She waited for the end of the day like a condemned man waits for the morning of his execution. As she put away the supper plates, she felt like Marie Antoinette as the tumbrels rattled in the streets outside her cell.

Richard hadn’t taken a nap, but she hadn’t expected him to. Her son had been far too excited at having Lord Jasper up and about to be talked into resting midday. Lord Jasper probably needed a nap as well. He’d kept Richard occupied while she’d mucked out Clover’s stall and dug trenches to drain the standing water from the garden. He’d insisted on helping her half a dozen times, but she’d refused. She knew if he felt stronger tomorrow he would ignore her admonishments to rest and pitch in with her.

Finally, it neared Richard’s bedtime and though the boy protested that he was not tired, his eye lids drooped and he could not stop yawning. She took as much time as she could reading to him and tucking him in, but he was asleep within moments. She could put off the inevitable discussion a little longer, but she might as well get it over with. All of her emotions and fears would be just as strong later as they were now. And she would have to face the uncertainty of her future at some point.

Olivia climbed down the ladder, dismayed to find Lord Jasper still seated at the table. He’d moved closer to the fire, but he sat, a blanket draped over his bare shoulders, as though waiting for her. Her last hope had been that he would fall asleep while she tucked Richard in. But he was awake, and she would have to speak of what had happened and not fall apart. She had to be strong, no matter how it sickened her to think back on the night she’d run away. No matter how much she wanted to lock all of those memories away and never think of them again.

“You must be tired,” she said, trying not to sound hopeful. “If you wish to go to sleep, I can blow out the lamps and—”

“I can wait. I’d rather have this discussion now when we won’t be interrupted.”

Olivia’s legs felt weak, and she clasped the edge of the table and seated herself across from him. She was glad he wore the blanket over his shoulders. No matter how many times she saw his bare chest, it still stirred something in her. And if it wasn’t his chest it was the dip of his waist or the muscles in his back or the breadth of his shoulders...

“I can sew,” she blurted out. “The clothing I make is practical, not fashionable, but I could make you a shirt and perhaps a rudimentary coat.”

His mouth opened in surprise. “You have the fabric for that?”

That was a good question. She had an old dress she could remake into a shirt, but she didn’t have enough heavy material to fashion a coat. Not for a man his size.

“I have enough for a shirt, though it won’t be white linen.”

He waved a hand. “I’ve worn homespun as often as linen. I’m no dandy.”

“Then I’ll start on it right away.” She rose to find her sewing basket and the fabric she had folded and put away.

“You can look for fabric after we discuss why I came here. It’s past time.”

It was past time, but that didn’t give him leave to order her about. “You’re right that it’s time I heard what you have to say, but don’t ever presume to tell me what to do, my lord. I don’t take orders from anyone—not you, not any man.” Anger would help her be strong. She would hold onto it as long as possible.

He nodded once. “Understood. My apologies.”

She narrowed her eyes, certain he would add more. Certain he would make a comment about her knowing her place, but he remained silent.

“Thank you,” she said. “I prefer to stand. Go ahead.”

“Several months ago, Viscount Carlisle approached me. He had been searching for you for some years without success. Time was running out, and he came to me.”

“Why you?” she asked. Despite her claims she preferred to stand, she sank down across from him. Her legs shook at the mention of her father, and she needed firm ground beneath her.

“Because I’m the best. I can and do find anyone and anything.”

“You work for Bow Street? I thought you the son of a marquess.”

“I am, and I don’t work for anyone but myself. Some might call me a bounty hunter.”

“A bounty hunter. That isn’t exactly flattering.”

He shrugged. “Not everything I do is clean and tidy. More often than not I find criminals with a price on their head. When I give them over, I collect my bounty.”

“And I have a price on my head?”

He opened his mouth but did not speak for a long moment. “Your father has not put a price on your head, and he’s not the sort of man who would typically request my services. I imagine he heard about me because of my activities during the war. I have something of a reputation among my troop.”

“You fought against Napoleon.”

He gave her a wry smile. “In a manner of speaking. Suffice it to say, my skills are widely known. Your father came to me and offered to pay me to find you.”

She jumped to her feet. “Won’t he ever leave me in peace? Is he still trying to marry me off to that—” She couldn’t speak his name. Bile rose in her throat at the thought of it. “That odious man?”

She’d put her hands on her hips defensively, expecting to have to declare that she would never go home, never become Withernsea’s bride, never forgive her parents for coercing her into agreeing to the engagement...but something in the way Lord Jasper looked at her made her pause. She dropped her hands.

“It’s your mother. She’s not well.”

Olivia sat heavily. Her mother. No, not her dear mother. “She’s dying.”

“I didn’t spend much time with her, but that is my understanding, yes.”

Olivia dropped her face into her hands. She didn’t want him to see the tears pricking her eyes. As angry as she was at her mother for the viscountess’s role in the debacle with Withernsea, Olivia still loved her. She’d thought of her often since becoming a mother herself and wondered if her mother had sat up with her when she was ill, as Olivia did with Richard, and if her mother had felt the same joy and poignancy when she’d taken her first steps as Olivia had watching Richard at a year of age. Somehow, in the back of her mind, Olivia had always imagined Richard meeting his grandparents. She didn’t know how it would happen or when but she entertained a reunion fantasy sometimes when she daydreamed or couldn’t fall asleep.

Now it appeared her mother would never know her grandson, and Richard would never know his grandparents. As she was her parents’ only child, they would never have the experience of knowing a grandchild, of knowing Richard.

Olivia sighed and wiped her eyes. “Thank you for telling me.”

“I didn’t come to merely tell you. My mission is to bring you back.”

Olivia gave him a steely stare—at least she hoped it was. Her eyes felt heavy and bloodshot. “I am not a mission, my lord. And I won’t go back. Return to my father and tell him you were unable to locate me.” She was proud that her voice had not shaken.

He shook his head. “No one will believe it.”

“You’re certainly not short on arrogance.”

“It’s not arrogance.” He leaned forward and pressed his palms on the table. “It’s the truth.”

“Then go back and tell them I won’t come. Or tell them whatever you like. It matters not to me.”

“And when they tell me to come back and try to convince you, I won’t find you here, will I?”

She didn’t answer.

“You can’t hide forever, Miss Carlisle.”

“Oh, really? This coming from a man who wears a mask every moment of the day.”

“I have my reasons,” he snapped.

“So do I.” She glanced up at the loft. They weren’t speaking loudly enough to wake her son, but she still had the urge to make sure he was safe.

“If Withernsea mistreated you, then you should go back and expose him,” Lord Jasper said.

She let out a bitter laugh, her entire body shaking now at the very idea of seeing the duke again. “What world were you raised in? The ton doesn’t blame men for their indiscretions. It’s always the woman who is ruined. And what is the solution to a ruined woman? Marriage.

“Well, I won’t marry my rapist, my lord. And if I have to run and hide for the rest of my life, I’ll do it.” With that, she rose, ran to the door, and burst outside. She needed the darkness of the night and the cool of the sea air. She needed to get away. She wasn’t safe here any longer. Somehow in the last few days her refuge had turned into a trap.

***

JASPER ROSE TO GO AFTER her, then thought better of it. Even if he made it outside—and he was doubtful he had the strength at this point—what would he say? She was right. She, not Withernsea, would be blamed. Even though Withernsea had a reputation for vice, it would be assumed that Miss Carlisle had put herself in a compromising situation or allowed the duke to take liberties. As for the rape, it would be her word against his. Considering they were betrothed, there was no doubt in Jasper’s mind that she would have been forced to marry the man as to erase any further scandal.

No wonder she had fled.

But she was no longer a young girl at the mercy of her parents and Society. Jasper didn’t think she realized her own strength and power. She had made a life for herself in a situation where many men would have failed. She was a mother now and past the age where her parents could command her. What if she went back and exposed Withernsea for what he was? She had nothing to lose, but if she was believed and if Society decided to punish the duke, might she not save other women from a fate like hers?

And who was he to expect her to have that sort of courage? She was right. He wouldn’t even risk taking his mask off in her presence much less exposing his scar to the public. Her scar was not so visible, but it was a wound nonetheless.

Jasper rose, determined to use the last of his strength to rest for the night. He had done too much today. He could feel his knife wound aching and the pain made it difficult to think of anything else. He rose, but he did not move toward the bed. He’d slept in her bed enough as it was. Tonight he would take the chair and she could have her bed back. The first step made his head spin, but he steadied himself with his hand on the table. When he felt stronger, he took a second step and then a third. That was when the wave of dizziness hit, only there was nothing within reach to grasp. Jasper swayed and fell forward. He heard a cry of alarm and wondered if he’d made the sound, and then a small body darted under him, keeping him from falling to his knees. He knew that scent of sea air and femininity.

“What are you doing?” she cried, moving under him and propping him up on his uninjured side. “Are you trying to hurt yourself again?”

“I might have overtaxed myself today.”

“Now you admit it? When you’re falling over?”

He looked down at her and squinted. “Your face is a blur.”

She led him stumbling forward. “Let’s get you to bed.”

Jasper dug his heels in. “No. Take me to the chair. You take the bed tonight.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, and don’t argue. You’re in no condition.”

Jasper would have argued further, but she was correct. He was in no condition to even think of a rebuttal or remember what it was they argued about. Instead, he allowed her to lead him to the bed. Only when it was time for her to disentangle herself from him, something went wrong, and he ended up falling into the bed and taking her with him.

He wasn’t aware at first that she’d gone with him, only that he’d fallen at an angle, his feet off the bed and his head on the edge. He might have closed his eyes and slept right then, but she pushed at him hard enough that he opened his eyes. He looked down at her, cradled against him, half under his body, and frowned. He didn’t remember taking her to bed. Neither did she seem happy about it. Her body was rigid, her face tight with fear.

“Let. Me. Up!” she said loudly, her voice rising at the end. She sounded almost panicked.

“Can’t,” he mumbled. “I can’t seem to move.”

She pushed at him again. “Roll over.”

Ah, that was how it was done. His body felt heavy, like he no longer had control over it, but he finally managed to roll off her. She jumped up as though she’d been lying next to a snake. He tried not to take it personally, but he closed his eyes with the image of her frightened face seared into his mind.

When he woke, it was not yet morning. The room was still dark, none of the sun’s rays piercing the curtains. He looked down at himself and realized that at some point Miss Carlisle must have tried to make him comfortable, pulling the covers up around him and laying his head on the pillow. His side ached, but it was nothing to the raw pain of his face. He peered at the chair, noting that Miss Carlisle slept curled in it. He didn’t dare remove the mask when she could wake at any moment, but the pain was becoming almost unbearable. Wearing the mask for so long and not allowing his skin any respite had left the old injury inflamed. If he’d been home, he would have applied ointment and stayed inside until he could go out in the mask again. He didn’t have his special ointment here, and he didn’t have the luxury of giving his abused skin a respite from the mask now.

The pain from the chafed skin must have been what had woken him, and he could not go back to sleep. Instead, Jasper sat and watched the curtains for any sign of light. Unwanted as they were, he had his memories to keep him company.

He could close his eyes and feel the heat of the fire like it was before him now. When he’d been inside the burning building, Peter calling out for help because he’d been trapped under a fallen beam, Jasper had thought he would die. The heat was so intense that he had actually felt his skin blistering. But he’d refused to give up. He’d used every last ounce of strength to move that beam. And when Peter had started screaming at the pain of the fire catching his clothing, Jasper had begun to cry, but he hadn’t stopped trying to free his friend. He would die trying.

He wished he had died trying.

Instead, he’d fallen backward when a burning piece of wood had fallen on his face, forever searing it and melting the skin on his forehead, temple, upper cheek, and ear. Then the sound of his own screams had joined those of Peter. He’d known death would not be slow, and he’d crawled toward Peter so at least they could die together.

He was awake and shivering when Miss Carlisle stirred. But he pretended to sleep in order to compose himself while she rose and went outside, presumably to attend to her body’s needs at the outdoor privy.

When she returned he was sitting at the table. She started when she saw him, then straightened her shoulders. He spoke before she could. “Do you have any of that tea?”

Her shoulders relaxed. “The tea? Are you in pain?”

“Let’s just say I don’t feel quite as well as I did yesterday.”

“Have your stitches opened? Are you bleeding again?” Without asking permission, she brushed aside the blanket he wore fastened over his chest and pressed her fingertips lightly across the bandages. He probably should have told her it wasn’t his knife wound paining him, but he didn’t want her to stop touching him. So he kept silent when she removed the bandage and inspected her handiwork. “It’s a little red, but it looks as though it’s healing.” She’d placed one palm flat on his back to steady herself, and Jasper didn’t even think she realized she was touching him there. He closed his eyes and kept his head high. If he looked down at her, he’d be tempted to touch her hair or her cheek. “I’ll get you a clean bandage.”

She moved away, and his body felt cold at the loss of her touch.

But before he could prepare himself, she was again on her knees beside him, wrapping the soft cloth about his middle. He tried not to shiver at her touch, but he couldn’t quite suppress it.

“Are you cold?” she asked. “I’m almost done. I’ll make you that tea.”

He grunted in response, not certain he could trust himself to speak. It was ridiculous that he should find something so basic as a woman changing his dressing arousing, but clearly he had passed into the ridiculous.

She finished and moved to the hearth to stoke the fire, presumably to heat water for the tea.

“Miss Carlisle.” Jasper had control of his voice again now that she was no longer touching him. “About last night.”

She stiffened and did not turn to face him. “I won’t go back to London, my lord.”

“I understand. That wasn’t what I wanted to apologize for.”

She looked at him, her expression curious.

“I want to apologize for what happened in your bed.”

“Nothing happened, my lord.”

“I fell on you, and I want to assure you it was inadvertent. I wasn’t attempting to take advantage of the situation.”

“I never thought you were.”

He should have allowed that to pass. He didn’t. “I saw your face, Miss Carlisle. You were terrified.”

“I think that’s something of an exaggeration.” She waved a hand and went back to her chore at the hearth.

“No, it’s not.” If she hadn’t been afraid of him, he would have gone to her and touched her shoulder to reassure her. But touching her would not help matters. She didn’t want to be touched, not by any man and especially not by him. “And I just wanted to assure you I had no ulterior motives. I simply tripped and you were below me when I fell.” At least he thought that was what happened. “If I had not been so weak and exhausted, I would have helped you up, not crushed you.”

“You didn’t crush me.”

“Nevertheless, I apologize. And I want to make a suggestion.”

“What is that?”

“Once I am back to full strength—tomorrow or the next day—if the trail is still impassable, then I think I should sleep in the stable with the horse.”

Her head snapped up. “What? Why?”

“Because I can see my presence here makes you uneasy. This is your home, and if I sleep in the stable, you can lock me out and feel safe again.”

“You cannot be serious. I will not lock you out.”

“Mama!” Richard’s high thin voice floated down from the loft. “Can I sleep in the stable with Lord Jasper? I want to sleep outside.”

She tossed Jasper a look that said I-blame-you-for-this. “No one but Clover will sleep in the stable, darling.”

“But, Mama!”

“Come down and use the privy then I’ll make everyone a meal to break our fast.”

“But Mama!” The boy appeared at the top of the ladder, his lip stuck out in a pout. “I want to sleep in the stable.”

“Your mother said no,” Jasper answered gently. “To both of us. I guess we have to sleep inside like civilized men.”

The boy cocked his head to the side. “What’s a civilized man?”

Something Jasper hadn’t been in a long time, and the past few days of pretending, of watching his speech and his manners, were beginning to wear on him.