Her laughter rang out, as light and free as she herself was. But suddenly, she heard a crack that was too close and too sharp. Someone’s shot went wrong. The barrel had jerked sideways, smoke belching where it should not have. Deafening sound split the air in her direction.
All she could do was gasp, jerking the reins.
Chapter Twenty-Two
The shot cracked, sharp and wrong, and in the half-second it took to register, Jasper saw the barrel jerk sideways. He saw the smoke belch where it shouldn’t. He saw the shot screaming inherdirection.
There was no thought, only movement.
He spurred his stallion hard, closed the distance, and threw himself from the saddle. He caught Matilda full against him, pulling her down into the long grass, his body caging hers as the world tilted violently.
The hounds barked, riders shouted and chaos erupted around them, but Jasper’s focus narrowed to her face beneath him. Her pale grey eyes were wide with shock and her breath was trembling. For a heartbeat, there was no sound but their breathing, ragged and uneven. His hand was pressed at her waist, the heat of her searing through the thin layers of fabric.
He should move. He knew he should. But he couldn’t… not yet.
“Are you hurt?” His voice came rough, harsher than he meant, as if dragged from deep in his chest.
“I—I don’t think so.” Her words trembled, and that was enough to jolt him back to himself.
He pushed off her, rising swiftly, and then pulled her to her feet with both hands, steadying her when her knees buckled. He held on a moment longer than necessary, searching her face for any sign of pain. Only when he was certain she was whole did he turn and fury roared through him.
The young lordling who had mishandled his rifle was stammering apologies, pale as death. “I didn’t mean… my grip slipped… I swear I?—”
Jasper’s stride ate the ground between them. He grabbed the man by the front of his coat, hauling him up as though he weighed nothing.
“You bloody fool!” he snarled, his voice like thunder. “You could have killed her!”
The man sputtered. He was terrified. Several gentlemen rushed in at once, tugging at Jasper’s arm, urging restraint.
Robert’s voice cut through the din. “Jasper! He is shaken enough. Let him go.”
The other gentlemen closed ranks around the hapless lordling, steering him away with sharp reprimands and muttered curses. Jasper barely heard them. His pulse was still thundering, his fists aching from the urge to strike harder than he already had.
He turned back to Matilda, who stood pale but upright, brushing grass from her skirts. Without thinking, he reached for her arm. “Come. I’ll see you back to the house?—”
She pulled against his grip, her eyes flashing. “No. I’ll not leave the hunt.”
“Matilda,” he snapped, harsher than he intended, “do you not see? I told you it would be dangerous out here! And now, God help me, you nearly—” His voice cracked before he could finish. He swallowed hard, anger rising only to mask the sickening fear that still churned in him.
Her chin lifted defiantly. “You are not responsible for me,Jasper! You have no right to command where I go or what I do.”
He dropped her arm, but his voice only grew firmer. “It is not about command, it is about duty. As a gentleman, as a duke, as someone who could not stand idle while you were at risk?—”
“Duty,” she cut in, her voice tight with fury. “That is what my husband always called it, too. Duty to keep me silent, duty to keep me shut away, duty to strip every choice from me until I scarcely remembered what it was to live.” Her chest rose and fell sharply, and for a moment her voice trembled. “I will not suffer it again.”
The words struck him like a blow. His anger faltered, leaving only raw fear beneath. “That is not what I meant,” he said low, almost pleading. “I would never?—”
“Then do not try to control me,” she retorted, her grey eyes glistening with a storm of pain and defiance.
Jasper fell silent, the breath leaving him in a ragged exhale. He had no defense. He had not sought to command her, not as her late husband had, but he could not deny that the instinct to shield her had been overwhelming.
He raked a hand through his hair, torn between fury at the danger, and an ache he could not yet name.
“You terrify me,” he muttered at last, the words half to himself.
They had drifted apart from the others, the company resting their horses and talking in low voices after the chaos of the misfire.
At last, Matilda broke it. Her voice was quiet, but it cut through him all the same. “Why did you say that?”
