Page 27 of The Rake’s Convenient Bride

Jasper took Elizabeth’s arm leading her toward the door afterward while Bess and Lady Langston hovered in the back, nattering on about wedding details.

“Your poor valet, having to lift that stain from your cravat.” Elizabeth’s eyes lowered to the bit of white at his throat.

“At least he was spared from also having to contend with my breeches, thanks to the sacrifice of my napkin.”

Elizabeth bit her lip. “My maid can likely provide some tips. I’m afraid she’s had to become rather adept over the years, dealing with the likes of me.”

“My valet is more than capable,” Jasper replied, feeling as though he needed to defend Hughes. And yet the idea of having a reason to appeal to Elizabeth’s counsel was too appealing to decline entirely. “But I shall keep your offer in mind should he have need.”

“I know why you did it.”

Jasper lifted his brow. “Propose to you?”

“Why you spilled your food on yourself.” Her brow furrowed. “Intentionally.” That pretty blush he was finding himself so fond of colored over her cheeks. “To keep the attention off me. Because of how clumsy I am.”

“A couple should always be a matching pair, or so I think.” He plucked at his cravat and winked.

“You don’t have to do that…” Her lips twisted in thought. “Protect me.”

Jasper almost frowned. Had he been trying to protect her?

In fact, he really hadn’t bothered to consider why he done it. There had been a moment of shock as that lucky piece of meat bounced off her bosom and trailed down the front of her gown. He didn’t have to look at his grandmother and her mother to know they stared at her in barely concealed horror. He’d seen the humiliation reflected on Elizabeth’s pretty face.

And then he’d just done it. To spare her from mortification. To keep them from regarding her with any level of scorn.

Yes, damn it, to protect her.

The realization hit him like a physical blow.

He’d learned a long time ago he was bad at protecting people. Enough that he swore to never do it again.

And now here he was, with a stained cravat and a hero complex, when he knew bloody well he was the villain.

His thoughts drifted to that fateful day, when he’d been so tired of playing protector. When he’d shucked off his clothes and plunged into the idyllic lake at Fitzroy Manor that summer, the icy water sluicing across his skin, barely touching the fire of his rage at the unfairness of always being weighed down by his brother.

“I’ve lived with myself long enough,” Elizabeth continued, pulling him back from a place he did not wish to go. “I know well how to handle my foibles and suffer through my mistakes. I haven’t perished from embarrassment yet.” She offered a brave smile. “So, you see, I really have no need of saving. Your wardrobe should be quite pleased. After all this isn’t the first time your clothing has suffered because of me⁠—”

Her words cut off, and suddenly Jasper was hit with a different memory—this one far more pleasant. Another ball at Lady Gentry’s, though the season before, when Elizabeth had mistakenly spilled her lemonade all over him.

He glanced over his shoulder to find Bess and Lady Langston were still chatting by the study. She waved Elizabeth’s mother inside, leaving Jasper and Elizabeth momentarily alone.

“You mean the spiked lemonade?” Jasper asked in a velvety voice.

His teasing was rewarded with stains of color on her cheeks.

“Lucy was the one who put the brandy into the lemonade,” Elizabeth protested. “It was hers.”

Jasper leaned an arm against the wall, bracing his weight on one side of her, but left the other side open should she wish the space away from him. She did not move, but instead gazed up at him with blue eyes, transfixed as if waiting for him to share the story of how she had whisked her handkerchief and hastily dabbed at his waistcoat, following the trail of liquid until she realized she was brushing her fingers over his groin.

“It was your handkerchief,” he purred.

Her mouth parted in a gasp, that full lower lip tempting him beyond reason. He could imagine sucking it gently between his lips, letting his tongue graze across that delightful plumpness. Would she gasp as she’d done just now? Moan? Melt against him so his hands could stroke over her body?

“Are you going to kiss me?” She whispered the question so softly, he could never have heard it were he not so close to her.

“Do you want me to?” He studied her expression, relaxed and ready to yield to him.

The answer was echoed in her eyes, bright with an undeniable interest, her slender throat squeezing as she swallowed, little pink tongue darting out to moisten her lips.