“—is precisely what holds your attention,” Robert finished smoothly. “Come, Jasper. Admit it. If she were docile and agreeable, you would not spare her a second glance.”
Jasper’s jaw tightened. “I sometimes do prefer peace, not constant battle.”
“Do you?” Mason leaned forward, his grin widening. “Strange, then, that you looked positively alive when she threatened to flay you with her tongue at dinner.”
Jasper said nothing. He reached again for his glass, though the liquor did not distract him this time. Matilda’s voice still rang in his ears, cool and furious and far too tempting. He swirled the brandy in his glass, the amber liquid catching the firelight. He kept his eyes fixed on it, unwilling to let either of his friends see what they so easily guessed.
“You both sound like old matrons, conspiring over a teapot,” he said at last.
“Better a teapot than the bottle you’re hiding behind,” Mason countered. “You are rattled, old boy. Admit it.”
“Rattled?” Jasper gave a short bark of laughter. “By Lady Matilda Sterlington? Do not be absurd. She is a vexation, not a temptation. Nothing more.”
Robert leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers. “And yet you cannot keep her from your thoughts.”
Jasper looked up sharply. “You assume too much.”
“Perhaps,” Robert allowed. “But I recognize the signs. I have seen men in battle less tense than you at dinner this evening.”
Mason chuckled. “A woman who unsettles the Duke of Harrow. Who would have thought?”
Jasper downed the remainder of his drink in one swallow, the burn almost welcome. “Enough of this nonsense. You both know I have sworn never to marry. Never to burden another with the name Everleigh. My father made certain of that.”
The humor in the room dulled. Robert exchanged a glance with Mason but said nothing, allowing Jasper to continue.
“You are not your father, Jasper,” Mason reminded him.
Jasper’s lips curved, though without mirth. “No. I am worse, perhaps. At least he believed in something, however twisted. I believe in nothing.”
Robert leaned forward, his tone steady. “You may repeat that until you believe it. But from where I sit, you care more than most men. Perhaps too much.”
Jasper looked away, his jaw tight. Matilda’s pale eyes rose unbidden in his mind, fierce and wounded, defying him even as she trembled. He cursed inwardly.
“I care nothing for no one, especially nother,” he said, though even to his own ears the words rang hollow.
Neither Mason nor Robert challenged him this time. Their silence was answer enough.
Chapter Fourteen
Matilda had made it a point to avoid the Duke of Harrow, and it seemed, to her relief, that he had resolved to do the same. Since that vexing conversation upon the terrace, not a word had passed between them. He spoke with others easily, laughed with the gentlemen, even condescended to amuse Cordelia with some outrageous tale, but he had not once sought her out.
She ought to have be pleased. And yet… his words lingered.
What was the last thing you did simply because you wanted to?
A foolish question, yes, but it had burrowed deep, as if some stubborn seed had been planted. Was she so closed off, so easily roused to anger, that she could not even think of an answer beyond embroidery? Had she allowed one man’s betrayal to steal her sense of self so thoroughly?
Of course she could laugh with Evelyn, and banter with Cordelia, and sit in calm conversation with Hazel. But even then, even in such safe company, there was always a part of her that remained guarded. A corner of her heart she no longer recognized, for it was walled up too high and too long.
And when she was alone, she felt it most keenly, that strange sensation that she was only living half her life, as if the other half had been lost somewhere she could never find it again.
Her eyes drifted to the garden below, where Evelyn and Robert strolled arm in arm. A lantern in Robert’s hand cast a warm glow over his wife’s face, and Evelyn’s laughter floated softly through the night air. Matilda leaned her forehead against the cool stone of the terrace wall.
They were happy. Truly, peacefully happy. The sound of it was unmistakable. Evelyn’s voice was full of warmth, and Robert’s reply was so gently spoken that even the night itself seemed to hush in respect.
Matilda’s heart squeezed. It was a joy to see her sister so cherished, to know she was loved beyond measure. It was a balm against all the wounds of their past, all the hurt that had come between them. Evelyn had not only forgiven. She hadthrived.
Cordelia, too, brimmed with life and affection, ever bursting with mischief. Hazel, steady and wise, was mostly focused on her sisters as though she were the compass of his entire world. Everywhere Matilda turned, her friends carried love so openly, so easily.
