His Wicked Heart (37 page)

Then she and Louisa would journey to York
while Jasper lived the life he was meant to, without her.

OLIVIA stole along the softly lit corridor,
two flickering sconces at either end providing just enough
illumination to find her way. It was half-two in the morning and
the house was dead quiet, which was a good thing. She didn’t need
anyone asking why she was visiting Jasper’s bedchamber in the
middle of the night. She paused outside his door, her ears
straining for the slightest sound within. Hearing nothing, she
turned the handle and stepped across the threshold.

A male hand clamped over her mouth. The man
pulled her inside and pushed her back against the wall while he
closed the door. He brought his finger to his lips. He tipped his
head in silent question. She nodded in response.

Slowly, he lowered his hand. “Sorry.”

Olivia straightened her wrapper, her heart
thudding wildly. She’d never been introduced to him, but of course
she recognized Lord Sevrin after his rescue tonight. “Who were you
expecting?”

“No one, which is why I reacted that way. I
was asleep. I suppose I forgot where I was.” He gave her a sardonic
smile.

“Goodness, where do you normally sleep?”

His smile deepened. “Nowhere as nice as
this.” Before she could question that enigmatic comment, he
continued. “You’re here to visit him?” He gestured toward the
bed.

Ruby-colored hangings were pulled closed
around the four-poster, obscuring Jasper from her sight. So much
for checking on her patient.

“Is he asleep?”

Lord Sevrin rubbed the back of his neck,
drawing her attention to his open collar and the general disarray
of his appearance. He was quite handsome, but Olivia wasn’t tempted
by him, as she knew many other women to be, including Lady Lydia.
“Something like that. More like unconscious. He overimbibed with
the whiskey, I’m afraid.”

She nodded, quashing her disappointment. What
had she hoped for—another bout of lovemaking? She was a fool for
expecting anything.

Lord Sevrin stepped back and offered a slight
bow. “I regret we haven’t been properly introduced. I’m
Sevrin.”

“Of course, I know who you are.”

He inclined his head. “Dare I hope you
recognized me because Saxton pointed me out, or are you aware of my
more, ah, notorious nature?”

“I’m afraid it’s the latter.”

“Please don’t hold it against me. Would you
care to sit for a moment? I’d hate for you to have come for
nothing.”

Was he propositioning her? A man of his
reputation…

He chuckled softly. “Please, Miss West, my
interest doesn’t go beyond our shared concern for Saxton. You’re
quite safe with me.”

Despite everything she’d heard, she relaxed.
She’d met plenty of scandalous men when she’d lived with her
mother, and she didn’t sense any danger from the viscount.

She took one of the two chairs set near the
fireplace. Glowing coals cast a scant bit of light, which was
fortified by twin lamps burning on the mantelpiece.

Lord Sevrin sat beneath one of the lamps. A
faint tinge of yellow ringing his left eye became visible. She
scanned his features for another injury.

He gave a discreet cough. Olivia had been
caught staring.

Quickly, she said, “I’m surprised to find you
here at this hour.”

Sevrin stretched his legs out and leaned back
in the chair, assuming a position a gentleman never would in the
company of a lady. She considered being affronted, but didn’t think
Sevrin meant any offense. “I imagine so,” he drawled. “Although my
presence is far more acceptable than yours. I came to speak with
Saxton about Gifford.”

She felt like an ingrate for not thanking
Sevrin immediately. “Thank you for coming to Jasper’s, er, Saxton’s
rescue. What happened with Mr. Gifford?”

“I dragged him to the magistrate. I believe
he’s the newest inhabitant of Newgate.”

Olivia couldn’t find the charity to be sorry
for his imprisonment. He’d
stabbed
Jasper. “I still can’t
believe he attacked Saxton like that.”

Sevrin frowned. “I was quite shocked.”

The dark expression on Sevrin’s face reminded
Olivia of the anger she now felt about Gifford. She leaned forward.
“Do you know him?”

“I do.”

Olivia waited for him to say something more,
and when he didn’t, she opened her mouth, but he finally spoke.

“You didn’t say what you were doing
here.”

He
was questioning her behavior?
Perhaps rightly so, but coming from him the query seemed ludicrous.
Nevertheless, her aunt and uncle had drilled propriety into her
head from the nursery, even if her actions of late was sorely
lacking. She felt compelled to justify her unchaperoned,
middle-of-the-night visit.

“I am naturally concerned for Saxton’s
welfare. He is…Louisa’s nephew.” And since Sevrin had employed a
deflective tactic to steer the conversation, she would do the same.
She wanted answers from this enigmatic man. “You’ve a bruise around
your eye. Tell me about the club at the Black Horse.”

The corner of his mouth ticked up. “A
collection of miscreants—I include Saxton in that description
though he’s definitely the most well-bred of the lot.”

Olivia bristled. “Jasper isn’t a miscreant.
He’s kind and generous.”

“Indeed?” He didn’t sound doubtful, merely
curious.

“Yes, he helps people in need. Animals, too.
He doesn’t like others to suffer.”

Sevrin was silent a moment. He seemed to
ponder her words. “I understand,” he said softly. “We sometimes
seek to protect others from that which afflicts us most.”

Olivia thought of the duke. Beyond the
strained and perhaps even hostile relationship she saw with her own
eyes, what had Jasper endured? Did he seek violence because he knew
nothing else? She ached to go to him, to give him what he couldn’t
seem to give himself—understanding, solace. Love.

Jasper had told her he fought for the
strategic exercise, but she knew it was more than that.

“Why do you support this club? What is its
purpose?”

His gaze was probing, but different from the
intensity of Jasper’s crystal stare. His mouth turned down. “Before
tonight, I would have said it’s a brotherhood, but Gifford’s attack
on his ‘brother’ would dispute that.”

Olivia recalled the bruises on Gifford’s face
the day she’d met him. “Gifford was a member of the club?”

“Unfortunately, yes. I’ve never seen a member
behave like that. But then, I’ve never tried to mix classes
before.”

“But you’re not in the same class as those
men.”

He winked at her. “In name, but in deed, I’m
far worse.”

She didn’t think he was going to elaborate,
and anyway, she wanted to know about Jasper. “Why did you accept
Jasper into the club?”

“He’s an excellent fighter. He seemed to need
it. Each man participates for reasons of his own. Reasons I’m not
always privy to. Some fight to build confidence. Others work out
their aggression. For Saxton, I think, it fills a void.”

Olivia’s body stilled as she considered this.
The room seemed especially quiet, save the deep breathing coming
from the curtained bed. What was Jasper missing in his life that he
filled with fighting?

Sevrin shrugged. “Perhaps I’m mistaken.
Truly, I haven’t known Saxton very long. But he seems a man of deep
emotion who is looking for something. I wonder if that something
might be you.”

Her pulse tripped. “Jasper has spoken of
me?”

“As much as men do. But yes, I know how
important you are to him. It’s a good thing. I think you might
actually save him.”

From what? From the duke? “He needs
saving?”

“Everyone does, Miss West. Most of us just
aren’t lucky enough to find someone like you.”

But Olivia couldn’t be Jasper’s savior. The
threatening letter she’d received meant her time with Louisa—and
with Jasper—was nearly at an end.

JASPER cracked an eyelid. The room was
blissfully dim, though morning sunlight burned the backs of the
damask drapes covering the windows. He tried to sit up, but pain
exploded in his shoulder and he lolled back against the pillow.

“Awake at last?” Louisa stood from the chair
near the bed, her face creased with concern. “How are you
feeling?”

“Ah, fine,” he lied.

She poured him a glass of water from the
pitcher on the bedside table. Though she was in a fresh gown, her
skin was pale and dark bags barely supported her drooping eyes.
“Louisa, have you slept?”

She handed him the water. “Not much, I’m
afraid. I’ve been too worried about you. You’re not allowed to
leave me.”

His wound was scarcely as dire as that, but
he understood her concern. She’d lost a husband she dearly loved,
and he was now the closest member of her family—until Olivia had
arrived.

“Where’s Olivia?” He took a long draught,
easing his thirst.

“It’s early. Just half-eight. I’m not sure
she’s gone down to breakfast yet.”

Jasper ignored a stab of disappointment that
she hadn’t visited him in the night.

Louisa perched on the edge of the bed.
“Jasper, why haven’t you asked me for my betrothal ring? You
remember my offering it to you last spring?”

“I do.” He just hadn’t wanted it yet. For
then he’d have to actually propose. And with each day, the notion
of marrying Lady Philippa grew less and less palatable. Because of
Olivia. How could he consider marrying someone else while he was
either making love to Olivia or thinking about making love to
her?

She nodded. “If you’d rather choose something
different for your bride, I’ll understand.”

Suddenly an image of presenting Olivia with
Louisa’s betrothal ring sprang into his mind. Good Lord, what a
notion. He couldn’t think of a single person who wouldn’t be
shocked. But only because she wasn’t expected, not because she was
the bastard daughter of a courtesan. And if no one knew the truth
about her, why
couldn’t
he marry her?

“It’s not that,” he said. “I’m just not yet
sure who she’s going to be.”

Louisa’s eyes widened. “But I thought you
were settled on Lady Philippa.”

He hadn’t ever told her so, but Louisa knew
he’d paid her specific attention over the past fortnight. “I was.
Rather, the duke was.”

“You mustn’t let him dictate your life.” She
looked away and frowned. “I should have intervened ten years
ago.”

Jasper twitched against a jolt of pain in his
shoulder. Merry had been the one who’d told Jasper about the duke
sending Abigail and her family away. Jasper assumed Merry hadn’t
told Louisa because she’d never once broached the subject. “You
mean with Abigail.”

“Yes.”

Jasper downed the remainder of the water and
replaced the empty glass on the table.

“Do you want to know what I think?” she
asked.

Not really
. He was humiliated enough
that he hadn’t done right by Abigail, that she’d disappeared at the
duke’s hand, and Jasper hadn’t been smart enough to stop his
interference, let alone be aware of it.

“I think you’re punishing yourself for that
perceived failure,” she said.

“Perceived? I did fail.”

“You didn’t. That was entirely Holborn’s
fault. But this isn’t about him. It’s about your guilt over
Abigail. I know how grief and regret can overwhelm one’s life. But
you have to move on. Maybe then you’ll actually be interested in
marrying someone.”

“I
am
interested in marrying someone.”
Olivia’s face swam before him.
Impossible
.

Louisa regarded him with wide, somewhat
mischievous eyes. “Really, who?”

He couldn’t tell her. He wasn’t even sure he
believed it himself. Holborn would be furious. Furthermore, Jasper
had no idea if Olivia even wanted to marry. She’d said on more than
one occasion that Society made her uncomfortable, and though
Prewitt had been easy enough to dissuade, who else might uncover
her past?

“I’d rather not say.”

“So secretive.” She patted his knee through
the coverlet. “I’m sure whomever you choose will be perfect—for
you. And that’s all that matters. You needn’t please me or Holborn,
or anyone but you.”

“What do you think the duke would do if he
didn’t approve my choice?” Jasper could well guess. He’d be
particularly livid since Jasper had agreed to gaining his approval
in exchange for not meddling in Miranda’s marriage.

Louisa tilted her head to the side. “What is
it you’re really afraid of? That he won’t approve your wife or he
won’t approve you? He’s never gotten over the loss of James, but
that’s his grief, not yours. If Holborn’s approval is that
important to you… Well, only you can decide. I only ask that you be
happy.”

Happy
. He thought of teaching Olivia
to ride. Watching her navigate Society with charm and grace.
Sharing time with her and Louisa, like they were a family.

He squeezed Louisa’s hand. He’d always loved
her, but never more than that moment. “Thank you.”

She stood from the bed. “You’re quite
welcome, dear. If you’re able, the coach is ready to take you to
Saxton House. Dr. Marsden will be meeting you there at ten. I
assumed you’d be more comfortable in your own bed.”

He’d hoped to see Olivia, but it seemed he
would be rushed out before he had the opportunity. It was just as
well. He needed to think. He couldn’t really be contemplating
marriage with Olivia?

“Thank you, Louisa. For everything.”

She leaned down and bussed his cheek. “It’s
my privilege to dote.”

After she left, Jasper stared at the ceiling.
Olivia was so far from the woman he’d imagined marrying. Since
Abigail, he’d always assumed his wife would possess lineage,
wealth, an impeccable upbringing, and the ability to serve as the
consummate hostess to the future Duke of Holborn. How would Olivia
possibly fulfill that role? Was it even fair of him to ask her
to?