“Speaking of marriage . . .” His hand stroked over her arm in a soothing caress. “How are your bridal nerves?”

“Better.” An uneasy thought occurred to her. “Is that why you’ve been indulging all my senseless chatter?”

“It’s not senseless,” he said. “Your opinions are perfectly sound. I’m grateful to hear them on any subject.”

It was by far one of the most wonderfully romantic things anyone had ever said to her. Almost as romantic as when he’d told her she was a beautiful soul. Or when he’d kissed her or held her hand. Indeed, it seemed that within the short time she’d known him, he’d gifted her with a half dozen romantic moments—a smile, a touch, a gruffly expressed sentiment. Like so many jewels, each of them more precious than the last.

She settled against his shoulder with a sigh, her novel still open on her lap.

The train rolled on, the rhythm of the wheels and the regular shriek of the metal and steam lulling her ever closer toward sleep.

Time must have passed because, eventually, she felt Jasper close her book. The gold-stamped title and author name on the cloth cover blurred before her weary gaze.

The Hero’s Return by J. Marshland

It was the last thing she saw before her eyes drifted shut. “I wonder what the J stands for,” she murmured.

Jasper didn’t answer her. At least, she didn’t think he did. But as exhaustion wrapped itself around her mind and body, dragging her down into oblivion, she was certain she heard him whisper a reply very softly against her ear.

“It stands for James.”

Nineteen

As promised, Jasper let his new bride sleep all the way to York. He might have slept, too, if he didn’t feel so damned protective of her. It wasn’t a new sensation. He’d been experiencing it ever since he’d rushed to her bedside in Belgrave Square. This urge to shelter and defend her. To keep her safe. He wouldn’t have thought it could get any stronger.

More fool him.

When the ill-humored vicar at the little church in Camden had pronounced them man and wife, he may as well have uttered a magical incantation. The words had had a startling and immediate effect, not only deepening the strength of Jasper’s feelings for his new bride, but seeming to alter the very alchemy of his soul.

Seated beside her in their first-class compartment, cradling her in the crook of his arm and feeling the precious weight of her head resting on his shoulder, he was conscious of the great responsibility he owed her.

She was his now completely, in law as well as in spirit. His own selfish choice. One that had nothing at all to do with the estate or the children or anything else that had come either before or after the war.

No matter that it hadn’t started that way. That it had been her dowry—not her kindness or her sweetness or even her taste in novels—that had first inspired his interest.