“No.”
“… yet.”
Greyson shot him a warning glare, but it lacked its usual bite.
Jasper sat back, clasping his hands. “Well, well, well… this explains quite a great deal.”
“It explains nothing,” Greyson said. “It was… a moment, and I seized it.”
“A moment,” Jasper echoed, still unconvinced. “Extraordinary how many lives are altered by such insignificant things.”
Greyson did not rise to the bait at once. He leaned back in his chair instead, with his gaze fixed somewhere beyond the shelves of neatly ordered volumes. The truth pressed at him with an unfamiliar clarity.
“For years,” he revealed slowly, “everything has felt… muffled, as though I were looking at the world through thick glass.” He shook his head once. “Anger, grief, or whatever name one gives it, has been there since my brother’s death, coloring my every thought. I mistook it for discipline.”
“And now?” Robert inquired.
“And now,” Greyson continued, realizing that this was a safe space to be vulnerable, although he knew Jasper would never let go of it. Still, he spoke. “It has lifted. Not entirely, but enough that I can see what I have been refusing to acknowledge.” He met their gazes in turn. “I do not want a marriage of convenience.”
Jasper straightened. “Well, thatisa development.”
“I want more than order and obligation,” Greyson divulged. “I want a household that is alive. I want children running through it. I want…” He paused, then finished simply, “Hazel.”
Robert’s smirk deepened. “I wondered how long it would take you to arrive there.”
Greyson frowned. “You did?”
“Of course,” Robert replied. “You do not look at a woman as you look at your duchess and remain unaffected forever. You merely required… encouragement.”
Jasper laughed outright. “Encouragement! He required nothing less than a kiss to rattle his entire philosophy.” He leaned forward. “Tell me, was it tender? Awkward? Utterly devastating?”
Greyson reached for his glass. “It was…enough.”
Jasper grinned. “That is not a denial of any of those things.”
Greyson shot him a warning look, but there was no real heat behind it. “If you insist on mocking me, do it quietly.”
“Oh, but I insist on celebrating,” Jasper corrected. “This is the first time since I have known you that you have spoken of the future as something youdesire, rather than something you intend to survive.”
Robert inclined his head. “You will be a good husband and father,” he said calmly. “If you allow yourself to be.”
At the same time, the words settled heavily and gently over Greyson. He had not known how much he needed to hear them until they were spoken.
“I intend to,” he said.
Jasper’s smile softened, just a fraction. “Heaven help us all,” he announced, lifting his glass, “the Duke of Callbury is in love. It would seem that I am a very good influence on you, old boy.”
Greyson did not correct him. For once, he found he did not wish to.
Chapter Thirty-Three
The ballroom of Lord and Lady Willoughby glittered.
Light spilled from a thousand candles, caught in crystal and silk and polished marble, until the very air seemed to shimmer. Music swelled from the far end of the room in a measured, elegant sound that threaded its way through the hum of conversation and the rustle of gowns. It was an evening designed to be admired.
Hazel had attended such gatherings her entire life. Yet tonight felt different.
She entered on Greyson’s arm and felt at once the unmistakable shift in attention. Conversations faltered. Fans paused mid-flutter. Heads inclined, some with respect, and others with avid curiosity thinly veiled behind practiced smiles.
