Jasper beamed. He crossed the room in three long strides, slipped an arm around her waist, and kissed her cheek with unabashed affection. “You wound me, my love.”
She tilted her head toward him. “You’ll survive.”
Mason smiled openly now. Robert hid his amusement poorly.
Matilda looked at all of them in turn. “I am in awe,” she said plainly, “that any of you are actually married.”
Jasper clutched his chest. “Cruel.”
“Truthful,” she corrected. “You speak of spectacle and chaos as though love were a performance.” Her eyes settled on Greyson. “It is not.”
Greyson straightened.
“If you wish to keep any of your wives,” Matilda went on, “then be honest, communicate, hold nothing back.” She gestured lightly. “No strategies, no theatrics and no gallant suffering in silence.”
Jasper opened his mouth. She shot him a look. He closed it again.
“Say what you feel,” she finished. “Say it plainly. Say itfirst. Women are not puzzles to be solved, we are partners to be trusted.”
Robert nodded slowly. “She has a point.”
Mason added. “Cordelia would agree… loudly.”
Jasper sighed theatrically, resting his chin on Matilda’s shoulder. “Very well. We shall abandon chaos…temporarily.”
Matilda patted his hand absently, her gaze returning to Greyson. “She loves you,” she revealed. “That much is clear.”
Greyson’s jaw tightened. “And I love her.”
“Then go to her,” Matilda said. “Not as a duke, not as a man defending himself. But as a husband who chooses his wife, without conditions.”
Greyson held her gaze, then inclined his head once. “I will. Hazel doesn’t need convincing. She needs certainty.”
Jasper grinned triumphantly. “See? My gathering was entirely necessary.”
Matilda arched a brow. “You are on probation.”
Greyson allowed himself a breath as he already headed out the door. Behind him, Jasper was still smiling.
“Oh,” he said. “This is going to beexcellent.”
Chapter Thirty-Nine
The house had gone quiet at that late hour.
Hazel was standing before the looking glass, unpinning her hair with slow, methodical movements. The day had exhausted her more than she wished to admit. Emotion had a way of settling into the bones, making even the smallest tasks feel heavy. She laid the pins aside, one by one, and reached for the ribbon at her waist.
That was when she heard it. It was a soft sound, metal against stone. It made her freeze.
The candle on her bedside table flickered as a faint draft slipped into the room. Her gaze shifted toward the balcony doors. The curtains stirred again, unmistakably this time.
Someone was there.
Her breath stilled. Every sensible thought sharpened at once, years of responsibility snapping into place like armor. She did not scream. She did not hesitate. Instead, she crossed the room silently and seized the nearest object with sufficient weight, the brass candelabra from the side table. It was heavier than she expected. Still, she tightened her grip and adjusted her stance.
She moved to the side of the door and pressed herself against the wall, just out of sight. The sound came again. It was closer now. A shadow passed across the thin line of moonlight beneath the door. A hand touched the latch. Hazel raised the candelabra. The door creaked open.
“Do not take another step?—”
