“I thought you were fascinated by the idea of people reinventing themselves.”

“Only if they choose to do it freely.”

“It is my choice,” he said. “And it’s not a reinvention. It’s a privilege of being married.” He finished removing his cravat. The collar of his white linen shirt gaped open, revealing a glimpse of the strong column of his throat.

Her eyes fell briefly to that exposed piece of bare skin. Like his face, it was gilded bronze by the firelight. When her gaze lifted back to his, it was to find him watching her. She moistened her lips. “I suppose, if you don’t object to it too strenuously, I could refer to you as my dear or dearest.”

His gaze didn’t waver, but his throat bobbed on a swallow.

“Is that all right?” she asked.

“For now,” he said.

She brightened. “What will you call me?”

“I haven’t decided yet. I might have to experiment to see what best suits you.”

“You may keep calling me Julia if you wish. I have no objection. Unlike you, I rather like my name.” She failed to stifle a yawn. Her hand flew to her mouth. “Oh, I do beg your pardon!”

He smiled. “You should have been in bed hours ago. Are you finished eating?”

“I am.” Her eyes once again drifted to the bed. She must have stolen three dozen glances at the dratted thing since she and Jasper first sat down. Even while eating, it had been there, looming large at the edge of her vision.

His deep voice recalled her attention. “You were going to say something before I interrupted you?”

Julia gave him a rueful look. “There’s only one bed.”

“There is,” he agreed solemnly. “You’ll take it, of course.”

“Where will you sleep?”

“On the floor. Or perhaps in this chair.”

Neither appeared very inviting. The floor was hard wood, the rug all but threadbare. The chair was little better. Its upholstery was faded, and the springs and cushioning seemed to have long given up the ghost.

“You’ll be dreadfully uncomfortable,” she said.

“I’ve slept in worse places.” He stood. “And no. I’m not going to discuss where.” He came around the table and offered her his hand.

She slid her fingers into his large grasp. His skin was warm and faintly calloused from work, abrading her palm in the most delicious way. It sent a delicate thrill through her core.

Good gracious. He was her husband. They were married.

As he assisted her from her chair, a perilous thought occurred to her. “We could share it.”

Jasper’s hand tightened reflexively on hers. It was the only sign that he was affected by her words. There was no other indication—not in his voice or in his expression. His tone was entirely calm. “My dear, are you suggesting that we sleep together?”

Twenty

Jasper knew the answer before she gave it. He couldn’t think why he’d bothered to ask. She obviously hadn’t been proposing they consummate their marriage. Even if she had suggested it, he wouldn’t have obliged her. Not when she was so weak with exhaustion she could scarcely keep her eyes open.