For Love of the Duke (The Heart of a Duke #1)(11)

“Read poetry. I know. But you used to, and I thought perhaps as it is Christmastide, and a time of hope and new beginnings, that you might find a renewed love for the written word.” Guilford opened his mouth as if he wished to say more. Instead, he sketched a short bow. “Good day, Bainbridge. I shall see you tomorrow.”

“You needn’t come by,” Jasper barked when his friend grasped the handle of the door.

“I know. But that is what friends do.” He paused. “Oh, and Bainbridge?” He reached into the front pocket of his jacket once more and fished something out. He tossed the item across the room. It landed with a solid thump atop Jasper’s desk, coming a hairsbreadth away from his ledgers. “I managed to retrieve Lady Katherine’s reticule. I thought you might return the item to your lady.”

“She’s not—”

Guilford took his leave. He closed the door behind him with a soft click.

“My lady,” Jasper finished into the silence. He momentarily eyed the small pale green reticule, reached for it, and then caught himself. With a curse, he shoved it aside and instead picked up Byron’s recent work. He turned it over in his hands. At one time, Jasper had read and appreciated all the works of the romantic poets. When he’d courted Lydia, he’d read to her sonnets that bespoke of love and beauty. Her death had shown him that sonnets were nothing more than fanciful words, not even worth the ink they were written in.

Yet, Guilford somehow believed the remnants of the man Jasper had been still dwelled somewhere inside him. When all the servants had fled in fear of the Mad Duke after Lydia’s death, Guilford had been unwavering in his steadfastness; the one constant in Jasper’s life, when all friends had gone.

And how did Jasper repay that devotion? With curt words and icy dismissals.

Jasper tossed the book down and stood so quickly his chair scraped along the hard wood floor. He proceeded to pace. Guilford dared to drag him away from Castle Blackwood and thrust him back into the joy and merriment enjoyed by mindless members of Society. His gaze skittered off to Lady Katherine’s reticule, and he cursed.

Why couldn’t Guilford have just left Jasper to wallow in the misery of his own making in the country? There, Jasper was not made to think of anything beyond the loss of Lydia. His staff, a deferential lot, knew to judiciously avoid Jasper’s path. Yet, in the span of a day, he’d been forced to take part in the Christmastide festivities upon the Thames River, and he’d not enjoyed any hint of a reminder of the time of year when Lydia had died amidst a pool of her own blood.

He punished himself by dragging the memory of her into focus, except…

He blinked.

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.

And yet, the fiery, vixen whom he’d pulled from the river flashed to his mind.

Jasper raked a hand through his hair. In that moment, he loathed Guilford for dragging him off to that infernal fair, and he loathed himself for allowing Guilford to drag him off, because then he would remain blissfully ignorant of the snapping Lady Katherine, who’d infiltrated his thoughts and robbed him of Lydia’s image just then.

His jaw set in a hard angle. If his friend believed Jasper had returned to London to rejoin the living and take part in any of the winter festivities, he was to be disappointed. Outside of his own solitary presence, Jasper had little intention of intermingling with any members of Society.

He picked up the book of poetry at the edge of his desk, and fanned the pages. His friend thought to give him poetry of the romantics. Either Guilford was a lack-wit, or foolishly unaware that the last book Jasper would ever pick up was the drivel of romantic poets spit upon the written page. There had been a time when he had enjoyed the words of Blake and Byron immensely. Not any longer. Not since life had taught him the perils of love.

He tossed the gift aside. Since that night, he still allowed himself to read, but his interests had changed a good deal. A hard smile formed on his lips. And certainly the last thing he’d care to read were books of romance and love.

Jasper strode over to the table filled with crystal decanters. He pulled the stoppered out and splashed several fingerfuls into a glass. If he was to remain in London, he had little intention of resuming his previous way of living.

The sooner Guilford realized that, the better off they all would be.





5



“Oh, my goodness, Katherine, will you not speak of it?”

Katherine sat at the window seat that overlooked the back gardens. Her sister knelt at her side, her eyes fairly pleading for details Katherine did not want to give.

She hugged her arms around her waist as the remembered terror of that day came flooding back. “There is nothing to speak of, Anne.”

Her sister sat back in a flounce of skirts. “Hmph,” she muttered. “You nearly drowned.”

“Because I was at that silly fair.”

“For which I’m ever so sorry,” Anne continued. “If you’d only stayed with me while I shopped…”

Katherine glared her into silence.

Her normally loquacious sister had sense enough to let that thought go unfinished.

Katherine returned her attention to the grounds below, and thought of the moment when her water-logged skirts had tugged her downward. And then he’d appeared. A kind of angel rescuer—more of a dark angel, but an angel nonetheless. The Duke of Bainbridge may be an unsmiling, boorish lout, but he had saved her, and for that he would forever have her gratitude.