He shrugged. A deceptively casual gesture.
Julia couldn’t help feeling his remark was anything but. “What would you like me to call you?”
“The possibilities are limitless.” He methodically folded his napkin, setting it down beside his plate. “How do your parents address each other?”
“They don’t,” she said frankly. “Not if they can help it. And when they do it’s rarely directly.” She hesitated before continuing. “My father refers to my mother as ‘your poor dear mama’ and my mother refers to him as ‘your poor father.’ That would hardly suit in our case.”
Jasper’s mouth tipped up at one corner. “Not yet anyway.”
A blush threatened. But she wouldn’t be distracted. “Don’t you like my name?”
“Your name is beautiful. I like it very much.”
Her brows knit. “Then . . . is it your name you don’t like?”
“I confess, I don’t. I’d rather you call me something else.”
Her expression turned quizzical. “An endearment, do you mean? Or should I choose a different name altogether?”
“An endearment will suffice.” He loosened his black cravat. He’d already removed his coat when they sat down. Another reminder of their newly minted intimacy. Clad in his shirtsleeves, his black waistcoat buttoned over his trim midsection, he appeared even larger and more powerful than ever.
“Is there one you’d prefer?” she asked.
“I’d like you to choose.” Again, that deceptively casual tone. As if his request meant nothing at all. As if it was merely a whim.
Julia didn’t understand him. “A name is important. I’ve realized that recently. It’s part of a person’s identity. You can’t simply take it away from them and turn them into someone else.”
His fingers stilled on the knot of his cravat. He looked at her intently.
“My parents renamed all our servants,” she explained. “That’s not fair, is it, to call a girl Jane when her name is Florence? It may seem like nothing very much, but if someone takes away your identity what do you have left?”
“I thought you were fascinated by the idea of people reinventing themselves.”
“Only if they choose to do it freely.”
“It is my choice,” he said. “And it’s not a reinvention. It’s a privilege of being married.” He finished removing his cravat. The collar of his white linen shirt gaped open, revealing a glimpse of the strong column of his throat.
Her eyes fell briefly to that exposed piece of bare skin. Like his face, it was gilded bronze by the firelight. When her gaze lifted back to his, it was to find him watching her. She moistened her lips. “I suppose, if you don’t object to it too strenuously, I could refer to you as my dear or dearest.”
His gaze didn’t waver, but his throat bobbed on a swallow.
“Is that all right?” she asked.
“For now,” he said.
She brightened. “What will you call me?”
“I haven’t decided yet. I might have to experiment to see what best suits you.”
“You may keep calling me Julia if you wish. I have no objection. Unlike you, I rather like my name.” She failed to stifle a yawn. Her hand flew to her mouth. “Oh, I do beg your pardon!”
He smiled. “You should have been in bed hours ago. Are you finished eating?”
“I am.” Her eyes once again drifted to the bed. She must have stolen three dozen glances at the dratted thing since she and Jasper first sat down. Even while eating, it had been there, looming large at the edge of her vision.
His deep voice recalled her attention. “You were going to say something before I interrupted you?”
Julia gave him a rueful look. “There’s only one bed.”
“There is,” he agreed solemnly. “You’ll take it, of course.”
“Where will you sleep?”
“On the floor. Or perhaps in this chair.”
Neither appeared very inviting. The floor was hard wood, the rug all but threadbare. The chair was little better. Its upholstery was faded, and the springs and cushioning seemed to have long given up the ghost.
“You’ll be dreadfully uncomfortable,” she said.
“I’ve slept in worse places.” He stood. “And no. I’m not going to discuss where.” He came around the table and offered her his hand.
She slid her fingers into his large grasp. His skin was warm and faintly calloused from work, abrading her palm in the most delicious way. It sent a delicate thrill through her core.
Good gracious. He was her husband. They were married.
As he assisted her from her chair, a perilous thought occurred to her. “We could share it.”
Jasper’s hand tightened reflexively on hers. It was the only sign that he was affected by her words. There was no other indication—not in his voice or in his expression. His tone was entirely calm. “My dear, are you suggesting that we sleep together?”
Twenty
Jasper knew the answer before she gave it. He couldn’t think why he’d bothered to ask. She obviously hadn’t been proposing they consummate their marriage. Even if she had suggested it, he wouldn’t have obliged her. Not when she was so weak with exhaustion she could scarcely keep her eyes open.
“I could do little else in this state,” she responded ingenuously. “And I’m a sound sleeper. You needn’t worry about disturbing me.”
“Plainly, it’s only me who’s going to be disturbed this evening,” he said.
“Because the bed’s so small? I don’t expect it will be too unpleasant. Not in comparison to sleeping on the floor.”
“‘Unpleasant’ isn’t the word I’d use to describe it.” He frowned at her for a moment. “Very well,” he said at last. If he was going to torture himself, he may as well fully commit to the business. “Shall I leave you to change?”
“As to that . . .” Her cheeks pinkened with embarrassment. “I’m afraid I’ve never undressed without a maid to assist me. Not since I started wearing a corset.”
Jasper’s blood stirred with warmth.
So, this was what marriage was like. Standing in a tiny room at an inn with his bride, listening to her reference the difficulties of disrobing. It was a topic no lady would ever broach in mixed company. And yet, a few muttered words from the vicar and here Jasper and Julia were, husband and wife, on terms of the greatest intimacy.