She held his gaze, brows knit in indecision. “Very well.” She lay back on the bed with a sigh of maidenly resignation. “If you insist.”

Jasper suppressed a smile. One might think he was on the verge of ravishing her.

It wasn’t at all the case.

He did want her. How he could not? She’d permitted him to kiss her—deeply, passionately—and she’d kissed him back in full measure. But it hadn’t changed the terms of their agreement.

He didn’t want her this way. Not when she was weak and vulnerable. Not when the whole of her life had been turned upside down. In this room, in this moment, she didn’t need him to seduce her. She needed him to be steady and reliable. She needed to know he was going to look after her.

“Tell me something,” he said as he rolled her stocking down her shapely right leg. “What did your lady’s maid do to help you each evening? Did she remove all your clothes?”

“Not all of them.” Julia’s voice quavered as he continued to undress her. “I can do most of it myself. Everything except the hard-to-reach buttons and hooks.”

“Not tonight you can’t.”

“No,” she acknowledged. “But most nights I can. Mary only helped with the difficult bits.”

Jasper stripped off her other stocking. It took an effort not to linger. Her calves were muscled from riding, her ankles so narrow he could encircle them with his fingers. And her feet, delicately arched and pale, and small enough to cradle in his hand.

He cleared his throat. “Is that all?”

“She brushed my hair.”

“You couldn’t brush it yourself?”

“It wasn’t like that. It was a ritual we had—one of my favorite parts of the day.” She inhaled another sharp breath as his arms came around her, fingers moving to the fastenings at the back of her skirts.

“Describe it to me,” he said, endeavoring to distract her.

“I-I would sit in front of my dressing table. Mary would unpin my hair and start brushing. One hundred strokes, she liked to say, but it wasn’t ever as many as that.” Julia was quiet for a moment before admitting, “I’ll miss that part of my old life the most.”

“Why?”

“It made me feel as though someone cared for me. And it always helped soothe me to sleep.”

As she spoke, Jasper removed her skirt, petticoats, and crinoline, tugging them down over her hips and legs. Her corset cover came next, then the corset itself with its row of strong metal hooks at the front of her midriff.

Her breath came faster as he stripped it away.

His own breath wasn’t coming at all. It was dammed up in his chest, his pulse throbbing with stifled longing. Thus far, he’d remained purposeful. Respectful. But by God, he wasn’t made of stone.

By the time he was finished, she was clothed in nothing but her short-sleeved cambric chemise and matching cambric drawers. It was a modest enough ensemble, though doubtless, she was feeling more exposed than she had in her life.