His arms came around her waist. His hair was wet, and water droplets clung to his face. He was smiling at her, proud of her small accomplishment.

She clung to him, breathing heavily. “Jasper . . .”

His smiled faded. Every time she used his given name it was a reminder of the distance between them.

She couldn’t help it. It would have been disingenuous to call him my dear or dearest so soon after the revelations about his past. Certainly not now, when Julia had the unhappy premonition there were even more revelations to come.

“How did you get those scars on your back?” she asked.

His expression shuttered. But he didn’t dissemble. “I was flogged.”

“In the Crimea?” She searched his eyes. “But . . . who would dare?”

A flicker of wry humor crossed his face at her naivete. “Everyone has a superior.”

“I can’t imagine you having one. Not one brave enough to flog you.”

“Bravery had nothing to do with it. Floggings are a part of life in the army. During my time in the Crimea, they were administered with frequency, often for the smallest infractions.”

She hesitated before reminding him, “You administered quite a few yourself.”

He didn’t deny it. “There are many who consider the conduct justifiable.”

Julia didn’t doubt it. It was why Jasper hadn’t been blackballed from polite society. Why he’d been welcomed to London as a hero, despite his rumored history of cruelty. She nevertheless inquired, “Who thinks so?”

“Old soldiers and politicians, mostly. Ask any of them about floggings and brandings, and they’ll say such punishments are necessary to keep order in the ranks. They may be right. I don’t know anymore.”

“Why were you flogged?” she asked.

“Insubordination.”

“Who did it? Was it some major or colonel or somebody?”

“It was an evil man, irrespective of his rank. Probably the evilest man I’ve ever had the misfortune to encounter.”

“Who—”

“No more questions.” Jasper gave her a look as stern as the one he’d given Daisy before she went into the pond. “I mean it. My past is a poison. There’s enough of it here in Yorkshire already. I don’t fancy any more of it.”

Her hands slid to the nape of his neck, smoothing over his wet hair in unspoken apology. “I’m sorry. I know I promised not to ask. But that was before.”

“Before what?”

“Before you were mine,” she said.

His brows notched in a troubled frown. As if she’d expressed something he didn’t quite know what to do with. “Julia . . .”

She stroked his nape with gentle fingers. “I want to know everything about you.”

He bowed his head to hers, submitting to her soft caresses in much the way a very large lion might submit to his mate. “Can this not be enough?”

“Perhaps it can,” she said. “Eventually.” And then she surprised them both by pressing her damp lips to his.

His arms tightened at her waist.

“They’re kissing!” Daisy cried.