“Oh, you dreadful man!” one of them laughed, swatting at him with her fan.
He grinned, setting down his cup. “Alas, my visit is but a brief one. Urgent matters await, though they are nowhere near as agreeable as this company.” He rose, bowing with exaggerated elegance that made his dimples flash. “I beg your forgiveness for leaving too soon. I shall return to plague you another day.”
His mother rose as well, and he offered his arm to escort her from the room. She took it, and he noticed her expression to be fondly exasperated, as always. The ladies chorused their goodbyes, still smiling, as he led his stepmother into the quieter hall.
“You still love to perform for them,” she remarked as they strolled toward the door.
“And why not?” he replied with a shrug. “They laugh, I laugh, and the world seems lighter for it.”
At the entrance, her bejeweled hand tightened on his arm. “Jasper, darling,” she said gently, “you know I adore you. You are the son of my heart. But must you never think of settling? I should very much like to have grandbabies while I can still chase after them.”
He stopped, his smile fading into something softer, more fragile. “You, of all people, should know why there will be no babies for me, Mother.”
Her eyes grew sad. “I do know. I know too well what was done to you. But still… ” She hesitated, as if weighing the risk of pressingfurther. “Is there truly no lady you can see yourself with? No one you might endure a lifetime beside?”
For an instant, something sharp flickered in him. A pair of silver-grey eyes flashed in memory. They were cold, assessing, and sparking with irritation at every word he tossed her way. He remembered the lift of her brow, the clipped wit she used as a shield, the way she never let him have the last word. Always glaring at him, always bristling.
But he crushed the thought, and the image vanished as quickly as it came.
“No,” he said in a final tone of voice. “Not one.”
The Dowager Duchess sighed, but she did not argue. Instead, she cupped his cheek briefly, as she had when he was a boy nursing his first bruises.
He bent and kissed her cheek in return, his voice lighter again. “Take care of yourself, dearest. And do not let those ladies eat all the cookies before you have your share.”
She smiled faintly, watching him go. And Jasper strode away, all easy confidence once more, though the ghost of those silver-grey eyes lingered, unbidden, at the frayed edges of his thoughts.
Chapter Two
Matilda pressed a hand against her middle. The room swayed. Laughter and music swelled around her, but it was all too bright and too loud. The air in Cordelia and Mason’s ballroom seemed to thicken with each passing minute, and though she smiled as best she could, her lips felt stiff.
It was not the heat of the candles. It was not the waltz that had just ended. It was the stares.
Every glance seemed weighted. Every murmur seemed about her. She felt certain that each gentleman who asked her to dance did so in jest, wagering with one another over who would dare. The thought turned her stomach.
Her breath came shallow. She excused herself from the edge of the floor, forcing her steps to remain measured, though her vision blurred as though she looked through water. The swell of violins followed her out of the great doors, but at last, thecorridor was cooler, quieter. She caught at the wall with one hand, steadying herself.
How foolish she must look, fleeing like a frightened child. Yet the moment she was free of the press of people, her knees weakened with relief.
Not again, she thought bitterly.Not here.
The evening had been too much from the first. Cordelia had swept her into introductions, exclaiming how splendid she looked, how every gentleman would be struck. Hazel had murmured encouragements with calm composure. Evelyn, radiant even as a new mother, had pressed her hand and whispered that she must try to enjoy herself.
But enjoyment was a foreign land to her.
The chandelier light, the whirling gowns, the eager eyes fixed upon her, it was all unbearable. For a moment she closed her eyes, pressing her forehead to the cool wood of the paneling.
If she had stayed a moment longer, she might have collapsed in front of them all.
Matilda slipped along the corridor until she reached the library. It was quiet there, dimmer, where the heavy scent of leather and paper were promising calm. She shut the door behind her and exhaled, finally free…or so she thought.
The sound reached her first. It was a low laugh, throaty, feminine giggle. Then, there was the sight.
Jasper Everleigh, the Duke of Harrow, was pressed back against a bookcase, his mouth curved in a lazy smile as a lady leaned dangerously close. Her hand rested on his chest, her red curls tumbling over her shoulder with deliberate artfulness.
Matilda froze. Her stomach gave an ugly twist.
Disgust, surely. Nothing more. What a vile, brazen display, to use a library, and Cordelia’s library of all, for such shamelessness.
