Cordelia interjected at once. “Nonsense! You’ve barely moved from this spot. Come now, Matilda, it’s a celebration! Surely you can spare one waltz for His Grace.”
Evelyn smiled warmly. “Indeed, sister. You’ll hurt his pride if you refuse.”
Hazel sighed, shaking her head. “If she doesn’t dance with him, the rest of the room will think there’s been a scandal. Better to prevent one than confirm it.”
Jasper said softly, “I promise to behave. Entirely within the bounds of propriety.”
Matilda’s eyes narrowed, and he wondered if he saw the faintest spark of annoyance or amusement. He decided to accept either.
“That would be a novelty, Your Grace.”
He smiled faintly. “You might even enjoy it.”
Cordelia gasped in mock offense. “Matilda! He’sflirtingwith you in front of us all. You must accept him, if only to prove you can outwit him on the floor.”
It was hopeless. She could not refuse him now without drawing the whole room’s attention.
Matilda’s sigh was soft but eloquent. “Very well.Onedance.”
Jasper bowed, his relief masked as grace. “I am honored.”
She placed her hand upon his arm cautiously, and despite that, he still felt it through the layers of fabric as though her touch were flame. They moved together to the center of the floor as the orchestra began the first strains of a waltz. Around them, silk whispered and laughter rippled, but to Jasper, the world had narrowed to the sound of her breath and the delicate pressure of her hand.
“You are relentless,” she said quietly as he led her into the first turn.
“Only when it matters,” he murmured back.
“And when it flatters your pride, no doubt.”
He smiled despite himself. “You wound me, my lady.”
“Do I?” she said lightly. “Then I fear your pride is more delicate than I thought.”
They moved in time to the music, their steps so perfectly measured that no one watching would have suspected anything was amiss. To all appearances, they were the picture of poise: a duke and a lady, gliding through candlelight as gracefully as any couple in the room.
But Jasper felt the chill from her the way others might feel the cold from an open window.
He had expected some distance, perhaps a hint of wounded pride, but this polite, glacial composure was something else entirely. Her gaze never lingered on him and when he guided her through a turn, she followed with mechanical precision. This was the same woman who once had laughed at his teasing, whose wit had kept pace with his own so effortlessly, who now danced with him as if he were a stranger performing a duty.
He tried to pierce it.
“You are very quiet this evening,” he said lightly, as the waltz drew them into another slow turn.
Her eyes flicked up to his, without any interest. “Am I?”
“Yes,” he said, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “I was beginning to worry you’d exhausted your sharp remarks at luncheon.”
“I reserve my sharp remarks for those who deserve them, Your Grace.”
“Then I should be grateful to have been spared,” he returned endeavoring to sound lighthearted, while he was anything but.
She didn’t smile. Her gaze slipped past him, as though she were searching for someone else entirely.
The faint humor in his chest faltered. “You seem displeased with me,” he said softly.
“I seem precisely as I wish to be,” she replied steadily. “Nothing more.”
“Now that,” he pointed out, forcing a faint laugh, “sounds like something rehearsed for society columns.”
