He hadn’t meant to let the words slip, hadn’t meant for her to overhear him. But she was watching him now, and he found he couldn’t retreat.
“I know what it is to be controlled, Matilda. To be told, every day, that you must fit into a mold that does not fit you. Tobe measured, corrected, punished until you scarcely know what part of you belongs to yourself anymore.”
Her breath caught. He didn’t look at her… hecouldn’t. His gaze stayed fixed on the horizon, on the shifting line of the trees.
“My father,” he said at last, the word clipped and bitter. “He demanded perfection. I was never enough, never right. If I failed, I paid for it. If I succeeded, it still wasn’t enough. It was… relentless.” He forced a sharp exhale, as if pushing the memory away. “So yes, I know what it feels like to have your life dictated, to feel every freedom stripped from you.”
Jasper had not intended to say it. The words escaped before his pride could prevent them, and once spoken, they lingered like smoke between them. Her eyes widened, pale grey and solemn. He thought she might turn away in disdain, as so many would.
For, what use was confession, after all, to a woman who despised him already? But she did not. She only regarded him in stillness, her brow softened.
“That must have been difficult,” she said quietly.
Difficult.
A word so mild it almost provoked his laughter. His childhood had been bruises concealed beneath fine coats, lessons drilled into him with words sharper than any blade. Yet he found no bitterness in her tone, only a gentleness he had not expected.
“It was… instructive,” he replied at last, his lips curving in a sardonic half-smile. “I learned quickly that failure was not tolerated. And so I became very skilled in concealing it.”
Her gaze held his without flinching. “You speak as though you believe yourself still under his command.”
He shifted, uncomfortable under her steady scrutiny. Few dared to look at him so directly. Fewer still saw anything past the surface. “I assure you, madam, I am master of myself now. My father has been in his grave for years.”
“And yet,” she said, her voice no louder than the rustle of leaves around them, “you carry him with you.”
Jasper felt the words strike home. He clenched his hands behind his back, aware of the old scars burning faintly against his gloves. How had she seen so much, when others saw only charm and bravado?
He forced a lighter tone. “You are unusually perceptive, Lady Matilda. Most ladies are content to take me for a rake and nothing more. You, however, would strip a man’s armor bare.”
Her mouth curved, not into a smile but something drier, edged with wit. “You wear it so loudly, Your Grace, one can scarcely help but notice. Besides, it would seem that is not so different from my own.”
The admission startled him. He studied her and her pale eyes, so often cool and guarded, which were now softened with a candor rare in their acquaintance. There was pain in her reserve, but also a strength he had underestimated.
“I had thought you merely disapproved of me,” he said, almost lightly.
“Oh, I do,” she replied at once, her chin tilting with a spark of her usual defiance. “You are intolerably arrogant. You meddle where you should not. And you imagine every lady in England waits upon your notice.”
His laugh rang out, surprised and genuine. “And yet you speak with me.”
“Against my better judgment.” Her eyes narrowed, though a faint flush rose to her cheeks. “But I suppose,” she hesitated, as if admitting the thought cost her dearly, “that there is something to be learned in knowing that one is not the only creature in the world who has been… disappointed.”
Her words hung there, fragile and bare. He bowed his head slightly, more in respect than mockery.
“On that score, Lady Matilda,” he said softly, “you have my full agreement.”
For a moment, neither spoke. The forest stretched quiet around them, broken only by the distant calls of the hunting party.Jasper felt the strange, unfamiliar pull of kinship, which was something he had not sought, and certainly not with her. Yet it settled between them all the same, like the hush before rain.
He found himself thinking, against every resolution he had sworn, that he would not mind standing in such a silence again.
Chapter Twenty-Three
The following morning dawned cold and pale, with a thin mist still clinging to the lawns. Matilda had resolved quite firmly to keep her distance from the Duke of Harrow after the incident of the day before.
It was only sensible. He had unsettled her far too deeply with his overbearing concern, followed by that brief and unnervingly honest conversation about his father. She did not wish to dwell upon it.
She made her way down the wide steps of the terrace, determined to begin her walk before anyone else was astir. Yet, as fate would have it, Jasper Everleigh emerged from the opposite end of the house at that very moment.
“Lady Matilda,” he said with a bow that looked annoyingly pleased with itself. “Up with the sun? I had not thought you inclined to such industrious habits.”
