Mason stared down at the page, the ink now beginning to blur in his vision. He blinked hard, swore again, and shoved the ledger away. He’d been a fool to think he could continue like this, that he could balance cold duty and vivid longing without something breaking.
She was everywhere now, not just in his thoughts but in the very bones of this house. Cordelia Brookes had stitched herself into his world without even trying. And now, even his work, his last fortress of control, was bleeding with her name.
He had thought he was stronger than this, that he was smarter and more guarded. But it turned out, he was just a man.
A knock on the door interrupted him just then.
“What?” he snapped.
The door squealed open only a fraction, and her angelic face appeared, one more glimpse of everything he could not allow himself to want.
With a trembling voice, she pleaded… “Do you have a moment?”
Chapter Sixteen
Cordelia stepped in, shut the door behind herself quietly, and gave him what she hoped was a collected smile, even though her stomach felt like it had been twisted into a knot by a particularly overzealous sailor.
“I… wanted to thank you,” she said, carefully stepping over the threshold as if she might break something. “For earlier, you know? With Lord Vernon.”
“You don’t need to thank me,” he replied flatly, not looking at her yet. “He was disturbing the peace in my house.”
“Still,” she said, clasping her hands in front of her, her voice wobbling a bit at the edges. “You could have let him drag me off like a badly-behaved stray, and I would’ve been halfway to Surrey by now.”
He finally looked at her.
“I don’t make a habit of allowing other men to dictate what happens under my roof,” he said coolly.
“No, I gathered that when you nearly combusted,” she said and then immediately winced. “I mean that in a very complimentary sense. I’ve never seen anyone combust so handsomely.”
He blinked, once. Then very slowly, one brow rose.
She pressed a hand to her face. “I’m going to stop talking now.”
“Please don’t,” he said dryly. “This is… illuminating.”
Cordelia tried to laugh, but it came out more like a hiccup. “Well, you’ve always struck me as someone who could benefit from a little illumination.”
Something flickered behind his eyes. He moved, slowly, stepping closer to the writing table, and her heart picked up its pace as if preparing to escape out of sheer embarrassment.
“I protected you,” he said, “because I would not have that man threaten anyone in this house… least of all you.”
Cordelia looked up at him then, startled by the weight behind the words. “Least of all me?”
He stared at her as if trying to decide whether to keep speaking or end this conversation right here.
And then, almost reluctantly, he confirmed, “Yes, least of all you.”
She took a step toward him before she realized she’d done it. “You’re not nearly as aloof as you pretend to be, you know.”
He gave a short breath that might have been a laugh or a scoff or something in between. “You’re not nearly as quiet as I think you keep trying to be.”
“I’m never trying to be quiet,” she said indignantly.
“I’m aware.”
They were close now, almosttooclose. She hadn’t intended to be, but he hadn’t moved back either. And something strange had entered the air between them: warmer than tension, heavier than comfort.
“You didn’t have to do what you did,” she said softly.
