Olivia could scarcely breathe from the heat of his gaze on her. It wasn’t difficult to divine his thoughts. He wanted her, and she supposed she’d fueled that desire by touching him unnecessarily and allowing the kiss. The kiss had definitely gone too far. She should have stopped him. She could have. He hadn’t grabbed her or forced himself on her. He’d given her time to stop him. So why hadn’t she?

The short answer was that she wanted to kiss him.

She hadn’t lied when she’d told him she found him attractive, even with the scar. She understood why he hid it. The wound hurt her to look upon because she could imagine the pain he must have felt. Whatever had caused it had all but melted the flesh on one side of his face. The skin on his forehead and temple seemed to slide down toward his brow, then miraculously cut away from his eye. His eye had been saved, but his ear and the side of his head were damaged. His golden-brown hair grew in patches on what was otherwise a bald section of skull. And then below his eye, the damage continued, though the burn there must not have been as severe. That skin was merely pink and smooth, highlighting his high cheekbones.

She’d had to clear the blood away on his temple. The mask probably rubbed him there, and that skin had taken the worst of the injury. He really shouldn’t wear the mask again for a few days, but she doubted she could convince him to leave it off with Richard awake. She wasn’t certain what Richard’s reaction would be. She did not think it would be fear, but he’d inevitably ask a thousand questions and be morbidly curious.

So maybe it was for the best if Lord Jasper wore his mask again. They’d already shared more intimacies than she was comfortable with, and she suspected Lord Jasper felt quite vulnerable tonight as well. That was probably why he’d wanted to kiss her again. Neither of them was thinking straight.

“You’ll forgive me if I don’t wish to discuss the ton tonight,” he said, referring back to their earlier conversation.

“I will. No one should ever have to discuss the ton. And since it’s late and we both worked hard today, I propose we go to bed.” As soon as the words left her mouth, she wished she could take them back. They’d come out all wrong. “That is...what I meant to say—”

“I know what you meant, Olivia.”

Oh, why had she given him leave to use her Christian name? That only made her feel more uncomfortable.

“I’ll go to sleep in the chair. You take the bed,” he said.

“Are you certain you don’t need the bed?”

“I’ve occupied it long enough.”

Olivia didn’t argue. Her back ached, and she knew lying in her bed would feel much better than the rocking chair. Without another word, Lord Jasper moved the chair away from the bed and closer to the fire. Then he settled into it, taking the blanket he wore as a shirt and draping it over himself for warmth.

The blanket reminded her she’d wanted him to try on the shirt she’d sewn him, but that could wait until tomorrow. One more evening and she could finish the cuffs. She turned the lamps down and started for her bed then detoured to her changing area. She’d only used it when he’d been unconscious or outside, but there was no hope of either of those possibilities tonight and she did not want to sleep in her dress. She drew the curtains closed and even though she knew he could not see, she felt exposed as she disrobed and slipped on a nightrail and robe. When she opened the curtains again, he was in the same place she had left him, and he didn’t look toward her as she tiptoed to her bed. Quickly, she removed her robe and laid it on the end of the bed. Then she slid under the sheets, determined to sleep deeply and forget all about Jasper Grantham.

But that was impossible.

She hadn’t had the time or forethought to wash her sheets. She’d changed them several times when he’d been ill. She’d cleaned him and had made certain his bedding was fresh as well. But she hadn’t changed it in a couple days and when she lay down, she could smell him. His scent lingered on the sheets and seemed to envelop her in its novelty. He smelled of man. She didn’t know how else to describe it. She’d caught the scent on him tonight when she’d moved close to clean his wound. It was smoke from the fire, strong soap, and...man.

She’d feared men for the past few years and done everything she could to avoid them. But now she had a man in her house, one she couldn’t escape. One—dare she admit it?—she did not want to escape. He was everywhere she looked and now his very scent touched her. She could practically imagine his hands on her.

Olivia shifted, trying to escape Lord Jasper and her own feelings. She didn’t want a man’s hands on her. She’d suffered through that once, and she’d sworn she’d never allow it again. Logically, she knew not all men were like Withernsea, but she had also heard and read enough to know what Withernsea had done to her was common among married people. She didn’t ever want any man to do that to her again.

So why was her body rebelling against her mind and reacting to Lord Jasper’s scent? Why did she have the urge to put her arms around him, allow him to kiss her, find ways to brush against him? She had thought those sorts of feelings were dead. As she rolled over again she promised herself she would manage to destroy them one way or another.

In the morning, she woke later than usual. She knew it was late because the sun was already in the sky, and she usually woke before sunrise. Not to mention, if she ever did try to snatch a few extra moments of sleep, Richard always woke her.

Richard!

She sat, glanced at Lord Jasper’s chair by the fireplace and saw it was empty. “Richard?” she called.

No answer.

“Richard?” She was already up and on her way to the ladder. “Richard!”

She climbed the ladder faster than she ever had and then stared at the empty bed in the loft. Her head spun, and she barely managed to hold on to the ladder to avoid taking a spill. She didn’t want to allow the thoughts to come into her head. She didn’t want to even consider what she most feared had happened. She’d let her guard down, and now she would pay the consequences. Again. And not only her, but Richard as well. She started down the ladder, frantic to find Richard, when she heard a high-pitched giggle.

There was no mistaking the sound. It was Richard’s. After it she heard a low murmur and then Richard’s voice, quieter now but still audible. Olivia practically slid down the ladder in her haste. She ran across the cottage and yanked the door open. Lord Jasper and Richard were in the yard, just a few feet away, and clearly on their way toward the door she’d thrown open. Richard’s face broke into a smile, but Lord Jasper’s eyes widened. He’d donned his mask again, but it didn’t conceal his hazel eyes. In fact, now that she knew what he looked like beneath it, she could easily picture his brows rising and his forehead creasing.

“Mama, you’re supposed to be in bed.”

“And you are not supposed to go outside without waking me.”

Richard looked at Lord Jasper. “But I was with—”

“And you, sir”—she pointed to Jasper, who was looking studiously at the ground—“you should not have taken him out without waking me.”

“We just wanted to let you sleep a bit longer. I was awake and so was the boy.”

“And did you consider what I would think when I woke up and found the two of you gone?”

“We weren’t gone long.”

“We just went to feed Clover, Mama. We were coming back to make the morning meal.”

Olivia’s heart had ceased hammering so hard it hurt, and she was able to take a breath.

Richard, tears in his eyes now, rushed to her and threw his arms about her. “I’m sorry, Mama. I just wanted to help you.”

Olivia clutched her son tightly. Sweet boy. She didn’t know what she would ever do if anything happened to him. If she lost him, there would be no reason to go on living. He was everything to her.

“You are forgiven,” she said, kissing the top of his head. He smelled of the sea air and fresh straw. “I might have overreacted just a little.” She glanced at Lord Jasper who had closed the distance between them but looked down again when their eyes met.

“Can we still make the morning meal?” Richard asked.

Olivia frowned. “I don’t know about that. What did you plan to make?”

“Lord Jasper can cook.”

She looked at Lord Jasper again, but he was looking at Richard, who still held onto Olivia. “Perhaps we had better leave it to your mother. My skills are fairly rudimentary, and I can’t promise what I make will be edible.”

“What’s rudimentary?”

Olivia tousled his hair. “It means he’s still learning. Like you,” she said. Lord Jasper was dressed in his trousers and belted blanket, but Richard still wore his nightshirt. He’d put shoes on, at least. “Now, you’d better go dress yourself while I start on the meal.”

“Yes, Mama.” Richard squeezed her again then scampered up the ladder. Olivia moved back, so Lord Jasper could enter. He closed the door behind him, eyes still on his boots.

“I really did only mean to help.”

“I know.” She almost reached over and touched his arm, but she couldn’t quite find the courage. “But I don’t want you taking Richard anywhere without telling me first.”

“Understood,” he said.

She would let that be the end of it. The gesture had been kind, and if she had awakened just a few moments later, she might have appreciated it more. “I suppose I will start on the meal.” She headed toward the hearth to stoke the fire and move the large pot there into the flames to heat.

“Don’t you want to...” Lord Jasper trailed off.

She glanced back at him, and he dropped his gaze again. He’d never been hesitant to look at her before. In fact, his direct gaze had made her catch her breath a time or two. Was he shy now that she’d seen him without the mask or...she looked down at the floor and noticed her bare feet. With a start, she realized she wore nothing but her night rail. It reached to her ankles, but the material was flimsy linen that tended to slide off one shoulder. She had nothing on underneath, and she couldn’t be certain how much was visible. In her panic this morning, she hadn’t thought about what she’d worn. Or rather, what she hadn’t worn.

She flew to her bed, snatched up the robe, and slid it on over the night rail. But even that wasn’t enough. She went to her dressing area, snapped the curtains closed, and dressed quickly in the same dress she’d worn the day before. She secured her hair in a long tail down her back, determined to pin it up later.

When she emerged, Lord Jasper was looking out the window. “I thought I might look at the trail again. See if the ground has dried out enough to try it.”

“Good idea.” She began gathering her supplies. She had porridge and tea. That would do until she could make bread later in the day.

“If you’ll excuse me then.” And he was gone.

Alone, except for the sound of Richard singing to himself in the loft, Olivia let her shoulders drop and closed her eyes. What was she supposed to make of him? A man who was considerate enough to try and give her a few more minutes of sleep. A man who averted his eyes when she was in dishabille. A man who challenged her with a kiss—time had given her perspective and she knew his actions to be a challenge now—to see if she would reject him. They were both vulnerable, in their ways, and he had shown her the same courtesy this morning that she had given him last night.

Either that or he really didn’t see anything he found interesting when he looked at her.

***

THE BLOODY TRAIL WAS still muddy and wet. He’d go sliding right down and break his neck if he tried to descend from the cliff that way. And perhaps he liked that alternative better than the one currently facing him.

Olivia Carlisle, with her dark hair and her blue eyes, was driving him mad. She didn’t mean to drive him mad. She probably didn’t even realize she did it, which made it that much worse.

Jasper walked the perimeter of the cliff until he had a view of the sea, dark blue and choppy today. The brisk wind blew his hair off his neck.

He’d had a hard enough time sleeping last night when he could hear her sighing and tossing and turning. He’d not been able to forget touching his lips to hers, however briefly. She hadn’t pulled away, hadn’t reacted with disgust. Jasper hadn’t thought such a thing possible, especially not with such a pretty woman. He didn’t think a woman like her would ever look at a man like him.

And if that wasn’t bad enough, this morning he’d awakened far too early and had plenty of time to observe her as she slept. He tried not to. It was ill-mannered, but how was he not supposed to look at her when she looked so lovely and tempting? Her loose hair swirled about her pillow like a collection of glossy mahogany ribbons. Her head was turned toward the fire, her hand tucked under her chin, and her cheeks pink. He couldn’t see anything of her body. That was hidden under her bedclothes, but he could imagine where her breasts, hips, and legs might be.

And then this morning he had not had to imagine at all. She’d flung the door open dressed in little more than white gauze. That was an exaggeration, of course, but not much. The skirt was short enough that he could clearly see her trim little ankles, small feet, and pink toes. And the material was threadbare enough that he had no trouble making out the outline of the quiet flare of hips, a tuck of waist, and small but pert breasts. And all of it was creamy and smooth. He’d extrapolated this from the exposed shoulder he’d caught a glimpse of when her sleeve had fallen down her arm.

Jasper had tried not to look. Really, he had. It had been so long since he’d played the gentleman, but he did the best he could playing the part again. As he recalled, a gentleman generally ignored everything his body wanted and did the exact opposite. So when Jasper’s body told him to move closer to her, he stayed where he was. When he wanted to look at her, to drink her in, he looked away. And when he wanted more time in her presence, he made himself leave.

Now he remembered why he’d stopped being a gentleman and preferred to live his life in the rookeries.

Being a gentleman was too much bloody work.

When he smelled food, he started back toward the cottage. As he neared, he could hear the boy chattering away. His mother was probably only listening with half an ear. Jasper was surprised to realize he liked the boy. The lad was curious and asked a lot of questions. Most of them were unanswerable—how many teeth does a dragon have, how long would it take to walk to China—but Jasper wasn’t one of those men who minded a bit of conversation. When he’d been in the war, he and the other men of Draven’s troop had routinely walked miles every day. Jasper had never minded some good-natured derision of the other men or telling a story or two to make the time go quicker. Anything was better than listening to Rafe prattle on or settling for Ewan’s stoic silence. And though young Richard leaned more toward Rafe’s side of the equation, Jasper had always liked Rafe. It was even easier to like the man now that he was in the Americas.

Jasper tapped on the door and entered. Olivia was placing the food on the table and nodded to him. “How are you feeling?” she asked, as though she hadn’t run from him earlier in her haste to cover herself. “Does your wound pain you?”

He hadn’t even thought of it really. There was still a dull pain, but he’d had far worse wounds that had pained him more. “I’m quite recovered,” he answered, taking a seat at the place he’d come to think of as his. “In fact, I can work in the garden today if you’d like.”

She stopped ladling porridge into the bowls and stared at him. “There’s no need for that, my lord.”

He blew out a breath. “I may have grown up as the son of a marquess, but I haven’t lived that way for some time. I can pull weeds and shore up waterlogged vegetables.”

“Can I help, Mama? Can I?”

She cut her gaze at Richard, and from the look on her face it was clear the boy hadn’t been eager to help her in the garden.

“You might be able to do some chores inside the house if you have a mind to,” Jasper said. He’d known that would be the mortal blow, and he’d been correct. Her gaze lifted from Richard and slid over what Jasper imagined to be all the tasks she felt absolutely needed attention. “And the fresh air is welcome after all the days inside due to the rain.”

She narrowed her eyes at him—a warning. “You have to promise to stay where Lord Jasper can see you,” she told the boy.

“I will!”

Jasper smiled. “It’s settled then.”

After the morning meal, he left for the garden with the boy following closely behind. He’d meant what he said about the fresh air. He could breathe again outside, could breathe now that he was away from her. He wished it were possible to avoid her for the next few days and then leave and not look back. But to do so would leave her and the boy vulnerable. That was something Jasper wouldn’t do even if he hadn’t been attracted to her. And so he’d have to speak to her again tonight, when the boy was sleeping. She wouldn’t be safe here. If Withernsea knew her parents had hired him, then he could track Jasper to Penbury. He could find Olivia and Richard. Perhaps he already had. Jasper wasn’t quite ready to write off the knife attack as random.

He stopped at the garden and handed the boy a spade from the garden implements he’d brought with him. The boy had been speaking continually as they walked to the garden from the house, and Jasper had pretended to be interested as the lad pointed out birds and insects. “Time to get to work,” he said, stripping off the blanket he’d been wearing as a shirt. He knelt to begin weeding and the boy knelt beside him, copying everything he did.

“Is this right, Lord Jasper?” he asked, decapitating a weed.

“Try to get the roots too.” Jasper showed him how to use the shovel to get under the weed and remove the entire plant. The ground was soft from the rain, so the boy wouldn’t have to struggle. “And call me Jasper.”

“But Mama said—”

“I know what she said, but it makes me feel like an idiot. I’m in rags, digging in the dirt, and you two won’t stop milording me. If your mother objects, I’ll take the blame.”

“You’re brave.”

Jasper smiled as he pulled another weed. “Only with your mother. Can I tell you a secret?”

The boy nodded.

“My own mother was even more terrifying than yours. I never dared disobey her. She could have burned me up like one of your dragons with just a look.”

“No, she couldn’t!”

“Just consider it a warning. If you ever meet her, you’d better behave.”

The boy set his spade aside. “Is she still alive?”

Jasper made an affirmative sound.

“What about your father?”

“Both of them.”

“Do they look like you?”

Jasper raised his eyes. He glanced at the boy’s red hair and knew he had to tread carefully here. “There’s a family resemblance. My father and I have the same eyes, but I’m taller than he. As far as our features, I’ve been told I look more like my mother.”

“They wear masks too?”

Jasper almost burst out laughing. He managed to restrain himself just in time. Of course the boy didn’t understand why he wore the mask. And he was young enough to assume it was part of his appearance.

“No, they don’t wear masks. I’m the only one who does, and I didn’t wear one when I was your age.”

“But why do you wear it now?”

Because I don’t want to scare the hell out of you. But Jasper knew that wasn’t the whole truth. He also wore it because he couldn’t stand to be looked at, to have his scars on view. “I was hurt in a fire,” he said simply. There was no point trying to explain war to the child, and his mother wouldn’t appreciate that at any rate. “My face was burned, so I wear the mask to cover the wound.”

“What do you look like under the mask?” the boy asked.

“Like any other man, except I have scars from the fire.”

“Oh.” The lad was silent for a long time, and Jasper began weeding again. Richard didn’t pick up his spade, but Jasper hadn’t really expected him to do much work. He just wanted to give Olivia a little space to complete her tasks in peace. He’d just settled into a routine of dig, push, pull, toss, repeat, when the boy spoke up again. “Do you have a son?”

Jasper shook his head. “I’m not a father.” He doubted he ever would be.

“Do you want to be a father?”

Jasper paused, his spade stuck in the earth. “I don’t know.” He looked up at Richard. The boy was sitting on his knees, his face turned to Jasper, his eyes so hopeful.

“Because you could be my father.”

Jasper felt all the breath whoosh out of him, as though he’d just been punched. He hadn’t seen this coming. He should have. All the questions about whether he looked like his parents, what he looked like under the mask, whether he had children. The boy was looking for a father, and Jasper had fallen into the trap.

Except when he looked at Richard’s hopeful expression he couldn’t see it as a trap. He simply saw a boy who had love to give and wanted love in return.

“When I go to the village I see other boys with fathers, and since I don’t have one, I thought maybe you could be mine.”

Jasper released his painful grip on the spade’s handle and put his hand on the boy’s slight shoulder. “I would be honored to be your father, Richard. Any man would be lucky to have you as a son. But your mother is the one who makes that decision, and”—he closed his hand on the boy’s shoulder before he ran off to ask his mother—“rather than troubling her with this at the moment, why don’t I become something I know your mother would approve of?”

Richard’s face fell. “What’s that?”

“Your friend.”

“I want you to be my father.” His voice was petulant and just a bit whiny.

“Wanting something doesn’t make it so, and friendship is a rare and important thing. The men I hold as my friends would die for me, and I would die for them. We’ve seen each other at our worst, and we try to bring out the others’ best.”

“You would die for them?” Richard asked.

“If you would accept me as your friend, I’d be a loyal friend. You could count on me.”

“You could count on me too.”

“Are we friends then?”

The boy nodded. Jasper stuck out his hand, but Richard just looked at it.

“We’ll shake on it.”

Richard took his hand, shook it, then threw himself into Jasper’s arms. Jasper sat rigidly for a long moment, then closed his arms around the boy. He didn’t want to admit it, but it wasn’t just Olivia Carlisle he was beginning to care for.