Jasper looks like a dream, bare skin glinting, soft laughter leaving his lips as he splashes cold water over himself. “If we must do this in the winter, I’ll freeze.”
“We can use cloths instead,” I assure him. “It will be enough until you can return home and wash properly.”
He hums his agreement, climbing out onto the grass and shaking out his limbs.
“Here,” I say, handing over my shirt. “To dry off.”
“You’ll need it.”
“I’ll be fine.”
He sighs softly, but he accepts the garment, drying perfunctorily before slipping on his clothes. I pull the damp shirt over my head, not minding the chill. Jasper finds his stockings in thegrass, pulling them on, followed by his shoes. He stalls once he has his waistcoat buttoned, as if he doesn’t want to go.
“Thank you, Abraham.”
His words are quiet, but I hear them nonetheless.
“What for?”
He lets out a slow breath. “For freeing me.”
I pull Jasper’s hand to my mouth, kissing the back of it lightly. His fingers twist with mine for a moment before he steps away. He’s nearly halfway up the hill when he stops, turning around abruptly.
With a single stutter-step, Jasper runs back my way, not stopping until he’s within the clasp of my arms. He kisses me soundly, a lingering smile on his lips, the shape of him so familiar I’m more than certain I could pick him out in the darkest of nights.
When Jasper finally steps back, the smile on his face never wavers. He turns once more. And then he walks off.
Maybe ruin isn’t the right word for what Jasper has wrought by coming into my life. There’s another that feels far more appropriate.
Rebirth.
Chapter 9
Jasper
It seems cruelly fitting that it’s once again a Tuesday, nearly a year after I met Abraham, when everything breaks apart.
My feet drag tiredly as I walk the distance back home after my evening spent in Abraham’s company. I’m in my own head, remembering the sweetness of his lips and the softness of his touch, not paying attention to my surroundings, when I notice candlelight coming from within my house. My pulse stutters before beginning to race.
I hurry the remaining steps home, ready to climb through my open window when Catherine comes racing out the back door.
“Catherine, what—”
She clamps her hand over my mouth before I can utter another word, pulling me off to the side of the house where we’re hidden.
“They know,” she says at a whisper.
My stomach plummets toward the ground. “That I’ve gone?”
She shakes her head quickly, dressed in her nightclothes, her hair in disarray. “Abouthim.”
A lance of fear hits me square on. “No.”
“Yes,” she says urgently. “You were spotted, Jasper. By one of the men from the printer. He saw your face but not the Morris boy’s.”
Relief fills my lungs, allowing me to speak. “So Abraham is safe.”
Even in the dark, I can see Catherine’s agonized expression. “But you are not, sweet boy. Don’t you see? Word will spread. You can’t stay. It’s a death sentence.”
