She was in real trouble.
He just stood there, staring at the empty space she had left behind. Her scent, some combination of lavender and chaos, still lingered, and his shoulder still stung faintly from where she’d struck him.
He let out a slow breath, ran a hand through his hair, and muttered to the empty room. “Damn.”
He wasn’t entirely sure whether he regretted that flirtation wrapped in innuendo and whispered far too close to her ear. Ithad been too much and at the same time, not enough because the truth was that he hadn’t meant it as a jest. He had meant it in that reckless, foolish way men did when they were falling apart and falling in love at the same time.
She was going to be the end of him. No woman had ever rattled him like this, no one had ever made his control slip so easily, so naturally.One moment she was calling him a beast, the next she was biting her lip like she didn’t know whether to scream at him or kiss him again.
A knock came at the study door just as Mason was preparing to stand again, to pace, to do anything at all but sit with the mess of his thoughts. He didn’t look up.
“Come in.”
His mother entered with her usual graceful determination, with her eyes already assessing him as only a mother could.
“I thought I might find you brooding,” she said by way of greeting.
“I am not brooding,” Mason muttered.
She looked at the ink blot on his desk and the scowl on his face and tilted her head. “Very well. You’re… contemplative with flair.”
He gave a short, humorless laugh. “What is it?”
She stepped further into the room and sat in the armchair across from his desk, smoothing her skirts. “I wanted to speak to you about Cordelia’s birthday. It’s only a few days away, and I thought it might be nice to do something for her, something special.”
He flinched before he could stop himself, and his mother noticed. Of course, she did.
“Mason?”
He shook his head quickly, brushing it off. “I’m fine.”
She didn’t believe him, but she let it slide. “We’ll have the cake made in the morning. Her favorite—I asked Matilda. There will be decorations in the blue salon, flowers, small gifts. Something gentle, something quiet. I thought it might be a comfort, her first birthday truly free.”
He nodded, barely hearing her.
Free.
That was the word. She would be free and that meant she would be gone. He wanted to be happy for her. She had earned that freedom with every kind word, every stitched smile, every moment of resilience. He knew what Vernon had tried to take from her, and now, she was stepping into her own future, her own name, her own life.
“Mason, darling,” his mother said softly. “Are you sure you’re?—”
“I’m fine,” he interrupted, sharper than intended. “Truly. Go on.”
She paused, studying him for a long moment, but eventually, she nodded. “Isabelle will be coming of course. She insisted.”
That struck something deep in his chest. Cordelia had burrowed her way into all their lives, hadn’t she?
His mother lit up when she entered a room. Isabelle laughed more. Her children adored her. The kitchen staff had taken to sending up sweets for her at odd hours. The footmen had begun to greet her like family. And he didn’t remember what the house had felt like before her anymore.
His mother smiled now, looking off distantly as she imagined the celebration. “It’s been a long time since this house has felt so warm.”
Mason didn’t speak because the truth was Cordelia Brookes had come into their lives like light through a long-closed window, and in just a few days, she would be gone.
“Would you come with me to the kitchen?” his mother asked, standing. “We must make sure the cake is done properly. You know how particular you are.”
He gave her a smile which was small, practiced, and not entirely convincing. “Yes. I’ll be along in a moment.”
She hesitated in the doorway, glancing back, but then she nodded once and left. And Mason remained seated, alone again.
