If Mason truly had gone back to his old self… what did that mean for her place in his life now?
Chapter Thirty-Three
Mason stepped into the ballroom with Cordelia at his side, his mother having already swept ahead to join a knot of ladies eager for her company. Yet he could feel the shift in the atmosphere as they entered, the subtle lift of brows, the sudden turn of heads. It wasn’t him they looked at, he knew. It washer.
Cordelia shone tonight. The pale silk of her gown seemed spun from moonlight itself, her hair coiled in a style that bared the elegant line of her neck, a single sapphire winking at her throat. She moved with unstudied grace, her every step drawing the eye, her smile, lighting her face in a way that made something deep in his chest stir.
And that was the danger.
He reminded himself, as he had been doing for days now, that theirs was not a real marriage. That he had agreed to this arrangement to protect her from Lord Vernon, not to bind herlife to his in any deeper sense. He could not let himself believe otherwise.
Cordelia leaned toward him as the string quartet’s music swelled, her voice low so only he could hear.
“The musicians are marvelous tonight,” she said, her tone light, as if coaxing him into conversation. “And the food looks quite… extravagant. Have you tried the champagne? I’m told it is excellent.”
He kept his eyes on the swirling crowd. “I’m here because my mother advised it,” he said flatly. “To make a proper show for the ton, to let them believe our marriage is as it appears. Otherwise, I would be at home, far from all this glitter and pomp I despise.”
The words came out sharper than he’d intended, but he didn’t take them back. He saw her smile falter though she tried to keep her expression composed, her chin tilting upward in that small, proud way of hers.
“I see,” she murmured.
It was the smallest wound, invisible to anyone else, but to him, it was as if he’d struck her.
“You needn’t worry,” she went on, her voice carefully even. “You don’t have to dance with me at all. I’ll manage perfectly well without the appearance of such… pretenses.”
He wanted to tell her that they could manage at least one dance together, that it would cost him nothing to hold her for the span of a waltz, but before he could speak, her gaze shifted over his shoulder.
“I see Hazel and Matilda,” she said, almost in relief. “If you’ll excuse me.”
And then she was gone, leaving him standing alone in a room full of people, feeling the cold of his own words settle heavily in his chest. Before he could even think what to say or do, he felt a hand land on his shoulder.
“Well, cousin,” Jasper’s voice drawled, smooth as velvet and just as irritating, “that looked suspiciously like your lovely wife fleeing the scene. Dare I assume you’ve committed some dreadful marital offense already?”
Mason turned, his jaw tight. “I’m not in the mood for your commentary.”
Jasper only grinned wider, utterly unbothered. “Ah, so youhavedone something.” He glanced toward the far side of the ballroom where Cordelia now stood among Hazel and Matilda. “Beautiful, radiant, and already escaping your company. Truly, your charm is unmatched.”
Mason exhaled sharply, his irritation threatening to boil over, but then Jasper’s hand stayed on his shoulder, the grip steady.
“Easy,” Jasper said in a quieter tone, his eyes, which were so often alight with mischief, were now softening just slightly. “You’re coiled tighter than a gun spring. Whatever the trouble, glaring at the crowd like you mean to shoot half of them won’t help.”
Against his better judgment, Mason’s tension loosened a fraction. Jasper had always been infuriating, but he also had an uncanny way of dismantling his darker moods before they could take root.
“Come,” Jasper continued, straightening and flashing one of his insufferably charming smiles at a passing group of debutantes. “Have a drink with me before you terrify the entire ton. You look like a man in need of strong liquor and stronger counsel.”
They moved toward the refreshments table, Jasper sweeping two glasses of brandy into his hands with practiced ease.
“To marital misery,” Jasper said cheerfully, handing one to Mason.
Mason shook his head but drank anyway, the burn of the liquor grounding him.
Jasper’s gaze drifted toward the far side of the room. “Well, well… look who’s here. The ever-dignified Lady Matilda.” His smile curved into something positively wicked. “She looks just as delightfully irritated as the last time I saw her.”
Mason followed his line of sight. Matilda stood beside Hazel and Cordelia, arms crossed, chin tilted at an angle that suggested she was prepared to take offense at the next man who dared approach.
“You’ve been watching her a lot,” Mason pointed out, grateful for the change of topic.
Jasper scoffed. “What? No. Absolutely not. I merely find her… amusing.”
