 
# All She Wants for Christmas

## Amy Rose Bennett

### Contents

Dedication

Copyright

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

A Note from the Author

About the Author
For Richard, my very own rake.

I love you always.
**Copyright © 2015 by Amy Rose Bennett.**

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**ALL RIGHTS RESERVED**. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except for the inclusion of brief quotations in a review.

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This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either a product of fiction or are used in a fictitious manner, including portrayal of historical figures and situations. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.

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**Cover design by Dawné Dominique**

# Chapter 1

_3 rd December 1816, Penrose House, Berkeley Square, London_

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Not for the first time during this seemingly interminable evening, Jasper Hargreaves, the fifth Earl of Arlington, questioned his soundness of mind. Skulking in the shadows of a velvet swathed alcove immediately adjacent to the overcrowded, glittering ballroom of Penrose House, he wondered what on earth had possessed him to agree to attend what was ostensibly a trial 'come out' ball for Miss Emma Penrose, the youngest sister of his good friend Christopher, Viscount Trevilian.

Trevilian—who was presently preoccupied with playing the part of magnanimous host to a gaggling party of young women and their mamas on the other side of the ballroom—needn't have bothered warning him off pursuing the chit. As Miss Penrose flitted by on the arm of a very green-looking swain—her current partner in a decidedly mundane country dance—he conceded she was pretty enough in her snow-white muslin gown. Indeed, with her peaches and cream complexion, glossy black hair, and laughing blue eyes, she was as fresh as the first day of spring. And definitely _not_ the type of girl who would suit his present needs. Not that he could tell Trevilian that. Not without risking a blow or two to his person.

He grimaced and retreated farther into the darkness. No, lonely widows and brandy—or any other strong liqueur he could lay his hands on—were exactly what he needed at present. Ever since The Battle of Waterloo. He closed his eyes and took an overly large swig of his drink in a vain attempt to dull the ever-present pain of loss and what might have been.

But the brandy wasn't enough. He really should engage another mistress.

"Heavens. What are you doing hiding back there, Lord Arlington?"

Jasper knew that husky voice. If his memory served him correctly, it belonged to a voluptuous and very accommodating widow. Plastering a devil-may-care smile on his face, he opened his eyes. "Ah, Lady Montagu," he said with a bow. Perhaps this evening wouldn't be as dull as he'd thought.

She laughed, a sensual, throaty sound. "It seems like forever since we last crossed paths, my lord. Indeed, since I espied you chatting to our host earlier this evening, I've been secretly hoping you might ask me to dance."

Jasper raked her with an appreciative gaze. Lady Montagu had changed little in the eighteen months since they'd last 'crossed paths'. Attired in a well-cut gown of emerald satin that showed off her lush curves and ample bust to perfection, she was still as tempting as sin; and definitely an agreeable salve to help assuage his _ennui,_ if not his deeper wounds. He grasped the baroness's gloved hand, drawing her closer. Her heavy perfume teased his nostrils and his blood heated to a few degrees warmer than ice-cold. "I'm afraid I'm not up to dancing, m'dear," he drawled. "But I can assure you, your delightful company is most desired. If you have any other pursuits in mind, I believe I can be easily persuaded to join you."

"Hmm." Lady Montagu slipped her hand from his and tapped her chin with her finger in apparent contemplation. Even in the shadowed alcove, he could detect a gleam of excitement in her green eyes, for all her outward nonchalance. "I believe there may be something upstairs you might help me with, if you are... up for something else, my lord. I've recently heard Lord Trevilian's sister is developing a reputation as an artist of some renown—shocking I know—but I'm actually thinking of commissioning her to paint my portrait." She stepped forward and pushed one of her breasts against his superfine clad bicep. A tendril of her flaming red hair tickled his cheek as she leaned closer to murmur into his ear. "Some of her artworks are on display along the second floor hallway. I'd value your"—her fingertips fluttered over the fall front of his black silk evening breeches—"considered opinion on the matter."

Jasper's smile grew wider. "Well, I am always happy to share my _considered opinion_ with a lady as lovely as you, my dear Lady Montagu. If you are amenable, what say we meet on the second floor landing in ten minutes?"

Tessa Penrose attempted, but failed to stifle a yawn behind her ivory silk gloved hand. Sequestered in a relatively quiet corner of the supper room, she trusted the chattering crowd milling about the main buffet table hadn't observed her social _faux pas_. But of course, her gimlet-eyed Aunt Beatrice who sat at the table opposite her certainly had.

"I know you are bored to tears, my dearest Tessa," she remarked as she carefully put the gilt-edged, rose-patterned, Spode china teacup on its matching saucer (Aunt Beatrice had insisted that only the best china should be used during her youngest niece's unofficial debut ball), "but I must insist you at least _try_ to feign a modicum of interest, if not enjoyment. We—your brother, Emma and I—are all counting on you to play your part. Now and until the festive season begins, and when the Season proper commences next year."

_My part. The part of the dutiful oldest sister. The pleasant but unassuming spinster. But heaven forbid anyone should ever suspect that Miss Tessa Penrose is a bluestocking._ Tessa sighed. Yes, she was well-practiced at being inconspicuous on occasions such as this. As was her usual habit, she clasped her gloved hands in her lap and dredged up a suitable smile for the sake of appearances. "Aunt Beatrice, you must know that I would never willingly spoil Emma's chances at finding a suitable match." Despite her own discomfiture, she would make more of an effort. For Emma.

The expression in Aunt Beatrice's pale blue eyes immediately grew softer. "My dear child, I _do_ know how difficult these situations are for you. I wish..."

Her aunt suddenly reached out one gnarled hand toward her, but then drew it back; whether it was because Tessa's own hands were still hidden in her lap, or her aunt had thought better of making an overt display of affection in such a public place, Tessa couldn't be certain.

Regardless of the reason, she suddenly yearned for her aunt's comforting touch. "You wish things were different," she murmured, unable to hide the trace of sadness in her voice as she completed her aunt's thought. "But I, do not. I am who I am, Aunt Beatrice. And I made up my mind long ago that the life of a _ton_ wife would not be for me."

"You mean your father made his mind up about that." Her aunt sat up a little straighter and looked her in the eye. "Well, my brother was wrong, Tessa, God rest his foolish, belligerent soul. It doesn't have to be this way. You are only five and twenty, and equally attractive as your sister. If you wanted—"

"But that is the entire crux of the matter," Tessa interrupted. "I don't _want_ to be like Emma." _I can never be like Emma. Pretty and perfect and agreeable._ The hot sting of unexpected tears made her blink and she hastily cast her gaze downward to the empty space on the linen covered table before her. Oh, what she wouldn't do for some peace and quiet, and her own cup of tea right at this moment. Perhaps she could sneak away to her art studio-cum-study when her aunt wasn't looking... _But who will chaperone Emma?_

As always, duty called.

"Oh, Tessa," her aunt said on a clearly sympathetic sigh. "I'm well aware—as is Christopher—that you value your independence most highly. But if you met the right sort of man—"

At the risk of drawing attention, Tessa raised her hand. "Please stop, Aunt Beatrice. I will not be swayed. My artistic ventures, my position as an art tutor at Mrs. Brooke's Academy for Young Ladies, and my charity work provide me with all the fulfillment I need. Indeed, I do not want for anything in my life. Or _anyone,_ for that matter. I wish you would believe me."

"Hmph." Aunt Beatrice's mouth flattened into a line of disapproval. "My dear gel, that is _precisely_ the problem. I _do_ believe you." She took another sip of her tea before fixing Tessa with the shrewd look she knew so well. "As soon as I have finished my supper, I would like you to help me locate Lady Salter. Put together, we may be as ancient as the Rosetta Stone, but I am certain that we can adequately chaperone your sister... That is, if you would like to retire for the evening."

Sweet relief flooded through Tessa, but she managed to maintain a pleasantly neutral expression. It wouldn't do to look too excited about her release from social purgatory. "You are too generous, Aunt Beatrice. And please, pass on my good wishes to Emma. From what I have seen already," she nodded toward the ballroom, "she is having a marvelous evening. She doesn't need her stuffy older sister hovering about."

Aunt Beatrice smiled. "Well, I also think she would prefer it if her stuffy brother and aunt weren't hovering about either, but needs must when the devil drives." She winked and lowered her voice. "Which reminds me, we cannot risk Emma straying into the path of that devil, the Earl of Arlington. For the life of me I still cannot understand why your brother invited that man at the last minute. I hear he is a rakehell of the worst kind. I'm sure he would rather cut off his left foot than marry any girl he compromised."

Tessa frowned. Lord Arlington. The name was vaguely familiar, but she could not bring to mind his form or countenance. "Surely Christopher wouldn't have invited such a creature into our home," she said, trying to ignore a sudden frisson of unease tripping its way down her spine.

Her aunt sighed. "Yes, one hopes your brother would have exercised more sense, but..." Putting down her cup, she eased herself up from the Hepplewhite chair. "Let us find Lady Salter. Now that I think on it, I fear the fearsome Lady Montagu may have captured your brother's watchful eye. I caught a glimpse of her stalking prey just before we came into supper."

Tessa moved to her aunt's side and took her arm. She'd also heard whispers of the widowed baroness's notorious reputation. Indeed, rumor had it she was reported to be as brazen and fiery as her famous red hair. But surely Christopher wouldn't be attracted to someone like her... Or would he? Her apprehension increased ten-fold. "Perhaps I should stay and help."

"No, don't be silly." Aunt Beatrice patted her hand. "I insist you go upstairs and continue with that commission you've been working on. Lady Bromley and her spaniels await!"

Tessa inclined her head in apparent agreement—it really would be impossible to work on Lady Bromley's portrait with only candles and firelight as a source of light. Nevertheless, she was very keen to help her aunt locate Lady Salter, and Emma, for that matter, before she quit the party. If Lord Arlington _did_ live up to his reputation as a disreputable libertine and attempted to seduce Emma, both he and Christopher would have the devil to pay when she encountered them.

As luck would have it, the Dowager Countess of Salter was easy to find. Attired in purple velvet (that unfortunately, was a similar shade to the curtains adorning the windows of Penrose House's ballroom), her plump form was firmly ensconced on a wide settee by the dance floor. Lorgnette in hand, she observed the couples drift by in the most scandalous of dances, the turning waltz; although, given the bemused expression on the countess's face, Tessa suspected her motivation for peering so closely at the gentlemen's legs and nether regions was not at all related to assuring partners maintained a semblance of propriety.

Once Lady Salter had assured her and Aunt Beatrice that Emma was being well looked after—she was reported to be circulating about the room with Christopher at this very moment—Tessa finally took her leave. Even though she couldn't continue painting Lady Bromley's portrait, there were other commissions, preliminary sketches, she could work on.

However, a peculiar combination of guilt and melancholy twisted her heart when she spied Emma in the company of their brother, chatting with the very handsome, very respectable and entirely eligible Lord Sloane and his sister, Amelia. Gathered by the marble-arched doorway that led to the card room, champagne flutes in hand, they made a merry group.

_Enough, Tessa. You've always known you will never belong, that you are not the kind of woman who will make a suitable wife._ Swallowing past a tight throat, Tessa picked up her cerise colored silk skirts and hurried up the stairs leading to the second floor... and her refuge.

# Chapter 2

When Tessa at last reached her art studio at the very end of the second floor hallway, she sank onto the settee before the fireside with a relieved sigh. She took a deep breath, reveling in the familiar, comforting scents of beeswax, linseed oil and the sharper note of turpentine. _Alone at last_. Away from the prying, judgmental eyes of the glittering _Beau Monde._ Social events—it didn't matter whether they were simple morning calls, soirees, dinner or garden parties, or full-blown balls—were always a trial, and she avoided them as much as possible. Thankfully, Aunt Beatrice understood her need to abscond. And hopefully, Emma and Christopher would understand too when she faced them tomorrow.

Kicking off her too-tight satin slippers, she stretched her pinched, stocking-clad toes toward the hearth. She would love to ring for a pot of tea, but given the staff would be terribly busy, she decided against the idea; she didn't want to make a fuss.

She glanced about the room, looking for her sketchbook and charcoal pencils. Her studio—as she liked to think of it—had once been her mother's morning room, but since she had passed away eight years ago, Tessa had made it her own room by slow degrees. The mahogany panels gleamed softly in the muted light emanating from the low-burning fire and the branches of candles on the mantel. To the right of her mother's old cherrywood _escritoire_ , a serenely smiling Lady Bromley and her gorgeous brown-eyed spaniels stared down at her from the canvas upon the easel. Tessa estimated the work would be completed in less than a week, which was fortunate as the countess's husband had stipulated that he wanted the portrait framed and hanging in their Gloucestershire country home before Christmas.

She smiled to herself. When she received the sizeable sum of money for the completed commission, she would be able to donate it to the most deserving of charities, The Benevolent Society for the Women of Whitechapel. Tessa would ensure the funds would go toward the purchase of new blankets and warm clothing for the desperately needy, husbandless women and their children who lived in and around the slums of Whitechapel. And if the money was spent as judiciously as she'd planned, there would be enough left over to purchase stockings, gingerbread, apples and mince pies to hand out to the children on Boxing Day.

_Heavens, can the Yuletide season really only be a few days away? Which reminds me, I must find my sketchbook._

She rose from her seat and began to search the room; the occasional table by the settee, the old scrubbed oak table by the art supply cupboard, where she mixed her paints. If she was quick about completing her next commission, she might have another sum of money to put toward The Benevolent Society's coffers—this time courtesy of Baroness Wakefield, who'd requested she paint miniatures of her two sons and her daughter. She approached the _escritoire_ , but on discovering her book wasn't there, she realized where she'd left it earlier in the day—on the window seat. The maids had drawn the heavy, rose-colored damask curtains and it was hidden from view.

She drew the curtains back a little and slipped into the darkened space. The maid—possibly Fanny who was well known for conducting her duties with too much haste and not quite enough care—had piled the cushions on top of her book. As Tessa retrieved it, she also spied her favorite set of pencils lying on a far corner of the sill. Placing her knee on the seat, she reached farther forward, then jumped when she heard the door to her study click open.

"This one's unlocked."

"Oh Lord Arlington, you are so wicked."

"Well, we are a perfectly matched pair then, aren't we, Lady Montagu?"

_Lord Arlington and Lady Montagu?_ Tessa's breath hitched and she froze, her gloved hand still outstretched, a surge of incredulity and outrage completely paralyzing her. _What in God's name—_

The door closed and a burst of feminine giggling ensued. Then the rustling of fabric and soft sucking sounds... _Surely they're not kissing!_ Tessa put her hands to her flaming cheeks. She was such a henwit. Of course they were kissing _._ It was a tryst.

_In my studio!_

She dropped onto the window seat behind the cover of the curtain. Obviously, she should announce her presence and put an end to this... this desecration of her most private place, her sanctum. But as other, more intimate sounds of the couple's congress reached her ears—strange pants and moans—the idea of witnessing what they were doing suddenly seemed too mortifying to bear.

She closed her eyes—ridiculous really considering all she could see from her hiding place was a swathe of dark pink damask and a sliver of the room in the narrow gap between the curtains. _Say something. This, what they are doing, is thoroughly disgraceful. You have every right to put a halt—"_

"Please, sit down, my lord."

Fabric rustled again and Lord Arlington's rich, deep laugh spilled forth. "Why, Lady Montagu, when you said you wanted my considered opinion, it appears you really meant it."

Tessa clenched her hands into fists, gathering her courage to say something. Whatever they were doing, it must stop. _Now._

But what _were_ they doing? A deep, masculine groan penetrated the silence and Tessa's cheeks burned. Was Lord Arlington in pain? Never in her life had she heard anything so... so primal. Morbid curiosity compelled her to take a quick peek.

And she couldn't suppress a gasp. Lord Arlington sat on her settee, his back facing her, both his arms outstretched along the back of the chair. His head was tipped backward, his light brown hair thoroughly tousled, his eyes closed. Lady Montagu was nowhere to be seen, but there were muffled sounds of... No, she didn't want to think about those odd sounds.

Whatever Lady Montagu was doing to Lord Arlington, he was... gripped. Tessa could think of no other way to describe what she witnessed. And how on earth was she supposed to interrupt now?

_This is wrong, so wrong. Depraved. Look away, Tessa._

But it seemed she couldn't. A strange warm ache, like a quickening pulse, began to throb in her lower belly. Her cheeks burned and her heart galloped. Her breath was so short she felt as if she had just run up the stairs. She squirmed on her seat and bit her lip to stifle a whimper.

This feeling inside her, she'd never, ever felt it before. She wanted... something she couldn't, no _wouldn't_ , put a name to.

_Oh Tessa. This is wicked._ You _are wicked. As wicked as Lord Arlington._

Just then Lord Arlington gasped and his body bucked and arched as if he was in the throes of an apoplectic seizure. Even through the fabric of his evening coat, she could see the sizeable muscles in his upper arms bunch and his knuckles grew white as his hands clenched the top of the chair. He looked for all the world like a pagan being sacrificed to the gods of all things wicked and lustful.

Lady Montagu, who appeared to have been on the floor, raised her head and Tessa pulled back from the gap. Fear squeezed the air from her lungs. If they discovered her now... That she had been watching... _that_...

She clutched the window seat, her palms sweaty within her silk gloves, and willed herself to perfect stillness. If only her heart would stop beating so madly... It thundered in her ears. Surely they would hear it.

Lord Arlington spoke, his words slightly slurred as if he was foxed or sleepy, or both "Cordelia, I'm speechless. We must cross paths more often."

Lady Montagu laughed softly. "Well, I will be in town again after Twelfth Night..."

"Wonderful. I shall call on you. You still reside in Half Moon Street?"

"Yes. I look forward to receiving you. Until then—" Tessa heard them exchange another kiss. "Good night, my lord."

"Please, m'dear, call me Jasper."

Another laugh. "Good night then, Jasper."

The door opened then closed, and Tessa sagged into the cushions at her back. Thank God that was over. Lord Arlington—Jasper—would leave and then she would lock the door.

And tomorrow she would tell Christopher exactly what she thought of his so-called friend. Rakehell was too polite a term to describe a thorough reprobate like him. Aunt Beatrice had been right. He _was_ a devil.

A soft snore punctuated the silence.

_Oh no._ Tessa ground her teeth together in frustration. It seemed Lord Arlington wouldn't be leaving her studio after all.

Well, she certainly wasn't going to stay.

She quietly and carefully rose to her feet then cursed under her breath when she realized she wore only stockings on her feet; she'd left her matching cerise slippers on the Aubusson hearthrug by the very settee where Lord Arlington rested. He and Lady Montagu must have been so caught up in—well, whatever they'd been doing—they hadn't noticed them.

_You don't need them, Tessa. Just sneak away._

But what if someone did catch sight of her traipsing about Penrose House _sans_ shoes? She had to make her way back to the main staircase to reach the stairs leading to the third floor. And the servants' stairs were at the other end of the hallway. Either way, she had to traverse the main landing in full view of the hall leading through to the ballroom, and there would be guests about, of that there was no doubt. She glanced down and scowled at her feet. Given the hem of her new silk gown barely skimmed below her ankles, her fashion _faux pas_ would be clear to see. And she refused to cause a stir. She could never do that to Emma on her special night.

There was nothing for it. She was going to have to retrieve her slippers.

Taking a deep breath, Tessa slipped between the curtains and tiptoed toward the hearthrug. Lord Arlington had stopped snoring, but when Tessa chanced a glance at his face—no she wouldn't look more closely to see if he was as handsome as she suspected—it was clear he was still asleep. Permitting herself a faint sigh of relief, she rounded the settee. Her slippers lay exactly where she had discarded them... right beside Lord Arlington's very long and very muscular, outstretched legs. Desperately trying to ignore the fact his black silk evening breeches and white silk stockings seemed to be molded quite indecently to every hard curve of his thighs and calves, she bent down toward her slippers.

"I wondered who those belonged to."

Tessa squealed and jumped backwards as Lord Arlington sat up straight and yawned. He ran a hand down his much too handsome face, and despite the fact he still looked half asleep, his perfectly sculpted mouth tipped into a wolfish smile. "Good evening, m'dear," he drawled. "How do you do?"

The decidedly attractive, dark-haired young lady before him gaped as if he'd grown two heads and had then asked her to dance an Irish jig or fly to the moon. Good God, he'd only asked how she was.

"Lord Arlington. I don't..." She shook her head and pursed her luscious, cherry-red lips together as if she'd just tasted a lemon. "It is very late and I don't think an exchange of pleasantries is warranted—"

"Wait just a moment." Jasper frowned and surged to his feet. "You _know_ me?"

The girl blushed prettily. "No, other than your name, I do not know you. And furthermore, I do not _wish_ to know you." She crossed her arms across her chest, and he couldn't fail to notice how her creamy bosom swelled above the crimson silk of her bodice. "You shouldn't be here. I'm sure Lord Trevilian would not condone... You really should be downstairs."

Jasper grinned. The girl's discomfiture was... appealing. A breath of fresh air. The devil inside him couldn't resist the urge to tease her a little more to see if he could make her blush grow deeper. "Oh no, sweetheart. Why would I want to be downstairs when someone as delightfully pretty as you, is right here?"

The girl frowned. "You're foxed," she accused, her dark eyes flashing.

"Only a little," he conceded. Lord, he must have had more brandy than he'd thought; he prided himself on how well he could hold his drink, but if this young woman could clearly see it... He risked taking a step closer to study her lovely countenance. A heart-shaped face framed by glossy dark curls, large brown eyes and a wide, lush mouth. A completely kissable mouth. "Tell me your name, sweet thing." She looked... familiar somehow. He frowned as he tried to place her. "I'm sorry. Have we met before?"

"No, we have not." She scowled. "Now, if you'll excuse me..." She began to reach for her slippers again.

On an impulse, Jasper swooped down and retrieved her shoes, then held them behind his back. The girl's ire grated and tantalized him at the same time. Cad that he was, he couldn't resist teasing her a bit more. Besides that, he really wanted to know who she was. "Tsk, tsk, not so fast. Tell me your name and you may have your slippers back."

She lifted her chin and glared at him. "Lord Arlington, I do not have the patience to play childish games with you. Give me back my slippers this instant."

An altogether horrible thought suddenly intruded into Jasper's alcohol-addled brain. "Please do not tell me—" He ran his hand through his hair and swallowed. "You were here, the whole time when I..." He wouldn't mention Lady Montagu's name; not that it would make much difference if the girl _had_ been secreted somewhere in the room. He was sure he'd used the baroness's name a number of times when they'd...

However, the bright red blush spreading across the girl's ivory skin, from her cheeks all the way down to the neckline of her equally red dress, was all the confirmation he needed that his dreadful theory was correct. He glanced about the room. Paintings were stacked against the wall, a partially completed portrait stood upon an easel and the scent of turpentine and paint hung in the air. _Oh, God, no._ The oldest Penrose sister, whom he'd never met before, was the artist, _not_ Miss Penrose, the Younger. And what a clodpoll he was not to have noticed the girl's family resemblance to Emma, and indeed, Trevilian himself. "Miss Penrose—" he began.

"Please, I don't wish to discuss... whatever occurred in this room." To her credit, Miss Penrose—Lord, he didn't even know her Christian name—held his gaze; she clearly wasn't a shrinking violet. "Now, if you would just give me my shoes..." She held out her hand.

Jasper's stomach dropped to the floor. She was going to tell Trevilian, there were no two ways about it. And his friend would have his guts for garters. He had to take action, somehow persuade Miss Penrose, the Elder, not to divulge his... indiscretion. _But how to gain the upper hand?_

He narrowed his gaze. "Why didn't you announce you were here, rather than eavesdrop, Miss Penrose? The lady I was with and I, both thought this room was vacant."

Her dark eyes fairly gleamed with anger. "How dare you suggest it is I who have behaved improperly. When my brother hears—"

"You won't tell your brother."

"Of course I will." She held out one gloved hand again. "I want my shoes, Lord Arlington."

"We cannot always have what we want, Miss Penrose. And you won't tell your brother about what has occurred in this room, because then you would have to tell him about this."

Before he could stop himself, and before she could even utter another sound, he dropped her shoes, gathered her close and kissed her.

As he'd expected, Miss Penrose immediately stiffened in his arms and pushed frantically at his chest. Kept her lips pressed tightly together and whimpered, no doubt with outrage rather than passion. But he held on tight, his arms wrapped around her slender back and quivering shoulders, one hand at her nape, holding her still as his mouth ravished hers. When he swept the tip of his tongue along the closed seam of her lips, she gasped and, absolute scoundrel that he was, he took advantage of the opportunity and slipped inside to taste her. Sweeter than honey, softer than velvet, the warm interior of her mouth was utterly divine.

Then without warning, the quality of the kiss changed. Miss Penrose wound her hands about his neck and pressed all her delicious curves against him. Her lips grew pliant; luscious and satiny, they slid in concert with his. The tentative flicker of her tongue over his bottom lip triggered a deep groan in his throat and hot, potent lust began to pound through his veins straight to his groin. He raised a hand and cupped one of her breasts, testing its firmness and weight, relishing the fact she pushed herself into his palm.

_What are you doing, man?_ Faint alarm bells began to clang somewhere at the back of his brain. _She's Trevilian's sister. You need to stop—_

A woman's shriek pierced the air. "Tessa! What in God's name?"

Miss Penrose—Tessa—ripped her mouth from his. Her eyes as round as saucers, she darted a glance over his shoulder toward the door. "Aunt Beatrice," she gasped. "Lady Salter. Oh, no..."

_Oh, no_ , was an understatement. Beatrice, Lady Cardew, stood in the open doorway, her mouth a wide 'o' of surprise. _Christopher's aunt._ _And Tessa's_. _God's teeth._ Jasper reluctantly dropped his hold on Miss Penrose, and turned to face the shocked dowager countess and her equally stunned female companion.

"Aunt Beatrice. Please, I can explain. Lord Arlington—"

"Yes, yes indeed, there will be explanations, Tessa." Lady Cardew fixed a cold, blue stare on Jasper. "You. Lord Arlington. You will be held to account for compromising my niece in such a salacious manner. When my nephew hears about this, I wouldn't be surprised if he doesn't want to hang, draw, and quarter you. But if you're lucky, he may give you an opportunity to do the honorable thing."

_Oh, God. Ensnared in the parson's mousetrap by my own arrogance and drunken stupidity_. Jasper drew an unsteady breath. He glanced at Miss Penrose—Tessa. What had possessed him to pounce on her in such a manner? Trevilian would never forgive him. Perhaps the Outer Hebrides would be nice this time of year...

Tessa looked as perturbed as he felt, perhaps even more so; her face was as white as one of her blank canvases and she clutched her gloved hands together, wringing them. "Please Aunt Beatrice," she pleaded. "This isn't what it looks like."

"No? I'm not a gull, my dear." She turned to Lady Salter. "What is your verdict, my friend? You saw as much as I."

The middle-aged woman arched a heavy brow. "Compromised. Caught red-handed, both of you. Utterly disgraceful."

Judging by the rapacious glint in Lady Salter's eyes and the way she bent slightly forward to peer intently at his crotch through a gilt-framed lorgnette, Jasper suspected the noblewoman was enjoying every minute of this unfortunate incident.

"Eh, Lord Arlington." Lady Salter's ample chin wobbled as she jerked her head back up to eye level. "I would suggest you adjust your breeches before you leave this room. One can almost see your, er... unmentionables."

Horror gripping his gut, Jasper glanced downwards. Sure enough, the fall front of his evening breeches was not fully buttoned. An uncharacteristic flood of heat scalded his face, and he strode over to the window seat and slipped behind the curtains; the relatively spacious alcove was probably where Tessa had been hiding when he'd first burst into the room with Lady Montagu. His attire once again set to rights, he emerged, only to find the ladies—all of them—and Tessa's dashed red slippers, had disappeared. And he'd been locked in.

_Bloody hell._ Jasper retreated to the fireside and threw himself onto the settee. What he wouldn't give for another brandy, actually, a whole decanter of brandy right now. Suddenly resigned to the fact he might not be long for this world, he tucked a cushion beneath his head, stretched out his legs and closed his eyes.

If he couldn't be drunk when Armageddon struck, at least he would be well-rested.

# Chapter 3

_H alf an hour later..._

* * *

"I won't marry him. Lord Arlington is a... a rogue. I don't know what you see in him. How could you invite a man like that here? Tonight, of all nights." Tessa paced back and forth across the plush Turkish rug in her brother's study, clenching and unclenching her gloved hands. She was so furious, she felt like throwing things, smashing things. Hot tears stung her eyes and she dashed them away with her wrist. She refused to cry. Aside from that, she doubted her implacable brother would be swayed by tears.

Leaning on the edge of his large oak desk, arms crossed across his chest, Christopher did indeed look ruthless—as ruthless as their father had always been. His deep, blue eyes were ice cool as he regarded her. "According to Aunt Beatrice and Lady Salter, it doesn't sound as if you minded Lord Arlington's roguish behavior, dear sister."

Shame washed through Tessa. And a good deal of confusion. The anger boiling around inside her suddenly dissipated, and she collapsed onto the leather wingback chair in front of her brother. She still didn't quite understand how she'd been so overwhelmed by Lord Arlington's kiss.

_My first kiss._

He'd kissed her in an attempt to silence her, but instead of resisting him—and she'd tried very hard to resist him at first—she'd been swept away by a tide of desire. She closed her eyes and the memory of that devastating kiss filled her head yet again. Made her lips tingle and her body ache in ways that it shouldn't. The man had somehow contaminated her with his own wantonness.

She couldn't marry him.

She met her brother's gaze. "You don't understand, Christopher. If you would just let me try to explain the nature of the circumstance I was thrust into, most unwillingly."

Christopher arched a dark winged brow. "It doesn't matter why or how you ended up in Arlington's arms, Tessa. The fact is, you were caught flagrantly kissing the man, in your stockinged feet, no less, whilst Arlington was also in a state of _dishabille_. And now courtesy of Lady Salter, I'd say everyone attending Emma's ball tonight knows it, too. You've been thoroughly compromised and the only way to save your name, and our family's, is for you to wed. The sooner the better. A Yuletide wedding sounds good to me. I'll ensure Jasper obtains a special license before the week is out."

Frustration and embarrassment coursed through Tessa, heating her cheeks to scalding-hot. "Lord Arlington came to my art studio with Lady Montagu, and I had to endure overhearing the whole sordid encounter," she said, her voice rough with barely suppressed anger. "Is that the kind of man you wish me to marry, Christopher? Is it?"

Her brother's face paled visibly. "I'm dreadfully sorry to hear that, Tessa. You shouldn't have had to witness something like that." He placed his hands on the desktop on either side of his hips and drummed an angry tattoo for a moment, before fixing her with a penetrating, speculative look. "Yet, you still kissed him."

"He kissed me! He was foxed and fool that he is, thought I wouldn't tell you about his tryst with Lady Montagu if he... attempted to compromise me. A completely illogical form of blackmail, if you ask me. I can't believe you call him friend."

Christopher ran a hand down his face then huffed out a sigh. "The way I see it, Tessa, there are only two options. Either you marry him, or I call him out."

"No!" Tessa sprang to her feet and grasped one of her brother's hands. "You will _not_ risk your life for my honor. Can't we just... If I went away somewhere with Aunt Beatrice. A grand tour on the Continent. Or...or a tour of the north, perhaps even Scotland. Surely, this will all blow over in time."

Christopher shook his head and the light in his eyes softened a fraction. "Tessa, you are such a babe in the woods. This will be in tomorrow's scandal sheets, and the whole of the _ton_ will be talking about it. Emma's reputation will also be cast into shadow. You know she's set her heart on finding a wonderful match next Season. Marrying Arlington is the only way to make any of this go away."

She shook her head. "I cannot..." Her voice cracked and she swallowed past the hard lump in her throat, trying to regain control. "You know very well I cannot marry him." She didn't have to say _or anyone else._

"Oh, Tessa." Christopher gathered her into his arms. "I'll admit, you've probably seen the worst side of Lord Arlington tonight. But please believe me, he is a noble, good-natured, and generous man despite his superficial faults. Let me tell you, if anyone else had behaved in such a way, the blackguard would be in my pistol's sights come dawn tomorrow."

Drawing back, he sought her gaze. "And perhaps, in time, you might be surprised to find that you and Jasper rub along quite well together. I believe you will find you have more in common than you think."

"Aside from you? I rather doubt that." She accepted a linen handkerchief from her brother and dabbed at her eyes. "How is Emma?" If Emma couldn't forgive her for spoiling her night, Tessa would shoot Lord Arlington herself.

"Shocked at first upon hearing the news, as you'd expect," replied Christopher. "But I also got the sense she might be secretly pleased for you. Either way, she'll be putting on a brave face, despite the scandal spreading like wildfire amongst the guests."

After Aunt Beatrice had locked Lord Arlington into the art studio, she'd spoken with Christopher about 'the incident'. Emma had then reportedly decided to remain downstairs with their aunt and Lady Salter. Tessa's brow furrowed as she wondered if Aunt Beatrice had at least attempted to curb Lady Salter's dreadful tendency to gossip. Unless Aunt Beatrice wanted the gossip to spread... Tessa cast her mind back over their conversation in the supper room. What had her aunt said again? _If you met the right sort of man..._

Although Aunt Beatrice clearly couldn't have engineered the events that took place in the art studio—or the unfortunate timing of when she'd decided to show Tessa's paintings to Lady Salter—Tessa wouldn't put it past her wily aunt to take advantage of the situation, even if Arlington was the _wrong_ sort of man.

She sighed. Not that it mattered now. _What's done is done..._

Christopher tipped her chin up. "Your frown worries me. Promise me you won't do something completely mad and run off whilst I speak with Lord Arlington. It would look very bad if you weren't present in the ballroom when I formally announce your betrothal in a short while."

Even though her stomach lurched with dread, Tessa summoned a small smile. "I promise I won't do anything rash. I would never intentionally damage Emma's chances at securing a happy match."

Christopher dropped a kiss on her forehead. "Good. I will return soon."

As the door snicked shut, Tessa dropped into the wingchair again then removed her ivory silk gloves and examined her hands. Her wrists and pale fingers were bare but for a few stubborn flecks of paint she hadn't been able to remove. She never wore jewelry of any kind, not even earbobs. How strange to think she would soon be wearing a wedding band on her left hand.

And how strange to think Lord Arlington would soon learn her secret. Quiet despair gripped her heart as she contemplated the moment he found out—that she was not the woman he probably thought she was.

She brushed away a tear from her cheek then replaced her gloves, waiting for Christopher's summons. There really was nothing she could do. She wouldn't flee; she would adhere to her father's long-held tenet that she must never embarrass her family.

It seemed Fate had decreed that by Christmas she would no longer be Miss Penrose, spinster and bluestocking, but Tessa, the Countess of Arlington.

When Jasper awoke, his first thought was, he really wished he hadn't. For one thing, he had a splitting headache; it felt as if someone was hammering a large nail into his left temple. Secondly, his stomach roiled menacingly; so much so, he had to swallow down a wave of nausea. And finally, Christopher, Lord Trevilian, was standing over him like some great avenging pagan god.

"Arlington, I believe we are about to become brothers."

Swinging his legs to the floor, Jasper sat up and groaned. "Yes... about that—" Something soft and satiny struck him in the head, and he groaned again, clutching his throbbing skull. _An avenging god with a cushion._

"You're bloody lucky that wasn't my fist. Now get up so we can sort this whole mess out."

"Agreed." Jasper lurched to his feet, taken aback by how half-sprung he still was. Once he'd steadied himself by grabbing onto the back of the settee, he met Trevilian's blazing blue gaze. "I will do the honorable thing, of course, and marry your sister. That is, if she'll have me." He winced. "You've probably heard I haven't acquitted myself in the most gentlemanly manner."

Trevilian crossed his arms over his chest. "No. You haven't. And as I told Tessa, if it was anyone else who had dishonored her so, your heart would be pierced with my lead bullet come morning."

Jasper grimaced. "To be fair, I didn't know she was in the room when I first entered with—" He broke off. No doubt Tessa had told her brother about his encounter with Lady Montagu but considering Trevilian's brow was furrowed with a deep scowl, he didn't think it wise to elaborate on the details of _that_ part of the story. Deflection seemed prudent. "Hell, I'd entirely forgotten you even _had_ another sister. Where in God's name have you kept her hiding all these years?"

Trevilian sighed. "Tessa is... not the usual _tonnish_ miss. She has never been one to attend social functions of any kind—" A knock sounded at the door and he called, "Enter." His gaze returned to Jasper as a footman arrived bearing a silver coffee pot and a plate of hot, buttered crumpets upon a tray. "I took the liberty of sending for some refreshments. I thought you might need some sustenance before we announce your engagement to the mob downstairs."

Jasper inclined his head as he took a seat upon the settee again. "Thank you."

After the footman had departed, and they were both armed with steaming cups of coffee, Jasper prompted his friend, "You were telling me about your sister. You know that society gatherings have always been an anathema to me as well. It seems Tessa and I have that in common, at least."

When Trevilian didn't immediately respond, Jasper continued, "You must believe me, it was never my intention to compromise your sister so publicly or besmirch your family's good name."

Trevilian arched an eyebrow. "Oh, so because you set out to ravish her in private, that makes it perfectly acceptable?"

"Of course not," Jasper responded with a guilty grimace. He took a sip of his coffee then ventured, "Although, she is dashed attractive. Frankly, I'm surprised she isn't already married."

Trevilian shrugged. "Becoming someone's wife has never been one of Tessa's goals in life. As you'll soon discover, she's an intelligent woman with a strong, philanthropic bent. And extremely artistically talented," he waved his hand about the room, "as you can clearly see."

_A bluestocking then._ Winning Tessa's favor, after such a shaky start, was going to be no mean feat. But then, he'd never shied away from a challenge. Even if they never fell madly in love—a state of existence he'd heretofore never experienced or expected to experience—the notion of sharing an amicable partnership with an intelligent, slightly more mature woman definitely held some appeal.

The memory of their kiss flooded his mind and his blood immediately began to race in a way it hadn't in a long, long time. Tessa might be a bluestocking, but she was also passionate, judging by her response to his kiss.

He smiled to himself. There might be an agreeable future in store for them yet.

"You're thinking about seducing my sister right now, aren't you?"

Jasper started guiltily. "I...er...as I said, she is exceptionally attractive. And I aim to make her happy."

Trevilian lifted his brows. "Indeed, you will, Arlington. Or you'll answer to me."

Jasper replaced his smile with a suitably sober expression. "I don't doubt that for a minute."

# Chapter 4

_A day later..._

* * *

"Excuse me, Miss Penrose. You have a gentleman caller. The Earl of Arlington." The words 'your betrothed' were left unsaid.

Tessa put down her paintbrush and glanced at the gold-embossed calling card on the silver tray proffered by Vickers, Penrose House's butler. As usual, Vickers's face was a study in imperturbability. Unlike her own face.

For the first time in her adult life, she had a 'gentleman caller'. Apprehension and, if she were honest with herself, a small degree of anticipation bubbled through her veins, warming her blood and making her heart beat faster. After Christopher had formally announced her betrothal to Lord Arlington at the ball last night, she'd been set upon by a crowd of well-wishers offering their congratulations, and she had barely exchanged a glance or a word with her affianced.

Of course, she had expected Lord Arlington would be calling on her sometime today. Which was for the best, really. It had been her experience that fear of the unknown was always worse than facing the object of one's fear. She placed her paint-streaked hand on her chest, where her heart pounded. How utterly dreadful. She was afraid of meeting with Lord Arlington, her husband-to-be.

Vickers was still waiting patiently by her side for her response. She cleared her throat. "Yes. Show him to the drawing room, thank you."

"Shall I also send for a tray of tea and cakes, Miss Penrose?"

Oh, dear heavens she would have to play hostess. Tessa briefly contemplated telling Vickers not to worry, but then, why delay the inevitable? Lord Arlington would find out sooner or later what he had got himself into, and for her peace of mind, perhaps it would be better that he discovered exactly what that was. If she could just garner enough courage...

"Yes, that would be wonderful, Vickers," she answered with a sigh of resignation.

"Is there anything else, miss?" Vickers was still regarding her with his habitually sober expression, but she also thought she detected a compassionate light in his eyes. She suspected he was making a roundabout enquiry as to whether she wanted her aunt or sister present in the drawing room.

"No, that will be all, thank you," she replied with a confidence she in no way felt. "I will be down directly."

"Yes, miss."

After Vickers had departed, Tessa washed the paint smudges from her hands as best she could, then removed her cambric pinafore. She knew she looked far from her best, not having slept a wink last night. She scowled. Not for the first time in her life, she rued the fact she cared so much about what others thought of her appearance, and now, fool that she was, it seemed she cared about what Lord Arlington thought.

Surely he must have been attracted to her just a little bit, if he had kissed her so readily. _That kiss..._ She'd never experienced anything like it before and, truth to tell, that is what had kept her awake for most of the night. A husband kissed his wife whenever he liked... and more...

The 'more' was something Tessa didn't wish to dwell on, especially as it reminded her of whatever lewd act Lord Arlington and Lady Montagu had been involved in. Had there ever been a bride-to-be burdened with such disturbing knowledge? Every time she thought of that scene, she blushed and her lower belly ached in a most peculiar way. She would be naïve indeed, if she didn't recognize the feeling as lust—a most unseemly and unladylike response. Wicked, actually. It was a reaction that both confused and unsettled her, and she really should stop thinking about it. Especially now when she needed to be composed and clear-headed.

Smoothing her still-damp palms down the skirts of her floral sarsenet day gown, Tessa hoped her cheeks weren't as red as the coquelicot ribbon trim and the tiny crimson rosebuds embroidered across the cream fabric. Gloves, she needed her gloves. And a shawl. Plunging her hand through the slit in her skirt into her purpose-built deep pocket, she pulled out a matching pair of cream kid gloves and pulled them on, then retrieved her crimson cashmere shawl from the back of the settee. She shuddered, recalling yet again what had happened there last night. She would arrange to have the upholstery replaced. Perhaps that would help her to stop revisiting the memory.

Then Tessa realized with a sharp pang of sadness that she would be soon saying farewell to her studio. Lord Arlington no doubt kept a residence in town, and Christopher had mentioned his friend had an estate in Surrey, Arlington Abbey.

Far, far away from Trevilian Hall in Cornwall. Far away from everyone and everything that was loved and familiar—her friends, her charity work, and her tutoring position at Mrs. Brooke's Academy. Far away from everything that was safe.

Blinking away a sudden rush of tears, Tessa composed her expression and pulled her shawl tightly about her shoulders as she set forth from her room. She wouldn't let Lord Arlington see how vulnerable she really was until she was well and truly ready.

However, all her plans to remain as calm as a Madonna in an Italian master's painting crumbled to dust when she entered the drawing room and caught sight of her affianced. Her hand gripped the doorknob, and her breath hitched as she froze in the doorway, utterly transfixed. Lord Arlington stood by one of the windows with his back to her, a study in male beauty. Her artist's eye traced the shape of his head beneath the close-cropped, light brown hair above his nape, the impressive breadth of his shoulders shown to perfection in a superbly cut swallowtail-coat of dark green superfine. Her frankly admiring gaze fell without hesitation to his narrow hips before following the line of his long, muscular legs encased in form-fitting buff breeches and shiny Hessian boots. How she would love to paint him.

A hot blush washed over her entire face to the roots of her hair when it struck her all over again that this fine specimen would soon be her husband.

At that moment, Lord Arlington turned around. "Miss Penrose," he said with a courtly bow, a smile that appeared to be genuine curving his wide, well-shaped mouth. "Thank you for receiving me. I'm sure you feel, as I do, that there is much we need to discuss."

Tessa swallowed. "Yes," she managed. Her voice was mortifyingly breathless and her blush deepened. She gestured toward an arrangement of chairs before the hearth. "Would you care to take a seat? Tea is on the way... I thought you might like..." Oh, Lord, she was a babbling mess. She sounded like a giddy schoolgirl, not a self-assured, twenty-five-year-old woman. But then, the ritual of taking tea had always been a trial for her. She suddenly regretted her decision not to send for Aunt Beatrice, or even Emma.

Lord Arlington inclined his head. "Tea sounds like an excellent idea, Miss Penrose. Or may I call you Tessa?" His hazel eyes held hers, frank interest apparent in the topaz and emerald flecked depths. Such a mesmerizing palette of colors. She'd never seen such a fine pair of eyes before.

"Miss Penrose?"

Tessa started. "My apologies, Lord Arlington. Yes... you may call me Tessa." To cover her discomposure, she hurried over to the fireside and sat in the middle of the tapestry-covered settee, casting her gaze downward as she fussed over the arrangement of her skirts and the way her shawl draped about her arms. Out of the corner of her eye, she couldn't help but notice Lord Arlington folding his long, lean frame into a wingback chair with casual grace.

He didn't seem the least bit nervous. But then, he was a practiced rake. She must always remember that. There was no point in losing her heart to him. She would do her duty as best she could. Considering her parents' union, she well knew love and marriage didn't always go hand in hand.

"Well," he said, after a few moments, when it must have been obvious she wasn't about to begin the conversation. "This morning, I have secured our marriage license. With your agreement, we will be married within a fortnight."

Tessa expelled a shaky breath. She still couldn't quite believe this was actually happening. "Oh. Yes. Christopher said you would arrange that." She halted, steeling herself to ask the question uppermost on her mind. "I imagine you should like us to marry at your estate in Surrey. Christmas is not far away and I'm sure you have matters to attend to there."

"Yes, that would suit me well... if you have no objections, that is." He lightly rapped his knuckles upon the oak arm of the chair and she noticed a slight frown beneath the artfully tousled sweep of hair that fell across his brow. "Tessa, I know this is not easy for you. That because of my impulsive and unchivalrous actions last night, we have both been forced into a situation neither of us could have anticipated. And for that, I offer you my sincerest apology." He sat forward and his gaze trapped hers. "I truly believe that you and I could forge an amicable partnership, and toward that end"—he reached into an inner pocket of his coat and withdrew a small, square box covered in crimson velvet—"Whilst it is not customary to do so, I would like to present you with this small token of... my commitment to you. To us."

Tessa reached out a trembling hand and took the case from him. "Thank you, my lord," she said with a stiffness that must seem ungracious. She had not expected anything like this. Part of her appreciated the gesture, whilst another part was suspicious of Lord Arlington's agenda. _An amicable partnership,_ he'd said _._ In theory, that sounded perfect, but in practice, what did Lord Arlington really mean? Did he simply want a docile wife to parade about when the occasion called for it? Did he think gifts would gain her compliance? Entice her into his bed with a minimum of fuss? Like all men of his class, he would want an heir and a spare, at the very least.

She lifted the lid and sucked in a sharp breath. Resting on a bed of ivory satin lay a _demi-parure_ of exquisite ruby and diamond jewelry—a pair of earrings and a ring. A betrothal ring. Tessa swallowed and placed the box very carefully upon the occasional table before her. "They're beautiful."

Christopher hadn't exaggerated when he'd said Lord Arlington was generous. But Tessa couldn't help thinking that he was probably generous with most of the women he was trying to charm or seduce. Like Lady Montagu. She closed the lid and met Lord Arlington's expectant gaze. "I'm sorry if I seem ungrateful, but I cannot accept them."

Lord Arlington frowned. "Oh. Are they not to your taste, perhaps? I suppose when I think of you, the color red springs to mind." His gaze fell briefly to her lips before retuning to eye level. "It suits you well."

Tessa clenched her hands together, willing herself not to blush. The way Lord Arlington's gaze had skimmed over her mouth made her think of nothing else but the hot brush of his lips, the wet glide of his tongue against hers... How wayward she had become in such a short space of time. It appeared she wouldn't need any sort of extravagant gift to entice her into Lord Arlington's arms after all. She cleared her throat and drew in a steadying breath before attempting to speak again. "Thank you. I will confess that red is my favorite color, but," she dragged her gaze back to his face, "I am not the sort of woman who wears jewelry. I'm afraid my tastes are rather simple."

"I see. However, for the sake of my humble pride, I would ask you to at least keep them, even if you do not choose to wear them."

"As you wish." Tessa straightened in her seat and forced herself to continue looking the earl in the eye. "Lord Arlington, I am grateful that you have made your views on marriage very clear. And I wondered if I might do the same."

"Yes. Of course. Only, please, if I am to use your Christian name, you must do the same and call me Jasper."

"Jasper..." His name on her tongue felt almost too intimate, especially when he flashed a devilish smile at her. Tamping down another wave of shyness, she pushed on and said, "I gather you are aware of my age, that I am not fresh out of the schoolroom?"

"Yes. Your brother shared that information with me last night. I hope you do not mind."

"No, of course not. We are to be married after all."

Lord Arlington smiled. "I am eight and twenty, in case you have been wondering."

Tessa inclined her head in acknowledgement. "Thank you. It seems there is much we need to learn about each other."

"I'm very much looking forward to getting to know every little thing about you, Tessa."

Curse the man, she was blushing again. Tessa clasped her hands together more tightly, trying to regain a measure of control, so she could reassemble her scattered thoughts. "Now, as I was saying... For some years, I have been fortunate enough to be in a position to pursue many of my own interests. I paint—mainly portraits—but sometimes landscapes as well."

"I have seen some of your work. It is very good."

"Thank you. I also sell my work, and any income I receive from that—and also from the twice-weekly art classes I run at a young ladies' academy—I donate to charity. A charity that support women's causes, The Benevolent Society for the Women of Whitechapel."

"Very admirable. And I gather you would like the freedom to continue some, if not all of your pursuits."

"Yes." Tessa's reply emerged on a breathless rush. Could Lord Arlington—Jasper—truly be that understanding?

"Well." Jasper stroked his chin with one long, well-shaped finger as he regarded her with a thoughtful expression. "I see no reason at all that you shouldn't continue to paint, or support worthwhile charities. Indeed, I myself donate to a number of causes supporting wounded soldiers. But, I'm afraid that continuing to sell your artwork and teach art classes would not befit your station as my wife, the Countess of Arlington, and in time, the mother of my children. And then there is the simple matter of geography. I'm sure you appreciate that Arlington Abbey, my ancestral home, is quite some hours away from London. And as I intend to spend... pardon me, I should say _we_ will spend much of our time there, it will be difficult for you to offer your services as an art tutor at your young ladies' academy on anything but an irregular basis."

Tessa's heart sank, and a defeated sigh escaped her. She thought as much. It seemed the amount of money she would be able to donate to her charity would be considerably smaller.

"You look crestfallen, my dear Tessa, and I hate to see you so. Would it help to ease the blow of giving up your work if I mentioned I intend to provide you with a sizeable allowance? Whatever income you have been receiving from teaching and selling your paintings, I shall double it. Does that sound fair?"

"Oh, heavens, yes." Tessa raised a hand to her throat where her pulse beat wildly. "Thank you so much, Lord Arling—Jasper. You have no idea how much your generous offer means to me, and to the women and children who rely on The Benevolent Society's charity. Especially at this time of year."

"Think nothing of it. If it makes you happy, I am in full favor of it. As I said before, I wish for our marriage to be an amicable one, at the very least."

Amicable. That word again. Never in her wildest dreams had she expected to marry. And especially not to someone as overwhelmingly male and devastatingly attractive as Lord Arlington. _Jasper._ She certainly didn't expect this to be a love match. But then Jasper had just said he wanted their relationship to be _amicable, at the very least..._

His choice of words suggested that perhaps he was open to more. But was he just alluding to her conjugal obligations? He was a passionate man, of that there was no doubt. However, once she produced the requisite number of offspring, would he seek feminine 'companionship' elsewhere? Her parents' marriage had followed that pattern. Her mother had never spoken of such things—that Father had kept a mistress—but during her adolescence, Tessa had sensed the tension in her parents' relationship. It was obvious her mother had been lonely, that she had cared for her husband more than he had ever cared for her. To see someone you love being wounded, time and time again, was heart-breaking to witness. No, Tessa could never abide living like that.

So, it was best she kept her head, performed her wifely duties, and in her spare time, she would devote herself to all the things that brought her personal satisfaction. She couldn't afford to fall in love with Jasper. He was nothing but a scoundrel with a roving eye and a smooth tongue, who had already demonstrated his fast-and-loose tendencies right under her very nose. To expect him to be faithful to a woman he didn't love was the stuff of fantasies.

"Tessa..."

She looked up to find Jasper watching her, his expression intent. She knew that look. It was the look he wore last night, right before he kissed her. The look of a practiced rake with seduction on his mind. _Oh dear..._ She wasn't ready for this. Her heart began to race in earnest. She really wished it wouldn't.

Jasper moved to the edge of his seat as if he were about to stand, and at that very moment, there came a knock at the door.

"Come in," she called out in a high, breathy voice that was anything but calm and ladylike. "The tea," she added, quite unnecessarily, as a pair of footmen entered bearing trays, which they placed on the mahogany tea table before her. Heavens, she sounded positively feather-headed. "Would you care for some, my lord?"

Jasper nodded. "Yes, thank you, Miss Penrose. I take it strong and black with one lump of sugar."

_Black with one lump of sugar. You can do this, Tessa._ Unclasping her gloved hands, she leaned forward and reached for the silver urn of hot water.

Jasper watched Tessa reach for the urn with hands that were clearly shaking within her cream kid gloves. He frowned. He didn't like to think that he made her that uneasy. It also struck him how odd it was that she hadn't removed her gloves.

Using both hands, Tessa tipped the urn, pouring the steaming liquid over the tea leaves in the porcelain teapot. None spilled, despite her trembling, and she smiled a little to herself, as if proud of her achievement.

Whilst the tea steeped, he took the opportunity to observe Tessa as she fussed about, arranging the teacups on saucers before offering him cakes and sandwiches. Last night, he had not fully appreciated how beautiful she really was. He'd thought she was raven-haired like her brother and younger sister, but in actual fact, the afternoon light filtering into the room revealed her hair to be more of a dark brown, with auburn highlights that reminded him of the glossy sheen of rosewood. His fingers suddenly itched to test the heavy silkiness of the curls clustered around her face. Her cheeks were flushed pink—most likely with nerves, but he liked to think she might even be a little attracted to him, perhaps excited by his presence; he was certainly attracted to her. His body positively thrummed with anticipation as he let his gaze fall to her wide, full mouth—her naturally cherry-red lips were made to be kissed. He wondered how far he could press her for more kisses this very afternoon.

She poured his tea, placed the requested one lump of sugar in the cup, then passed it to him... with her left hand. He took it with a smile and a smooth thank you, all the while puzzling over that tiny detail. It probably meant nothing. Left-handedness was not unheard of, but still... When Tessa poured her own tea, again it was with her left hand. She kept her gloves on and he noticed when she wasn't using her right hand, she buried it within the folds of her red shawl. Not the usual dress etiquette whilst drinking tea... _Curious..._

"Jasper, is everything all right?"

He raised his gaze to meet her large, brown eyes; her expression was wary, to say the least. But then he'd been rudely staring at her person. At the risk of provoking her ire, he ventured a pointed remark. "Yes, perfectly fine, thank you. I simply wondered if you were cold." He dropped his gaze to her gloved hand. "I could prod the fire, if you'd like."

Her swallow was audible in the quiet room. "Yes... yes, thank you, my lord." She took a hasty sip of tea, raising her cup with her left hand, yet again. "The weather has been terribly inclement, but then, it has been all year, hasn't it?" she continued, her words spilling out in a nervous rush as he threw another log onto the grate and stirred the coals. "It is certainly the season for early snowfall and chilblains. I am looking forward to handing out woolen blankets, stockings and mittens on Boxing Day to the women and children in The Benevolent Society's dormitory. Oh..." Jasper turned back just in time to see her face fall. "I won't be here." She offered him a small smile that didn't reach her eyes. "Never mind. As long as the children get what they need, that is the main thing."

"Tessa," Jasper crossed the hearth rug and lowered himself onto the settee beside her. He took her cup and saucer from her and placed them on the nearby table and her doe-like eyes widened. He really didn't want her to be so frightened around him. He was beginning to feel as if he were taking tea with a skittish deer. Perhaps if he kissed her, she'd melt in his arms again, and her edginess would dissipate. His gaze fell briefly to the tantalizing swell of bosom above the neckline of her gown before returning to her face. To her mouth. Yes, he most definitely wanted her in his arms.

But he would have to proceed with caution, beguile her. "Tessa," he repeated gently. "I know there will be some adjustments to make on both our parts, and it will take some time for us to get to know each other. I suppose, what I am trying to say is, even though we only met last night, I think you are a remarkable young woman, spirited, talented, dedicated, intelligent, and," he reached for her hand, "beautiful."

Tessa immediately snatched it away.

_Hell's bells._

"Lord Arlington," she scolded. Her gaze had hardened; her indignance was clear. "You barely know me. And you are sadly mistaken if you think I am anything like Lady Montagu. I won't fall to my knees and swoon at your feet."

"Swoon at my feet? Is that what you think—" It suddenly occurred to him that Tessa probably had no idea what Lady Montagu had been doing to him last night. His bride-to-be really was an innocent. He would have to proceed at a slower pace if he hoped to win her heart.

Is that what he wanted? To win her heart?

_Oh, God, I am turning into a love-sick moon calf._ Bewitched by a luscious red mouth and a pair of chocolate-brown eyes. He couldn't have that. Too many sleepless nights and too much alcohol had obviously addled his brain. The jaded reprobate inside ordered him to take immediate action, to focus on taking whatever pleasure he could steal from Tessa right now. Even if they never felt anything more than affection for each other, he would dearly love a wife who was passionate in the bedroom.

He summoned his most rakish smile and said in a velvet-soft voice, "A little swooning is permitted, surely." When the corner of Tessa's mouth twitched as if she was amused but trying to hide it, his smile widened. "We are engaged, after all."

"Yes, we are." She sounded breathless rather than cross now. "But we are not yet wed."

"True." He curled his hand lightly about her slender upper arm, and she leaned imperceptibly closer. "But aren't you dying to know if we are well-suited? I certainly thought we were last night. I think a thorough review is required, don't you?"

He cupped her lovely, heart-shaped face and leaned into her slowly, giving her time to pull away. He half expected her to, but when she didn't protest, he was filled with a burst of triumph and some other softer emotion he didn't wish to name. Their lips met, brushed, and finally melded, and he was struck all over again how delicious Tessa tasted. This was how their first kiss should have been, a series of gentle, languid caresses. A thorough demonstration of how very sweet desire could be.

Deciding to risk a more brazen maneuver, Jasper licked at her bottom lip. A hot thrill arrowed through him all the way to his loins when Tessa readily opened for him, a breathy moan escaping her as he entwined his tongue with hers. When she gripped his shoulders and pushed her breasts against his chest, he groaned his appreciation and increased the boldness of the kiss yet again, nipping and sucking at her full lower lip. Desire, thick and heavy, made his blood pound. Lord, it felt like forever since he'd felt this way about a woman. He really should slow down before he frightened her with the strength of his arousal. She might be enthusiastic, but she was still very much a virgin.

He gently grasped her hands, encouraging her to release her tight hold on him. "Very well-suited, don't you agree, my sweet Tessa?" he murmured against her mouth before drawing back. Her eyes fluttered open and they looked like pools of melted chocolate, soft and warm and liquid with desire. _At first._

She pulled away from him and retreated to the very edge of the settee. "I... You make my head spin with your kisses. But I suspect that was the idea, wasn't it? Just like last night. Woo Miss Penrose into submission for the sake of expediency. An agreeable, biddable wife is what you want, after all, isn't it, Lord Arlington? A docile broodmare you can install at Arlington Abbey, so you can go about your business, as if I don't exist."

He flinched at her stinging and completely unexpected rebuke. _Damn._ She was perceptive, and correct—up to a point. He was suddenly struck by how very adamant she was, how very angry. Christopher had said she'd never wished to marry and that she eschewed society. He wondered why. "Agreeable, yes," he said carefully, "but I certainly don't want a meek little mouse for a wife. And my wife—you—would never be just a broodmare to me."

Tessa shrugged, her mouth a hard, angry line. "We shall see."

Jasper moved closer and gently lifted her chin, so he could study her face. "Tell me, what do you _really_ want, Tessa? A love match?"

Her forehead creased with apparent confusion, and she shook her head, breaking free from his hold. "I hardly know. I... I've never given much thought to it." A bitter laugh escaped her. "As if you and I could ever fall—" Her cheeks flushed bright red. "I'm sorry. This... state of affairs has turned me upside down and inside out. An amicable partnership based on mutual respect seems... achievable, given our situation."

He stroked the back of his fingers down her flushed cheek, enjoying the fact her color deepened and her breath caught. "Who knows what might be achieved in time, Tessa? I'm certainly looking forward to finding out." Before she could respond, he stood and bowed over her right hand. Poignant understanding pierced his heart when he felt her fingers, and he struggled to keep his expression pleasantly neutral. "I should go. But with your consent, I will call again tomorrow and, weather permitting, I shall take you for a promenade in the Park."

He was surprised when Tessa's lush mouth curved into a small but seemingly genuine smile. Did she not realize he'd just discovered something very personal about her? Something she took great pains to conceal? But all she did was reply, "I should like that, Jasper," as she carefully withdrew her hand.

Perhaps she did know, but she was practiced at schooling her features in situations such as this. Jasper returned her smile and inclined his head. "Until tomorrow then."

As he left the room, he wondered how long it would take her to trust him enough to disclose what had befallen her. Why her right-hand glove contained stuffing where her ring and little finger should be.

Sadness washed over him in a great wave. The sense of what-might-have-been that seemed to be his constant companion. It appeared he and Miss Tessa Penrose had much more in common than he'd ever anticipated.

As soon as the door clicked shut behind Lord Arlington, Tessa pressed her gloved hands to her cheeks.

Oh, dear Lord. She'd given into him yet again. Kissed him back like a wanton. But worse than that, _he knew..._

He'd taken her right hand in his, and his fingers had brushed over the place where her fingers should have been. His reaction had been barely perceptible; a tiny expansion of his pupils and a twitch at the corner of his mouth—but it was a flinch all the same.

Her stomach churned, and she closed her eyes; she truly didn't know whether she was relieved or terrified. Jasper knew she was not quite right.

_Maimed._

Honor dictated that he would still hold to his word and marry her. But she doubted the amicable partnership they'd spoken of would eventuate. He'd just discovered that he'd been thrust into a union with a woman who could never properly fill the role of countess, play the assured hostess at dinner parties, balls, and soirees or, indeed, any sort of function at all. She clutched her hands together. Why, she couldn't even dispense tea properly.

There must be at least some level of resentment inside him to be saddled with her. Her father had been right. She would always be an embarrassment, and if she ever wed, a sorry excuse for a wife.

Perhaps it was for the best if Jasper left her to her own devices at Arlington Abbey.

Tessa brushed away the tears that had spilled onto her cheeks unheeded.

If only Jasper hadn't kissed her. Awoken her desire. He had asked if she wanted a love match. Of course she did. But yearning for that happy circumstance would be like wishing for the moon.

Impossible.

Men like Lord Arlington didn't fall in love with women like her. The sooner she reconciled herself to that cruel truth, the better.

# Chapter 5

_1 8th December 1816, Arlington Abbey, Little Arlington, Surrey_

* * *

_T his must be a dream._

The strange feeling of unreality wrapped around Tessa like a cloying mist as she stood beside Jasper at the altar in Arlington Abbey's private chapel, and agreed before the vicar, the small congregation of close family and friends, and God, to have this man as her wedded husband. Dressed in a gown of white satin with an overskirt of gold net, she shivered through much of the service, despite the fact braziers were positioned about the interior of the chapel to help combat the biting cold of the wintry December day. Not even Jasper's appreciative hazel gaze could warm her, or the feel of his large hands upon her gloveless left hand as he slid a plain gold wedding band onto her ring finger, or even when he assisted her to kneel upon a red velvet cushion that had been warmed by heated bricks for the sermon and blessing.

She was grateful, however, that he had not shown any outward sign of revulsion when he'd had to take her satin-gloved right hand during the exchange of vows. But then, he'd had almost two weeks to get used to the idea that his bride was crippled. Not that they'd spoken about it in the preceding fortnight. She'd been too nervous to broach the subject, and Jasper hadn't brought it up. Either he was too much of a gentleman to speak of such things, or he was reluctant to discuss a matter he might very well find unpalatable, perhaps even abhorrent. She suspected it might be the latter—since their meeting in the drawing room of Penrose House, he had not attempted to kiss her again. He'd been the perfect gentleman—charming and attentive in conversation, considerate and polite. Too polite perhaps; in a way, he seemed distant, and not at all like the Jasper she had first encountered at Emma's ball.

She should have been pleased by his change in demeanor, but for some reason she was reluctant to examine, she was not.

Indeed, the odd feeling that she was in a dream persisted throughout the entire ceremony and into the late afternoon as she pretended a delight she didn't feel, smiling and laughing throughout the long, lavish wedding breakfast, not dissimilar to a Christmas feast. As Tessa's gaze wandered over the enormous wedding cake, the centerpiece of the table, to the platters of roasted duck, goose, and vegetables, the glazed ham, aspic jellies, and the silver sauce boats that the footmen were now clearing away, she appreciated all the trouble Jasper had taken. He was generous to a fault.

Despite the fact it was a small wedding with no more than twenty guests—Christopher, Emma and Aunt Beatrice had naturally attended, along with various close friends and a few relatives of Jasper's—the wedding feast had been laid out upon a massive mahogany dining table that could seat at least thirty, in the abbey's Great Hall. A roaring fire helped keep the chill of the afternoon at bay, to some extent, as did the braziers positioned strategically about the stone-walled chamber. Jasper's servants had also gone to enormous lengths to decorate the room in an elegant, festive, style—large, tastefully arranged wreaths and boughs of holly, ivy, rosemary, and white roses and orange blossoms from Jasper's hothouse adorned the center of the table, the white marble mantel, and cascaded from the claret velvet curtains dressing the recessed window embrasures.

A string quartet played quietly from a small minstrel's dais at one end of the chamber, and Tessa wondered if there would be dancing after the meal. Not that she would mind if there weren't; she had never been one to dance, given that hand-holding of some sort was required, and in her mind, it was an activity akin to playing a musical instrument— something to be avoided in public at all costs.

She cast a sideways glance at Jasper who sat beside her. Deep in conversation with Christopher, he didn't seem to notice the direction of her gaze. She sighed. She did not even know if her husband—how peculiar it was to think of Jasper in such a way—liked to dance.

"Are you excited? About tonight?" Emma whispered into her ear. Beneath the cover of the table she squeezed Tessa's gloved right hand. "It won't be long before evening sets in."

Tessa blushed, taken aback by her younger sister's forward question. Taking in Emma's flushed countenance, she could see that her sister, her only bridesmaid, had most likely imbibed a little too much champagne and mulled wine. If Tessa dared to give an honest answer, she would admit she was both thrilled and terrified by the prospect of joining her husband in their marriage bed.

She reached for her own champagne flute with her bare left hand and took a small sip while formulating a suitable response. Her gold wedding band glowed warmly in the candlelight and she was reminded all over again that she was a married woman and that her husband could take her to bed whether she was willing or not. Considering her responses to Jasper's early attempts at seduction, she suspected she might readily fall into the category of 'willing,' if not altogether 'swooning'.

But Tessa could hardly confess such things to Emma; she was only seventeen. "I am a little nervous, as you would expect," she replied at length. "But I hardly think this is a suitable topic to discuss right now, if at all. Especially with you."

"Oh, pish. _I_ think you will have a wonderful time. I've seen the way Jasper looks at you."

Tessa's eyebrows drew together. "Whatever do you mean?" She really should scold Emma for persisting with this inappropriate line of conversation, but another part of her desperately wanted to know what her sister made of the situation.

Emma giggled. "He looks at you like you are tastier than anything on this table. Now, don't look so shocked, Tessa. It's common knowledge that rakehells make the best... _you know_ ," she lowered her voice and whispered, " _lovers_. And if I were able to lay a wager, I would say that by this time next year, I will be an aunt."

"Emma," Tessa admonished. She was not sure if she was quite ready to deal with the notion of becoming a mother.

"Well, I think it would be wonderful. You will be an amazing mother, Tessa. If I didn't love you so much, I'd be green with envy."

"Your turn will come next Season, my dear little sister," Tessa said, squeezing Emma's hand back. "And I'm counting on the fact you will follow a more sensible course than I have when finding a partner."

"Hmph. Sensible. That sounds awfully boring. I want romance and a man who will be as besotted as your husband."

"Don't you do anything silly, Emma," warned Tessa. "You know the only reason I agreed to marry Jasper was to maintain the good name of our family."

Emma sighed. "I know. And I promise I won't do anything scandalous. I just pray I find a love match too."

A love match. That most vexing idea again. Tessa slid her husband another glance. Resplendent in a midnight-blue tailcoat, elaborately tied ivory silk cravat, gold brocade waistcoat and buff breeches, he was so handsome, her heart all but stopped every time she looked at him. But it was more than just Jasper's appearance that attracted her. As the fortnight had progressed toward this, their wedding day, she realized she genuinely liked him, despite the fact he'd been more guarded around her than she would have liked. Witty, intelligent, caring, if a trifle flippant at times, his opinion of her mattered, more than she cared to admit. _She_ might be bordering on a state of being besotted, but she certainly couldn't see that Jasper returned the feeling. But then, Emma was caught up in the romance of the occasion and was undoubtedly viewing everything through the optimistic eyes of the very young.

Perhaps sensing her appraisal at last, Jasper turned away from his conversation with Christopher and fixed her with such a knowing look that her toes curled in her white silk slippers, and the now-familiar ache of unfulfilled lust throbbed low in her belly. Even she, naïve bluestocking that she was, recognized his look was heavy with desire... certainly not love. The polite gentleman was gone and the devilish rake she'd first encountered was back. Confusion assailed her. How could he look at her like that when he _knew?_

Her husband's mouth curved into a slow, wicked smile and he leaned close to her ear to murmur, "I am not one for dancing, but shall we take a turn about the room, my lady? Our guests might appreciate us signaling it is quite all right to get up from the table. And I don't know about you, but I think the cutting and serving of the cake can wait until later"—he ran his fingers lightly over the bare flesh on the underside of her left wrist—"much later."

Tessa felt a blush creep up her neck and scald her face. "We cannot," she whispered back in an urgent tone as her heart began to trip and tumble about in her chest. Jasper clearly didn't mean what he'd said about only wanting to take a turn about the room.

Her husband simply smiled. "Of course we can, my dear wife," he said in a soft, dark voice that made her shiver. "We can do anything we like on our wedding day."

Tessa was suddenly aware that all eyes were on them. "You test the boundaries of propriety, my lord," she murmured, hoping her answering smile looked genuine rather than apprehensive. "I will agree to quitting the table, as long as the cake is served first."

Jasper sighed, but nevertheless acquiesced. Champagne and wine glasses were refilled, the cake was cut and distributed between the merry-making guests, and after taking a polite bite or two—Tessa's stomach churned so much, she really couldn't eat any more than that—she allowed her husband to escort her away from the table, her left hand on his arm. As was her usual habit, she tucked her gloved right hand into her gown's specially sewn-in pocket, hoping no one would notice it as they traversed the room.

Jasper led her over to the fire and for several minutes they stood in apparent companionable silence and watched some of the other guests dance a sedate quadrille. But Tessa's mind was elsewhere. She smiled as the newly wed Countess of Arlington should, but the entire time, all she was aware of was the feel of Jasper's large warm hand at her elbow, and the other at the small of her back, and how, in a very short while, those same hands would be exploring every part of her body. She shivered, not with cold, but nervous anticipation.

Jasper seemed to notice how she trembled. He frowned down at her. "It's dashed cold in this hall, my wife, and I can see that you are turning blue, despite being so close to the fire." The twinkle of mischief in his hazel eyes had been replaced with a shadow of concern, and he began to gently chafe her bare left hand between his own large warm ones. "Pretty as your wedding gown is, I feel duty bound to get you into something warmer."

Tessa frowned. "I have a matching pelisse trimmed with fur—"

"Ah, I have something much better in mind." He leaned closer, the tip of one of his fingers brushing a sensitive spot beneath her ear. "Our bed."

"Jasper—"

"Shhh, my sweet, our guests will notice."

"We can't leave—"

"Yes, we can, and we will. This is my home and you are my wife. Besides that, I've been on my best behavior for two weeks, and I'm not waiting any longer. I want you, Tessa."

_Jasper really wanted her?_

Yes, she was definitely in a dream. Another, deeper shiver slid through her, even as confusion swamped her yet again. She wanted her husband too, but she was afraid. He might not love her, but the novel sensation of being desired was, frankly, intoxicating. But she also knew she wouldn't be able to bear seeing the hunger die in Jasper's eyes when he saw her disfigurement.

She'd never felt more vulnerable in her life. And today, on her wedding day, there was nothing she could do to hide.

Before she could think of another excuse to avoid the inevitable encounter, Jasper tucked her hand firmly beneath his elbow and led her from the hall. The embarrassingly enthusiastic cheers and clapping of their guests followed them into the vestibule, but thankfully faded from earshot by the time they'd negotiated the main staircase and gained the second floor. Within moments, she was being escorted into an opulent suite of rooms, the likes of which she had never seen.

Completely transfixed by the scene before her, she hardly registered the sound of Jasper closing the door behind them.

A set of enormous, arched, mullioned windows afforded her a magnificent view of Arlington Abbey's snow-covered gardens and the setting sun behind a bank of low clouds and the woods beyond. The large sitting room was decorated in a tasteful palette of dark green, rose hues and cream and through a connecting doorway, Tessa caught a glimpse of a very large, very ornate, mahogany four-poster bed swathed in curtains of dark green velvet. She swallowed and clenched her right hand tightly inside her pocket.

She had an idea of what transpired in the marriage bed. She'd heard enough gossip over the years, courtesy of her fellow bluestocking friends. Perhaps Jasper would let her keep her glove on, if nothing else.

Jasper drew close behind her and placed his hands on her shoulders. Kissed her flushed cheek then touched his nose to her neck, inhaling. "You smell divine, Tessa. So, so sweet." He gently turned her around to face him and tilted her chin up with a crooked finger. "I know you are nervous, but I promise you won't regret this." His hazel eyes glowed like sun-warmed topaz as his gaze travelled over her face. "You have no idea how beautiful you are, do you?"

She shook her head, her cheeks burning. Whilst she was quite proud of her hair, she could never be considered a conventional beauty—aside from her maimed hand, her mouth was too wide, her chin was a little too pointed, and her eyes were an unremarkable shade of brown. She couldn't accept his compliment, even if it seemed sincere. Not until he truly knew what sort of wife he'd been landed with. "I think you have had a little too much wine, my lord, and your vision has been affected."

His gaze softened, and he cupped her cheek, running the pad of his thumb over her bottom lip. "Tessa—"

She jerked away. There was now pity in his gaze instead of desire, and she couldn't stand it. Turning her back on him, she crossed the room and grasped the back of one of the brocade-covered chairs before the fireplace with her bare left hand. "My lord... I mean, Jasper, you are charging ahead too quickly. There are things we need to discuss before..." She trailed off, embarrassment and anxiety stilling her tongue.

Jasper approached her from behind and caught her gently about the right wrist, withdrawing her hand from her pocket. "You mean this," he murmured against her ear, entwining his fingers with what remained of hers. "Whatever you tell me, Tessa, it won't change anything. I can barely breathe for wanting you. There are parts of me throbbing like the very devil." He slid his other arm around her waist and pulled her to him so her back was flush against his powerful, lean, body, and there was no doubting he spoke the truth. The evidence of his arousal was obvious. Even though she'd never felt anything like it before, she immediately knew what that hard press against her derriere must mean.

"Jasper," she breathed, wanting so, so much to relax against him, to let go and let him initiate her into the art of lovemaking. But she didn't. Somehow she forced herself to pull away from his sinfully warm embrace before pacing over to one of the windows. If she could put a bit of distance between them, perhaps she could think and regroup. Do what needed to be done.

However, not unexpectedly, Jasper followed her, taking up a position on the opposite side of the window embrasure. He lounged against the wooden paneling with such an air of careless elegance, she wanted to cry. He'd said she was beautiful, but there was no way on earth that she could measure up to him.

Taking a deep breath, she made herself meet his expectant gaze. "Jasper. Since our meeting in the drawing room of Penrose House, I have suspected you are aware of my hand... that it is damaged. And I truly wish I could believe you that it doesn't matter. But before we continue with"—she glanced toward the open bedroom door—"with anything else, I feel I must let you know exactly what to expect. I cannot always keep my gloves on and... well, you have a right to know. Indeed, I am sorry I have not disclosed any of this to you sooner, but confessing such things to someone you have only just met... it is... it is difficult."

"Tessa, it honestly does not matter to me one jot," he said in a tone that was both grave and compassionate. "If anything, it makes you all the more attractive in my eyes, because it gives me some hope you will be more accepting of me, and my physical affliction."

Tessa shook her head in puzzlement. " _Your_ affliction? I... I don't understand what you are alluding to, Jasper. You are so..." she blushed but continued with her confession anyway. "You are one of the most handsome men I have ever met."

He smiled and inclined his head. "Thank you. But like you, I have something I keep well-hidden from the world. Has your brother told you I served under Wellington at Waterloo?"

She nodded. "Yes. But it was only in passing. He mentioned you were a former captain in the 52nd Light Infantry, but since returning home, you have resigned your commission."

"Yes." Jasper's smile faded and small lines of strain crinkled the corners of his eyes. "During the battle, I sustained shrapnel wounds to my lower left leg." Swallowing audibly he held her gaze. "I lost part of my left foot, Tessa. One of the surgeons tried to save what he could. But like you, I have a partial amputation."

"Oh." Flabbergasted didn't even begin to describe how Tessa felt. "I had no idea." She cast her eyes down to his shiny black Hessian boots. "But you walk without a limp."

"It took some practice and I have my boots and shoes specially made at Hoby's. You may have noticed, however, that I do not dance. That activity, I'm afraid, is quite beyond me."

Tessa smiled. "Well, that is something else we have in common. I am not much of a dancer, either. Or a horsewoman. Or hostess, for that matter." She pulled her right hand from her pocket and extended it toward him. He took it without hesitation and it was that small gesture that gave her the courage to continue.

"From a young age, I was mad about horses and riding. When we were at home at Trevilian Hall, I would ride as often as possible about the estate, in the company of my mother or Christopher, and a groom, of course. But then, when I was twelve, my father purchased a rather wild stallion—quite aptly named Diablo—and I, quite stupidly, took it upon myself to ride him, on my own... with disastrous consequences, as you can imagine."

"You had a fall?"

She nodded. "Diablo took a jump over a stile that I hadn't the skill for and..." She closed her eyes as the sound of Diablo's piercing scream filled her head just as it always did whenever she recalled the first few moments after the fall. The moments she could remember, at any rate. "Diablo broke his leg and had to be shot, and I..." She drew a shaky breath and wiped a stray tear from her cheek. "My ring and little finger were crushed. Like you, the local physician did what he could, but they could not be saved. My father was so angry with me, I don't think he ever forgave me. Indeed, I have never truly forgiven myself."

"Oh, Tessa, you were but a child." Jasper caught her against his chest and she gladly sank against him, drinking in all the comfort he had to offer. "Your father must have been a silly, stubborn man."

"And I was a silly, willful child," she said thickly, unable to hide the note of self-reproach in her voice. "Because of my disfigurement, my mother was reluctant to expose me to the critical eyes of others. And my father... Well, suffice it to say, he was more than a little ashamed of me. As far as he was concerned, I was the troublesome daughter, the family burden. The daughter who would never make a good marriage. Of course, over time, I learned to hide my hand as best I could, by wearing gloves, or gowns with trailing sleeves, or pinafores with pockets. But so many activities require a lady to use her hands. It is almost impossible to disguise the fact you have lost your fingers. Avoiding social engagements as much as possible seems the easiest way around it." She drew back from the circle of his arms and sought his gaze. "I truly never thought I would marry... and certainly not to someone like you."

Jasper arched an eyebrow and his mouth tipped into a playful smile. "What do you mean, like me?"

"Are you fishing for compliments? I've already admitted I find you very handsome."

"No one is perfect, Tessa, least of all me. We all have scars. Some are a little less obvious, but they are there all the same." His gentle smile faded, his expression becoming sober. "I haven't told you everything. As difficult as it is to admit, I also suffer from nightmares, as you will soon find out. Indeed, until a fortnight ago, I had established the dreadful, self-indulgent habit of imbibing a little too much alcohol to help me sleep... and to forget. You saw evidence of that at Emma's ball."

Tessa knew exactly how that felt... to want to forget. She touched Jasper's arm with her other hand. "It wasn't your fault you were wounded."

A wry smile curved his mouth. "No, but like you, I disobeyed my father. And because of my stubbornness, both he and my older brother died."

Tessa frowned. _Surely not._ "How can that be? Did they serve alongside you?"

"No," he said with a deep sigh that clearly spoke of regret. "I joined the ranks of the Light Infantry, against my father's wishes. Becoming an officer in His Majesty's army had been a long held ambition of mine. You see, I used to be quite the Corinthian, but by the time I had finished at Oxford, I decided I wanted to put my athletic skills to real use. There's no greater challenge than a battlefield."

Ah, that explained her husband's admirable physique. "I take it your father didn't agree."

"Yes, you could say that. When I obtained my commission, he and I became... Well, estranged would be the polite way to put it. But despite our differences, when I was wounded, my father sent my older brother, Crispin to find me and bring me home. The makeshift field hospital I'd been sent to had questionable conditions, so I was undeniably grateful when he showed up. However, on the journey home, Crispin grew very ill—some kind of virulent fever. By the time our ship made port in England, he'd passed away. It was so sudden. Such a waste of a good man's life. To this day, I still have no idea what illness it was that claimed him."

"Oh, my goodness. That's terrible. I'm so sorry, Jasper. What happened to your brother isn't your fault either."

He squeezed her hand. "Thank you. My father didn't see it that way though. When he heard what had happened to Crispin, his heir, he grew so angry..." Jasper drew a shaky breath. His face was pinched with grief, the look in his eyes, haunted. "Father had a fatal apoplectic seizure right before my very eyes. I'll never forget that day as long as I live."

Tessa's heart ached for him. He carried so much guilt, no wonder he felt the need to escape the pain. "Oh, Jasper. I had no idea. Living with so much sadness and regret is not easy."

Jasper touched her cheek, brushing away another of her tears with his thumb. "No, it isn't, but you know that, too. Thank you for listening, Tessa. I am grateful for your understanding."

She offered Jasper a watery smile, touched by her husband's compassion. "As am I." Her gaze fell to his mouth and she knew by the way he angled his head he was about to kiss her. And this time, she _wanted_ him to kiss her. So very much.

He cupped her jaw and as his mouth covered hers, she wrapped her arms about his neck and kissed him back with equal ardor, if not skill. But Jasper didn't seem to mind in the least. His other hand slid from her hand, skimmed up over her waist to her breast and she moaned her pleasure, hot, sweet desire sweeping through her, making her giddy. She'd never known physical love could be so overwhelming and addictive, so breathtakingly sublime, until she'd met Jasper.

And they'd only just begun.

Jasper broke the kiss and smiled down at her. She was pleased to see he was as breathless as she was, and from the telling swell at the front of his breeches, he was ready for more. Feeling suddenly bold, she pushed her left hand beneath his coat and pressed her palm against his wide, hard chest wishing the barriers of silk and brocade were gone. The idea that she could touch and explore his naked flesh was shockingly delicious.

She reached up to kiss him again, but he pressed a finger to her lips. "Before we move into the bedchamber, I want to prepare you for the fact that I won't be wearing my boots to bed. You on the other hand, can wear your gloves if you'd like. And I wouldn't mind at all if you also wore your stockings. And perhaps these..."

Before she could fully process the shocking notion of wearing nothing but gloves, silk stockings and little else, Jasper reached into an inner pocket of his tailcoat and withdrew another velvet-covered box, ivory this time. Tessa took it from him with trembling fingers. Inside lay a delicate strand of pale pink pearls. "Jasper, you really didn't have to," she admonished but there was no heat behind her words.

He smiled. "Indulge me this once. Consider it a wedding gift."

"It's lovely, but I really don't need extravagant presents like this." She took a deep breath and, for once in her life, she decided to ask for what she really longed for, deep in her heart. "Two weeks ago, you asked me what I wanted, and I realize now what that is. I want something real, something true, to develop between us. A union that is more than amicable. I want us both to be open-minded and open-hearted to the prospect of love."

Jasper's mouth lifted into a soft smile and he tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear. "I had the impression that you were not a proponent of romance or love matches."

"Perhaps you are changing my mind."

"Let me see how much I can change it tonight, my beautiful wife." He helped her to don the necklace and then kissed her, so softly, her heart began to melt for him just that little bit more.

As he swept her into his arms and carried her through to the bedchamber, she rather thought her wedding night might just be the very best night of her life.

# Chapter 6

When Tessa finally stirred the next morning, it was with a yawn followed by a very happy, very satisfied smile. Her wedding night had been both glorious and a revelatory experience in more ways than one. Jasper's skills as a lover had surpassed every expectation she'd ever had. The sensations he'd aroused in her... _The wicked things they'd done_. She blushed just thinking about them, but somehow it also felt so very right. And to think she'd contemplated living an entire life without having experienced such a wondrous thing—the feeling of giving and receiving pleasure, of being possessed and cherished.

She doubted any other man could have made her feel so complete, and dare she think it, _loved?_ Not that they'd exchanged any vows of undying devotion last night, but surely she wouldn't feel so blissful and replete, like she was basking on a cloud in the light of the summer sun, if their coupling had been nothing but perfunctory and essentially meaningless.

The ormolu clock on the mantel was striking ten o'clock when she eventually rose from the tangle of fine linen sheets. Jasper had woken at dawn and made tender love to her, yet again, before leaving her to sleep a while longer. It was a gesture she appreciated greatly. Because her husband had been nothing but thorough in his quest to demonstrate how very special lovemaking could be, she'd barely slept at all during the night.

Still wearing her right glove, she wrapped a silk robe about herself before ringing for her newly appointed lady's maid, Lottie. While she hadn't been perturbed at all by the appearance of Jasper's injured foot, she hadn't felt comfortable enough to reveal her own disfigurement. True to his word, Jasper hadn't minded.

Perhaps in time she would be able to share everything...

Stretching, she crossed to the window and drew back the green velvet curtains. Even the December day seemed to reflect her inner joy. Between the scudding clouds, the winter sky was a brilliant blue, the freshly fallen snow blanketing the grounds of the abbey a dazzling white. As he kissed her goodbye, Jasper had whispered that he would see off their remaining house guests before going for a ride. Tessa knew Christopher, Emma, and Aunt Beatrice had planned to quit the abbey at an early hour and return to London, where they would stay until the day after Boxing Day, before journeying to Trevilian Hall to welcome in the New Year. She would miss them, and the opportunity to take part in the Benevolent Society's Boxing Day activities, but now that she and Jasper were beginning to forge a true connection, she relished the idea of remaining here with only her ardent husband for company.

She smiled as she contemplated what they might do on his return. Jasper had hinted there were many more ways to make love than he'd shown her last night, and in many different places besides a bed. How deliciously wicked he was. A sudden, wholly unwanted image of Jasper with Lady Montagu intruded into her mind and her heart twisted. No, she didn't want to think about her husband and that other woman, and what they'd done together in her art studio. Jasper had convinced her last night that he was committed to their marriage. Not all men were unfaithful.

A knock at the door pulled Tessa from her musings. Lottie had appeared in record time—no doubt she was keen to see how her new mistress fared after her wedding night. Tessa ordered a bath—she was a little sore in unfamiliar places after so much enthusiastic bedsport—and after she'd dressed and dismissed Lottie, she sat down to a light repast of breakfast rolls and hot chocolate before the fire in the adjacent sitting room. It was already eleven o'clock and she didn't think Jasper would be much longer. If he were anything like Christopher, he would be ravenous when he got back. She would speak with the housekeeper when she had finished her breakfast to check on the day's menu.

Half an hour later, after she'd reviewed the menu, Jasper still hadn't returned. Ignoring the prickle of unease inside her—fruitless worrying wouldn't make the time pass any faster—Tessa ventured forth from their suite and made her way downstairs to the abbey's library, hoping to find a book to occupy her. She'd dearly love to paint a landscape portrait of the abbey and its grounds, but she hadn't yet had the opportunity to establish another studio. She was sure Jasper would let her take over one of many unused upstairs rooms. Hopefully, a north-facing one with large windows and ample light. Exploring the upper floor of the abbey was something they could, perhaps, do together, after sharing the luncheon she'd planned.

It didn't take her long to find a novel to her taste. Arlington Abbey's library was extensive and well-catalogued. As she crossed the plush Persian rug to take a seat by the fire, she passed by Jasper's large, ornately carved oak desk. An exquisitely detailed inkstand fashioned from rosewood caught her eye. Leaning forward to examine the delicate satinwood marquetry—she wondered if it might actually be a prized Tunbridgeware piece—she noticed her name written upon a piece of parchment by the corner of the inkstand. Rich, thick, cream-colored parchment bore an embossed crest at the top that she didn't immediately recognize.

Knowing what she did was wrong, but unable to resist the sharp tug of temptation, Tessa put down her book and picked up the paper. A letter. Her stomach lurched as she began to read the flowery, decidedly feminine, handwriting.

* * *

_1 6th December 1816_

* * *

_M y dearest Jasper,_

* * *

_I would extend to you my congratulations on your impending nuptials, however, I am certain you cannot be overly happy about being tied to the likes of Miss Penrose (I know she is an artist of some talent, but from what I've heard, she is a frightful bluestocking. Her family might be well-connected, but aside from that, I don't think she has much else to recommend her)._

_Are the rumors I've heard about her really true? That she has a deformed hand?_

_Whilst part of me reels in horror at the very thought, I will also confess that I did laugh when I heard what had happened to you, you poor, poor man. However, I am sure I can take your mind off your unfortunate marriage when you visit after Twelfth Night. I shall leave it up to you to choose the date and time of our next encounter, but please know, I am counting the days until I see you again._

* * *

_Y our most ardent admirer,_

_Cordelia,_

_Baroness Montagu_

* * *

Tessa dropped the parchment onto the desk and pressed her hands to her stomach in a futile effort to quell the swirling nausea inside her. _Oh, God_. Surely Jasper wasn't planning to see that woman. Not after yesterday. And especially not after last night.

But why keep such a cruel and terrible letter? Why not tear it up or burn it?

Her husband must have kept it for a reason...

_I'm not enough for him._

Tessa put her gloved hand to her mouth to stifle a welling sob.

She was such a foolish ninny. She'd married a hardened rake and had witnessed how much he'd enjoyed Lady Montagu's lusty ministrations. It shouldn't really be a surprise to her that Jasper would consider pursuing the baroness, or any other woman, for that matter.

But oh, how it hurt her to the very bone.

She couldn't stay.

Swallowing her useless tears, she hastily quit the library and returned to her room to change into the warmest travelling clothes she owned. She knew Jasper would come looking for her, but until she'd had time to regroup and harden her wounded heart, she couldn't bear the idea of facing him.

It looked like she would be spending Christmas in London after all.

"Lady Arlington went where? To the village? Did she say why?"

Lottie, his wife's young maid, flinched beneath the barrage of questions. "I think she went to the village, my lord," she replied, twisting her hands in her apron. "At least that's what Jem the gardener told me, that she'd set out for Little Arlington on foot about two hours ago. She... she asked me to help her change into her woolen travelling gown, cloak, and bonnet. I think she also took her reticule and a muff. She didn't give a reason, and I didn't think it was my place to ask, but..." The girl swallowed nervously. "Forgive me for saying so, but I thought she looked upset. Her eyes were red. Like she'd been crying."

_Crying. Good God._ What the hell had happened in the last few hours, between when he'd left Tessa sleepy and satisfied in their bed, in this very room, and now? Was she ill? Had she received something distressing in the post?

After Jasper had seen off the remainder of the wedding guests this morning—including a somewhat guarded Christopher, hopefully only suffering a frightful headache from imbibing too much claret, rather than having misgivings about his friend bedding his sister—he'd then headed off on a ride. Before he could return home, his steward waylaid him. The ruthlessly efficient, yet odious, man had insisted he give an opinion on a drainage issue at the northern edge of the estate. And then his horse had thrown a shoe. By the time Jasper had arrived back at the abbey, it was early afternoon, and Tessa was gone.

He had to find her.

Somehow reining in his growing panic, Jasper quizzed Lottie a little more, but she had no further intelligence that was of much use. After Tessa had taken breakfast in their sitting room, she'd apparently spoken to the housekeeper, and following that, one of the footmen had seen her enter the library. And that was all anyone knew. Jasper dismissed Lottie with an appreciative "thank you," then, after confirming the maid's version of events with Davis, the footman who'd seen Tessa, he strode as fast his maimed foot would permit, straight back to the stables.

_This didn't make any sense._

Tessa had gone to the library in perfectly fine spirits—according to Davis anyway—and then... what?

_Oh, God, no._

Jasper stopped dead in the middle of the stableyard as the terrible truth hit him between the eyes like a marksman's bullet.

Lady-Bloody-Montagu's letter. He'd left it sitting in plain view on his desk.

_Hell and damnation._

His beautiful wife, the woman who'd made him feel alive and whole again—the woman with whom he was falling in love—had seen that awful, vitriolic missive and had clearly misinterpreted his motives for keeping the cursed thing.

He was such an idiot to have shattered her trust when he'd only just started to gain it.

He quickened his pace and called for his carriage. Little Arlington was only a mile away, and he had no doubt that Tessa would have hired some sort of conveyance or secured a seat on the public coach to London by now.

His wife had fled and he would move heaven and earth to get her back.

The question was, would he ever be able to convince her to trust him with her heart again?

# Chapter 7

_2 0th December 1816, Penrose House, Berkeley Square, London_

* * *

"Thank you for seeing me, Lady Cardew. Both your generosity and forbearance are greatly appreciated."

"Hmph." The dowager countess eyed Jasper as if he was something distasteful she'd discovered in the tea leaves at the bottom of her tea cup. "Save your pretty words for your wife, Lord Arlington. And consider yourself lucky my nephew isn't here. When Tessa arrived late yesterday, I believe his words were, 'I'll have Arlington's head on a platter'."

_God, Tessa must be in a bad state_. A fresh stab of guilt pierced Jasper's heart. He wasn't in the least surprised Trevilian wanted to do him physical harm. If he were in the same place, he would, too. He ventured a little closer to Lady Cardew, who sat by the fire in Penrose House's drawing room. However, he wasn't game enough to take a seat, and the dowager countess didn't offer him one. He cleared his throat and decided to risk the question uppermost in his mind. "I know Tessa is terribly upset. Has she told you much... about yesterday, and what happened?"

Lady Cardew narrowed her eyes. "Enough. You know, I really did think you were cut from better cloth, Arlington. Breaking your wife's heart the day after her wedding." She shook her head. "I am supremely displeased with you. At least you could have waited until you'd got her with child before you carried on with another woman."

Jasper winced. Suspecting he'd broken Tessa's heart, and then hearing it, were two entirely different things. He was beginning to think that if Trevilian decided to remove his head with a blunt butter knife, he probably deserved it.

Nevertheless, he endeavored to keep calm. "Please let me explain. There's been a terrible misunderstanding. My fault entirely, of course. To think that I have hurt Tessa so grievously..." He drew a steadying breath before he could go on, "I want to make things right again."

Lady Cardew pursed her lips and considered him for a moment before nodding. "I'm listening."

As he related his side of the story, he was relieved to see the iciness in Lady Cardew's pale blue eyes begin to fade. By the time he'd finished, she was nodding and smiling at him.

"I _knew_ you were the right man for my darling niece as soon as I laid eyes on you," declared the countess. "Now sit down, dear boy." She glanced at the Boulle clock on the mantel. "Christopher and Tessa are arranging last-minute Christmas Day purchases for Tessa's Whitechapel charity, and they aren't due back for at least another hour or two." She rubbed her gnarled hands together, a decided twinkle in her eyes. "Plenty of time for tea whilst we hatch the perfect plan of attack. You'll have your wife back by Christmas. I guarantee it."

_2 3rd December 1816, Penrose House, Berkeley Square, London_

* * *

"So, we aren't spending Christmas in London?" Tessa frowned at Aunt Beatrice, confused by the sudden change in plans. "I haven't heard Christopher and Emma say a word about it."

Her aunt waved her hand, a dismissive gesture. "Lord knows where your sister's head is most of the time. And you know how impulsive Christopher can be. As soon as he received the invitation from his dear friend, the Earl of Avebury, to spend Christmas at his estate, he had to say yes. How could he not? Besides, it's practically on the way to Trevilian Hall, so it will make the journey much easier."

Tessa's frown deepened. One thing Christopher was not, was impulsive. Nevertheless, she would go wherever her family went, even if that meant she had to claim she had a megrim and hide in her room most of the time to avoid the earl and his family and any other guests. She sighed heavily, as it also meant she wouldn't be able to help distribute all the carefully arranged gifts to the women and children at the Benevolent Society's Boxing Day event.

But then, if it put a greater distance between her and Jasper, perhaps this sudden decamping to the earl's estate in Wiltshire wasn't such a bad thing. Although, she couldn't help but wonder why her husband hadn't made at least some effort to find her. His lack of concern was telling indeed, and hurt more than she cared to admit. She moved toward the drawing room's bellpull. "I'll have Fanny prepare my trunk."

Again Aunt Beatrice waved her hand. "No need. It was all taken care of whilst you were gadding about town this morning."

Tessa hardly thought that attending a lecture on a woman's right to a decent education and better conditions in workhouses could be classified as 'gadding about', but she held her tongue. "I shall change into my travelling clothes—"

"Pfft. What you are wearing now is quite all right." Her aunt rose from her seat and clapped her hands together. "Come, come. Let's be off. Christopher and your sister have already gone on ahead and—"

"I thought Christopher had escorted Emma on a shopping expedition. Didn't she have some purchases she needed to make from her milliner in Bond Street? And then Christopher needed to see his tailor—"

"Yes, yes, they did," said Aunt Beatrice as she began to shoo Tessa toward the door like she was chicken that had escaped the hen house, "but they've already been and gone again. It's now well past noon and Christopher was keen to reach Windsor by tonight. We are to take separate carriages."

With a resigned sigh, Tessa complied with her aunt's request, and after donning her kid gloves, bonnet, and a red woolen travelling cloak, she followed her out to the laden carriage waiting outside Penrose House.

The first hour passed pleasantly enough. The London traffic was heavy and the going slow at first, but with the velvet curtains drawn, warmed bricks at her feet and plenty of thick blankets to wrap around herself to ward off the winter chill, Tessa was relatively content, despite her low spirits. Aunt Beatrice had also arranged for a basket of food to be packed, so after a light luncheon of sandwiches, savory pasties, and a tumbler of elder wine, a wave of fatigue began to steal over her. She hadn't slept much over the last few days—she'd tossed and turned in her bed fretting over what to do about her farce of a marriage, and what she would say to Jasper when they saw each other again—so the urge to doze was tempting, indeed.

When Tessa stirred again, it was to find their carriage was pulling into the busy yard of an unfamiliar coaching inn. She frowned as a cold feeling of unease began to unfurl in her belly. "Where are we?" she asked her aunt. "We don't usually stop—"

Before her aunt could respond, the door to the carriage opened. But it wasn't their footman who had appeared to let down the stairs.

It was her husband.

The breath froze in Tessa's lungs and her bruised heart pounded erratically in her chest. She'd been duped. Well and truly.

Jasper, on the other hand, seemed completely unrattled. He smiled most politely as he bowed to both her and Aunt Beatrice. "My dear ladies," he said smoothly. "I trust your journey so far has been pleasant."

"Yes, it has indeed, Lord Arlington," replied Aunt Beatrice. She readily accepted Jasper's proffered hand and alighted from the carriage.

Casting aside the tangle of blankets from her legs, Tessa made to rise from her seat, but Jasper shook his head. "Tsk, tsk, my dear wife," he drawled. "Not so fast. You and I have unfinished business to attend to." Before she could protest, he climbed into the carriage with her and sat down on the seat opposite. It had only been four days since she had last seen him, but in that short space of time, she'd forgotten how large and strong and beautifully made he was. How mesmerizing.

She'd missed him.

Tessa pulled the blankets about herself again. Curse her weakness. Her husband was a philanderer, a breaker of hearts, yet he had only to stretch out his long, muscular, buckskin-clad legs toward her, flash her a smile, and she wanted to throw herself on top of him. Bury her face in his neck and inhale the scent of his expensive cologne. The scent of his skin.

She crossed her arms. Well, she wouldn't.

The door to the carriage closed with a snap. "What of my aunt?" she protested. "You can't just leave her here."

Jasper removed his top hat and calmly placed it on the leather seat beside him. "It's all been handled, Tessa," he said quietly. All flippancy had disappeared from his manner. Indeed, his hazel eyes gleamed with an emotion that could almost be mistaken for tenderness. "I've arranged for another carriage—one of my own—to take her back to London. My staff will ensure she arrives safely. And you and I will return to Arlington Abbey." He rapped on the ceiling and the carriage moved on.

"You're used to getting your own way, aren't you?" she said, unable to hide the hurt and simmering resentment in her voice.

His wide mouth curved into a sad smile that tugged at her heart in a way she didn't like. "Not always... Tessa, we need to talk about the letter from—"

"No. We don't. Not yet." She bit her lip willing herself not to cry in front of him. She knew she was being mulish, and childishly so, but she couldn't seem to help herself. "I have a frightful headache. Please leave me be."

She leaned against the squabs and closed her eyes. The next four or five hours in this confined space with Jasper would be an unrelenting torment unless she slept.

Her husband sighed. "As you wish. But we _will_ talk about this, Tessa. Just let me know when you are ready."

Would she ever be ready to hear the lies her husband would spout?

Probably not, but she wouldn't be like her mother, heartsore her entire life. Somehow, between now and when they reached Arlington Abbey, she needed to crush her tender feelings for Jasper and shield her heart.

The sooner she stopped loving him, the better.

# Chapter 8

_2 3rd December, 1816, Arlington Abbey, Little Arlington, Surrey_

* * *

It was well after nightfall by the time they reached the abbey. Tessa had been uncommunicative for much of the journey home, alternately dozing or pretending to doze most of the way. As much as Jasper wanted to breach the wide gulf that lay between them, he sensed it would take more than just words and kisses to convince Tessa he genuinely wanted her, and her alone.

No, better to wait until morning when he could put the rest of his plan into action.

Although, he nearly gave into the temptation to kiss his beautiful wife—and more—when he gently scooped her into his arms and carried her upstairs to their bedchamber. The way she'd snuggled her flushed cheek into his shoulder and curled one of her hands into the lapel of his greatcoat, his whole body had ached with longing.

Tessa must have been exhausted, as she barely stirred when he removed her boots and stockings and cloak, and then her woolen travelling gown and stays, leaving her in nothing but her chemise. Taking a deep breath, he resolutely pulled the covers over her then made a makeshift bed for himself on the nearby settee.

As much as Jasper wanted to slide beneath the sheets and hold Tessa in his arms, he wouldn't, not until she invited him to.

He could hardly wait for morning.

_C hristmas Eve, 1816_

* * *

Tessa opened her eyes to a green velvet canopy above her head. She blinked, then sat upright with a start, as painful realization came flooding back. It was Christmas Eve and she was at Arlington Abbey.

Alone in Jasper's bed. She dare not think of it as hers as well.

Glancing down, she gasped and clutched the embroidered silk counterpane to her chest, when she saw she was dressed in nothing but her thin lawn chemise... and a kid glove on her right hand. A surge of unwanted tenderness filled her heart at the thought someone—most likely Jasper—had not removed it.

She had no recollection at all of arriving here or getting undressed. Heavens, she must have been practically unconscious to have slept through all of that. The question was, had Jasper or her maid taken off her clothes? Instinctively, she knew it must have been her husband. A hot blush flooded her cheeks at the thought he had touched her so intimately without her knowing. But then, she liked to think he'd undressed her to ensure she was comfortable, nothing more. She certainly didn't feel like anything else had gone on in this bed. She certainly wasn't uncomfortable _down there_ , like she had been the morning after their wedding night.

If it had been Jasper who had helped her last night, where was he now?

The sumptuous velvet bed hangings were only partly drawn across the end of the bed and she could see a good deal of the room. The curtains had been pulled back, letting in the pale morning light, and a fire crackled brightly in the grate. The rattle of china drew her attention toward the doorway leading into the sitting room.

_Jasper._ He stood by the window, sipping a cup of tea or coffee, wearing nothing but breeches, half-boots and a loose-fitting shirt. Even in a state of undress, with sleep-tousled hair, he looked too handsome for words.

Her heart began to race. Holding to her resolution to keep a tight rein on her emotions was going to be harder than she'd anticipated.

Perhaps sensing her gaze, Jasper turned toward her. "You're awake," he exclaimed, a dazzling smile lighting his face. He put down his cup and approached the bed, until he was standing right before her. "I wasn't sure if you wanted to take breakfast here, or downstairs in the morning room once you've dressed. At any rate, I arranged for a tray to be sent up a short while ago. There's tea and hot chocolate and rolls, if you'd like. Would you like me to ring for your maid?"

"Yes. Thank you." Unable to bear his warm regard a moment longer, Tessa dropped her gaze to where she still clutched the bedcovers. "And thank you for not removing this," she lifted her gloved hand. "It means a lot to me... your consideration." Oh heavens, where was her anger now that she needed it? When Jasper looked at her like that, his gaze tender, his smile soft, as if he cared for her, it made her forget why she'd fled in the first place. Closing her eyes, she thought of Lady Montagu and her letter.

"Think nothing of it, Tessa," said Jasper in a low voice. "When you are ready, I will meet you in the morning room. All I ask is that you hear me out, my love. I want more than anything for this to be the first of many happy Christmases for both of us." He touched her cheek ever so lightly, and then he was gone.

_Oh, Tessa. Don't be a fool. No matter how much you want to, you cannot trust him._

But he'd called her 'my love'. And on her wedding day, she'd told Jasper she wanted to be open-minded and open-hearted. She would be a hypocrite, indeed, if she didn't at least listen to his explanation.

Because if she was completely honest with herself, she knew she wanted to share many happy Christmases with Jasper too.

Jasper stood before the fire in the morning room, hands clasped tightly behind his back, his mouth so dry, he could barely swallow. Everything was ready, and as perfect as he'd been able to make it, given he hadn't been able to direct any of the preparations here in person. However, it appeared his servants had followed, to the very letter, the detailed instructions he'd sent by courier from London two days ago. This room, and indeed every other main living area of the abbey, had been lavishly decorated with fresh boughs of ivy and holly, hawthorn, and Christmas roses. All the dark shadows had been banished by the strategic placement of candelabra bearing fat, beeswax candles along the stone hallways and in the corners of every room. The largest Yule log his steward could find had been installed in the grate of the main fireplace of the Great Hall downstairs, and was now crackling away. Kissing boughs of mistletoe had been hung in every doorway and window embrasure.

If Tessa forgave him, he was certainly going to make sure he had ample reason to kiss her whenever and wherever he liked.

But there was the rub. _Would_ she believe him?

The clock on the mantel proclaimed the hour to be nine o'clock. Damn, it was much too early for brandy or mulled wine to soothe his jangled nerves. Perhaps he would ring for tea—

The door suddenly clicked open, and there she was, his beautiful wife. And he knew he didn't need anything but her.

Dressed in a simple morning gown of striped cream and raspberry silk, her dark brown curls arranged artfully about her face, she was so lovely that she literally stole his breath. Before he could summon his voice, she crossed the room toward him, her dark brown eyes aglow with warmth and a lovely smile on her lips. "Jasper, the abbey, this room, the way it has been decorated. It's so beautiful," she said, awe evident in her voice. "I've never seen anything like it."

Hope flickered in his heart. He stepped forward and boldly took her hands in his. "I wanted the abbey to be warm and welcoming. The weather has been so miserable this year, and given that it's Christmas, what better reason can there be to spread a little bit of cheer about?"

"I won't disagree with you there." Her smile suddenly turned shy. "I noticed you slept on the settee in our bedchamber. Again, thank you for being so considerate. I want to make things right between us, I truly do. But when I saw that letter—" Tears filled her eyes and Jasper's heart twisted to see his wife in such pain. "I thought... I still wonder about the depth of your regard for Lady Montagu...Whether you plan to see her..."

"Shh. I know I've hurt you, my love." He cupped his wife's cheek and brushed one of her tears away with his thumb. "And if I could take back everything that has happened, the way we first met, the way you discovered that hateful letter, I would in a heartbeat. Lady Montagu means nothing to me, I swear it. Would it help if I told you that you were always meant to see it?"

Tessa's brow dipped into a deep frown. "I don't understand. Why would you want to show me something like that? Something so hurtful? Why didn't you dispose of it?"

"Lady Montagu's letter arrived in the post the day before our wedding. And, like you, I was shocked to the very core by that woman's cruelty. I was an absolute dolt to have left the thing in such an unsecure place of course, but I kept it so I _could_ show you. I wanted to be open and honest about what had happened. And most of all, I wanted you to know you could trust me implicitly. Our meeting was unconventional, to say the least, and I will freely admit I haven't the best of reputations. I suppose I thought that if I showed you the letter, you would see I had nothing to hide, that I intend to remain faithful to you, now and always."

He framed her face with his hands and searched her beautiful brown eyes. "Do you understand now? I want only you, Tessa. Only you."

"I so want to believe you, Jasper. I really do." She placed a gloved hand over his where it still rested against her cheek. "You sound sincere, but trust takes time to build. We still barely know each other."

He smiled. "I know. Toward that end, I asked for a little help from your aunt... If you'll bear with me..." He released her and crossed the room to ring the bellpull. "On our wedding day, you told me you wanted something true and real to develop between us. And I do, too. I hope this will help. Call it a gesture of good faith if you will."

There was a knock at the door and Davis, the footman, entered, bearing a very large wicker basket. Jasper took it, and after dismissing the servant, turned to Tessa. "I know it isn't all that customary to give presents at Christmas to one's spouse, but when I was a little boy, my mother used to shower Crispin and me with gifts. My father was an austere man and after she passed away—when I was eight—presents were few and far between. But I've always treasured the memories I have of my mother—of her love for giving—and so I wanted to give you something special, too."

Holding his breath, he placed the basket on a nearby occasional table—it would be a little too cumbersome for Tessa to hold—and gestured for her to take a look. "In case you're worried, it isn't jewelry."

"I can see that." Tessa's cheeks were stained bright pink, the light in her eyes frankly curious as she approached the basket. She opened the lid and then gasped. "Oh, heavens, Jasper." Her eyes shimmered with tears as she reached in and pulled out not one, but two, very sleepy Cavalier Spaniel puppies—white and tan with enormous brown eyes. She cradled them in her arms and raised her gaze to his. "They are just too adorable. Thank you. Thank you so much. I've always wanted a puppy of my very own."

"You're very welcome." The relief suffusing Jasper's heart was indescribable.

"I want to give you so much, Tessa, everything your heart desires..." He took one of the stirring pups and touched his wife's cheek with the back of his fingers. "If you agree, I would like to spend Christmas Day here. There is a Christmas feast planned for all of the estate's tenants, and I would love to introduce you, my countess, to everyone. And then on Boxing Day, what say we return to London? I believe there is a gift-giving event in Whitechapel that you would very much like to attend. And I would too."

Tessa smiled, delight dancing in her eyes. "Oh, Jasper!" She leaned forward and kissed him on the mouth. "You have no idea how happy it makes me to hear you say that. I agree wholeheartedly."

Jasper grinned. "There's more."

"More?" Tessa's eyes widened. "Jasper, what you are giving me, indeed, everything you are doing is more than enough."

"Not nearly." He tucked the pup beneath his arm and caught one of her hands. "Come with me."

Tessa readily followed her husband out of the morning room, along the hall to the main staircase, then up to the third floor. Halfway along, he paused before a heavy oak door and pulled a key from the inner pocket of his coat. "Close your eyes," he whispered, his voice velvet soft.

Breathless with excitement and from the exertion of racing up the stairs, Tessa did as he asked. She heard the door click, and then Jasper circled his arm about her shoulders and gently steered her inside.

He whispered again. "You can open them now."

She did and then squealed with pure delight. "Oh, Jasper." He'd created an art studio for her.

She put down her squirming puppy and moved farther into the room. It was a long, spacious apartment, wood paneled, with wide windows and a vaulted ceiling. An enormous fire burned in the red marble fireplace at the far end of the chamber, where several chairs upholstered in burgundy damask graced the Turkish hearthrug. Her gaze skipped to a pair of easels standing by one of the windows and then to a large oak cupboard at the other of the room. The doors had been propped open to reveal an extensive selection of paints, other chemicals and an assortment of tools—palettes, paintbrushes and palette knives. And of course, there were canvases in all shapes and sizes stacked neatly against the wall beside the cupboard.

She turned around to face Jasper and found him watching her from the doorway, his mouth curved into the smile that never failed to make her heart skip a beat. "I'm overwhelmed," she said, her voice husky with emotion. "I can't believe you went to all this trouble for me. After I thought the worst of you and ran off without a word." She pressed her hands to her flaming cheeks. "You are too good to me. And I haven't arranged a single Christmas gift for you. You must tell me what you want."

Jasper closed the distance between them and grasped her shoulders. His warm hazel gaze trapped hers. "All I want is to tell you that I love you, Tessa. And I pray that you will let me love you to the end of our days."

Tessa bit her lip and blinked rapidly in a futile attempt to stem the mist of happy tears suddenly blurring her vision. "I love you, too, Jasper, with my entire heart," she whispered. "And whether it is Christmas or any other day, you are all that I'll ever want."

When Jasper bent his head to kiss her, this time she knew to the depths of her very soul, their love would be strong and true—forever.

# A Note from the Author

**Thanks for reading!**

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If you enjoyed **All She Wants for Christmas** , please help other readers find it too. Consider leaving a review wherever you purchased the book.

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You can keep up to date with all my latest book-related news by subscribing to my free quarterly newsletter. You'll find the link on my website: http://AmyRoseBennett.com

# About the Author

Amy Rose Bennett has always wanted to be a writer for as long as she can remember. An avid reader with a particular love for historical romance, it seemed only natural to write stories in her favorite genre. She has a passion for creating emotion-packed—and sometimes a little racy—stories set in the Georgian and Regency periods. Of course, her strong-willed heroines and rakish heroes always find their happily ever after.

Amy is happily married to her own Alpha male hero, has two beautiful daughters, and a rather loopy Rhodesian Ridgeback. She has been a speech pathologist for many years, but is currently devoting her time to her one other true calling—writing romance.

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