For Love of the Duke (The Heart of a Duke #1)(10)

The woman, Lady Katherine Adamson, slipped into his mind. With her snapping eyes, the tart edge to her words…his initial opinion of the young lady held true—she was no great beauty. And yet, there had been something very intriguing about this woman who’d not been at all cowed by his presence. Jasper refused to rise to his friend’s bating. Instead, he sat back in his chair, and folded his arms across his chest.

All the air seemed to leave Guilford. “Blast and damn, does nothing I say or do manage to get a rise out of you?”

Jasper scowled. “Is that what your intentions are? To get a rise out of me?” It would take a good deal more than his friend’s ineffectual attempts to bait him to rouse any emotion in him. Again, the ice princess, Lady Katherine, slipped into his mind.

And you, well I wouldn’t wed you if you were the last creature in the world, and the king decreed it to spare my life. Yes, Lady Katherine Adamson was no grand beauty; brown hair, brown eyes, and the faintest dusting of freckles along her cheekbones. And yet…her slender frame, well over a foot shorter than his own six-foot-five-inch figure, had possessed remarkable curves that had layered very nicely against his body. With her body atremble from the cold, and her teeth chattering uncontrollably, he’d imagined her near death experience would have dulled her spirit. Instead, her snappish tone had put him in mind of a hissing and spitting cat cornered in the street.

Guilford continued to sit there in silence, seeming to study Jasper over the rim of his partially emptied glass of brandy. He took another sip. “Who was she?”

“Who was who?” Jasper replied, and tugged open the front drawer of his desk. He withdrew a new pen, and touched his fingertip to the point.

His friend gritted his teeth loud enough for the sound to reach Jasper’s ears. “Don’t be an ass.”

Jasper kept his gaze trained on the ledger in front of him. He turned the page, and dipped his pen in ink. “Lady Katherine Adamson.”

Silence.

“Ahh.”

Jasper’s jaw clenched. He counted to ten, making a desperate bid not to feed that ‘Ahh’. And failed. “And?” he barked. “Do you know the lady?” Jasper didn’t know why it should matter if Guilford knew the spirited creature. It didn’t, he assured himself. It didn’t matter who the hell she was.

Guilford uncrossed his leg, a grin on his lips. “There is an elder sister.” His brow wrinkled. “I believe Lady Aldora. She’s been recently wed to Lord Michael Knightly.”

Lord Michael Knightly. The second brother to the Marquess of St. James purported to be as rich as Croesus, and ruthless in matters of business.

Jasper had heard of the man; knew there was some scandal or another attached to his name, but it went back years ago, to a time when bits of information such as that might have interested Jasper. No longer.

Furthermore, Jasper didn’t give a damn about Lady Aldora.

His friend must have followed the unspoken direction of his thoughts, for he continued.

“It is my understanding that Lady Katherine has a twin sister. A lovely creature, far more beautiful than the lady you fished from the river. They made their Come Out this year. Both remain unwed.”

And you, well I wouldn’t wed you if you were the last creature in the world, and the king decreed it to spare my life.

His lips twitched in remembrance of her spirited outburst.

“I say, did you just smile, Bainbridge?”

Jasper growled. “No.”

Guilford downed the remaining contents of his glass and then leaned over, placing it with a loud thunk upon Jasper’s mahogany desk. The usual easy smile worn by his affable friend now gone, replaced by a somber set to his mouth in a show of pity that was neither wanted nor appreciated. Jasper had seen that look those three years ago. He gripped the arms of his chair hard enough that his nails bit into the wood and left marks upon the surface.

“She would not want you to live like this, Bainbridge.”

His grip tightened.

Guilford seemed unaware of the volatile emotion thrumming through Jasper, for if he was, he’d surely have known to cease his barrage.

Instead, he continued. “Lydia loved you. She would want you to be happy.”

Jasper looked at a point over Guilford’s shoulder, flexing his jaw. “You dare presume to know what Lydia would want?” Not a soul had known another so well as Jasper had known his wife. From her smile to her gentle spirit, he knew her better than he knew the lines that covered his palm.

Guilford shifted forward in his seat; the aged leather cracked in protest. “Then you tell me, Bainbridge, you who knew her better than any other. Would Lydia be so cold and cruel as to want to see you live your life as this hard, unforgiving, empty man you’ve become?”

“Go to hell,” Jasper snapped.

His friend inclined his head. “I believe your response shall suffice as an answer.” Guilford climbed to his feet, and fished around the front of his pocket. He extracted a small book, no larger than the span of his palm and dropped it onto Jasper’s desk. “Consider it a bit of an early Christmastide present,” he murmured.

Jasper dropped his gaze.

Byron’s Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage.

“It is the story of a world-weary man looking for meaning in his life,” Guilford went on.

“I don’t—”