Page 64 of The Rake’s Convenient Bride

“But you’re curious,” he supplemented for her.

“I want to know you.” She put her hand on his forearm, her touch delicate, yet strongly supportive. “I relish all the stories you’ve told me so I can understand you better, to know you more fully.”

“You may not like what you learn,” he cautioned cynically.

Elizabeth merely smiled. “You haven’t put me off thus far.”

No one had wanted to know him before. Not his parents, who saw him only as a means to care for his brother and provide a spare son for the title. Not the women he entertained throughout Europe on his grand tour, who wanted him only for what he could provide over the course of several nights. Not even his friends, who accepted the casual humor of his replies and declined to delve deeper—not that he’d have indulged their queries.

“I’ve never talked about what happened with Benjamin,” he admitted, feeling rather foolish.

“You can talk about it with me.”

And he knew in that moment that he absolutely could. “Benjamin was older than me by a year. You wouldn’t know it to look at us when we were boys. He was shorter than me, his frame slight, his pallor sickly. My parents placed the world on those narrow shoulders, but they were never strong enough to support their dreams for him. Nonetheless, he was always the sole recipient of their love and affection. I was the second son, the spare, the one who was named after another second son who never ascended to the earldom because of my father’s robust health.”

There was a tinge of anger in his words as he spoke, a bitterness staining those memories.

“I was charged with protecting my brother,” he continued. “That was my lot in life, to protect Benjamin so my secondary role as being the spare son would never have to be realized.” He swallowed. “And I failed.”

“I doubt that,” Elizabeth countered.

“I did though.” He closed his eyes, and he remembered the chill of the water gliding against his skin as he swam out, deeper and deeper into the lake, knowing Benjamin could never swim that far. “We had an argument one day when Benjamin didn’t want me following him. I told him I hated following him. I hated how I was charged with minding him like a nanny. I was eight, he was nine, and I resented how much of my life was focused on him, just as he resented my constant shadow. He told me to leave him alone, that he never wanted a younger brother. I know he said it in the heat of the moment, but his words stung nonetheless. Angry and hurt, I turned away and rushed off to the lake. I’d always wanted to swim to the middle, to clear my thoughts, but was never allowed because he could not swim that far. I heard him calling behind me.” An unexpected knot formed in Jasper’s throat, callused by years of ignoring the pain that never stopped burning in his chest.

“I knew he was calling me and I still left, diving into the water.” Jasper looked at the cup of tea, now cold in his hands. “I didn’t hear him dive in after me, likely to apologize. That was kind of the person he was, someone who would make right the wrongs he’d done.” His voice caught and he shook his head, momentarily overwhelmed by his swelling sorrow.

“He drowned that day when he tried to come after me.” Japer hung his head. “I killed him.”

“No.” Elizabeth took the cold cup from his hands and shook her head vehemently. “No, you did not.”

“He never would have gone out to the lake if I⁠—”

“You never should have been charged with watching him,” Elizabeth said gently. “If he was so ill, he ought to have had someone at his side, a nurse who could care for him. You didn’t know he was swimming after you.”

“My parents didn’t believe that.” Jasper let himself be swept into the determination in her eyes, taking comfort in the way they captivated him with her sincerity. “My mother was never the same after Benjamin died. She stayed in her room, wearing her nightdress, not caring for herself. She died within a year, and my father claimed it was from a broken heart. Because of what I had done.”

Elizabeth was already shaking her head.

“I spent the remainder of my youth in anger before graduating from Eton and going on for my grand tour,” Jasper continued. “I lost myself in distractions without a care for the future or how others might perceive me. While I was gone, my father passed away as well.” He shrugged. “And then it was just Bess and I.”

“And I’m assuming your grandmother will agree with me that what happened to Benjamin was not your fault.”

He nodded. “She is greatly displeased with how my father—her son—treated me. Of my entire family, she is the only one who has ever truly cared for me, who has seen me as who I am and accepted me as that. Until you…”

“I’ve seen you for who you are since that night in the study at Lady Gentry’s ball.” She gave a wistful smile, as if she was remembering. “And I’ve always been keen to know more about you. I’m honored you’ve shared as much as you have with me, that you’ve trusted me.”

He reached for her, unable to think of anyone he would rather trust than her.

“I love you, Elizabeth,” he said softly. Deeply. Truly.

And if she answered him back, he did not hear as he faded into slumber once more, his heart lighter than it had been in years.

Elizabeth stayed at Jasper’s side as he slept, taking her meals there and having his at the ready when he woke.

In the first hour after he’d initially come to, his need to squint his eyes against the light had relaxed and his thoughts seemed clearer, more coherent. Even the periods of sleep he fell into appeared to happen less and less.

“It’s getting late,” Jasper said, his voice gravelly from sleep.

“Not so late.” Elizabeth knew the time to be somewhere just past eleven at night. Late enough that she had encouraged the staff to seek out their own beds, assuring them she would be fine to see to herself and Jasper. “I’ve read far later into the evening than this.”