Page 58 of The Rake’s Convenient Bride

“Stuff and nonsense.” Bess harrumphed. “If you were incapable of love, you wouldn’t care that I’m dying.”

“You’re not dying.”

She gave a good-natured laugh. “You wouldn’t care that I want a great-grandchild or that I want to see you happily married.” She took his hand in hers, her skin soft with age and cool to the touch. “Jasper, my boy, you are entirely capable of love, and you love that woman who absolutely loves you.”

Jasper blinked and thought about Elizabeth and how much not having her in his life left a vast emptiness, how he anticipated seeing her and marveled at her candid responses, at the way she deeply saw him when everyone else seemed content to judge only the mask he presented. How he relished selecting flowers for her by hand, each bouquet inspired in some way by his sentiment toward her.

By God, he was in love.

And he would get her back.

He pushed up from the table abruptly.

Bess gave a little cry of surprise, then beamed. “There’s a determined look about you that I rather like.”

“Have the carriage readied posthaste,” he informed the footman.

Bess clapped her hands, then clasped them excitedly before her bosom. “Are you going after Elizabeth?”

“I am,” he declared. “And I won’t stop until she is mine.”

Because he was in love, damn it, and wouldn’t waste another moment by not telling her.

15

“I’m sorry, but Lady Elizabeth is not at home.” The butler repeated the phrase for the second time.

“Not in or not accepting callers?” Jasper asked, seeking confirmation.

The man’s mouth pressed into a flat line, giving him the appearance of a turtle. “I am not at liberty to say, my lord.”

“Will you tell her it’s urgent that Lord Darington sees her. You have my card.”

The butler nodded in agreement and held the card up, pinched between his forefingers as evidence.

Jasper took a step back and looked up at the upper levels of the townhouse, as if expecting Elizabeth to appear at one of the windows so that he might call to her like some woebegone Romeo. When she didn’t, he had no choice but to leave, burdened with dejection.

The ride home left his mind churning, wondering how he could reach her. Likely through her friends, their addresses easily procured through a servant’s inquiry.

Yes, that would be the ideal course of action.

Bolstered, he dashed up the steps to his townhouse and was met with the sound of tittering giggles.

What the devil?

He followed the sound into the drawing room where Bess was entertaining several young women, one of whom was immensely swollen with child, her red hair almost as bright as her spring-green gown. Lady Brightstone.

Just the woman he’d hoped to see.

In fact, every woman his grandmother was entertaining was one of Elizabeth’s friends.

“I wonder…” He stepped toward the women, careful how he chose his words. “That is, I have to speak with Elizabeth, but her butler claims she is not at home. Would one of you be so kind as to pass on a message for me?”

“And why do you need to speak with her?” Miss Beauchamp asked, skepticism hard in her hazel eyes.

“Because he loves her.” Bess clapped her hands like an overly excited child.

“Is that true?” Miss Honeyfield looked at him with such hope on her face that her affection for Elizabeth was irrefutable.