The wedding was small. Jasper had asked Neil and Ewan to attend as well as his father and brothers. Neil and Ewan had come. His family had not. Draven had also come, standing in the back and looking rather uncomfortable. He hadn’t stayed for the breakfast, claiming he had matters to attend to.

Richard had made fast friends with one of Neil’s orphans, a lad named Charlie, and they’d invited the boy to attend so Richard might have a friend. Jasper had also persuaded Olivia to invite her mother. She had, but Lady Carlisle had been too ill. Her father had not attended either, not that he’d been invited. Withernsea was ruined now and her family safe from his vengeance. Jasper knew that as angry as Olivia was with her father, she was relieved that he would not suffer at Withernsea’s hands. He did not know if she would ever be able to forgive the viscount. In Jasper’s opinion, the man’s actions had been unforgiveable.

And so Jasper married Olivia very much as he’d found her—alone except for her son, who would be his son as soon as all the documents were signed by the appropriate people. But she wouldn’t be alone for long. He would be her family, and perhaps they would have a family together, brothers and sisters for Richard to play with.

After the wedding breakfast, which had been held at the Earl St. Maur’s residence, he took Olivia and Richard home. It wasn’t much of a home as he didn’t spend much time at his rooms near Lincolns Inn Fields, but he’d told Olivia they could look for somewhere together. He’d always kept his residence a secret to protect himself from his enemies. But now he’d retire from hunting those who did not want to be found. Perhaps he could help Neil with the orphanage—or perhaps not. Perhaps he could help Ewan in the boxing studio. That was a more likely scenario. And his father and brothers could always use assistance managing the Strathern estates. It was time he did his part there as well. They might not approve of his bride, but they would accept his help.

By the time Richard was tucked into his new bed in his new bedroom for the night and Olivia came to him, Jasper was having difficulty keeping his eyes open. He hadn’t slept the last several days, and the prospect of sleep was appealing—just not as appealing as Olivia in a revealing night rail.

She entered the bedroom, and Jasper sat up from where he’d been reclining on the bed. “Where did you find that?”

“A little something Lady Julia gave me. She said all brides need something pretty for their trousseau.”

She sat in the edge of the bed and he reached out to finger the lace and ribbons at her breasts. He could see the outline of them through the fine material. “I have a newfound respect for Lady Julia,” he said, tugging at a ribbon.

Olivia kissed him, and he pulled her down beside him, kissing her back and forcing himself to move slowly. He did not want to rush this. He did not want to rush her.

He kissed her until she was breathless and pressing seductively against him, then he began loosening the ribbons holding the bodice of the night rail in place. With his teeth.

As more flesh was revealed to him, Jasper used lips, teeth, and tongue to taste, tempt, and tease. When he had her almost naked, he reached for his own shirt, pulling it over his head.

And then he paused, just looking down at her.

This was his wife. In the home where he’d never brought a guest. In his bed, a bed no other woman had ever shared. She’d given him her trust and her life. She’d even given him her son. He wanted to give her something.

She reached up and stroked his cheek, just below his scar. He caught her hand, but instead of moving it away, he pressed it against the ruined flesh. Her eyes widened. “I didn’t think you liked to be touched there.”

“I like it when you touch me. Anywhere you touch me.”

Her fingers moved over the scar tenderly, then she raised her head and kissed him there. Her mouth slid back to his, but he pulled back slightly.

“I said I wasn’t hiding anymore. That wasn’t quite true.”

“What do you mean?”

He looked at her. She was so beautiful—her dark hair about her white shoulders, her cheeks flushed pink, her rounded breasts rosy-tipped and waiting for his lips.

“I’ve never told you how I got this scar.”

“You said it was a fire.”

“It was. We’d been ambushed.” He wanted to lay back and close his eyes, but he forced himself to look at her as he spoke. “Ewan, Peter, and I had gone into a warehouse looking for arms. Rafe had good intelligence that the French stored guns and ammunition there. Turns out the French knew we were coming. When we arrived, they tried to kill us. When that didn’t work and we took refuge in the building, they locked the doors and set it on fire.”

“Jasper, you don’t have to tell me this.”

“Yes, I do. I have to tell someone. I’ve never spoken of it before, and it’s time I took it out of the darkness.”

“Go on then.” She took his hand and twined her fingers with his.

“We were trapped, and Ewan, being the biggest of the three of us, argued he should be the one to break down the door. We knew there would be men outside waiting to kill us, but we’d rather die from a ball than burn to death. It took precious minutes for Ewan to break down the back door, the one we thought fewer soldiers would cover. Peter and I waited out of the way as Ewan rushed outside and into the line of fire. I went next and joined Ewan in combat. The smoke had obscured the soldiers’ line of sight, and they’d fired and missed. Now they had to fight Ewan hand to hand.”

“Not a winning prospect,” she observed.

“No. I fought with him, and then several others from our troop arrived and lent their support. It wasn’t until most of the French were dead or wounded that I noticed Peter wasn’t with us.” Jasper did close his eyes now. This was the part he dreaded. “No one had seen him, and I ran back inside the building. Everyone told me no, but I went anyway. He was there. He’d been trapped by a beam that had fallen as soon as I went through the door. He was alive and burning, screaming for help. I tried to lift that beam. I used every ounce of strength I possessed, but I couldn’t make it move. And all I could hear was Peter’s screams as he burned alive.”

He swallowed hard, taking comfort from the way Olivia squeezed his hand. “Then something hit me. A board, a piece of debris. I don’t know what it was. I just remember the pain was like nothing else I’d ever felt. I must have been rendered unconscious. They told me later Ewan carried me out. He couldn’t get Peter out. He was...”

She put a finger over his lips. “It’s over now.”

He nodded. It was over now. He’d told her and the last of the shame he’d felt faded with the confession. He’d worn the mask to hide his face because of the ugly scar but also because of the shame he felt at having survived when Peter had not. But he couldn’t let the past determine his future, any more than Olivia would let her past determine hers. They would begin again. Together.

“It is over now,” he said. “And this”—he kissed her gently—“is just beginning.”

“And what is this? Our marriage?” she teased.

“That, and also this night. I intend to make the best of the night.” He kissed her neck.

“You do know Richard will wake us at dawn.”

“Then I’d better not waste any time.” He kissed her again and pulled her close. She wrapped her arms around his neck.

“I love you.”

“And I you.” And he went about showing her just how very much he did indeed love her.