The dance began. Callbury’s movements were precise and almost military in their accuracy. His hand clasped hers firmly, no more and no less than propriety demanded. As she turned around, she noticed that Jasper had taken Cordelia’s hand and was leading her toward the dancers.
The figures shifted and partners started to step forward, only to part and then cross again in a precise pattern. Matilda lifted her skirts lightly, stepping into her next figure, only to find herself face-to-face with Jasper. His hand caught hers, drawing her through the arch of the dance with infuriating ease.
He leaned closer, his voice pitched low enough for her alone. “My word, Lady Matilda, you and Callbury seem veryfriendlytonight.”
Her chin lifted. “As do you and the golden-haired young lady,” she returned sweetly, glancing toward the girl he had so charmed at dinner.
His grin was instant, and his dimples flashed. “Ah, you noticed.”
“Hardly. She laughed so loudly the village dogs must have heard.”
He chuckled in a sound that was both rich and maddening. “And yet, it was you watching.”
She nearly missed the step, but recovered swiftly, giving him a glare that should have cut him in two. “Do not flatter yourself. I was merely astonished that anyone could find you amusing for so long.”
They turned, separated, and she was swept back to Callbury’s side, as his steady hand reclaimed hers. His gaze seemed not to notice her flush. But the figure changed again, and once more she found herself with Jasper.
“Tell me,” he murmured, his eyes gleaming with mischief, “does Callbury speak of crops and rents even while dancing?”
Her sharp laugh escaped before she could stop it. “And what doyouspeak of, Your Grace? Conquests? Your own reflection?”
His hand tightened ever so slightly at her waist as he turned her beneath his arm. His gaze burned into hers. “Of you, apparently, against my better judgment.”
The music pulled them apart before she could answer, her breath caught and heart racing. She was back with Callbury, who guided her with flawless precision, never missing a step. And yet, her thoughts were in tatters.
For all the duke’s steadiness, it was Jasper’s voice that lingered, Jasper’s hand that burned against hers, Jasper’s eyes that left her shaken.
The music carried on, figures weaving and crossing, hands brushing, skirts sweeping in time. Matilda moved as though on instinct alone, with her mind far from Callbury’s careful precision. She told herself to focus, to remember her steps and to match her partner’s rhythm, but her heart thudded with anticipation each time the line shifted.
And then, there he was again.
Jasper’s hand found hers, infuriatingly warm. They circled with their gazes locked, and a current was sparking between them with every turn.
“You’re flushed, Lady Matilda,” he murmured. “Is it the dance or your partner?”
Her eyes flashed. “If you must know, Your Grace, it is the heat of the room. Though I’m certain you’ll take credit for that as well.”
He leaned in, and she could feel his breath warm against her ear as he guided her through the figure. “Always. You make it too easy.”
She laughed, unwilling to yield. “I could say the same. I have never seen a man so desperate for attention as you.”
“Desperate?” His eyes glinted. “If I wanted attention, I would not seekyours. You are far too dangerous.”
The words stole her breath, though she refused to show it. She gave him her most scathing smile. “And yet here you are, again and again.”
Before he could reply, the dance swept them apart one final time. Callbury reclaimed her with the same solemn steadiness as before, guiding her through the closing steps. Matilda forced herself to match his pace, though her pulse raced wildly, as though the music itself had taken root in her veins.
At last the quadrille ended. Couples bowed and curtsied in perfect unison, while the final chords were ringing brightly. Jasper stood across from her, with his blue eyes fixed on hers with infuriating intensity. His smile was maddeningly faint, as though he knew every thought she had tried to bury.
Matilda sank into her curtsy, praying the fall of her hair would hide the heat that still burned in her cheeks.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Jasper straightened from his bow, never once taking his eyes from her. Matilda rose gracefully, and there was nothing in her pale eyes to reveal what had passed between them. But he had seen it: the flush in her cheeks, the fire sparking when she answered him and the breath that had caught in her throat.
God help him, he had felt it too.
The company clapped politely as the musicians struck up another tune. Jasper let Callbury escort Matilda back toward the chairs at the edge of the floor, and every step of that grave, dignified duke grated like sand in his chest.
