“Deadly so,” he replied, eyes dancing. “You mocked my poor efforts, so surely you will do better.” He held out the volume, open and waiting, like a challenge.
“I will not,” she said firmly.
“Cannot, you mean?” His smile deepened. “Ah, you fear you will stumble. That your voice will quaver.”
Her eyes narrowed. “I do not stumble.”
“Prove it,” he murmured, pressing the book into her hands before she could protest further.
She glared at him but, out of pure stubbornness, lowered her gaze to the page. “In the year of our Lord sixteen hundred and eighteen…”
The words came more smoothly than she expected, and her voice echoed clearly in the hush of the library. Jasper leaned one shoulder against the shelf, watching her with infuriating attention.
She faltered, feeling that familiar heat creeping into her cheeks. “Why are you staring so?”
“Because,” he said simply, “I was right. You make even the driest history sound… compelling.”
Matilda’s throat tightened. “You are intolerable.”
“And yet you keep reading,” he pointed out.
She snapped the book shut, thrusting it at him. “There. Satisfied?”
He caught it easily, his grin utterly unrepentant. “Not nearly.”
Her breath came faster, her composure hanging by a thread. It was ridiculous that a man so insufferable could leave her feeling as though the ground shifted beneath her feet.
“Goodnight, Your Grace,” she said sharply, turning to leave before he could see the flush in her cheeks.
“Sleep well, Lady Matilda,” he called softly after her. “And do dream of glorious battles. I shall expect a full report.”
She did not look back, but the sound of his laughter followed her down the corridor. Matilda hurried down the corridor, clutching at her shawl as if it might shield her from the confusion boiling inside her. She needed air and distance,anythingto cool the heat in her cheeks.
But fate was not kind.
“Matilda?”
She stopped short. Evelyn stood just beyond the drawing-room doors, her gown of pale blue gleaming in the lamplight, and her expression softened with surprise.
“You look flushed,” her sister remarked, stepping closer. “Have you been walking about again? At this hour?”
Matilda forced a laugh that sounded brittle in her own ears. “I sought the library. That is all. A book seemed preferable to more whist and chatter.”
Evelyn’s brow lifted, too perceptive by half. “A book?”
“Yes,” Matilda said, a touch too quickly. “What else would one do in a library?”
From behind, she thought she heard a low chuckle, the scrape of a chair. It was Jasper, no doubt, listening. Her skin prickled. She pressed forward, linking arms with her sister to draw her away before Evelyn could notice.
“I only meant to steal a quiet moment,” Matilda continued, striving for calm. “Do not trouble yourself.”
Evelyn studied her face with the tender scrutiny only a sister could wield. “You look very much as though your quiet moment was interrupted.”
Matilda stiffened. “Certainly not.”
But Evelyn smiled knowingly and did not press her. She only squeezed Matilda’s arm, guiding her toward the stairs.
Evelyn spoke when they reached the landing. “I had meant to ask you something, Matilda. Tomorrow morning, might you help me with the baby? Robert is to meet with the steward, and I should be grateful for another pair of hands.”
