Greyson’s mouth curved faintly, though it was not quite a smile. “I will only play you again when you are focused. Until then, I will not waste my skill.”
Jasper opened his mouth to argue, then shut it again. He could not, in good conscience, promise focus when his mind was anything but. He gave a short nod instead, raising his glass in half a salute. “Another day, then.”
Greyson inclined his head and left the parlor, his steps measured and quiet as ever.
The room felt larger without him, and the silence thicker. Jasper glanced at the half-finished game, then at the untouched decanter of brandy. Yet what stirred in him was not a thirst for more drink. It was a hunger.
Only it was not for meat, nor for bread, but for the little lemon biscuits that had been served at tea that afternoon. They were so devilishly crisp on the outside and soft within, with their sweetness cut with just the right tang of citrus. He had already eaten more than was proper in company, but now the craving returned with force.
He chuckled under his breath, shaking his head at himself. A duke, undone not by war or scandal, but by biscuits. Still, the thought of slipping into the kitchen, unnoticed, to steal anotherplateful when no one could see him… the idea amused him almost as much as it tempted him.
With a sigh that was half-laughter, Jasper set aside his cue. He had best go and find those lemon biscuits before someone else did.
Hecrept through the corridors like a boy in mischief, his steps silent on the carpet. He had not felt so lighthearted in years. There was something absurdly satisfying in the secrecy of it, in slipping past closed doors, ducking into shadow, his prize already fixed in his mind.
The kitchen was dark when he pushed the door open, quiet as a church. Everyone had long since retired.Perfect. He could claim the whole jar and gorge himself without a single watchful eye to scold him.
He slipped inside, closed the door softly behind him, and turned toward the larder. His back was to the chamber when he did it, so he never saw, not until he turned, what was already waiting there.
Matilda.
Her hand was buried in the very jar of lemon biscuits he had come to steal. Her eyes flew wide as though she had been caught rifling the crown jewels. For one stunned instant, they simply stared at each other. Jasper, with one hand still on the door, her with the incriminating biscuit halfway to her lips.
She looked every inch the red-handed thief.
And utterly mesmerizing.
The candlelight caught her brown hair, the sharp line of her cheekbones softened by the shadows, the faint flush on her face betraying her embarrassment. Her grey eyes flashed with indignation and something else he could not name, but which twisted pleasantly in his chest.
Jasper’s lips curved into a slow grin. “Well,” he drawled, voice low, “it seems the kitchen has already been burgled.”
“You startled me,” she said, far too primly for someone caught red-handed.
Jasper leaned against the door, folding his arms with deliberate ease. “Startled? No, my lady, you look guilty. Which is worse.”
“I do not,” she shot back, lowering the biscuit but not relinquishing it.
“You most certainly do. Hand in the jar, eyes wide, expression of a child found in the pantry.” He tilted his head, his grin widening. “If I had a mirror, I’d show you.”
Her grey eyes narrowed, but she raised her chin. “Well, what areyoudoing here at this hour, Your Grace? Don’t tell me you were on some noble errand.” She stopped herself there, then her eyes widened in mock shock. “You! You also came for the biscuits!”
He pressed a hand to his chest in mock offense. “I? Sneaking about like a common thief? Impossible. I was merely ensuring the safety of the household provisions.”
“That sounds very noble indeed.” She sniffed, biting delicately into her biscuit as though to spite him. “And entirely unconvincing.”
Jasper’s laugh echoed softly in the dim kitchen. He crossed to the table, the floorboards creaking beneath his boots. “Then we are both thieves tonight. A shocking partnership.”
“Not a partnership,” she corrected swiftly, brushing crumbs from her fingertips.
Their eyes met again across the jar. His gaze lingered on the faint scattering of freckles over her nose, the blush still warming her cheeks. She looked every bit the lady who was caught, embarrassed, but defiant.
Jasper reached for another biscuit, but then paused. Something caught his eye. A faint smear, dark against the candlelight, streaking across the curve of her fingers.
“Paint,” he said slowly, straightening.
Matilda stiffened, tucking her hand behind her skirts as if to hide it. “It is nothing.”
He arched a brow, amusement sparking in his eyes. He tugged the jar of biscuits toward himself, deliberately placing it out of her reach.
