Yesterday had been a beautiful day. It was too beautiful, even, and he should have known better than to allow it.
But damn him if he didn’t keep playing the fool where Cordelia Brookes was concerned.
He saw it all too clearly now: yesterday afternoon, the garden soaked in sunlight, the laughter of women threading through the hedges like music, his sister seated in the heart of it all with color in her cheeks, and Cordelia…
He had meant only to observe, to be sure Isabelle felt comfortable, and to ensure no trace of risk lingered near theedges of her joy. Instead, he found himself lingering longer than he should have. Instead, he had smiled more than once. Instead, he had allowed himself the indulgence of watching Cordelia’s eyes light up like a sky before a summer storm, listening to her weave nonsense into poetry with that quicksilver tongue of hers and feeling actually at home.
Today, the study felt too small.
He moved toward the window, bracing one hand against the sill the other still clenched at his side. Outside, the garden lay empty, the remnants of yesterday’s gathering already swept away.
It shouldn’t have mattered. It was just a moment, just a lovely illusion, but Cordelia had changed something. It wasn’t just that she fit. It was that she belonged… with Isabelle, with this home, withhim.
The thought cut deeper than he liked.
He couldn’t allow this. He couldn’tbethis.
He had built a careful world, and it was careful for a reason. He had already given up too much to protect what mattered, to protect Isabelle, to ensure his family’s safety after the chaos his father had left in his wake. Everything that remained of his life—its structure, its cold, predictable walls—was meant to contain his grief, his anger, even his longing… not feed it.
Cordelia Brookes was fire and freedom and far too bright for a man who had spent years keeping his desires under lock and key. She stirred things in him that had long gone dormant, things he couldn’t afford to let loose again. Because if he opened that door, if he allowed himself even one step toward her, he wasn’t sure he’d ever find the strength to shut it again.
And he couldn’t ask her to stay, no matter how much he wanted her to, no matter how many times he caught himself imagining what it would be like to find her in his library each morning, curled in a window seat or smiling at his mother over tea or?—
Enough.
He turned sharply from the window, swallowing hard. His life had been shaped by secrets, and Cordelia deserved sunlight.
That was when the sharp crack of a raised voice shattered the quiet of his study, and Mason froze, mid-step. Immediately after, another shout followed. The voice belonged to a man, rough with rage and sharpened with entitlement. The sound echoed down the main corridor like a blade scraping stone.
Mason was already moving, listening to the sound of his boots striking against the polished floors. He couldn’t make out the full exchange yet, only snatches. On one side, there was the furious pitch of the intruder’s voice, and on the other, the muffled edge ofhers.
His pulse surged. As he rounded the corner into the grand entryway, the scene came into focus. Cordelia stood a few pacesback from the front door, pale and doing her best to remain composed.
Lord Vernon, that oily bastard.
“You will come with me,” Vernon growled, not bothering to lower his voice. “Do not forget who your guardian is, Cordelia.Idecide what’s best for you. And I will not have you wasting your name in this house?—”
“I am not wasting anything,” Cordelia said, her tone fraying at the edges. “I’ve done nothing wrong; please lower your voice?—”
“You will do as you’re told!”
“Enough.”
Mason’s voice cut through the air like thunder.
Lord Vernon turned, and for the briefest moment, something uncertain flickered across his face. He had the sense, it seemed, to realize he had just crossed a line. But it vanished almost as quickly, replaced by a brittle sneer.
“Your Grace,” he said with thin civility. “A private matter. You’ll excuse?—”
“I willnotexcuse anything,” Mason snapped, advancing without pause. “You barge into my home unannounced, shouting at myguest like a common tradesman? You’re lucky I don’t throw you through that door myself.”
“She is undermycare,” Vernon spat. “And she is meant to return with me?—”
“She is undermyroof,” Mason growled, his voice low now and almost lethal. “And she is not going anywhere.”
Vernon barked out a short laugh, but there was a nervous twitch in his jaw. “You think you can keep her here? I can have the courts involved; her estate ismineto manage until?—”
“I don’t give a damn who you try to involve,” Mason cut in, stepping so close now their shoulders nearly brushed. “If you try to take her from this house again, I will make it very clear to the entire ton just what you tried to do to gain access to her inheritance.”
