He leaned back in his chair, studying her with that insufferably calm amusement. “Yes. You can.”
Her fingers tightened around the cup of milk. Nerves prickled through her, sharp as pins. She could not quite meet his eyes, and he noticed… of course he noticed. But he said nothing. He only waited patiently, giving her the silence she needed.
At last, she drew in a breath. “Why do you flirt with me? Why tease and vex me so?”
When her eyes flicked up, she expected him to laugh, to smirk, to toss her question aside. But he did not look surprised.
Instead, his voice was steady, almost gentle. “Because you are a beautiful woman. And every expression I drew from you, every frown, every flush, every glare, was like a canvas, painted just for me.”
Her breath caught. Heat flared in her cheeks, her lips parted, but no words came. She had been prepared for mockery, for arrogance. She had not been prepared forthat.
The air between them thickened, charged, and just as she struggled to summon a reply, the sound of footsteps echoed in the corridor outside. Before she could rise, Jasper moved. In one swift motion he crossed the space, caught her wrist, and tugged her down with him behind the great kitchen table.
Matilda’s back pressed against the wood, her skirts rustling, her pulse racing so wildly she feared it might give them away. He crouched close beside her, the warmth of his body stealing the very air, while his hand was still at her wrist.
The footsteps grew louder, steady against the flagstone floor of the corridor. Matilda’s heart thundered in her chest. She pressed back against the table, every nerve in her body alive with panic and with something far more dangerous.
Jasper was close. His shoulder brushed hers, his hand still circled her wrist, and his body all but shielded her from view. His scent filled the small space; the faint spice of brandy, the sharper tang of leather, the warmth of him. She could feel the rise and fall of his chest, could almost count the beats of his pulse.
The door creaked open. A servant entered, muttering under his breath as he shuffled toward the far cupboard. Matilda froze, hardly daring to breathe.
Jasper leaned closer, his lips so near her ear she felt the ghost of his breath. “Quiet,” he whispered.
The word sent a shiver down her spine.
The servant rummaged noisily, fetched something from the shelves, and lingered longer than Matilda thought possible. She prayed he would not glance behind the table. Every second stretched unbearably, each heartbeat louder than the last.
Jasper shifted ever so slightly, his thigh pressing against hers, the heat of him searing through her gown. She clenched her fingers, fighting the treacherous urge to lean into him. Her mind screameddistance, but her body betrayed her, drawn irresistibly to his nearness.
At last, the servant closed the cupboard with a bang, muttered something about the hour, and left. The door clicked shut, and the footsteps faded away. Silence fell again, heavy and breathless.
Matilda realized then that Jasper had not moved, that his hand still lingered at her wrist, that their bodies were pressed too close in the shadows. Her breath caught and her lips parted as she finally dared to look up at him.
And in the candlelight, with his blue eyes fixed on hers, he looked every inch the danger she had sworn to avoid, yet never wanted more.
Jasper’s gaze locked on hers, the blue of his eyes deep and unrelenting in the flicker of candlelight. Neither of them moved, though the air between them throbbed with heat. His hand lingered at her wrist, his chest brushed hers with every shallow breath, and she swore the world had narrowed to the few inches that separated their lips.
He leaned closer. Her breath caught, her pulse pounding in her ears. Every thought screamed at her to move away, but her body refused, trapped and trembling beneath the spell of him.
He was so near she could feel the warmth of him, could almost taste the kiss that hovered on the brink. Her lips parted without her bidding.
And then—he stopped.
Jasper exhaled sharply, a ragged breath, and pulled back, dragging his hand away from her wrist as though it burned him. His jaw clenched, his gaze still holding hers for one devastating moment before he looked aside.
The spell broke.
Matilda shot to her feet so quickly she nearly toppled the jar of biscuits. Her skirts caught on the edge of the table, the clatter of a wooden stool echoing in the silence.
“I uhm… should return to my chamber.” Her voice shook as she spoke.
Without waiting for a reply, she stumbled toward the door, almost running, her cheeks aflame and her heart hammering in a way that frightened her. She slipped out into the dark corridor, pressing her back to the wall once the door shut behind her. Her breath came in shallow bursts.
What madness had overtaken her?
She hurried away, skirts whispering against the stone floor, desperate to put distance between herself and the kitchen, and the man who, in one breath, had nearly undone her completely.
Chapter Twenty
