She could only imagine what Anne might have to say about it. Indeed, Anne’s voice was echoing in Julia’s mind with increasing frequency.

What have you done? Did you not stop to think for a moment that you might be leaping out of the frying pan and straight into the fire?

It was difficult not to think it now, despite how kind Julia’s new husband was being.

They ate dinner alone in their room at a small table set up in front of the fire. Though solicitous about serving her meat and refilling her glass, Jasper was—for the most part—silent. Julia was equally so. The memory of their kiss was a palpable presence. A veritable third guest at their table, preventing any hope of normal conversation.

At last, the tension could be borne no longer.

She set down her fork. “Jasper—”

“I wonder,” he said, “if we might not have progressed past the point of names.”

Her attention was momentarily diverted. “You don’t wish me to call you Jasper?”

He shrugged. A deceptively casual gesture.

Julia couldn’t help feeling his remark was anything but. “What would you like me to call you?”

“The possibilities are limitless.” He methodically folded his napkin, setting it down beside his plate. “How do your parents address each other?”

“They don’t,” she said frankly. “Not if they can help it. And when they do it’s rarely directly.” She hesitated before continuing. “My father refers to my mother as ‘your poor dear mama’ and my mother refers to him as ‘your poor father.’ That would hardly suit in our case.”

Jasper’s mouth tipped up at one corner. “Not yet anyway.”

A blush threatened. But she wouldn’t be distracted. “Don’t you like my name?”

“Your name is beautiful. I like it very much.”

Her brows knit. “Then . . . is it your name you don’t like?”

“I confess, I don’t. I’d rather you call me something else.”

Her expression turned quizzical. “An endearment, do you mean? Or should I choose a different name altogether?”

“An endearment will suffice.” He loosened his black cravat. He’d already removed his coat when they sat down. Another reminder of their newly minted intimacy. Clad in his shirtsleeves, his black waistcoat buttoned over his trim midsection, he appeared even larger and more powerful than ever.

“Is there one you’d prefer?” she asked.

“I’d like you to choose.” Again, that deceptively casual tone. As if his request meant nothing at all. As if it was merely a whim.

Julia didn’t understand him. “A name is important. I’ve realized that recently. It’s part of a person’s identity. You can’t simply take it away from them and turn them into someone else.”

His fingers stilled on the knot of his cravat. He looked at her intently.

“My parents renamed all our servants,” she explained. “That’s not fair, is it, to call a girl Jane when her name is Florence? It may seem like nothing very much, but if someone takes away your identity what do you have left?”