The Misplaced Husband, page 10
Though his toes still hurt, Jasper relaxed. Opal was far wiser than he had given her credit for; she had spotted his confusion.
Picking it up as refined as possible, he murmured, “Thank you.”
Was that a flush on Opal’s cheeks? If so, it was a heady thought that he still had such an effect on her, even if it was not the sort he had hoped for.
“You are beautiful, you know.”
“Oh hush,” she said with a good-natured smile. “People can hear you. And that’s the sixth time today.”
“I do not care. I am fortunate to be by your side.”
Opal’s smile softened, and Jasper felt a rush of joy through his body as she said, “Well, I am actually rather pleased to have you by my side.”
Their eyes met: a moment, a mere instant, a frisson between them, a look and a smile that meant nothing and yet meant everything. Jasper’s whole body seemed to be shocked as though by lightning.
And then it was over. Opal looked at her food, taking a mouthful with the same fork she had just shown Jasper, and struck up a conversation with the gentleman on her other side.
Jasper had to swallow a few times before he got his breath back. Slow though it may be, they were meandering down the path toward discovering each other again. Hopefully, it wouldn’t be too soon before his loving comments were loving kisses, then something more…
He froze. Oh, no.
“—really rather naughty of you,” Lady Romeril said loudly—loudly enough for the whole table to halt their conversations and look at them. “Hiding your husband from us, Mrs. de Petras. Even going so far as to have him declared dead, you tease! Dangling your hook in the water to see if you could catch a bigger fish?”
Jasper could hardly believe he had heard such words. What rudeness! It was astounding anyone believed it acceptable to say such things at all—and in public, and so loudly!
No, he could not countenance it. Drawing himself up and opening his mouth, Jasper prepared himself to defend Opal and her honor.
As it turned out, he need not have worried.
“My dear Lady Romeril,” Opal said sweetly with a sicky smile, “I have no idea what you are talking about. I do not believe anyone would believe I had purposefully been a part of such an error, and I can assure you if anyone, including yourself, had had the manners to ask, I would have told you the full and rather interesting tale. As it is, you can be sure your own nets still have as many fish as possible in the ocean for you to capture, though I do not believe your husband, Lord Romeril, is much interested in fishing?”
With a rather triumphant, yet genteel look, Opal took a sip of her wine and looked steadily at Lady Romeril.
Jasper almost applauded. He could never have responded to such rudeness with such delicacy and strength.
Other conversations started to murmur around them, and Jasper leaned toward Opal. “I thought we were going to keep our heads down and ingratiate ourselves into Society?”
A wicked smile crept across Opal’s face as she whispered back, “Is that not what I just did? Come, Jasper, you must learn the ways of polite—or rather impolite—Society. Lady Romeril is not loved, she is feared. I think we just made friends of everyone at this table.”
Jasper shook his head with a wry smile. Opal de Petras did not need him to protect her, and this had been a sharp reminder of that fact.
Jasper could only hope, as he picked up his fork again and started eating, that he never got on her bad side again.
Chapter Nine
Opal breathed in the evening air. She blinked into the darkness, growing accustomed to the dimness after the bright candlelight of Lady Romeril’s hallway.
“Well,” she said softly. “That went reasonably well.”
A tad of an understatement. Opal had desired a successful dinner, one that would introduce Jasper to her new London circle without any difficulty. A little light conversation, perhaps a jest or two, smiles all round, a pleasant meal, and they could slip away at the end of the evening with their heads held high.
But once again, this was a social situation she was leaving with Jasper that had not gone at all according to plan. That was the trouble with having a swift and biting tongue.
“Hiding your husband from us, Mrs. de Petras. Even going so far as to have him declared dead, you tease! Dangling your hook in the water to see if you could catch a bigger fish?”
Lady Romeril was the same as ever, and Opal should have known the more elegant woman would have attempted something to unsettle her.
Dangling your hook in the water, indeed…
Opal sighed heavily. She had been sorely provoked it was true, and she was proud of standing up for herself. Besides, there were advantages to such an outburst.
Smiling, Opal’s fingers tightened around her reticule, weighed down with numerous cards which had been slipped into her palm discreetly as the evening went on. It appeared she had been right when she had told Jasper they had won the admiration of everyone there.
Lady Romeril may never invite her back, it was true, but there would be plenty of other dining rooms now opened to the de Petras name.
Opal lifted her head to the heavens and wished—not for the first time—that London did not have so many fires and candles in the evenings. The smokey orange haze made it impossible, especially on cloudy nights like this, to see the stars.
They were there, somewhere. In Rome, one had only to travel a few miles from the city to see the splendor of—
“I thought the carriage would be here.”
Opal lowered her head and smiled at Jasper, who was looking along the street. “I sent it home.”
Jasper turned to her, a puzzled expression on his face. “Home?”
She nodded. “Well, no reason to keep the driver up into the small hours—we had no idea when Lady Romeril would release…I mean, when the dinner party would be over.”
A smile danced across her lips, and Opal knew she was acting far more mischievously than she had any right to. She was a wife, a mother of three children. A mother should not be flirting in the street with the man who had been her husband.
Yet, something had shifted within Opal. Perhaps it was having Jasper by her side at dinner. She saw the envious looks shot her way by ladies up and down the table—and not merely those who were eligible and hoping for a handsome proposal.
No, even a few of the married ladies seemed astonished that such a man had been her husband, and Opal had to admit if only to herself, he was handsome. Charming.
It did not absolve him of all crimes, true, but the revelation of the letters… Opal had to admit that there was some reason as to why Jasper had suddenly disappeared from their lives.
Even if she did not like it.
“I thought…well. We could walk back,” Opal confessed.
Why was her heart pattering so painfully? Agony after agony, it could never settle whenever her eyes locked with Jasper’s.
There was something remarkable in his expression. A knowing smile, yet at the same time, uncertain. A way of holding himself that made her shiver. He was so…so masculine. So certain of himself in a way she never had been.
Jasper stepped toward her, now only inches away, yet he made no effort to reach out and touch her. Opal found herself ever so slightly leaning forward.
For the warmth, she told herself firmly. That was all. For the warmth. It was a cold night indeed, and she could not be blamed for wanting to lean a little closer to the man who, after all, she had married.
What did she want from him? Lord Romeril’s wine had been plentiful, yet she had been careful to only take a few cups of it, else who knew what she might do or say in the heady company of Jasper de Petras?
“Walk back, you say?” His gaze flickered from her mouth to her eyes. “Interesting.”
Opal’s breath caught in her throat. It was as though they had been transported back in time, as though they were courting again. As though Jasper had just requested permission to walk her home in the lemon-heavy breeze of Rome.
As though they should really not be here together at all.
Something forbidden, deliciously dangerous, swept through Opal’s heart, even though she knew it to be false.
Why was she no longer aware of what to do with her hands? How did hands hang at one’s side—or was it better to bring them up, clasp them before her?
She was not a chit of one and twenty—she was a mother of three!
“Well, I think it’s a wonderful idea.”
Opal blinked. So lost in her thoughts, she had almost forgotten it was her turn to say something.
“Now why did I not think of that?” Jasper said brightly, glancing around the deserted pavement. “A walk home, in the dark. Brisk. I like it.”
“You did not think of it because I am the one with all the good ideas,” Opal found herself saying with a chuckle.
She had intended it as a jest, a continuation of the strange but rather tantalizing teasing they were engaging with. She had not expected Jasper’s face to fall, as though he had been critiqued in a manner most unwelcome.
“I…I know,” Jasper said quietly. “I have not forgotten anything, not a single thing. You think I would still be here, attempting to win your heart once again, if I did not remember how wonderful it was being your husband?”
Heat crept up Opal’s décolletage, tightening her chest and making it far more difficult to breathe. She had not forgotten anything either. The way he made her feel and not just the sensual delights they had shared, though goodness knew she missed them.
She craved him as she had craved no other, and Opal knew it was the closeness of matrimony, of true affection, that was calling out to her.
The question was, would her heart answer?
The streets were not empty, though they were dark. A few people walked in groups. Further down a turning, they did not take, Opal was sure she could hear someone calling out their wares, ales and pies. Laughter poured out of a house to their left.
A gentle laugh. Opal turned her head swiftly and saw Jasper chuckle to himself, and a defensive surge rocketed through her chest.
“What?” she said.
Jasper shook his head, as though that explained things.
“What?” Opal repeated.
“I was just thinking how this reminds me of when we were courting,” Jasper said. “Walking along the streets in Italy, knowing I couldn’t touch you, wanting to…”
His voice trailed away delicately, though it left Opal in no confusion as to what else he was thinking.
Tingles of anticipated pleasure blossomed across her body. How could she deny it, deny herself? She and Jasper…so in sync, so perfectly aligned, thinking the same thing.
As they turned a corner, she was visited suddenly by a vision—or more a memory, of the very first time they had made love.
Their wedding night. Repressed urges and unbidden desires, heat and lust, and touching, kisses where kisses had certainly not been before…
The intensity of the memory that burst into Opal’s mind was extraordinary as though she was returned to that moment, and she indulged in it, desperate to remember some of the happiest moments they had shared. The way he was so gentle, stroking her, the way he kissed her, held her—
Her delightful thoughts were rudely interrupted by a jerk on her arm—Jasper’s hand had leapt forward to clutch her own.
“Jasper!” Opal said, almost in anger, astonished at the way he had so roughly held her.
She blinked. It appeared they had reached the edge of the pavement, though she had not noticed it. In an instant, a carriage rushed past them at a tremendous speed.
If it had not been for Jasper’s foresight, his instincts to stop her, ignore her cry…
Jasper was breathing heavily. “Are you quite alright?”
Opal smiled, her own breath a little short. She had no wish to see her brains scattered across the road, and if he had not grabbed her hand…
Then something a little amusing struck her, and she could not help but smile. “You did not say anything.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“You did not say anything,” Opal repeated, then added, “You did not say ‘be careful.’ You remembered how much I disliked it.”
Jasper returned the smile. “I…I meant what I said, you know.”
Opal frowned slightly as they crossed the street a little more carefully this time. “That we were supposed to ingratiate ourselves into Society?”
Jasper shook his head with a laugh as they reached the other side of the road and continued along the pavement. “No, not that. That I only left because I truly believed harm would come to you. The idea anyone could threaten you, that I could suffer to live in a world without you…”
Opal heard the pain in his voice, watched a shadow darken his face, and waited as Jasper became incapable of speech.
There was love there. Not just love, but devotion. Was that not all she had ever wanted from him?
No, she needed to guard herself. Guard against the temptation to slip back into old habits, old ways. They were not her ways any longer.
“I suppose you could not have sent me a letter, let me know that you were safe? Merely knowing you were alive…”
Jasper glanced at her. “I thought about it. Agonized over it. It never seemed safe. Sometimes I do not realize how hard it was for you.”
“No one can possibly know.”
They continued on in silence for a few minutes—minutes in which Opal could berate herself for being too direct, not direct enough, too open, not open enough.
Words spoken in spite echoed around her mind.
“…dangling your hook…”
Opal sighed. “Thank you. For trying to defend me.”
A frown tinged Jasper’s forehead. “The carriage wouldn’t have mounted the pavement to get to you, at least I do not believe it would.”
“Not that,” said Opal with a laugh. “At the dinner. Lady Romeril.”
“Oh, you did not need my help,” said Jasper ruefully. “You were magnificent, as I should have expected. I should never have doubted you.”
It would have been easy to preen, easy to accept his kind words without comment. But Opal knew that while he chased her, she had to start her own pursuit as well. She could not merely expect Jasper to prostrate himself at her feet without giving a little in return.
A very little.
“It is easier to be bold with you by my side. There have been other times…times when I did not have you. It was difficult to be so vulnerable. So alone.”
“I know. I am sorry, Opal, you must believe me.”
“It is hard,” she said as lightly as possible, “to regain one’s reputation.”
“You seem to have done an excellent job at it,” Jasper said fairly. “An invitation to Lady Romeril’s table, and that was after my foolish actions at Almack’s.”
Opal glanced at him. Genuine regret sparked in his eyes, but as a few people passed them on the street, Opal found herself distracted.
She had never given much consequence to the strangers that passed her. This was London, after all. One passed strangers, hundreds of them, every day.
But now she had a far greater concern, and suspicions dulled the happiness which had been growing in her heart. What if the person who wrote those threatening letters was here, in London? Watching them? What if they had seen Jasper return to her?
“I know, it was a risk returning.”
Opal started. There, he did it again, giving that strange sensation Jasper was listening to her most innermost thoughts.
“Yes, the letter writer could still intend harm,” said Jasper with a heavy sigh. “But I couldn’t live without you, Opal. Seven years was enough. If they were going to do something, surely they would have done it by now?”
They were almost home now, and it would be easy to push aside the conversation, ignore it, and pretend it was not a problem.
But Opal could not. She was no fool, and neither was Jasper. “They did not wish to harm me—at least, not physically.”
The instant the words had left her mouth, she regretted them.
Jasper stopped dead. “What do you mean by that?”
It would not do for Jasper to see just how afraid she was. She had to redirect him, misdirect him away from the truth. Or at least, her suspicions. She could not yet be sure if she was right.
“The letter writer—whoever they were—wanted me to suffer, can’t you see? You were sent away from me, my…my husband. The one person I relied on. They caused me to suffer greatly without laying a finger on me.”
Jasper nodded. “I did not even think of that. Someone really dislikes you, Opal—and you have no idea who it is?”
Opal hesitated. Until she was sure… “You know, I am getting rather accustomed to having you around.”
“Good,” said Jasper, taking a step toward her with a well-known look in his eyes, “for I intend to be for a long time.”
Opal swallowed. Desire for and fear against what was about to happen warred in her heart, and she could not help but murmur, “Please—please don’t hurt me again, Jasper. If y-you are just going to disappear again—”
“I promise I never will,” he said in a low voice, then his lips were on hers, his mouth demanding her pleasure, his tongue teasing for entrance, and Opal let him.
Of course she did. After such an evening, such conversation, the sense of courting and desire in the air, how could she not?
Because he was her Jasper. The man she had married. Losing herself to the kiss, Opal’s entire body awoke with pleasure as his lips ravaged hers, giving and demanding sensual pleasure, and before she knew it, she was pressed up against a wall, her fingers tightly woven into his hair, and she would never let him go, never.
It mattered not that they were standing on the street, his body covering hers as only a possessive husband could. Opal wanted him. She needed him. Whether she looked like a harlot or not, she needed a kiss from Jasper.
Chapter Ten
May 5, 1794
Opal had no thought that the following days would be any different. After all, she and Jasper had managed to find equilibrium with their daily routines—meals together, time with the children, wonderful conversations in the evening, and peacefully retiring at night—separately, of course.
Picking it up as refined as possible, he murmured, “Thank you.”
Was that a flush on Opal’s cheeks? If so, it was a heady thought that he still had such an effect on her, even if it was not the sort he had hoped for.
“You are beautiful, you know.”
“Oh hush,” she said with a good-natured smile. “People can hear you. And that’s the sixth time today.”
“I do not care. I am fortunate to be by your side.”
Opal’s smile softened, and Jasper felt a rush of joy through his body as she said, “Well, I am actually rather pleased to have you by my side.”
Their eyes met: a moment, a mere instant, a frisson between them, a look and a smile that meant nothing and yet meant everything. Jasper’s whole body seemed to be shocked as though by lightning.
And then it was over. Opal looked at her food, taking a mouthful with the same fork she had just shown Jasper, and struck up a conversation with the gentleman on her other side.
Jasper had to swallow a few times before he got his breath back. Slow though it may be, they were meandering down the path toward discovering each other again. Hopefully, it wouldn’t be too soon before his loving comments were loving kisses, then something more…
He froze. Oh, no.
“—really rather naughty of you,” Lady Romeril said loudly—loudly enough for the whole table to halt their conversations and look at them. “Hiding your husband from us, Mrs. de Petras. Even going so far as to have him declared dead, you tease! Dangling your hook in the water to see if you could catch a bigger fish?”
Jasper could hardly believe he had heard such words. What rudeness! It was astounding anyone believed it acceptable to say such things at all—and in public, and so loudly!
No, he could not countenance it. Drawing himself up and opening his mouth, Jasper prepared himself to defend Opal and her honor.
As it turned out, he need not have worried.
“My dear Lady Romeril,” Opal said sweetly with a sicky smile, “I have no idea what you are talking about. I do not believe anyone would believe I had purposefully been a part of such an error, and I can assure you if anyone, including yourself, had had the manners to ask, I would have told you the full and rather interesting tale. As it is, you can be sure your own nets still have as many fish as possible in the ocean for you to capture, though I do not believe your husband, Lord Romeril, is much interested in fishing?”
With a rather triumphant, yet genteel look, Opal took a sip of her wine and looked steadily at Lady Romeril.
Jasper almost applauded. He could never have responded to such rudeness with such delicacy and strength.
Other conversations started to murmur around them, and Jasper leaned toward Opal. “I thought we were going to keep our heads down and ingratiate ourselves into Society?”
A wicked smile crept across Opal’s face as she whispered back, “Is that not what I just did? Come, Jasper, you must learn the ways of polite—or rather impolite—Society. Lady Romeril is not loved, she is feared. I think we just made friends of everyone at this table.”
Jasper shook his head with a wry smile. Opal de Petras did not need him to protect her, and this had been a sharp reminder of that fact.
Jasper could only hope, as he picked up his fork again and started eating, that he never got on her bad side again.
Chapter Nine
Opal breathed in the evening air. She blinked into the darkness, growing accustomed to the dimness after the bright candlelight of Lady Romeril’s hallway.
“Well,” she said softly. “That went reasonably well.”
A tad of an understatement. Opal had desired a successful dinner, one that would introduce Jasper to her new London circle without any difficulty. A little light conversation, perhaps a jest or two, smiles all round, a pleasant meal, and they could slip away at the end of the evening with their heads held high.
But once again, this was a social situation she was leaving with Jasper that had not gone at all according to plan. That was the trouble with having a swift and biting tongue.
“Hiding your husband from us, Mrs. de Petras. Even going so far as to have him declared dead, you tease! Dangling your hook in the water to see if you could catch a bigger fish?”
Lady Romeril was the same as ever, and Opal should have known the more elegant woman would have attempted something to unsettle her.
Dangling your hook in the water, indeed…
Opal sighed heavily. She had been sorely provoked it was true, and she was proud of standing up for herself. Besides, there were advantages to such an outburst.
Smiling, Opal’s fingers tightened around her reticule, weighed down with numerous cards which had been slipped into her palm discreetly as the evening went on. It appeared she had been right when she had told Jasper they had won the admiration of everyone there.
Lady Romeril may never invite her back, it was true, but there would be plenty of other dining rooms now opened to the de Petras name.
Opal lifted her head to the heavens and wished—not for the first time—that London did not have so many fires and candles in the evenings. The smokey orange haze made it impossible, especially on cloudy nights like this, to see the stars.
They were there, somewhere. In Rome, one had only to travel a few miles from the city to see the splendor of—
“I thought the carriage would be here.”
Opal lowered her head and smiled at Jasper, who was looking along the street. “I sent it home.”
Jasper turned to her, a puzzled expression on his face. “Home?”
She nodded. “Well, no reason to keep the driver up into the small hours—we had no idea when Lady Romeril would release…I mean, when the dinner party would be over.”
A smile danced across her lips, and Opal knew she was acting far more mischievously than she had any right to. She was a wife, a mother of three children. A mother should not be flirting in the street with the man who had been her husband.
Yet, something had shifted within Opal. Perhaps it was having Jasper by her side at dinner. She saw the envious looks shot her way by ladies up and down the table—and not merely those who were eligible and hoping for a handsome proposal.
No, even a few of the married ladies seemed astonished that such a man had been her husband, and Opal had to admit if only to herself, he was handsome. Charming.
It did not absolve him of all crimes, true, but the revelation of the letters… Opal had to admit that there was some reason as to why Jasper had suddenly disappeared from their lives.
Even if she did not like it.
“I thought…well. We could walk back,” Opal confessed.
Why was her heart pattering so painfully? Agony after agony, it could never settle whenever her eyes locked with Jasper’s.
There was something remarkable in his expression. A knowing smile, yet at the same time, uncertain. A way of holding himself that made her shiver. He was so…so masculine. So certain of himself in a way she never had been.
Jasper stepped toward her, now only inches away, yet he made no effort to reach out and touch her. Opal found herself ever so slightly leaning forward.
For the warmth, she told herself firmly. That was all. For the warmth. It was a cold night indeed, and she could not be blamed for wanting to lean a little closer to the man who, after all, she had married.
What did she want from him? Lord Romeril’s wine had been plentiful, yet she had been careful to only take a few cups of it, else who knew what she might do or say in the heady company of Jasper de Petras?
“Walk back, you say?” His gaze flickered from her mouth to her eyes. “Interesting.”
Opal’s breath caught in her throat. It was as though they had been transported back in time, as though they were courting again. As though Jasper had just requested permission to walk her home in the lemon-heavy breeze of Rome.
As though they should really not be here together at all.
Something forbidden, deliciously dangerous, swept through Opal’s heart, even though she knew it to be false.
Why was she no longer aware of what to do with her hands? How did hands hang at one’s side—or was it better to bring them up, clasp them before her?
She was not a chit of one and twenty—she was a mother of three!
“Well, I think it’s a wonderful idea.”
Opal blinked. So lost in her thoughts, she had almost forgotten it was her turn to say something.
“Now why did I not think of that?” Jasper said brightly, glancing around the deserted pavement. “A walk home, in the dark. Brisk. I like it.”
“You did not think of it because I am the one with all the good ideas,” Opal found herself saying with a chuckle.
She had intended it as a jest, a continuation of the strange but rather tantalizing teasing they were engaging with. She had not expected Jasper’s face to fall, as though he had been critiqued in a manner most unwelcome.
“I…I know,” Jasper said quietly. “I have not forgotten anything, not a single thing. You think I would still be here, attempting to win your heart once again, if I did not remember how wonderful it was being your husband?”
Heat crept up Opal’s décolletage, tightening her chest and making it far more difficult to breathe. She had not forgotten anything either. The way he made her feel and not just the sensual delights they had shared, though goodness knew she missed them.
She craved him as she had craved no other, and Opal knew it was the closeness of matrimony, of true affection, that was calling out to her.
The question was, would her heart answer?
The streets were not empty, though they were dark. A few people walked in groups. Further down a turning, they did not take, Opal was sure she could hear someone calling out their wares, ales and pies. Laughter poured out of a house to their left.
A gentle laugh. Opal turned her head swiftly and saw Jasper chuckle to himself, and a defensive surge rocketed through her chest.
“What?” she said.
Jasper shook his head, as though that explained things.
“What?” Opal repeated.
“I was just thinking how this reminds me of when we were courting,” Jasper said. “Walking along the streets in Italy, knowing I couldn’t touch you, wanting to…”
His voice trailed away delicately, though it left Opal in no confusion as to what else he was thinking.
Tingles of anticipated pleasure blossomed across her body. How could she deny it, deny herself? She and Jasper…so in sync, so perfectly aligned, thinking the same thing.
As they turned a corner, she was visited suddenly by a vision—or more a memory, of the very first time they had made love.
Their wedding night. Repressed urges and unbidden desires, heat and lust, and touching, kisses where kisses had certainly not been before…
The intensity of the memory that burst into Opal’s mind was extraordinary as though she was returned to that moment, and she indulged in it, desperate to remember some of the happiest moments they had shared. The way he was so gentle, stroking her, the way he kissed her, held her—
Her delightful thoughts were rudely interrupted by a jerk on her arm—Jasper’s hand had leapt forward to clutch her own.
“Jasper!” Opal said, almost in anger, astonished at the way he had so roughly held her.
She blinked. It appeared they had reached the edge of the pavement, though she had not noticed it. In an instant, a carriage rushed past them at a tremendous speed.
If it had not been for Jasper’s foresight, his instincts to stop her, ignore her cry…
Jasper was breathing heavily. “Are you quite alright?”
Opal smiled, her own breath a little short. She had no wish to see her brains scattered across the road, and if he had not grabbed her hand…
Then something a little amusing struck her, and she could not help but smile. “You did not say anything.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“You did not say anything,” Opal repeated, then added, “You did not say ‘be careful.’ You remembered how much I disliked it.”
Jasper returned the smile. “I…I meant what I said, you know.”
Opal frowned slightly as they crossed the street a little more carefully this time. “That we were supposed to ingratiate ourselves into Society?”
Jasper shook his head with a laugh as they reached the other side of the road and continued along the pavement. “No, not that. That I only left because I truly believed harm would come to you. The idea anyone could threaten you, that I could suffer to live in a world without you…”
Opal heard the pain in his voice, watched a shadow darken his face, and waited as Jasper became incapable of speech.
There was love there. Not just love, but devotion. Was that not all she had ever wanted from him?
No, she needed to guard herself. Guard against the temptation to slip back into old habits, old ways. They were not her ways any longer.
“I suppose you could not have sent me a letter, let me know that you were safe? Merely knowing you were alive…”
Jasper glanced at her. “I thought about it. Agonized over it. It never seemed safe. Sometimes I do not realize how hard it was for you.”
“No one can possibly know.”
They continued on in silence for a few minutes—minutes in which Opal could berate herself for being too direct, not direct enough, too open, not open enough.
Words spoken in spite echoed around her mind.
“…dangling your hook…”
Opal sighed. “Thank you. For trying to defend me.”
A frown tinged Jasper’s forehead. “The carriage wouldn’t have mounted the pavement to get to you, at least I do not believe it would.”
“Not that,” said Opal with a laugh. “At the dinner. Lady Romeril.”
“Oh, you did not need my help,” said Jasper ruefully. “You were magnificent, as I should have expected. I should never have doubted you.”
It would have been easy to preen, easy to accept his kind words without comment. But Opal knew that while he chased her, she had to start her own pursuit as well. She could not merely expect Jasper to prostrate himself at her feet without giving a little in return.
A very little.
“It is easier to be bold with you by my side. There have been other times…times when I did not have you. It was difficult to be so vulnerable. So alone.”
“I know. I am sorry, Opal, you must believe me.”
“It is hard,” she said as lightly as possible, “to regain one’s reputation.”
“You seem to have done an excellent job at it,” Jasper said fairly. “An invitation to Lady Romeril’s table, and that was after my foolish actions at Almack’s.”
Opal glanced at him. Genuine regret sparked in his eyes, but as a few people passed them on the street, Opal found herself distracted.
She had never given much consequence to the strangers that passed her. This was London, after all. One passed strangers, hundreds of them, every day.
But now she had a far greater concern, and suspicions dulled the happiness which had been growing in her heart. What if the person who wrote those threatening letters was here, in London? Watching them? What if they had seen Jasper return to her?
“I know, it was a risk returning.”
Opal started. There, he did it again, giving that strange sensation Jasper was listening to her most innermost thoughts.
“Yes, the letter writer could still intend harm,” said Jasper with a heavy sigh. “But I couldn’t live without you, Opal. Seven years was enough. If they were going to do something, surely they would have done it by now?”
They were almost home now, and it would be easy to push aside the conversation, ignore it, and pretend it was not a problem.
But Opal could not. She was no fool, and neither was Jasper. “They did not wish to harm me—at least, not physically.”
The instant the words had left her mouth, she regretted them.
Jasper stopped dead. “What do you mean by that?”
It would not do for Jasper to see just how afraid she was. She had to redirect him, misdirect him away from the truth. Or at least, her suspicions. She could not yet be sure if she was right.
“The letter writer—whoever they were—wanted me to suffer, can’t you see? You were sent away from me, my…my husband. The one person I relied on. They caused me to suffer greatly without laying a finger on me.”
Jasper nodded. “I did not even think of that. Someone really dislikes you, Opal—and you have no idea who it is?”
Opal hesitated. Until she was sure… “You know, I am getting rather accustomed to having you around.”
“Good,” said Jasper, taking a step toward her with a well-known look in his eyes, “for I intend to be for a long time.”
Opal swallowed. Desire for and fear against what was about to happen warred in her heart, and she could not help but murmur, “Please—please don’t hurt me again, Jasper. If y-you are just going to disappear again—”
“I promise I never will,” he said in a low voice, then his lips were on hers, his mouth demanding her pleasure, his tongue teasing for entrance, and Opal let him.
Of course she did. After such an evening, such conversation, the sense of courting and desire in the air, how could she not?
Because he was her Jasper. The man she had married. Losing herself to the kiss, Opal’s entire body awoke with pleasure as his lips ravaged hers, giving and demanding sensual pleasure, and before she knew it, she was pressed up against a wall, her fingers tightly woven into his hair, and she would never let him go, never.
It mattered not that they were standing on the street, his body covering hers as only a possessive husband could. Opal wanted him. She needed him. Whether she looked like a harlot or not, she needed a kiss from Jasper.
Chapter Ten
May 5, 1794
Opal had no thought that the following days would be any different. After all, she and Jasper had managed to find equilibrium with their daily routines—meals together, time with the children, wonderful conversations in the evening, and peacefully retiring at night—separately, of course.
