The company accepted this with nods and murmurs. Evelyn declared it “noble,” Cordelia sighed that it was “too serious a reply for so light a game,” and Robert muttered something about dukes always turning philosophical when asked about women.
But Jasper saw it: the faint blanch of Matilda’s cheek, the way her lips pressed together as though holding back words, the sudden sharpness in her eyes. Sheknew.
He inclined his head the smallest degree, acknowledging the message only she had received. It was a reminder, a challenge, perhaps even a taunt.
The laughter had scarcely settled before Jasper, with his mood high with mischief, leaned forward. “My turn, I think. Lady Matilda.”
Her eyes cut to him at once, wary as a stag hearing hounds. “Yes, Your Grace?”
He tapped his chin as though considering some weighty problem. “Tell us, if you were forced to spend an entire month in the company of one gentleman here stuck on a desert island, who would you choose?”
A chorus of delighted gasps rippled through the circle. Cordelia giggled, Hazel pursed her lips in mock solemnity, Evelyn looked gleeful, and Robert groaned.
“Harrow, must you always?”
Matilda, however, sat as still as marble. “I decline to answer.”
Jasper’s grin spread. “Then a forfeit.”
“Of course,” she said coolly. “And what humiliation do you intend for me, Your Grace?”
He spread his hands. “Simple. Outdo Lady Hazel’s ode. Compose a rhyme about me.”
The uproar was instant. Evelyn was clapping, Cordelia was squealing that it was too perfect, and Hazel was smiling with all the triumph of a general whose plan has succeeded.
Matilda’s grey eyes narrowed. “Are you so egocentric, Duke, that you requiretwoodes to your name in a single evening?”
“Absolutely,” Jasper said, without a flicker of shame.
Her lips pressed into a thin line. But she rose, smooth and deliberate, every inch the viscountess despite the ridiculousness of the moment.
“Very well. If you demand such vanity, then hear my verse.”
She drew breath, lifted her chin, and began. “There once was a duke most insufferably?—”
“Ah—nah, nah, nah,” Jasper interrupted, springing from his seat.
The room erupted again as he strode toward her, every step carrying the energy of a man who had just invented a more dangerous sport.
“No standing ode will do.” He reached her, bent low, and took her hand before she could withdraw it. His palm was warm, his grip firm yet coaxing. “I want a rhyme about my glorious self, while we are dancing the waltz.”
The company roared approval, with Cordelia declaring it genius, Hazel smirking as if she had expected nothing less and Evelyn crying: “Oh, yes, yes, she must!”
Matilda stood frozen, her hand trapped in his, her eyes wide with indignation and something perilously close to alarm. Only Jasper saw the wild flutter at her throat, only Jasper felt the slight tremor in her fingers.
He smiled down at her, all dimples and wicked delight. “Shall we, my lady?”
Jasper drew her forward, bowing with exaggerated grace as though they stood in a grand ballroom instead of a drawing room crowded with half–suppressed laughter.
Matilda, her hand still caught in his, arched a brow. “And how, pray, do you expect us to waltz without music?”
He leaned closer, lowering his voice so only she could hear. “Your voice will be my music, my lady. Simply let me lead.”
Her eyes flared in what was half outrage, half something he preferred not to name, and yet she allowed him to guide her into the open space. He set a hand at her waist, felt the rigid lineof her frame beneath silken fabric, and smiled to himself. The company clapped in time, offering a rhythm of sorts, though to Jasper it was unnecessary. He had all the music he needed in the heat of her blush.
They began to turn, slowly at first, then more surely as she followed his step despite her every effort not to. She kept her gaze on his shoulder, lips pressed shut. He could not resist leaning nearer.
“Well?” he murmured. “Am I to dance to silence? Or will you honor me with verse?”
