Jasper swung down from the bay and looked at Mouse. Mouse wagged his tail. Jasper continued to stare until Mouse lowered his head, his tail still wagging so vigorously that the dog’s rear half wriggled as well. Mouse laid his head almost on the ground and crept toward Jasper on his elbows, his mouth drawn back in a grimace of submission.
“Oh, for God’s sake,” Jasper muttered. One would think from the dog’s behavior that he’d beaten the animal.
Mouse took his words as permission to jump up, trot toward him, and sit expectantly at Jasper’s feet. He stared down at the dog, nonplussed.
He heard a muffled giggle. Cocking an eye at Melisande, he saw that she now had one hand over her mouth. “I think he likes you.”
“Yes, but do I like him?”
“It doesn’t matter whether or not you like him.” She strolled closer. “He likes you and that’s that.”
“Hmm.” Jasper looked back at the dog. Mouse had his head tilted to the side as if awaiting instructions. “Go on, then.”
The dog gave one bark and ran in a wide circle around Jasper, Melisande, and the horse.
“You’d think he’d dislike me after I shut him in the cellar,” Jasper muttered.
Melisande gave an elegant shrug. “Dogs are funny that way.” She bent and picked up a stick between forefinger and thumb. “Here.”
Jasper eyed the stick. It was muddy. “I’m overwhelmed by your thoughtfulness, my lady.”
She rolled her eyes. “It’s not for you, silly. Throw it for Mouse.”
“Why?”
“Because he likes to fetch sticks,” she said patiently, as if talking to a very slow child.
“Huh.” He took the stick, and Mouse immediately stopped running and looked up. Jasper flung the stick as far as he could, absurdly aware that he was showing off.
Mouse raced after the stick, pounced on it, and shook it vigorously. Then he trotted off around the pond.
Jasper frowned. “I thought he was supposed to bring it back to me?”
“I never said he was very good at playing fetch.”
Jasper looked down at his wife. The morning air had pinkened her normally pale cheeks; her eyes were sparkling at having winged him, and she looked . . . lovely. Quite, quite lovely.
He had to swallow before he could speak. “Are you informing me that I’ve lost a perfectly good stick?”
There was a muted snap! from across the little pond as Mouse chewed through the stick.
Melisande winced. “I’m not sure you’d want it back now anyway.”
“He won’t eat it, will he?”
“He never has before.”
“Ah.” And then he wasn’t quite sure what to say—a circumstance that happened very rarely in his life. He wanted to ask her what she’d been talking about with Mrs. Fitzwilliam, but for the life of him, he wasn’t exactly sure how to phrase the question. Have you been taking lessons in seduction from a courtesan? didn’t seem quite the thing. He noticed that Mrs. Fitzwilliam and her children seemed to have left the park. They were no longer in sight.
“Why did you not wait for me at breakfast?” she asked into the silence.
They had begun to stroll about the pond, Jasper leading his horse. “I don’t know exactly. I thought after last night . . .”
What? That she would want some time alone? No, that wasn’t quite true. Perhaps he was the one who needed the solitude. And what did that say about him?
“Did I disgust you?” she asked.
And he was so startled that he halted and looked at her. Why ever would she think he was disgusted by her? To even ask revealed a tender spot in her soul. “No. No, my heart. You could never disgust me if you tried for a thousand years.”