Last Dance in London (Rakes on the Run #1) - Sydney Jane Baily Page 0,76

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JASPER COULD TELL HE was winning her over. He had no doubt after witnessing the mêlée with Arabella, Miss Sudbury had her reservations. That she’d come at all to his home had been a wonder, but when she’d agreed, he knew the curiously strong and sizzling bond between them would ensure she went upstairs with him before the night was over.

Before deflowering her, he would assure her of his ... devotion. Moreover, she would no longer need to steal and pawn to pay her expenses. He intended to keep her under his protection. Like a wife.

He frowned at his own discomfiting thoughts.

“Even when you frown, sir, you are the most handsome man I’ve ever met.”

The woman had no idea she was supposed to hold something in reserve, to at least not let him know how greatly she admired him. That was for him to do, to woo her out of her clothes and into his bed. But her honesty was entirely disarming.

“Julia,” he said her name because it gave him a surge of pleasure whenever he took such a liberty, “you are the most—”

A pounding on his front door made them both startle.

Bloody hell! And just when he was about to suggest they go upstairs, where the fire was already lit in his hearth and his bed linens were even then heating with an iron bed-warmer. He was so close to holding her in his arms, naked and willing.

In an instant, Mr. Greer appeared in the dining room doorway to learn Jasper’s wishes.

Given the hour, he would be within his rights to ignore the intruder altogether. Rising to his feet, he gestured for Julia to remain where she was while the knocking only grew more fervent and, if possible, louder.

“Your sister?” he wondered.

“I don’t believe so. Not unless she’s brought a cudgel with her.”

“To beat me senseless,” Jasper surmised.

“I can’t dismiss the notion entirely,” she said. “But doubtful.”

If it wasn’t the Countess of Worthington, then he couldn’t let Miss Sudbury be discovered by anyone else.

“Stay here,” he ordered, before nodding to Mr. Greer that he should investigate Then he left her, following his butler to the front of the house.

If it was his mother, they were in a bit of a pickle. The dowager countess would barge right into the parlor for a glass of sherry without a by-your-leave. After all, this home had once upon a time, before his father’s death, been hers. She would have a hundred questions and possibly take a dim view of both himself and Miss Sudbury, whom he couldn’t leave stranded in the dining room forever.

However, it wasn’t his mother who stepped into the foyer, pushing rudely past Mr. Greer, but a red-faced man Jasper thought vaguely familiar.

“What’s the meaning of this?” he demanded as his butler grabbed at the intruder’s arm, trying to drag him back, a futile action since the stranger was built like a dock-worker and clenched his hands into fists the size of hams.

“Don’t you know who I am? You know my wife, Lady Neville, well enough,” the stranger announced, and Mr. Greer instantly dropped his gloved hands. “I would tell you to call off your butler, but apparently he has heard of me and has good sense.”

Indeed, Mr. Greer took a healthy step back — the cowardly shake-bag!

Unfortunately, Jasper had heard of Neville, too. Quite a skilled bruiser, as he’d seen for himself at Jackson’s Academy. What’s more, Jasper knew the man’s wife — in every sense of the word. But that was old news, by at least two months, maybe three.

Surely Neville couldn’t be there because of—

“My wife said you laid hands upon her, like a rabid dog.”

Jasper considered this for a moment. Telling Neville that a dog, rabid or otherwise, had no hands did not seem like a prudent course of action. He’d behaved more like a randy dog, and Lady Neville had enjoyed herself with much more than merely Jasper’s hands.

Why on earth would she have brought up his name at this belated juncture?

Hoping to get the right end of the walking stick before he confirmed or denied, Jasper considered inviting Neville into his drawing room to appease him and his large fists with some expensive brandy. But he wasn’t going to leave Julia waiting.

“It’s inconvenient tonight, but would you care to return tomorrow to further discuss this?”

The man stood, legs slightly apart as if on a ship, and gawked.

“My arse on a bandbox!” he exclaimed. “Are you mad? I’ve just accused you of tupping my