Then he said, “I would never abandon you, Thomasina. I recognize you don’t know me well, but I honor my obligations. Certainly, I would not create a bigger scandal either for you or for myself.”

She supposed those words were meant to comfort her, but they yet again reminded her of that utterly unpleasant encounter in the parlor a few moments before.

“Yes, your mother made it clear that you both abhor scandal.”

They were almost to the stable now and Jasper stopped in the path, releasing her and running a hand through his hair. The action mussed the usually perfect dark blond locks and gave him a rather rakish look. His frown, however, was not rakish. “You encountered my mother,” he said. “Alone, I assume?”

She nodded. “I found her in the parlor before supper.”

He shook his head. “May I guess from your tone and expression that Lady Harcourt was cold as ice and cruel as a blade?”

She flinched and turned her face. “I-I—”

“We won’t lie to each other, remember?” he said, and now he reached out and took her hand. Her bare fingers rested against the black of his leather riding gloves, and she shivered as he stroked his thumb against the webbing between her thumb and first finger.

“She was not kind,” she admitted at last.

He let out his breath. “Well, she can be unkind, yes. I would give you some excuse that she has had a difficult life and that is how she handles herself. But it sounds very flat, I think.”

“How do you handle yourself?” she asked.

The moonlight flickered off his face and she saw the surprise at her question. He stepped a little closer and tilted his head to look at her. Reading her. Judging her.

“I’m not sure I handle myself very well, Thomasina.”

She wrinkled her brow at the suddenly sad tone to his voice and the expression of it in his eyes. That he was hurting truly surprised her somehow. He so often portrayed such an icy exterior that to see there was a heart beneath it gave her hope. Earned or not.

He lifted his other hand, and suddenly the leather-clad fingers were sliding along her jaw. He tilted her face up and she obeyed, mostly because she could scarcely breathe when he looked at her that way. The same way as the terrace. The same way as the parlor. Like he wanted her. Not just any Shelley sister and the dowry that came with her. Her.

“When I return,” he said, his voice suddenly low and hypnotic and rough. “I want to discuss our marriage with you.”

“The wedding plans,” she said, shocked that she could find enough air to make words. “Yes, of course.”

He leaned in, closer and closer, and her eyelids fluttered shut as his breath stirred her lips. Then his mouth was on her at last, the culmination of what felt like such a long time of waiting. The pressure was gentle but persistent, and she gripped her fingers against his forearms as she leaned into him and his kiss.