lifted from the folio trembled in his hand. He presented it to her with his love, his future, his everything. “I want to marry you, Ce. My dream since I was nineteen years old, as you used to know. I told you often enough, asked you a thousand times as we walked the fields of Northumberland. I’ve changed in ways time decided for me, but in this, nothing has changed. My feelings for you remain. In fact, they’re stronger than ever. I’m far from perfect. The truth is, I’m not good enough for you. Nevertheless, I want you with every beat of my heart. If one night passes without you, it’s going to be one too many.”

With fingers that also trembled, she took the paper, her cheeks blanching as she read it. Her gaze shot to his, her green eyes fever bright. “You would assume the title for me?”

“If that’s what it takes. I don’t need him, but I need you. I love you, Ce. I love Josiah. I want us to be a family.” He scowled, a muscle in his jaw ticking. “Mara can come, too, I suppose, even though she despises me.”

“She’ll learn to love you. You have that effect on people.” Cece dashed a tear from her eye. “We could be starting our family even now. ”

His vision blurred hearing these words outside the prayers circling his heart. “I want more children. I want it all . This news isn’t going to scare me, minx, if that’s what you’re expecting.”

Cece stepped into his arms when he opened them, crushing a baron’s resurrection between them. “Crispin Sinclair can remain in the past. I don’t need him anymore. I love the man in my arms with my entire being.” She sank into him, seeking a deeper embrace. “Although I refuse to call you Jasper in private. That, I find I cannot do. And please, no more ‘Countess’ for me, not ever again.”

Jasper caught her firmly against him. Cradling her jaw, he tilted her lips to his. The kiss was a tender invitation that spiraled into the promise of more. Her heartbeat tangled with his through layers he couldn’t wait to strip from her beautiful body.

She sighed, sending the taste of ambrosia skimming down his throat.

Before they got carried away, he pressed his brow to hers. “My proposal arrives in three parts, darling Ce. You must let me finish.”

She wiggled her hips against his embarrassingly rigid cock. “Is this part three?”

He trailed his lips down her cheek with a throaty whisper, “I’ll make an addendum. Lovemaking is part four.”

She stepped back, snagging his gaze. “What more could you give me, Crispin? If I have you and Josiah, I have everything I desire.”

“If the baron’s heir is unaccounted for, the title remains in abeyance. Happily, the vacant Sinclair estate is available for purchase through some legal wrangling, since it was an acquisition acquired through a wager. My solicitors dug this little nugget of a fact up after months of research. It would make quite the magnificent spread, two Northumberland estates joined into one. The baron’s tenancies are rather profitable, actually, with enough blunt coming in every year to update your home and the attached outbuildings. Your stable was once in need of repair, as I recall. If a neighbor in the village happens to think I resemble the young man from long ago, I’ll smile and accept the comment without reproach.”

“The stable roof is near to caving in,” she whispered. “The conservatory I’ve always wanted to restore could use some love. The dwelling with the arched windows and iron finials we, oh , we had our second kiss in. I’m afraid for Josiah to play in there, though he wants to, for fear of the place collapsing on him.”

Jasper grinned, his heart swelling. “I remember that kiss. I remember them all. Your luck is holding because love is what I’m offering in any form you’ll accept it. Nelson, I have to tell you, is very keen on moving north. He feels his health will improve greatly with cooler temperatures and less coal smoke, so I’m agreeable to accommodating him if you are.”

Cece’s gaze skated away as she began to chew on her bottom lip. “I’ll have to sign over the Northumberland property when we marry?”

Ah , he thought, so this is her concern .

Cradling her cheeks in his hands, Jasper pressed a gentle kiss to her lips. Her skin was warm to the touch, warming him in return. Finally, he was coming home. “Ce, I’m flush. Not to be tastelessly frank, but I’ve no need for you to sign over your family home. In writing, upon our marriage, your estate stays with you. The spy game paid well as have my investments. Wonder of wonders, but I’m suited to trade, the least likely profession for a baron. I seem to have a mind for capitalizing on my monetary reserves, and my new friends have helped. The icing on the biscuit, my father would have loathed my association with the Leighton Cluster, even with a duke or two thrown in. Therefore, this piece brings me unparalleled joy.”

“I’ll be slogging about with the Leighton wives, then?” She frowned, realizing he’d had more to do with crafting her future path than he’d admitted. “You have it flawlessly planned, putting your former skills to fine use. I feel managed—and after I’ve spent the past month chasing you down.”

Jasper laughed, his delight boundless. “Leighton wives? Hildy would be incredibly displeased with this nickname, and Pippa would sock you in the nose if you called her such. She’s a force, that one, an ideal match for Xander Macauley.” He trailed his hand down her body, over the teasing curve of her breast. “What about my effort to chase you, darling minx? I’ve never agonized over a woman this much in all my days, as you well know. ”

Cece’s throaty exhalation whispered over his cheek. “Due to your extreme dedication to the project, I’ve decided to let you catch me.”

“For how long?”

“Forever,” she said and, curling her hand around the nape of his neck, drew him into the kiss of a lifetime. “Forever.”