“I did.”

“But what about the house? The children? You need money for repairs and—”

He shrugged. “I shall find another way. It won’t be easy, I know, but . . .” A rueful smile touched his scarred lips. “I had to have you.”

Julia shook her head in disbelief. She was too stunned to speak. Too altogether astonished by the revelation, and all its various implications, to move or even to breathe.

He had truly taken her in her underclothes. Not only undressed, but penniless as well. Her fortune had had nothing to do with it. It was only her. Because he’d wanted her. Because he’d chosen her for herself alone.

A great swell of emotion clogged her throat.

“Oh.” The word emerged in a broken whisper. “Oh, I had no idea. I thought . . . I thought you only wanted my money.”

His brows lowered. “Why the devil would you think that?”

“You said so yourself. That you must needs marry an heiress. I knew once you learned my dowry was greater than Miss Throckmorton’s you would renew your addresses. It’s why I mentioned it when I proposed to you.”

Jasper looked vaguely appalled. And worse. He seemed to have gone a trifle pale.

All at once, he surged up from his seat. The floor of the carriage rocked beneath his booted feet as he crossed the small space to sink down at her side. He caught her gloved hand tight in both of his. “Julia . . .” He stared down at her intently. “Don’t say you thought we were going to be rich.”

“We are rich.”

He brought her hand to his lips, pressing a hard kiss to the leather-clad crease of her thumb. “Yes,” he admitted grudgingly, “I suppose we are. Rich in blessings. And we have our health and—”

“I was talking about the money,” she said. “We’re rich in money.”

Jasper went still as stone, even as his gaze sharpened to a razor’s edge.

“My dowry is one hundred thousand pounds altogether,” she informed him, “but only fifty thousand of that comes from my parents.” Her chin lifted with a hint of pride. “The other fifty thousand belongs to me.”

Jasper had had no idea. Not even the smallest suspicion. Not even when he’d noticed the discrepancy between the amount Julia was reported to be worth and the amount she’d claimed to be worth herself.

A fifty-thousand-pound discrepancy.

He felt as though she’d struck a blow straight to his solar plexus. As devastating a hit as when she’d proposed to him. Indeed, for all she was sweet and dainty, his new bride had the lethal repertoire of a bare-knuckle boxer.

It occurred to him that he may have misunderstood. It wouldn’t be at all surprising, not after the restless night he’d had. With Julia next to him, he’d scarcely managed to sleep a wink.

Though blushingly shy when awake, his wife was a menace while sleeping. No sooner had she nodded off, than she was pressing herself against him, seeking his warmth. At various times throughout the night, her arm had been flung around him, her head burrowed in his chest, and once, much to his alarm, her leg had even insinuated itself between both of his.