Page 186 of Ten Lords for the Holidays

“Does this story have anything to do with a certain dashing Earl of Pershore by any chance?” she asked with a twinkle in her eye.

“Indeed it does. You see, I fancied myself in love once before, and the lady in question claimed to return my affections. She seemed ever so delighted to marry me, and we settled down to make all the arrangements, and papers were signed, the license procured… But the moment she caught the attention of a duke, she broke off our engagement. This all happened in Sweden, while I had been there with my family. It made me want to avoid all people, especially once I realized she was pregnant by the duke before I even learned she preferred him.”

“Oh, Jasper.” She clasped his hands all the tighter. “I am sorry—”

He shook his head to still her words. “That is not the worst of it. She spread terrible lies about me, claimed I had dalliances with multiples ladies while engaged to her, which was not true. It was when she said that I had struck her—I would never hit a lady!—that she was able to turn even my friends against me. Few believed my side of the tale. Even fewer realize how much lies and gossip can cut a person down, strip them to the bone.”

“Why would she do such a thing?”

“From one of my loyal friends, I heard gossip so who knows if this is true. Supposedly, she had been involved with another man behind the duke’s back. This other man was the one to hit her.”

“So she said it was you to try to keep the duke.”

“Exactly so. Then we returned to England, and I’ve found it near impossible to let others in, even those I used to be friends with. But you, with your tendency to speak your mind and to over-share, well, you cannot seem to keep a secret from me. And even if you could, I still would trust you.”

“Trust me with what?” she whispered, looking up at him through lowered lashes.

“Why, with my heart of course.” And he kissed her again.

She giggled. “Kisses at Christmas…”

“And every day of the year,” he promised.

Perhaps Christmas kisses were the best kind of all.

EPILOGUE

24th December,1813

The softest of cries stirred Jasper Warwick, Earl of Pershore. He stirred with a gasp, the sound a delight if not unexpected. After all, the babe, his son, was only two days old.

His wife was already tending to the babe, and he leaned over and kissed her cheek. “I do believe you have me at a disadvantage,” he whispered.

“And how is that?” Anna asked, an amused glint in her eyes that erased any signs of fatigue. She was the most beautiful lady in the world, and at times, he could not believe she was his.

“Why, little John. What present can I ever give you that could compare?”

“A gift of a few hours’ sleep would be most welcome.” She laughed as John smiled, drifting back to sleep in his mother’s arms.

Jasper shifted closer to cradle them both. “I am more than willing to tend to the babe for a few hours for you in three days’ time.”

She closed her eyes. “But why then and not today?”

“Today, too.” His laugh was soft, so as not to wake the babe. “But in three days you have a meeting.”

“I do?”

“Yes. I apologize for the timing—one never does know when a baby will come—but in three days, you’re to have a meeting with… Well, perhaps we shall wait for you to learn—“

“Jasper Warwick, you will tell me at this very moment!”

“Very well.” He grinned. Anna had never been one to keep secrets, at least not from him, and honestly, he shared that trait. “Why, with Thomas Egerton.”

“No.” She gasped. “The Thomas Egerton? Publisher of Jane Austen?”

“The very one. I met him a few years ago, and I corresponded with him and mentioned your writing—”

“You did not?” She gasped again.

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