Page 68 of To Follow her Heart

Kitty shook her head. “I don’t think so. You’ve hurt her somehow, very deeply.”

Pain lanced through him at the idea of having distressed her. He couldn’t bear it. He’d cut his heart out before he hurt her, but he knew it was true. It must be.

“How?” he said, struggling to keep his voice even.

“I don’t know. She won’t tell me. She didn’t tell me that much directly. I had to put the pieces together, but I’m not wrong.”

Jasper breath caught, trapped in his lungs as if he could neither draw in more nor expel it. It hurt. His chest hurt, his heart was raw, and he deserved the pain, and more besides, for ever having caused her a moment’s distress.

“I told her it wasn’t fair to keep punishing you when you didn’t know what you were being punished for. I told her she must explain herself; she must give you a chance to explain too, and then she can decide whether or not to forgive you.”

His heart was thudding in his chest, too hard, too fast. “Will she?” he asked, hardly daring to hope. At least he’d know. If he’d done something unforgivable, at least he’d know what he’d done. Perhaps it wasn’t unforgivable…. Perhaps he could make amends.

“I can’t say,” Kitty said, her voice soft. “But she promised me she would think about it, so… maybe.”

At long last Jasper let out a breath. He felt giddy, the first glimmer of hope he’d seen for such a long time beckoning on the horizon.

“Mrs Baxter,” he said, smiling at her. “Your husband is a very lucky man, and I am very grateful to you.”

She laughed, her dark eyes shining. “Yes, he is,” she said, her smile wide. “But in all honesty, I haven’t done much. Nothing very useful, at least, but I won’t give up and neither should you. You have plenty of time. Perhaps you could dance with her tonight. It’s such a magical evening,” she added in a theatrical whisper. “Why, anything could happen!”

Jasper snorted, his hopes not daring to go to those lengths. “Yes, she might not throw her drink in my face, if I’m lucky.”

Kitty laughed, and he smiled as he whirled her around the floor.

***

Matilda sipped at her drink. The evening was humid, and the ballroom hotter still with the press of so many bodies in a confined space.

A trickle of sweat made its way between her breasts and she fought the urge to grimace. So far, she’d danced with Harriet’s brother, Henry, Mr Baxter, and Lord St Clair, this last while Mr Burton frowned across the dance floor at them. She didn’t like that frown. It held a possessive quality that made her uneasy. She had danced with Mr Burton too, naturally, and was aware he would likely ask her again. To dance with a man twice was as good as announcing that there was something between you, however, and Matilda felt panic rise in her chest.

He had promised to give her time, not to be impatient, and yet there had been a quality to that frown that suggested his previous impatience was not simply eagerness but held a possessive, belligerent edge she’d not been previously aware of.

She took another sip of her drink and then surreptitiously pressed the glass to her neck to cool herself. The glass was no longer cool, though, the drink itself having grown tepid, and it brought her no relief. She closed her eyes on the colourful swirl of silken gowns and black evening wear as the dancers whirled before her and at once she was in a garden, a dappled walkway that gave shade and privacy.

She remembered a man handing her a glass, a cooling drink filled to the brim with ice which she’d pressed to her overheated skin. She’d felt the shock of cold as vividly as she had the weight of his gaze upon her, the heat of his desire for her searing hotter than the sun that had driven her to seek the shade.

Matilda felt her breath catch even at the memory, felt the weight of that gaze again, as though he was right there in the room. Resolutely she opened her eyes, pasted a smile to her face and went to find her friends.

***

Luke stared down at his beautiful wife as he whirled her through yet another dance. It was probably shocking of him to have danced nearly every dance with her, but he didn’t care a jot. She was his, and he wanted the world to know it.

A flicker of guilt crept into his heart as he thought of Mr Derby, helpless and ill and not even understanding he was now the earl, but he forced it away. He would do right by the man. He’d have the best doctors, the finest care, but he’d not let him spoil this glorious night. Luke had never asked for or wanted the earldom, all he’d ever wanted was Kitty, and Trevick and Derby had taken her from him. Now he had her and he’d not let anyone tarnish the brilliance of his happiness.

That the old earl was dead ought to give him pause too, but Luke could feel no regret for his passing, only pity for a man who’d never learned how to be happy, who’d cared for little but power and the continuation of his great name. How fortunate Luke had been not to been born the heir. What hand of fate had been so very obliging as to put Kitty in his path, Kitty, who had taught him how to live, how to make life a grand adventure and find happiness in everything they did?

“Goodness,” Kitty said, laughing and breathless as the dance came to a close. “I’m worn out.”

Luke gave her a regretful look and sighed. “Oh, that’s a pity.”

“Why?” she demanded, curiosity in her dark eyes.

“Well, if you’re worn out, I’ll have to take you up to bed.”

Kitty returned such a delighted glance he had to bite his lip to stop from laughing. “That doesn’t sound so bad,” she said, grinning now.

“To sleep, you wretch,” he added, his laughter bubbling over as she pouted at him.