Her heart stuttered, traitorous, and she hated him for it. “I am sick and tired of your games, Your Grace.”
“Are you?” His smile deepened, maddeningly sure. “Because I rather think you relish them.”
Her breath caught again, a sharp intake she could not smother.
“You behave as though this were all a jest.”
“Do I?” Jasper’s eyes gleamed, and his smile was now a challenge. “I have merely been doing what you yourself have done since the day we met. You strike first, Lady Matilda. I strike back. If you may pass hasty judgment on my character, why should I not return the favor?”
Her lips parted, but no words followed. He had caught her.
The silence hung thick between them. Jasper took one step closer. Another inch, and she would have to retreat or surrender.
“Tell me, Lady Matilda,” he asked in a voice that was dangerously low, “what was the last thing you did simply because you wanted to? Not because duty demanded it, not because you were expected to, but simply because it was your own desire?”
The question rattled her. It was dangerous; far too dangerous. She could not let him see how it pierced through her defenses. Her mind scrambled, and she blurted the first safe thing that leapt forward.
“I embroidered a handkerchief,” she said stiffly. “In great detail, might I add.”
For one breathless beat, he was utterly still. And then he laughed. Not a cruel laugh, but a rich, delighted sound that slid under her skin and unsettled her entirely.
“A handkerchief,” he repeated, amusement dancing in his eyes. “That hardly counts, my lady. If there is no risk, no danger, where is the fun in breaking the rules?”
Her mouth fell open. She had no answer to that either. His words landed like a spark in dry tinder, and she despised how her heart leapt in response.
She drew herself up, willing her composure back into place. “You are insufferable.”
“Undoubtedly,” he said, still smiling, “but you find me fascinating all the same.”
That was too much. Without another word, she swept past him, her steps brisk, her pulse racing as though she fled a battlefield. She did not look back.
Behind her, his laugh lingered in the night air: warm, taunting, and far too close to the truth.
“You have been silent for the better part of ten minutes, Jasper,” Robert remarked, setting his glass upon the desk with a decisive clink. “That is unlike you. One might think you have something on your mind.”
Dammit, how could he tell?
Jasper leaned back in the leather chair, stretching out his legs as if the picture of ease. “I assure you, I am only savoring your excellent liquor.”
Mason snorted. “Savoring? You are brooding. There is a difference.”
“I do not brood.” Jasper raised his glass to his lips. The burn of the brandy was sharp, though it did little to sear away the image of pale grey eyes that had haunted him since the terrace. He set the glass down with deliberate calm.
Robert’s gaze was too knowing. “Does this sudden fit of thoughtfulness have anything to do with your tormenting Lady Matilda this evening?”
Jasper’s head snapped up. “Tormenting? You make it sound as though I tied the poor woman to a post.”
“You might as well have,” Mason said with a grin. “I was two seats away and could see her bristle with every word you spoke.”
Jasper gave a short laugh. “She gives as good as she gets. If I am guilty of provocation, she is no innocent victim. I merely return what she serves me. Fair play, nothing more.”
Robert lifted a brow. “Fair play, is it? Or interest disguised as antagonism?”
At that, Jasper scoffed, his tone edged with disbelief. “Interest? There is a higher chance of the sun rising in the west than of me harboring feelings of that nature for Lady Matilda.”
Mason smirked over the rim of his glass. “A dramatic denial, if ever I heard one.”
“She is insufferable,” Jasper continued, determined to hold his ground. “Sharp-tongued, judgmental, forever ready to find fault. And that mouth?—”
