By Jasper’s count, he was out for two more days. At least. He’d paid for overtaxing himself by standing up and then arguing with Miss Carlisle. He’d had no strength to do anything but sleep and allow her to spoon tea and broth down his throat. He was completely disgusted with himself. Never had he been so weak, so pitiful. Here he had been sent to find Miss Carlisle and bring her home. Instead, she had found him and was stuck playing nursemaid. He hated himself for needing a nursemaid. And he was helpless to do anything but accept her kindness.

Finally, on what he thought was the third day, he opened his eyes and felt somewhat like his old self. His body didn’t ache. His head didn’t pound. His flank was still tender, but he could all but feel where the skin was beginning to knit together. He turned his head toward the window and was surprised to see the pale light of early morning filtering through the lace curtains.

Sunlight.

He’d almost forgotten what it looked like. It seemed like he’d been trapped in a nightmare world of pain and darkness for years. But now the sun was out. The rain had stopped, and he was awake. All good signs.

His gaze slid to the chair between the bed and the window. She’d placed it carefully—not close enough that he could reach out and grab her but near enough that she could be of help if he needed it. Jasper vaguely remembered an argument where she called him a fool. He remembered thinking she’d seen his burn scars. He’d been angry about that, so angry he’d said words he didn’t mean. But then he’d realized she’d just seen his bare buttocks, and her prudish response amused him. An arse was an arse. Why should seeing his embarrass her?

Unless she had liked what she’d seen?

And then he’d been interested in her blushes. Had she liked what she’d seen? He had his suspicions about what had happened between her and Withernsea. He’d assumed she would have an unshakeable antipathy toward men after the abuse she’d no doubt suffered. But perhaps time had healed those wounds.

He shook his head, grateful it didn’t throb in protest. It wasn’t for him to worry about her body’s wants and desires or lack thereof. Even if she hadn’t been a job for him, he knew he was little more than a scarred monster. No woman would want him, especially not this one.

It had been so long since he’d spent any time with a woman that being constantly in Miss Carlisle’s presence was discomfiting. Jasper had decided long ago that he wouldn’t pay for a woman as though a body was a commodity to be purchased. He’d resigned himself to celibacy, and it was generally not too difficult. He didn’t see many women who attracted him, not in the rookeries, where he spent most of his time. Both men and women there had been ravaged by poverty. Their bodies proved the outward manifestation of their ruined spirits—pox on their skin, rotting teeth, oily hair, broken bones.

But he wasn’t in the rookeries now, and when his gaze lifted to Miss Carlisle’s face it was difficult to pretend she didn’t stir his blood. In sleep she was pretty in an innocent, almost child-like way. He felt more protective than anything else. But when she was awake and moving about efficiently, ordering him to swallow the tea, or challenging him with her hands on those slim hips, she was spectacularly beautiful. Jasper had wanted to pretend his heart thudded because he was weak, but that wasn’t the only reason.

Enough!

She didn’t want him, and he should stop torturing himself imagining she would ever overcome her past or see him as anything more than a scarred wreck of a man.

He threw back the covers and sat, making himself move gingerly so his head wouldn’t spin. Wrapping the sheet around his middle, he shuffled to the fireplace. His small clothes were dry. He slipped them on and then lifted his trousers. They were dry as well. He pulled them on and wished his shirt or coat had been salvageable. But he’d survived several weeks in the Russian winter. He could tolerate England’s crisp fall with a bare chest. Shoving his feet into his boots, Jasper lifted the door’s latch. It didn’t open. A key hung on a nail high enough so the lad couldn’t reach it, but Jasper used it to unlock the door. He wondered if the lock was to keep her son in or others out.

Jasper closed the door quietly behind him so as not to wake Miss Carlisle or the lad and surveyed the yard. Leaves and small tree limbs littered the muddy ground, while a light breeze rustled the branches that remained and made him shiver. To his right was the trail down to the shore. To his left, footprints marked the path to the stable. He went left, pausing after only a few feet to marvel at the view of the ocean. It was calm today, the waves rolling in gently and white wispy clouds on the pinkish horizon. It was too early for the morning tide, and he didn’t spot any ships. He imagined he could see halfway to America up here, though from the letters he’d read from his friend Rafe, who’d traveled to the former colonies, the distance was much greater than that.

Turning from the view of the ocean, Jasper trudged through the thick mud until he spotted a small building with a wide window. This must be the stable. As he neared, he heard the horse nicker. The animal was probably hungry and eager for fresh air.

Jasper lifted the bar on the stable doors, wincing a little at the twinge of pain in his side, and swung them open. Inside an old brown mare lifted her head and neighed at him, her ears flicking back and her eyes rolling nervously. Jasper spoke quietly to her. He wasn’t quite up to mucking out stalls yet, but he found the feed easily enough, as well as a bucket of clean water. Obviously, this reassured the horse because she only snorted when he entered her stall and opened the window. She lifted her head and blew out a breath then went back to eating. No doubt when Miss Carlisle woke she would take the horse out to stretch her legs.

There was little else to see in the stable, so Jasper left. He would have walked back to the cottage except the footprints he’d followed wound around the back of the stable. He followed them to a clearing where neat rows of vegetables had been planted. At least they had been neat rows at some point. Now the plants had toppled over and what might have been carefully tended soil was little more than a shallow, muddy pond.

Jasper walked on, his side beginning to throb now, past the rear of the cottage, and toward the path leading back down to the ocean. The path he’d taken to the cottage. A fist had closed around his heart, but he tried to ignore the ominous feeling that he would be trapped here by more than his injury. There was no ignoring the truth, however, when he looked down the steep incline of the path. What had been a somewhat challenging but traversable path was now little more than a steep muddy descent. Rocks and tree limbs that had provided purchase had been washed away, and Jasper stared at what amounted to a precipice. A few yards down, the path curved. It had once been a gentle curve but was now a jutting of land where the rest of the cliff ended. Jasper supposed the lower half of the trail might have fared better, but he didn’t think he could make it down in order to assess the terrain.

Not with his injured side and not with the mud still wet and slippery.

He was stuck here. There was no way to return to London.

Worse, he was forced into close quarters with a beautiful woman. He couldn’t help being attracted to her, and she’d made it clear she wanted him to go away.

This was supposed to be an easy job: find Miss Carlisle, tell her about her mother dying, and escort her to London to say her farewells. He’d thought finding her the most difficult part of his task. Next to that, convincing her he would keep her safe when she traveled to London would also require effort.

Well, he’d found her, but he hadn’t counted on the complication of her son. He hadn’t expected a destructive storm to maroon them. And he certainly hadn’t anticipated the man who’d knifed him. So much for convincing her he’d keep her safe in London. His attacker might have been acting alone, but Jasper didn’t put it past Withernsea to have him followed and then dispatched when he’d led the man to the prize. He couldn’t be certain, but it was possible Withernsea now knew where Miss Carlisle was hiding. The duke wouldn’t be able to reach her at the moment, but when the trail was passable, he’d send someone for her.

Which was yet another reason Jasper couldn’t leave. Even if his attack had nothing to do with the duke, clearly Miss Carlisle was not safe here. All in all, taking this job was turning out to be the worst decision he had made in a long time. Not only would he not be stuck here if he’d stayed home, Miss Carlisle would be safer too.

He had often acted recklessly in the past. He touched his mask where it covered his scar as a reminder of that moment of rashness. Now he had a hole in his side and a woman and child in danger to show for this incidence of foolishness.

He heard a gasp and turned. Miss Carlisle stood behind him, clearly startled to see him standing there. The cottage wasn’t visible from the trail, which meant anyone climbing it would not see the house until he walked a little further. But it also meant she had to round the same bend before she spotted any intruders.

She lowered her eyes, away from his bare chest, and pretended it was normal to see a half-dressed man standing on the side of the cliff. “How does it look?”

“Not promising. Half the trail has washed away, and what’s left is steep and muddy. Come see for yourself.”

She did, and he moved to the side to give her more space. It was impossible not to notice how skittish she was around him. Her movements were jerky, and her eyes darted everywhere but his face. Jasper focused on her tense shoulders as she stared down the trail. He imagined if he reached out and touched her, she’d leap like a coiled spring. “I’ve never seen it this bad,” she said.

“How long have you lived here?”

Her gaze skidded to him and then back again. “Long enough to remember several heavy rains, but none like the past few days. It could be weeks before we can get down.”

Jasper would climb down with rope before he’d stay here for weeks. He didn’t want to make anyone uncomfortable, especially not a woman he found attractive. More than that, he didn’t want to be reminded that every time he imagined kissing her she was thinking of what a monster he was. “That might be a problem. I don’t remember seeing a well. And your garden is waterlogged.”

“We don’t have a well, but there’s a spring on the other side of the cliff. Sometimes it’s little more than a trickle, but I imagine it’s quite robust now. And we can always drink rain water. I’ll take care of the garden, but even without it, I have provisions enough.”

He crossed his arms. She might have enough food and water for a boy and a woman, but he probably ate as much as the two of them together. “Let me take a look,” he said.

Her brows shot up, and belatedly he realized he would have done better not to phrase it as an order.

“My lord, you had better worry about how much longer you can stand. You must be freezing, and though you’re obviously feeling better, you shouldn’t be walking around so much until your injury heals.”

Apparently, she could issue orders as easily as he. The galling thing was that he would do well to listen to hers. He already felt tired and shaky.

“You need to eat and change your bandage,” she said.

“You’re probably right.”

She raised her brows in surprise, though he knew there was no probably about it. She was absolutely correct. No sense in denying it, though he had enough pride to add the qualifier.

“Mama! Come and look at this!”

Jasper wasn’t surprised the lad was awake and about. The boy was full of spirit. Jasper followed Miss Carlisle back toward the cottage, where the lad hefted a long stick and pretended to jab it at some unseen foe.

“I found a sword, Mama!” the boy called. Then, spotting Jasper, “Look, my lord. I’m dueling a dragon.”

Jasper didn’t see any dragon, and he wasn’t certain if he was expected to pretend he did see a dragon. He didn’t understand children’s imaginations. Did they really see imaginary beasts or did they know nothing was there? Did one treat them like a madman in Bedlam, placating them so they didn’t become unruly, or did one announce the obvious?

“And what does this dragon look like?” Miss Carlisle asked, giving Jasper at least one answer. He did not need to pretend he saw the imaginary beast.

“It’s a big dragon with green scales and red wings and a yellow tail.”

“He sounds very colorful.”

“He breathes fire! If I’m not careful, he’ll toast my sword, won’t he, my lord?”

At this second attempt to engage him, Jasper deduced he had to make some comment. Miss Carlisle hadn’t told the boy there were no such things as dragons, so that probably wasn’t the way to go. And she hadn’t pointed out that her son held a stick, not a sword. He was supposed to treat the boy like the Bedlam inmate then. “You should watch out for the flames,” he said. It didn’t seem like enough. “That dragon can roast your skin until it crackles and turns as black as charred ashes.”

The boy lowered his stick in surprise and Miss Carlisle whirled on him, her mouth tight with disapproval.

“What did I say?” Jasper asked.

“I think we’d better go inside, my lord.”

“Wait!” Her son raised his sword again. “Do dragons really do that? Have you ever seen a man roasted like that?”

It was a question Jasper didn’t want to answer. “We can talk more when we break our fast,” he said, following Miss Carlisle into the cottage. She stomped rather than walked, and he expected her to round on him as soon as they were out of her son’s hearing. She didn’t disappoint.

“What sort of thing is that to say to a child? He’ll have nightmares of burning men after that.”

Jasper shrugged. “You asked him about the dragon. I thought I was supposed to play along.”

“Not by giving him gruesome descriptions.”

He rubbed the stubble on his chin. “I’m new at this. I don’t spend much time around children.” And the children he did encounter in the rookeries had seen things that would probably have appalled Jasper.

“You aren’t a father then?”

“No!” The thought shocked him. “I’m barely an uncle. My oldest brother has a child now, a girl. But she’s only a couple months old. She doesn’t talk, only cry.”

“I can see why, with you as an uncle.”

He stiffened and moved past her. His head throbbed with anger and exhaustion, and Jasper knew he had better sit or the combination might fell him.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean that how it sounded.”

“I know what you meant.” He sank down on the bed, blowing out a breath. “She’s too young to understand gruesome stories, but my mask is terrifying enough.”

“No—” She stood in front of him now, an arm outstretched as though beseeching him to understand her.

“But I didn’t wear my mask to her christening,” he said, not sure why he told her. Perhaps he wanted to hurt her as her unthinking comment had lanced him. “My brother didn’t want it in the church. Believe it or not, she didn’t seem to care about my wreck of a face. She cried no matter what I did and wouldn’t even be comforted in her mother’s arms. But the rest of those present...” He shook his head ruefully. “I think I can safely say I disgusted or terrified all of them. One lady had to leave before the service was even completed.”

“No.” Miss Carlisle shook her head. “I’m certain it couldn’t have been because of you.”

He looked up at her. “You haven’t seen it.”

“I wouldn’t be disgusted. I’m not so silly as that. I assume it’s a war injury.”

He nodded.

“Well, then. You’re a war hero. Your scars are badges of honor.” Her voice was matter-of-fact and practical.

He laughed and tapped his face. “This is no honor.”

“If you don’t believe me, then take off the mask and show me.”

“Is that what you want? You haven’t even eaten your breakfast yet. So eager to lose your appetite?”

“Eager to prove you wrong,” she challenged, still standing in front of him and looking him directly in the eye as though she had nothing to fear.

He almost reached for the ties. He was tired of wearing the damn mask and would have relished the cool air on his tender skin. But he didn’t want her look of revulsion haunting him. He couldn’t escape her and God knew he didn’t want to be trapped with her pity. “I don’t want to scare the child.”

“Richard won’t—”

“I said no, Miss Carlisle.”

She stepped back and out of reach at his harsh tone, and he immediately regretted raising his voice to her.

“I’ll start on the morning meal.” She hurried away, no doubt eager to distance herself from him. But then to his surprise, she spoke again. “We must speak at some point, I think.”

He braced himself. He’d only told a handful of people how he’d received his injury. If that was what she wished to discuss, hell could freeze over first. “About?”

“About why you are here. I didn’t want to press you when you were fevered and...” She had her back to him, but he watched the way she lifted the pan and paused with it in mid-air.

“And dying?”

She glanced over her shoulder. “And in pain. If you recall, I asked why you’d come looking for me. Can you tell me now?”

He should have told her long before. “I was sent by Viscount Carlisle,” he said. She started as though the name was a pistol shot that took her by surprise. She spun around, her hand gripping the handle of the pan like one might a shield.

“What does he want?”

“To see you. Your mother—”

“Whose mother?”

Jasper realized they hadn’t shut the door, and now the boy stood in it, head cocked.

Miss Carlisle’s face changed instantly. The creases in her forehead smoothed and she brightened with an obviously false smile. “No one, darling. We were speaking of nothing. Are you hungry? I thought to make baked apples with cinnamon.”

“That’s my favorite!”

“I know. Go outside and play. I’ll call you when it’s ready.”

The little boy glanced at Jasper. “Do you want to come out and play too, my lord?”

He shook his head. “I’m not feeling strong enough to battle dragons. Maybe tomorrow.”

“Really? Hoorah!” And he scampered back out.

***

“YOU REALIZE HE WILL hold you to that,” Olivia said, turning back to her task of stoking the fire. “From now on, he’ll talk of dragons without ceasing.”

Lord Jasper grunted. She couldn’t see his movements with her back turned, but she imagined he was examining his wound. It must pain him after all his activity this morning.

“I don’t mind,” he said. “I don’t say things I don’t mean.”

She paused in the act of gathering apples from a sack. “Then you do intend to play at battling dragons with him?”

He was indeed examining his side, and she had to remind herself to breathe, not stare at his bare chest. “I don’t know how to battle dragons, but I’m generally a quick study.” He looked up and she colored, realizing despite her intentions she had been staring at his chest. “But to return to our previous conversation. Your parents—”

“Shh!” Her head snapped up and she darted a look at the open door. “We’ll speak of it later.” She couldn’t speak of London, couldn’t think of what had happened there and the man who had done it, with Richard nearby. She didn’t trust herself to control her emotions. And she certainly couldn’t cope with so much emotion with Lord Jasper sitting shirtless just a few feet away.

She couldn’t see his brows under the mask, but she imagined they drew together. Still he didn’t say another word, honoring her request without question. But they’d have to talk at some point. Her parents had sent him and found her. She wasn’t safe any longer.

She washed the apples and began to slice them, her fingers shaking slightly at the feel of his gaze on her.

“Can I help you with that?” he asked.

She almost laughed. If she was nervous with him across the room, she would probably slice a finger off if he was beside her. What if he touched her? What if she accidentally touched his bare chest? She let out a shaky breath. “No. Rest. You must be tired.”

“I’m embarrassed to admit that I am. I used to march for days, and now a walk around the yard leaves me weak as a babe.”

She finished slicing apples and began to coat them with cinnamon and a little sugar. “Your strength will return.” Privately she thought he already had remarkable strength. She’d been perplexed when she’d awakened this morning to find her bed empty. She had the fleeting thought that she’d dreamed him. She opened the curtains in time to see him pass by, on his way to the trail down to the sea. In a panic, she’d rushed after him, half afraid he would leave without saying farewell. She was not thinking clearly. How would he leave without a shirt or coat and in enough pain that he winced whenever he walked? Still, she’d gone after him. A quick look around showed his footprints all over. He’d obviously surveyed her property, perhaps even walked out to the stable and the garden. A few days ago he’d barely been able to stand.

She should probably congratulate herself on her nursing skills except she doubted she had much to do with his survival. He was not an easy man to kill.

“If you’re right, I’ll be battling dragons tomorrow morning.”

She imagined looking out her window and watching Richard and Lord Jasper wave sticks at invented beasts. It was the kind of game Richard loved and she rapidly grew tired of. But she knew Richard would relish playing such a game with a man. It hadn’t occurred to her until now that her son had spent very little time around men and might crave interaction with a...well, not a father. Lord Jasper was not that, but Richard might certainly see him as such. Lately Richard had asked more and more about his father, and Olivia had avoided answering the question. The boy would likely have more questions after time spent with Lord Jasper.

And what would she say? Your father is a monster? You were conceived in terror and hate? You are a bastard who should have been heir to a dukedom but will now never be accepted into Society?

Was it better to tell the boy the truth, some version of it, or better to lie? So many times it had been on the tip of her tongue to tell Richard his father was dead. She could pretend Richard’s father was a sailor whose ship had been lost at sea. He would hear that story at some point anyway as that was the part she played when she went into Penbury.

But how much longer would she be traveling to Penbury? She supposed she had hoped her parents had forgotten about her, or at the very least, given up. But clearly they would never leave her in peace, and even if she could convince Lord Jasper to keep her whereabouts a secret, she would no longer feel safe here once he left.

She sighed and took a wistful look about her cottage. Over the years she had done so much to make what had been basically a very rustic building cozy and inviting. She’d wanted a home for her son, and now she would have to leave and find a place to start all over. How she wished she could go home to her mother and father again. But that would never happen, and she could not allow herself to waste time on nostalgia.

“Mama, is it time to break our fast?” Richard asked, sticking his head in the door.

“Almost.” She eyed the mud on his boots. “Take off your boots and wash your hands”—his face had mud splatters as well—“before coming in.”

“I’ll do the same,” Lord Jasper said, rising. Olivia had almost forgotten him. He’d been so still and quiet, his head leaned against the headboard of her bed. She thought he’d fallen asleep. But now he rose and walked to the doorway. He looked back and frowned. “I’m sorry about the mud. I didn’t think to remove my boots earlier. I’ll clean the floors after we eat.”

Olivia gave him a stern look. “You will not. I’ll be happy to put you to work when you’ve healed, but until then you mustn’t overtax yourself.”

He nodded. “Yes, Miss Carlisle.” His voice was obedient, but it was an attitude that didn’t fit him. He was a man used to giving orders and commanding. He wouldn’t be obedient for long. She heard Richard and Lord Jasper splashing in the water just outside the door, and then the two of them came in with a burst of the cool morning air. She served them apples and tea and then took her own seat. Since Lord Jasper had seated himself beside Richard, she was across from both of them. She made the mistake of looking up and staring directly at Lord Jasper’s chest. After that, she stared at the food on her plate, her appetite seemingly forgotten.

“Why don’t you wear clothes?” Richard asked suddenly, and Olivia, who had just put a bite of apple in her mouth almost spit it out. She would have chastised her son, but her mouth was too full.

“I am wearing clothes,” Lord Jasper said.

“But only on your bottom half. Your top half is naked.”

Olivia swallowed around the lump of embarrassment in her throat and felt her face burn. “Richard,” she began.

“The most important part of me is covered,” Lord Jasper said.

Richard wrinkled his nose, something he did when he didn’t understand. “Mama says we have to cover our top and our bottom.”

Lord Jasper’s eyes met hers, and Olivia flushed harder. She might as well explode at this rate.

“That’s true,” Lord Jasper said slowly, seeming to choose his words carefully. “But my shirt and coat were ruined, and since I’m a man it’s not wholly indecent of me to go about shirtless.”

“What’s indecent?”

“Uh...” Lord Jasper looked at her and she merely raised her brows in expectation.

“And why does it matter for men and not women?”

Lord Jasper made a show of chewing his food and slowly swallowing, but Richard kept his attention focused. “My lord?” he prodded before Lord Jasper could put more food into his mouth.

“Because...because men and women are different, of course.” His mouth twisted triumphantly.

“How?” Richard asked. “How are men and women different?”

Lord Jasper seemed to realize he’d blundered into yet another ambush. His eyes pleaded with her, but she merely placed a small slice of apple into her mouth and chewed thoughtfully.

“I’ll let your mother explain that to you,” Lord Jasper said, rising and taking his empty plate with him.

“Traitor,” she hissed.

Lord Jasper stacked his plate where she usually put the dishes needing to be washed. “I think I’ll step outside and get more fresh air.”

Richard jumped up then promptly plopped back down again. “Mama, may I be excused?”

“Of course.” If he stayed she’d have to explain the biology of men and women.

“Thank you.” He chased after Lord Jasper, and as the two males stepped outside, she heard him say, “Tell me more about what dragon fire can do. Can they really roast a man? Does skin really crackle?”