Chapter Twenty-Four

Everything Changes with Love

Frederica put another pillow over her head, burying herself in the bedclothes. The noise coming from Jasper’s room was unbearable.

Jasper.

The man acted like a child in want of attention, making enough racket to wake all of Grandbole. What a horrible Christmas Eve. No songs by the fire, no steaming mugs of wassail, no joy. There wasn’t enough frankincense in the world to anoint the grounds to heal it of a despairing Yuletide.

Travel would be the best for all. How soon could she leave? And, if she let Templeton and the duke know of her leaving, then maybe the fiend would find out and not come for her friends. Frederica couldn’t live with herself if the thief hurt anyone else, none that she loved.

The racket continued—maybe a dropped book. Could he be barring her door to keep her?

Her heart pounded at the noise, more things falling, or sounding like they were falling apart.

Must Jasper pout? In a few months, the danger should be over. They might try again. Maybe he’d like-like her more.

At last, the dragging stopped. Now nothing but footsteps could be heard.

What was he doing?

Did he hope she’d weaken and ask?

She counted his steps, as she’d done this past week. One, two, three, creak— opening his closet door. Four, five, six— to his drawers for his night shirt.

Seven eight. Nothing.

There should be a flop and whine as he moved to his bed.

Silence.

She lay back with her eyes half open. Waiting.

Then a pianoforte played.

What?

It was music. “The Last Rose of Summer.” How could she hear it up here?

It was too clear to be coming through the floorboards.

“Jasper?”

“Yes, my dear?”

“What’s going on?”

“If you’re brave enough, come find out.”

She pulled on her robe and went to the door. Holding her breath, she pushed on the doorknobs and entered his room. It had been cleared—no rug, no ridiculously large bed, just his chest of drawers remained and the pianoforte.

The chestnut instrument sat in the middle of the room as Jasper played.

He looked up and hit a wrong note. “I’ll never understand how you can sit and play without looking.”

“Practice and having a critical father helps. I had to be perfect to hold his attention.”

“You’re nearly perfect. And you’ve held my attention. Right from the start.”

She folded her arms. “Jasper, you could’ve just knocked on my door if you wanted to talk. You didn’t need to do this.”

He nodded and stilled his fingers. “You do small miracles every day. I wanted to do something grand, show that you’re worth every effort. I also have no bed. Would you take in a poor husband?

“I don’t want jokes, Jasper.”

“I don’t want you traveling. We’re just beginning, and the girls love you. We need you to stay.”

“The girls will be fine. You’ll hire a music teacher, a good one. The countess will be helpful. You might even consider—”

“But I need you. Frederica, I need you.”

He came to her and lifted her mobcap. “And I want you free about me, not lost to fears, real or imagined.”

She backed away, and the cap stayed in his hands.

A thick curl fell, coiling and springy to her face.

“Not free enough.” He came closer and cast off her hair papers and pins, loosing her locks.

Frederica fingered a wavy strand that fell over her eye. “Wild enough for you, Jasper? This is me free.”

He powered his hands into her tresses. “You can’t slip through my fingers and leave me, not if I hold on to you. You’re so beautiful.”

Stepping away, she slicked her hair back, behind her ears, down her shoulders. “You’ll make knots and tangles. Martica will have such work to make me presentable.”

“Anything that helps hold on to you is preferred.”

“I can’t keep doing this, Jasper. You married me to keep me from marrying someone else. You say you won’t let me go because I want to leave. No more.” Her voice sounded strangled, but everything became hard near him.

He stepped closer. His savory tarragon smell crowded her, and she retreated to the pianoforte.

“Then maybe I should say I think I love you.”

“Why Jasper? Is it because you think I love you?”

“No, Frederica. I know you love me.”

She huffed and turned from him and barreled into the pianoforte with a thud. Frederica hit at its top. “Why must everything be unbalanced with you?”

“I like you unbalanced. It means I have a chance.”

His whisper flowed along her neck. It felt like he kissed her skin. Oh, goodness, she was leaning on the pianoforte like at Downing. She turned and folded her arms. “What are you trying to prove now?”

“That we’re better together. That I’m afraid to lose you. And I’m a fool—for you.”

“I’ll travel for a few months. The thief will know I’m gone. No one else will be in danger. We can try again then. Maybe you’ll miss me enough to be sure.”

“I don’t want you to go. I’ve been afraid for your safety. Been afraid of you marrying someone else. Been terrified that the passion I have for you will destroy us. But there’s no us without you. That’s my biggest fear—no us.”

How could she risk everyone’s safety and even more of a broken heart? Her fingers sank into the lapels of his robe. “They say absence makes the heart grow fonder.”

“Those people are stubborn, lonely fools. Absence will make me as miserable as abstinence in a marriage filled with this much love. You’ve made Christmas time good again at Grandbole, and it’s only been a week. The children—”

“They needed love. To know they matter. The countess has helped, and Theodosia. I’m just a bonbon. They’ve done the important things.”

“Now their father must do the important thing and keep their stepmother here. If you leave me, I’m outnumbered again.”

“You’ll manage.”

“No, I need to wake up to you always.”

“If something happens, you’ll mourn, and then regret will bind you to a bottle. I can’t be responsible for that.” She dropped her head into her hands. “And I don’t want to have to try and please you, too. Your expectations are too great. It’s like pleasing Papa.”

“I’m not the duke. Don’t make me into him. Your blinking makes me happy, not all the hundreds of things you do. I did all this, a grand gesture, to show you how much I care.” He tipped her chin again, his thumbs trailing the length of her jaw. “I’ve not regretted a moment except for that scared drunken speech downstairs. We should celebrate our marriage every night instead of merely listening to the sounds of sleep. I hungered for you to call to me. To give a little, to save my pride. But all that’s gone—pride, vanity. I can’t lose you.” He dropped on his knees and scooted to her. “I’m begging you not to leave.”

“Get up.” She brushed a tear away. “The thief said he’ll hurt you.”

“What if I know who he is and can expose him?”

Her lip trembled. “You know his identity? You can stop him?”

“Yes, I believe I do, but I need him to confess.”

“Who is it?”

“Frederica, I’ve invited all the suspects to come tomorrow, along with the duke. He returned to Downing this afternoon. He doesn’t know we’ve married. I don’t want him inadvertently telling our fiend. I want our thief surprised so he’ll stay off-balance. That’s how we’ll get him to confess.”

“On Christmas Day?”

“Yes.”

“You expect him to come caroling? Perhaps sup at my table? Shall I serve him your favorite roast?”

“He’s been looking for you, Frederica, hunting all over town, even to Suffolk. It’s time we invite him here, to our home, so we can trap him. If you still want to leave afterward, I won’t stop you, but you’ll leave free—for we’ll have fought the fiend together. What say you, Lady Hartwell?”

“It’s such a risk, Jasper. If anything happens to you or the children…”

“The invitations to each suspect will arrive at noon to transport them here. The girls will be safe at Tradenwood with extra footmen in place. When our suspects show at two in the afternoon, we’ll be ready. We’ll face this together.” He kissed her throat, nestling his nose against the tender arch of her shoulder. “Together. Don’t you want that?”

With his fingertips tracing the scalloped edge of her robe, every shiver imaginable coursed through her. “Jasper, what are you doing?”

“I suppose I do need practice if you’ve no clue.” He crowded her at the pianoforte. There was no place to run.

So she didn’t and looked up into his eyes.

His pupils were large in the candlelight, with irises that now seemed dark blue. “Let love guide us.” He put a hand to her waist and drew her close. Her breath hitched, but her heart surely stopped when he kissed her. The pressure wasn’t light. It was intentional, silencing almost every doubt she had.

His Christian name was all she could manage. “Jasper—”

He kissed her again, deepening it, making her go weak against him.

“Away, you’ll be safe from the thief—but not from me, not from the love that’s here.” He looped a finger about her robe’s ribbon and tugged. “No excuses, no living dishonestly.”

“We haven’t been dishonest. We’ve been truthful. I married my good friend.”

“So marrying me is like marrying Theodosia? Oh, I’ve certainly been doing this wrong. Must correct that.”

“Jasper.”

He slid her robe to her elbows.

The feel of his rough hands on her skin. Breath stealing, life giving caresses.

“You’ve been in my mind since you first wrapped flowers around me, lashing me to a maypole. Since I awoke with you in my bed, in my arms—and you’ve been in my heart ever since.”

She slipped from him and sank down at the keys. “Perhaps I should play you something to help you sleep.”

She started a concert for him, anything to slow her thoughts, but her need for him raced faster, stretched wider than the range of notes.

He dropped beside her and hummed against that spot on her neck. “You’ve taken me down, cut this big man to pieces. It was easy, for I was half-dead. But you’ve made me want to live abundantly in your love. Love me, Frederica.”

“You don’t love me.”

“I must love you. Nothing less can explain this feeling.”

“It’s not enough. It doesn’t mirror my heart. A little time away, I’ll gain perspective. Then we can go on.”

His sigh flushed her skin as well as his kiss.

“I’ll do what you want.” He crowded her on the bench. “I won’t fight. You’re my friend, my dearest one.”

With a kiss to his cheek, she stood. “Good night, Jasper.”

“One thing. One errand you can do for me?”

“Yes, Jasper. What?”

He rose from the seat and stood before her, onyx robe sliding half off his thick arm, his bared chest. “You said you could make me love you. Make me love you more. I want to be everything to you, Frederica. That’s what you deserve. That’s what you are to me.”

There was no fighting it. She was Burghley’s daughter. Her mother had slain a duke’s heart. The daughter could surely conqueror a willing viscount’s. She reached for him. “Then kiss me and prove that I’m everything. You know how you like to prove things, Jasper.”

He brought his smile to hers.

His hands slipped under her robe and massaged the small of her back.

And when he returned to that spot upon her neck, her spine turned to mush.

Then she floated like a butterfly as he scooped her up into his arms.

She was above the piano, feet dangling as he spun her until she was dizzy.

And she clung to him more tightly as he carried her to bed.

The close of her doors.

Two robes swooshing to the floor.

Jasper’s murmured words, ones that sounded of love.

But Frederica was lost, lost to his tenderness, lost to his kisses—deep ones, light ones, nothing-held-back ones.

Then the mystery, the mystical union unfolded—unrestrained and unending.

And her husband loved her, once.

Definitely twice.

And in the wee hours of the morning, she reached for him again for good measure.