Page 66 of His Auctioned Duchess
A man had risen from the pews.
Jasper.
His face was pale, his eyes wild, his hair disheveled as though he had spent the night wrestling with demons. He stood rigidly at first, his hands clenched at his sides. Then he took one slow step forward, and another, boots ringing sharply on the marble floor.
The guests turned in their seats, craning to see.
“Jasper,” Lady Ophelia hissed from her place near the front, half rising. “Sit down this instant.”
He did not move. His gaze fixed on Richard with something between fury and despair.
“You think this is funny, don’t you?” he spat, his voice hoarse. “You always did.”
Richard stiffened, every muscle tensing beneath his coat. “Not now.”
“Oh, now,” Jasper snarled, his composure unraveling. “Now is perfect. Let them all see. Let them see what the Devil truly is.”
Gasps rippled through the chapel. Caroline’s hand tightened instinctively on Richard’s arm, though whether from fear or instinct she did not know.
Richard’s voice dropped to a warning growl. “Stand down, Jasper.”
But Jasper only laughed—a harsh, broken sound. “Stand down? When have I ever stood up, Richard? You’ve seen to that, haven’t you? Always above me, always taking what was mine.”
“Enough,” Richard snapped. “This is neither the place nor the–”
“Nor the time?” Jasper’s shout cracked through the air like a whip. “You’ve taken everything from me—even time!”
The congregation shifted uneasily. Fans fluttered, whispers hissed.
Richard took a step forward, his voice low but lethal. “Say another word, cousin, and you’ll regret it.”
But Jasper’s expression twisted, his fury too long contained to be stopped now. “Regret? I regret nothing—except not killing you outright when I had the chance.”
A stunned silence fell.
Caroline’s breath caught. Her gaze darted between them, confusion and horror mingling. “What is he talking about?” she whispered.
Richard’s eyes flickered, the faintest crack in his stony mask.
Jasper took that as invitation enough. He laughed again, wild and desperate. “Tell them, Richard! Tell them how you vanished. Tell them what really happened when you were taken from England. Oh, no—of course you won’t. You don’t remember. That was the brilliance of it.”
“Jasper,” Richard said sharply, but the warning only seemed to fuel him.
“It was me!” Jasper shouted. “I had you attacked, you fool. I paid to have you press ganged! You were supposed to vanish forever after the war. It would have been cleanly done. You were never supposed to return, so that I could have Louisa!”
A collective gasp tore through the pews. Fans snapped shut; whispers erupted like birds startled into flight.
Lady Ophelia rose fully now, her face drained of color. “Jasper, stop this madness!”
But Jasper’s confession sliced the air like a blade.
Richard went utterly still. His expression did not change, but the tension around him thickened until even the air seemed afraid to move. The scar along his cheek stood stark in the candlelight.
“You–” his voice was barely a whisper, low and deadly. “You did this.”
Jasper met his gaze defiantly, though his chest heaved with each breath. “You had everything—Ashwood, the title, the name, the power. I had nothing. She loved me, but she was bound to you. So yes. I did it.”
The guests recoiled, scandal blazing in their eyes.
