Matilda stopped in her tracks. The mist curled about them like a veil, and for once she found no words ready upon her tongue. Her heart gave a wild, traitorous flutter, and she cursed it at once.
Perfect. The word felt foreign, almost cruel, for it was the one she had never believed applied to her.
She drew a breath, striving for composure, for wit, for anything that might undo the moment. But his gaze remained steady, his expression uncharacteristically earnest, and she felt as though he had reached past every wall she had so carefully built.
At last she turned away, continuing forward with a stiffness meant to disguise the tumult within. “You are impossible,” she said, though her voice lacked the sharpness she had intended.
“Undoubtedly,” he replied with a half-smile. Yet he did not press her further, as though he knew he had unsettled her enough.
They walked in silence for several paces, her mind racing to banish the echo of that wordperfect. She fixed her eyes on the path, determined to say nothing further, when at last she could no longer bear the tension.
She stopped again, turning sharply toward him. “Do you mean to accompany me for the whole of my walk?” Her tone was incredulous, almost sharp, though it owed more to the sudden pounding of her heart than to any true displeasure.
His mouth curved. “Why, would it be so inappropriate if I did?”
Matilda opened her lips, only to find no answer readily available. Of course itwouldbe inappropriate: he was a duke, she a widow, and propriety demanded they keep their exchanges light and brief. And yet, her traitorous heart beat with something perilously close to relief that hehadchosen to follow.
She drew herself up, striving for dignity. “You would do better to accompany the gentlemen on their hunt than trouble me with such questions.”
His eyes glinted. “I have no wish to shoot birds this morning. Besides, I find you infinitely better company.”
Her breath caught, and she was furious with herself for it. She forced her gaze away, lest he read the truth upon her face, that some foolish, hidden part of her very much wanted him there.
Before she could summon a clever retort, a voice rang out across the terrace behind them.
“Jasper!”
Both turned. Robert was standing upon the stairwell, his fair hair catching the weak sunlight. He raised a hand in greeting.
“Ah,” Jasper murmured. “Rescued by the Duke. I imagine you are spared my company, Lady Matilda.”
Matilda forced a small laugh, though it sounded thinner than she liked. “Indeed. I can scarcely express the relief.”
His eyes lingered on her, amused, unconvinced. “You wound me, madam. And after I suffered so gallantly through your scolding.”
Robert called again, closer this time, and Jasper gave her a slight bow before turning toward his friend.
She could barely control the wild, disloyal disappointment that had rushed upon her at Robert’s appearance.
And that, she realized with a pang, was the most dangerous revelation of all.
Jasper turned from Lady Matilda with deliberate leisure, concealing the faint pull of reluctance in his chest. Robert descended the steps with the unhurried confidence of a man entirely at ease in his own home.
“You rise early, Jasper,” Robert said with a grin. “Or perhaps you were merely driven from the house by my sister-in-law’s sharp tongue.”
Jasper laughed, shaking his head. “You misjudge me, old boy. I rather enjoy Lady Matilda’s sharp tongue. It is an art few possess, and fewer still dare employ against me.”
Robert cast him a sidelong look as they crossed the terrace together. “So that is your excuse for haunting her morning walk? More amusement?”
“Precisely,” Jasper replied smoothly, though he found his gaze straying back to the faint figure disappearing into the mist. “She grows gloriously furious at the smallest provocation. I should be a fool to deprive myself of such entertainment while we’re all here.”
Robert chuckled, clapping him on the shoulder as they entered the house. “If it is entertainment you seek, I might find you ahorse race or a boxing match. Safer ground than sparring with Matilda, I assure you.”
“Safer, perhaps,” Jasper allowed. “But infinitely less diverting.”
They made their way up the broad staircase, Robert speaking of the business he meant to discuss in his study. Jasper nodded at the appropriate intervals, his expression all ease and good humor, but his thoughts wandered treacherously.
He had spoken the truth: he did enjoy rousing Matilda’s ire. The flash in her pale eyes, the steel in her voice, it all stirred something in him, something keen and alive. And yet beneath the pleasure of provoking her, there lingered a sensation he was far less willing to name.
