Lord Jasper's Angel

LORD JASPER’S ANGEL

by

Maggie Jagger

First published as Jasper’s Angel, copyright Maggie Jagger July 2009

Smashwords Edition

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Chapter 1

Eleanor hid in the rose arbor to give her sister every opportunity to sin. She refused to chaperone the most annoying matchmakers in England. Giving them an opportunity to be wicked was the only way to stop them plotting to find her a husband, any husband at all. They had no conscience where she was concerned.

Juliet’s voice drifted through the perfumed air from the shade of the wisteria bower. All five of them?

You can’t count Jasper, said Mr. Benedict. He is as exclusive as the duke. Your sister won’t appeal to either of them. We must pin our hopes on her attracting the rest of the Halyton Horde.

If one of them falls in love with her and compromises her, Juliet whispered, thrilled at the idea, she will have to marry him. They are all extremely handsome. Eleanor cannot complain. She must fall in love with one of them.

Complain about marrying a Halyton? Should hope not, my love. Brothers of a duke, you know. Mr. Benedict lowered his voice to ask in worried tones, Do you find them awfully good looking?

Not as handsome as you, Lancie.

Eleanor smothered laughter. How could he worry about his appearance? He was the most boyishly handsome man she had every met. His flowing blond hair framed a face of breathtaking beauty. If he’d never opened his mouth to speak, she might have loved him as ardently as Juliet. Young, silly men had never appealed to Eleanor, but her sister loved to be adored and wanted a man to have nothing in his head but the desire to please her.

Masculine moans and feminine sighs signaled the happy couple were too busy to notice her. Eleanor fled through the Benedict garden, determined to escape the Halyton brothers known far and wide as the Horde. She climbed the winding path toward to the great house, keeping her back to the tantalizing glimpse of the sea in the distance. As far as she was concerned, any man who compromised a woman without her consent deserved to be hanged.

She trod on the lawn to muffle her footsteps as she passed the wisteria bower.

Your sister is not as lovely as you, rasped Mr. Benedict.

Eleanor hoped they forgot all propriety and gave in to their desires. She hoped they got caught anticipating their matrimonial delights.

What were they doing? She couldn’t resist a quick glance, just to see if more witnesses were required.

Oh, Lancie. Juliet stroked her fiancé’s chest.

Eleanor had never touched a man’s chest.

I adore you, my love. I want us to be married, so badly. So very, very, very badly. Mr. Benedict lost all coherence.

Me too, Lancie. Juliet held her fiancé’s face between her hands to make him look at her. She said in a penetrating whisper, Don’t breathe a word to Eleanor about the Halyton Horde coming to visit.

How could they. Eleanor escaped from the garden. She had heard stories about the Halytons refusal to take no for an answer. Mr. Benedict’s mother, a determined gossip, had confided that her sister, the dowager duchess, had been forced to marry the late duke. Their son was born six months after the wedding.

Half an hour later, Eleanor’s mount fidgeted under her in the stable yard. The track up to the moor was bathed in sunlight, though high dark clouds loomed in the distance. Not that she cared, she was determined to go home. Foiling the trap laid for her was more important than being thought rude by the Benedict family.

Bad luck brought Mr. Benedict running up the path from the garden to stop her.

Miss Tennant, where are you going? He gasped for air. Company is coming. You cannot go for a ride now.

I am going home. Juliet will find a note on her pillow. Eleanor stared down at him from her vantage point on Grizelle’s back. You only want me here to meet your Halyton cousins.

How can you make a fuss about being introduced to them? He gave an airy wave of dismissal. You’ll find they won’t stand on ceremony. There is no need to be shy.

Mr. Benedict, let us have plain speaking between us. You want one of the Halyton Horde to compromise me. I overheard you say so to Juliet.

Don’t call ‘em that, the duke doesn’t like it, he warned. You misunderstood. A Halyton only compromises the woman he loves and intends to marry. If it were otherwise, if they just went around compromising ladies, the duke would have their heads. He gave a pitying smile at her ignorance.

Thank you for explaining it to me. It’s so reassuring. I do hope they don’t fall in love easily. Or does it not matter to them if the lady returns their affection? Her sarcasm was lost on him.

He appraised her face and figure with a knowing air. Though her long skirt covered even her shoes, and her tailored riding jacket and shirt were perfectly respectable, she suddenly felt half naked, as if he could see through her clothes.

I wouldn’t have invited them if I didn’t think you had a chance to attach one, said Mr. Benedict, when he managed to lift his gaze from her bosom. You are quite out of the ordinary. Told Juliet so.

Heavens. I’m sure she thanked you for it.

I’m just trying to tell you, Miss Tennant, that if you’d be a little warmer, smiling might help, that you’d have a very good chance of marrying the brother of a duke. They are not the usual men you meet.

Noblemen make horrible husbands. They are autocratic despots. She cut off his attempt to speak. Do not argue with me, Mr. Benedict. Those are your mother’s words, or did she quote her sister, the dowager Duchess of Lezarth?

She admired the pink mounting in his cheeks, the way the breeze ruffled his hair, and his inability to give a coherent answer. The fool had but half a brain and that half was mad with passion for her sister.

Instead of trying to find me a husband, Mr. Benedict, your time would be better spent convincing my father you have compromised Juliet, so he must allow you to marry.

He almost leaped in the air. How can you suggest I do such a thing? I begin to think you a most unnatural female, Miss Tennant. And let me tell you, every unmarried lady of my acquaintance has begged me for the introduction I offer you.

I decline it, sir. And may I add, I only suggested you give the appearance of having compromised my sister, I didn’t suggest you do it. If you are so delicate in your sensibilities, why don’t you dislike the idea of one of the Halytons forcing himself on me?

He stared at her stupidly. The connection had never crossed his mind.

Eleanor gave her mare the gentlest of nudges. Grizelle surged forward.

Mr. Benedict grabbed for her bridle. Eleanor gave him a sharp tap with her crop to make him let go. He gave a start of surprise and a yelp of pain. She rode past him.

You’ll regret running away, Miss Tennant. he called to her back. Juliet will never forgive you.

Her sister’s reaction did not trouble Eleanor in the least. Being dangled like bait in front of the Halyton Horde troubled her exceedingly. Her ability to attract one of them was surely only a figment of Mr. Benedict’s imagination, unless they were all short-sighted and traitors to their class.

Juliet’s beauty caught every eye. When some of her sister’s fickle suitors had attempted to change their allegiance, Eleanor had always found a lively discussion on the rights of women to be dissuasive.

The ride up to the moor handily reduced the mare’s excess of energy. The wind grew stronger the higher they climbed, until the plume on her hat stroked her cheek.

Arguing with Mr. Benedict had heated her blood enough to make her welcome the cooling breeze. She had delighted in deliberately tormenting him and still thought he deserved every word, which made her not a lady. She hoped he’d not break his engagement to Juliet because of it.

A visit to her grandmother in Scotland might be in order. Grandmama thought men an abomination. It was the only place Eleanor would be safe from matchmakers, because her father’s edict that his older daughter must marry first, was known to every household in the county. It made every social event an occasion for stares, whispers, and humiliation. As if she wore a sign on her person saying, ‘Desperate. On The Shelf. Please Propose.’

Being unmarried didn’t trouble her mind. Her body, however, gave embarrassing signs of interest in subjects not suitable, not safe.

She felt longings.

Longings a lady should never have.

Of needs and urges that disturbed her sleep and woke her from dreams about a subject she knew nothing of, to her dismay.

The wind picked up, bringing the dark clouds racing towards her. Rain sprinkled a warning as she reached the edge of the moor. Gorse and hawthorn fringed the gritstone outcroppings. The track meandered over the moor for miles.

At first, her path lay through a sea of low bilberry bushes.

Eleanor only had to go west until she saw the needle rock, to find her way home. The mare could find her stable through any weather and had, on occasion, gone home alone.

This part of the moor, although unfamiliar, held no terrors for rider or mount. The heather ran in patches along the drier bits. On either side of the track the grass was nibbled to a smooth bowling green nap by sheep, who moved only when her mare disputed the right of way with them.

Clouds lowered, bringing mist to cloak her.

Visibility was down to a few yards when Eleanor heard the thud of hooves. They were coming towards her. She moved off the path to hide near one of the gritstone boulders.

A man shouted, He must have headed back.

She stroked Grizelle’s ears to keep her quiet.

Damn this weather, someone answered. Never find anyone in this.

Bet he’s warming his arse while we search like bloody fools.

Which way is back? I’ve lost all sense of direction.

Follow me. I’m on the path.

Jasper never wanted to meet that ugly female Lancelot is trying to marry off. Probably had to dose himself at the thought of it.

Wicked laughter greeted his insult to her looks.

She silently consigned the Halyton Horde to everlasting torment as they filed past her hiding place.

I am going to flirt with the poor old thing. I mean, how ugly can she be?

Groans and hoots served for an answer. It mingled with the sound of their mounts breathing heavily, as if they’d been ridden hard.

Lancelot said she was sedate. He didn’t say she was ugly.

Damn him for inviting us.

Do you think Jasper really couldn’t bring himself to meet her?

Jasper? Talk to a respectable virgin? Not unless they were discussing her price.

Their laughter faded into the distance.

Sedate. It was worse than being thought ugly.

Eleanor regained the path with hatred in her heart for all Halytons. Grizelle trotted along, intent on her stable. The mist was no barrier to a mare who wanted to go home.

Did Lancelot Benedict expect her to attract one of those licentious, depraved noblemen? They were all careless sinners tainted by their rank.

Rain began to clear some of the mist. Cold water trickled down her neck.

Sedate.

Eleanor didn’t expect a Halyton to show any interest in her at all. The idea of marrying one of them was laughable. The nobility lived by different rules and married within their own set, or to women of staggering fortune.

Sedate.

The rain cooled her cheeks.

Why not accuse her of being an old maid, of being left on the shelf? Just because she hid her desires, didn’t mean a lazy afternoon on a warm languid summer day could not turn her thoughts to yearnings as hot as any rakehell’s. Only the details were missing from her daydreams.

Sedate. She’d show them sedate, if she ever had one of them in her power. She’d scorn him, and refuse him, and tell him he was ugly. Debauched wretches, all of them.

The sky grew darker. Lightning flashed in the distance.

Blast them all.

Thunder rumbled nearer. The sky suddenly lit up, sending Grizelle into a fit of nerves.

With relief Eleanor recognized the needle rock marking the edge of the high lip of Bogs Bowl. Going around the rim added miles, going through it in this weather meant dismounting to lead her mare.

Lightning danced along the high ground and thunder blasted until her ears rang.

Eleanor dismounted at the edge and took off her riding jacket to tie the sleeves in a knot around the mare’s neck. Her father’s warning that iron attracted lightning, meant leaving behind as much as possible. The rain plastered her white shirt to her body with cold drops driven hard by the wind.

She unfastened the saddle and draped it over a tussock of grass, taking care not to let go of the makeshift halter. Grizelle’s bridle was soon tucked under a stirrup.

The wind blew Eleanor’s hat back from her head. It tugged painfully on her hat pin. She removed the pin with one hand to secure it better, only to see her hat sail off into Bogs Bowl.

Damn. If the Halyton Horde could swear, so could she. She stabbed her silver hatpin into the collar of her shirt. Thunder and lightning roiled about her.

Grizelle sidled closer, treading on Eleanor’s voluminous skirt. The laces tore and her skirt fell to the sodden ground. Her white shirt and petticoat made her feel like a ghost in the gloom cast by the thunder clouds. She struggled to retrieve her skirt from under Grizelle’s hooves.

The mare shuffled nervously and trod heavily on her toes.

Eleanor urged Grizelle forward to free her foot. She hopped about near the edge only to have her remaining clothes blown skyward by the wind. When she could unclench her teeth, she cursed even harder, Damn and blast it.

As if she’d conjured it with her words, a bolt of lightning struck the edge of Bogs Bowl. The peal of thunder almost knocked her off her feet.

In the following silence, a man’s voice drifted up, drowsy and warm, Angel, are you from heaven?

Eleanor squinted over the lip of Bogs Bowl, through the rain and shadows. Her heart pounded in her breast.

She had found the missing Halyton rakehell. The dark-haired sinner who only spoke to a respectable virgin to discuss her price.

Chapter 2

Eleanor squinted through rain and shadows, her heart pounding in her breast. The man lay on his back, in a twisted grave between mounds of moorgrass lining the sides of the gully. His head was just below clapper bridge and his feet were mired in mud from the river. One of his arms was trapped beneath him, the other shielded his eyes against the rain.

The trickling streams from the moor ran into Bogs Bowl, where the rising river drowned everything caught in its path. Her father’s warning to never leave the path in bad weather had to be ignored.

The man tried to move and succeeded only in flailing an arm onto the tussock beside him.

I’m coming to help you. Don’t try to stand up there. Eleanor led her mare down the path to tie her under the shelter of a hawthorn tree on the slope. She ducked under Grizelle’s neck to slither down between the moorgrass tussocks until she reached the man. She held her hand out towards him, hoping she could just pull him out, and not go near the dangerous banks of the river.

A brilliant flash of lightning illuminated Bogs Bowl.

Perhaps the Halytons had justly earned their reputation for being a handsome family. His face had pleasant angles, his nose was long and rather elegant, if that could be said about a man. He lifted his head to stare at her. Have you come for me? His voice seemed odd to her. Surely his situation called for more emotion? He carried noble aloofness too far.

Take my hand, she shouted as thunder pealed overhead.

The man said calmly, One thunderbolt was enough to kill me, there’s no need to tax yourself with another.

She couldn’t reach his arm. Not that he wanted her to, for he moved it away as if he didn’t want to be touched. At last, he asked, Am I dead? He used such a conversational tone that it would have warned her he was out of his wits, even if he had not repeated the question to Grizelle.

The mare disdained to answer.

Eleanor climbed the tussock nearest to him, to perch on it and really see him. The rain ran down her face. She wiped it away.

The man covered his eyes. You are too beautiful, my angel. I beg you, don’t leave me here in hell.

Eleanor bent over him. I have come to help you. Do take my arm. I’ll try to pull you up. She touched his hand.

He gripped her wrist. This close to him she realized the immensity of her task. She braced her feet and pulled with all her might. His shoulders never left their muddy resting place. The futile effort gained her a very sore wrist and little else. The man lay like an immovable gritstone outcropping.

Let go. This is not going to work. Eleanor rubbed her wrist to encourage the blood to flow back to her hand. If she freed his feet, he might be able to help her. If she got trapped in the mud, she’d die with him.

Eleanor went back for Grizelle and her skirt, with thoughts of using the mare’s strength to pull him free. Grizelle nudged Eleanor forward, knocking her off her feet, to pitch her over a tussock. She found herself face to face with the man, her bottom skyward with one hand still gripping the mare’s makeshift halter.

Slowly, he lifted his head to kiss her lips. Are you my angel? he asked, his mouth moving against hers, tickling her as he spoke. The brush of surprisingly warm lips, the slight rasp of his chin, the warmth of his breath on her cheek.

Heavens, she whispered. Her first kiss. Not anything to worry about. She was glad to find she was just as cold and miserable as before. She had not been driven into the pit of fiery lust that her grandmother assured her awaited all sinners.

Grizelle moved back. Eleanor found herself pulled to her feet.

Only one of the Halyton horde would think to kiss an angel. She lifted her face to the rain and wind, wishing she could deal lightning at will.

Grizelle made short work of rescuing the demented Halyton rakehell.

He sat on the mare’s back and held fast to the makeshift halter as Eleanor limped beside him on sore toes. She held onto his boot to help keep him balanced. Her skirt lay over his shoulders to protect him from the rain and wind, but what was she going to do with him now?

The great houses, like the Benedicts home and the Duke of Lezarth’s Halyton Court, lay closer to London on the eastern slope. Far too great a distance to take him there. The closest haven was her father’s modest estate, across Bogs Bowl and down from the moor. She had only to follow the path to be home long before true darkness fell.

Her parents could not fault her for rescuing him, they’d probably be more concerned that she had returned home by herself across the moor in bad weather. Rather difficult to explain why she had fled from the Halyton Horde, with their unfortunate history of compromising women they wanted to marry. Even to herself it sounded silly. Everyone loved Juliet and no one ever fell in love with her. And then she’d have to introduce the leader of the Horde, Jasper Halyton. Out of his mind after being struck by lightning, or from a fall from his mount into Bogs Bowl. The lightning sounded better.

Thunder clouds raced away with the wind, leaving a drizzle of rain to finish washing the mud from them. Even in dry weather, Bogs Bowl quaked with peat moss bogs. Sheep wandered here and there, and woe betide any foolish traveler who mistook their tracks for the path.

The man shrugged her skirt from his shoulders. It fell to the ground.

Eleanor let go of him and hurried to retrieve her clothing. If he fell off, she doubted she could get him back on. It had taken lightning and threats of more to make him obey her and not wander off into Bogs Bowl in search of his home.

No. He must not remove his jacket. She ran to pick it up.

He started to unbutton his shirt, and the mare walked on despite having a half-naked man on her back.

Eleanor didn’t dare shout at him in case he turned to see her and fell off. She ran to the mare, just in time to catch the shirt before it fell to the path. He was wearing nothing underneath it.

If she arrived home with both of them half-dressed, her father would insist she marry him. Not that a Halyton rake cared about society’s rules. She’d be ruined, for saving his life.

She threw the clothes over Grizelle’s rump. She’d find a way to then both when they were closer to her home.

He was naked to the waist and she really shouldn’t look at him. She should faint or run away, but all she wanted to do was stare.

He was magnificent, with broad shoulders and a beautiful chest made of muscles with shadows and lines she wanted to trace with her fingers. He was so different from the female form, so beautiful, it almost made her forgive him for being one of the Halyton Horde. He looked like a Greek statue, only living and breathing.

Her cold, wet body warmed at the sight of him. She was a horrible person. The poor man was ill, out of his mind, and all she could do was gaze at his naked chest.

She had to get him clothed