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MARGARET PACED THE room. Tomorrow, she would become Mrs. Owens.
Her plan had worked. They were in Gretna Green, and tomorrow they would marry.
Except... Margaret wasn’t the least bit happy.
Mr. Owens was gone. She could sneak away. Obviously, her reputation would be forever ruined, but...
Perhaps her father would agree for her to remain a spinster and not force the duke into an unwelcome, permanent union with her.
She hesitated, then opened the door tentatively to the corridor.
Commotion sounded from the corridor, then she spotted a man rushing toward the door. The man looked curiously like Jasper.
Obviously, she’d never be able to stop thinking of him, and she gave a wistful sigh.
“Margaret!” the man hollered. “Margaret!”
Her heartbeat quickened.
It couldn’t be him.
She’d last seen him in Dorset.
And this was a posting inn in Scotland.
“Jasper?” she squeaked.
“Margaret!” the man rushed toward her. “You’re here! I found you!”
“Er—yes.” She stiffened. She resisted the urge to leap into his arms or any such sentimental nonsense. Instead, she eyed him cautiously.
Perhaps he desired to bring her back to the castle. No doubt her family had been shocked by her elopement. And perhaps he simply wanted to purchase something from the blacksmith’s shop before they traveled back.
It was just that Gretna Green was awfully far Dorset.
Even the kindest host could hardly be expected to volunteer to return somebody to her parents after another guest absconded with her, no matter how much he concerned himself with his guests’ every need.
No, there could be no other reason for him to be here. This was far from his castle.
He must have come for her.
Jasper might have stopped running, but voices and the sound of pounding feet still could be heard behind him.
People were chasing him? Margaret scrunched her eyebrows together.
“Blast it.” Jasper turned to her. “You’re coming with me.”
“What?”
“Tell me you don’t love that man,” Jasper said.
“That’s none of your business!”
“And that’s not an answer.” Jasper grinned and threw Margaret over his shoulder.
“What are you doing?” she shrieked.
“Carrying you,” Jasper said. “I can carry things too.”
Margaret didn’t answer. The world was upside down. She was grateful the hotel proprietor had decided to decorate the inn with sideboards and potted plants, and not tables and porcelain vases. The walls looked sufficiently threatening, even if Jasper’s grip was firm.
Jasper.
Margaret’s heart pounded, and not simply for the excitement of being hauled away from her room.
He was here.
Truly here.
People appeared before her. Their faces were red, and they hollered vulgarities, most of which seemed to be about the importance of placing Margaret down.
“Where are we going?” she asked.
“To a certain blacksmith’s shop!” Jasper shouted, while opening a door.
“A blacksmith’s shop?” Margaret’s heartbeat quickened.
Did Jasper mean—? She shook her head.
He couldn’t mean that. She couldn’t daydream he meant that. She simply couldn’t allow herself to be disappointed.
They descended some stairs. People swarmed around them, and Jasper swore.
He set her down on her feet and clutched her hand. “Don’t let go.”
A tremor went through her at the touch of his warm hand. She hadn’t had a chance to put on her gloves before leaving the room, and their skin touched, reminding her of their time in the maze.
“Hurry!” Jasper shouted, and they rushed through the crowd.
They exited the posting inn and onto the street. Jasper pulled her confidently along, and she soon spotted a blacksmith’s shop.
Her heartbeat continued to quicken.
Jasper did seem very eager to go to the blacksmith’s shop.
But then again, perhaps he’d broken a wheel to his coach and had found it vital to purchase a tool so he might fix it himself. Men could be quite attached to their carriages. Personally, Margaret would have hired someone with the tool in question, but then, no doubt there was a certain satisfaction in fixing the issue oneself.
But perhaps he didn’t want to purchase anything.
Perhaps he—
She swallowed hard.
I won’t hope. I won’t hope. I won’t hope.
They arrived at the blacksmith’s shop. A queue of people was outside, but Jasper barged into the shop, still clutching her hand.
“You’ll have to go in the back of the line,” the blacksmith said.
“I’m the Duke of Jevington.” Jasper let go of Margaret’s hand, then he took out a small satchel that clinked in a most curious manner.
The blacksmith’s eyes rounded, and he accepted it hastily.
“We’ve been waiting too!” A couple said behind. “You can’t simply go ahead.”
“The ceremony is short,” the blacksmith said, as if worried Jasper might take the satchel back.
Jasper grinned and removed another satchel. He handed coins to everyone in the line, and gleeful murmurs sounded around Margaret.
Then he returned.
She stared at him, conscious she’d never met anyone like him, conscious her legs trembled, conscious everything might just be fine.
“What’s happening?” she asked.
He grinned. “Did I not tell you? We’re going to get married.”
An orchestra began to play in her heart.
“You’re proposing inside?” the blacksmith asked.
“Indeed.” Jasper leaned closer to her. “So, what do you say, sweetheart?”
“But why?” she asked.
“Because I love you,” he said, his voice more serious. “Because I adore you and want to spend the rest of my life with you. Because these past weeks without you have been appalling.”
She was quiet.
“Now what do you say?” There was an odd pleading tone in his voice.
She struggled for breath. Emotions cascaded through her.
“Yes,” she breathed.
Jasper swept her into his arms and kissed her.
“First things first,” the blacksmith said sternly, and Margaret giggled.
A commotion sounded outside.
“Better be quick,” Jasper said.
The blacksmith beamed. “That’s my specialty.”
*
JASPER WAS A MARRIED man and he led his bride into their bedroom.
A month ago, he would have thought the phrase would have struck fear in him, but a month ago, everything had been different. Now he was delighted. Ecstatic.
Music wafted from the public house below. He stared at Margaret. She was so lovely, so beautiful.
Jasper had refused to stay in Gretna Green, lest Mr. Owens cause more trouble. Still, Margaret and he were married, and there was little Mr. Owens could do. They’d returned back to the inn to fetch Juliet.
Margaret approached him. “You’re grinning.”
“I’m happy.” He took her into his arms and kissed her.
The kiss was long and delicious, and he clutched her to him.
“I love you,” he said.
“I love you too.”
Jasper stroked her hair. The bed might not be as sumptuous as the beds in his various properties, but he’d never been so eager to be in one. He flung her onto it. Removing clothes had never been so important, and he wished he hadn’t delegated so much of his clothes removing process to his valet. Any advantage would be valuable now.
Because Jasper’s skin needed to be against Margaret’s skin.
He craved her, as he’d never craved anyone before.
His manhood grew, ready to plunge into her, ready to immerse himself in Margaret’s softness, Margaret’s warmth, Margaret’s wonderfulness.
Her eyes were wide, as if still incredulous at his presence.
He despised that.
He abhorred that anyone had ever made Margaret feel dismissed. He vowed to make Margaret feel magnificent.
Because she was magnificent.
He kissed her throat. It wasn’t his first time kissing her throat, and it wouldn’t be his last.
She shuddered against him, clasping onto his shirt, as if she thought she might faint. Her vanilla scent wafted over him.
He needed more.
More soft flesh to kiss, more silky locks to delve his hands into, more Margaret.
He turned her over and fiddled with her stays until they were sufficiently loosened.
This was Margaret’s back.
And this was Margaret’s right shoulder. And this was Margaret’s left shoulder.
Everything about Margaret was perfect.
“I thought I’d lost you,” Jasper groaned.
“I’m here now.”
“Oh, yes you bloody are.” Jasper continued to kiss her. Deeply, desperately. Because he needed to ascertain that she wasn’t simply an apparition, that she was truly here, truly his.
He’d dreamed of this moment for days, and he didn’t want to wake up in some posting inn and know he’d only conjured her.
“We’re married,” Margaret murmured. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“Say it again,” Jasper said.
“We’re married. And I’m not going anywhere.”
Jasper thrust more quickly inside her, allowing the words to sweep through him.
They were married.
And she wasn’t going to leave again.
And they were going to live happily-ever-after.