“Neither, please.” Jasper took the cup she offered.
She fixed her tea and sat back in the chair. “I am sorry I was in your room.”
“And I am sorry I was an arse about it.” He relaxed in his chair. “I also apologize for my behavior while you were a guest in my home. My only excuse is that I enjoy tweaking Society’s collective nose, and that I’m frequently thoughtless about it.”
“Thank you.” She lifted the tea to her lips, anticipating the simple comfort of routine things. Oddly enough, Jasper—with his swearing, easy nature, and blunt honesty—was a unique kind of tonic.
“We should marry, Miss Pearce.”
Her cup clattered into the saucer, sloshing tea onto her fingers. He looked the same as he had five minutes ago, but in that time, he had lost his wits. “I beg your pardon, Lord Ramsbury, but are you foxed?”
“I never begin drinking before noon, especially not at my mother’s house.” He held her gaze. “My behavior has left you with few viable options for your future.”
“It wasn’t just your behavior, and I don’t believe our penance should be a life sentence in a loveless marriage.”
He put his teacup back on the table and leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. “Since I inherited my title, my mother has prodded me to choose a wife based on anything but love. I’ve avoided proposing because every candidate has, quite frankly, bored me senseless. You do not.”
Annabel kept a tight grip on her cup but didn’t dare drink it. “You know my circumstances.”
“I don’t need a rich wife,” he said. “I need a suitable wife.”
She was far from suitable in ways he would never understand. The primary one being that she’d been spying on him, for pity’s sake. “You need an heir.”
He shrugged. “Not right away.” His grin hitched up on one side. “I’m willing to wait and see if we grow more compatible.”
The flush on her cheeks had nothing to do with the fire. “And if we don’t?”
“Then we’ll come to an agreement.” His gaze was steady. “Annabel, I believe we will both benefit from marrying, and I think we will find we have many more things in common. Marriages have been built on weaker foundations.”
She finally sipped her tea to wet her throat. “I have two sisters who will need a Season, not necessarily this one, but next.”
“They can come out with mine this year, and the year after if necessary. We’ll see they’re matched to decent young men.” He paused for a moment, his eyes twinkling. “I’d like your help with that. You are quite the tiger as a chaperone, and the girls are chafing against Mother’s decrees.”
“Thank you. I’d be happy to help, though my sisters may not listen to me.” She blinked to clear the tears from her eyes. “I’d like your word that you won’t pay my father’s debts.”
He nodded but frowned. “Why?”
“He won’t learn his lesson,” she whispered as she stared into the fire. “He’s chased schemes for years, and you’ll be throwing good money after bad.” She met his gaze. “Seasons aren’t cheap, and I won’t take advantage of your generosity.”
“Thank you. But your mother shouldn’t suffer. She’ll have an allowance my solicitor will manage for her. She’ll have enough to keep her in London if she chooses.” He caught his bottom lip between his teeth for a moment. “Forgive me, but you’ll need a wardrobe. My mother’s dressmaker should be willing to fit you quickly.”
Although it stung her pride and her conscience, she would have to look like a marchioness, and she couldn’t afford that on her own. “I’ll be ready.”
“No gray, please. You have enough of that.”
It was her turn to chuckle. “Agreed.” It was easy to do. She hated gray. “One more thing.”
He waited, eyebrows arched.
It was difficult to think, much less say. “I am aware you have at least one mistress.” She put a hand up to stop his interruption. “I’m not asking you to give them up. I’m just asking that you be discreet. The ton will gossip enough as it is.”
He offered his hand. “Is that a yes, then, Annabel?”
She slid her fingers into his large, warm palm. “Yes, Lord Ramsbury.”
“Jasper.” His breath was hot on her skin as he brushed his lips across her knuckles.
“As you wish.” Annabel’s heart thudded against her ribs. “Jasper.”
Chapter Eight
“You send me to Cardiff and get married while I’m gone?” Kit pushed himself from the mantel and came back to the desk. “To the woman you caught poking around your bedroom.”
“Don’t loom over me.” Jasper dropped his pen into the ink pot. “It wasn’t my intention.”
“The timing or the wedding?”
“Both.” Jasper blotted the letter to Claudette before folding it with as crisp a crease as possible given the ten-pound notes contained within. “Though I would have waited if I’d known it would put your nose out of joint.”
Kit moved the seal out of reach. “Jasper. Your new wife wants to see you hang.”
“Name a wife in London who doesn’t want to see their husband swing.”
His best friend stood speechless, his face deepening to purple with alarming speed. Jasper finally took pity on him.
“I wouldn’t have married Annabel if I thought she was a danger to my life span or my freedom.” He dropped bits of blue sealing wax into the crucible he’d used since his father’s death. “Or to the queen.”
