Chapter 5
Chapter Five
“Keep your guard up, cousin, or you will lose that pretty nose of yours.”
Jasper turned his head sharply. He had been alone in the boxing room, stripped to his shirtsleeves, with his fists wrapped and striking at the bag with steady force.
The sudden voice drew him from the rhythm, and when he looked up, Mason was stepping through the ropes, rolling his sleeves and wearing a grin upon his face.
“This is not the club, cousin,” Jasper said, breath stilling as he straightened. “And you are not my trainer, so I can’t promise to take it easy on you.”
“No,” Mason agreed, tugging his cuffs higher. “But you looked in need of a challenge.”
Jasper smirked. “I thought you would be above such barbarous pursuits. A gentleman of your civility prefers polished floors and polite company.”
“And yet here I am.” Mason lifted his fists in mock readiness. “Besides, I do not believe barbarity lies in the sport itself, but in how one uses it.”
Jasper circled, indulging him. Boxing had begun as rebellion, a sport his father despised for its coarseness.
But over the years it had become something more.
It became an escape, a release, a craft in its own right.
He liked the honesty of it. No title, no inheritance, no impossible expectations mattered inside the ring. Only fists, breath, and will.
“You are quick with philosophy,” Jasper said, jabbing lightly to test his cousin’s stance. “Perhaps too quick. Careful you do not trip on your own wisdom.”
Mason laughed, deflecting the strike with clumsy but eager motion. “Better to stumble in here than in the parlor. I came to see if you had grown idle in your leisure. Clearly, I was mistaken.”
“Idle?” Jasper’s fist cut the air near Mason’s shoulder, drawing a surprised jerk from him. “I am many things, cousin, but never idle.”
Mason grunted, recovering, eyes narrowed with concentration. “So you say. But there is more at work here than sport. You are restless.”
Jasper’s jaw tightened. Restless? Yes. Too restless, perhaps. But he would not admit it aloud.
“Perhaps I simply enjoy hitting something that does not cry out afterward,” Jasper replied with a wicked grin, striking again, lighter this time, a tease.
Mason shook his head, blocking with less grace than determination. “You deflect with jest, as always.”
Jasper laughed, a low sound that echoed in the room. “And you meddle with reason, as always. Shall we call it even?”
Mason shook his head, lowering his guard for but a moment. “No, cousin, we shall not call it even. Not until you tell me what in Heaven’s name possessed you to go fraternizing with widows in the middle of a ball.”
Jasper’s fist stilled, hovering in the air before he let it fall. His brows lifted in mock offense. “Fraternizing? You make it sound as though I had been parading her about the ballroom on my arm. I assure you, it was nothing of the sort.”
Mason threw a clumsy jab, which Jasper deflected with ease. “Cordelia has an open mind,” Mason went on, as his breath came quicker with the exertion, “but even she remarked upon it. She was… uncomfortable.”
Jasper winced, more at the notion of Cordelia’s disapproval than at Mason’s strike.
He pivoted away, circling once more. “Then I must call upon her and beg her forgiveness, though I cannot claim the fault as mine. The widow cornered me in the library.” He ducked beneath Mason’s swing with an infuriatingly easy grace.
“It happened just as I was attempting to withdraw, but she pressed her intentions with great vigor.”
Mason snorted, nearly losing his footing at Jasper’s casual tone. “That does not sound like the Jasper Everleigh I know. Since when do you retreat from feminine attention?”
“Since it was most inconvenient.” Jasper’s lips curved, the dimples flashing, as he landed a light tap to Mason’s shoulder. “Besides, you wound me, cousin. You speak as though I were incapable of restraint.”
“You are incapable of restraint,” Mason shot back, grinning despite himself. “Every London hostess fears for the safety of her drawing room whenever you darken her threshold.”
Jasper laughed, a low warm sound that filled the room. “Exaggeration. A gentleman merely enjoys himself, and if ladies find that agreeable, well… who am I to deny them amusement?”
Mason pressed forward, his fists raised, his grin determined. “One day you will find yourself cornered not by a widow but by someone altogether more dangerous. A wife. And then, cousin, your freedom will vanish in a puff of lace and petticoats.”
Jasper parried and delivered a playful blow to Mason’s ribs, enough to make him grunt. “Perish the thought. A devoted husband like yourself may extol the virtues of matrimonial bliss, but I am resolved never to succumb to such a fate. I am quite safe.”
Mason caught his breath, straightening, his eyes glinting with both humor and affection. “Safe, are you? We shall see. If not at Kenton, then soon enough.”
Jasper only smirked, landing one last teasing jab before stepping back. “Dream on, cousin. I will leave matrimony to saints like you. And speaking of matrimony and wives, I promise to call upon yours and apologize for my… transgression.”
Mason adjusted his stance, circling with renewed energy. “Cordelia may forgive your little library transgression,” he said between measured breaths, “but I am not certain Matilda will.”
The name struck like an unexpected blow. Jasper’s jaw clenched, his guard dropped a fraction and Mason, quick as ever, seized the advantage. His glove thudded against Jasper’s shoulder, sending him stumbling back a step.
Mason grinned, triumphant. “Ah. So that is the trick. Mention Lady Matilda, and the mighty Duke of Harrow falters. I have found your weak spot at last, old boy.”
“Rubbish,” Jasper retorted, regaining his footing with a scowl. “If she were truly my weakness, I should have collapsed entirely, not merely yielded you a moment’s victory.”
Mason’s grin widened. “Then you admit she unsettles you?”
Jasper snorted, throwing a lazy jab to disguise his irritation. “She unsettles me only insofar as a gnat unsettles one’s peace. Irritating, persistent, and impossible to ignore, no matter how often one swats it away.”
Mason ducked the jab, still grinning. “Strange, then, that a mere gnat should make you forget yourself in the ring. My cousin, distracted by a lady? I shall treasure this day.”
“You are insufferable.” Jasper landed a quick tap against Mason’s ribs, harder than necessary, and stepped back. “I could not care less what she thinks of me.”
“Mm,” Mason drawled, rubbing his side with exaggerated injury. “Then why did you lose focus the instant I spoke her name?”
Jasper rolled his eyes heavenward. “Because she annoys me to no end, Mason. Every word she utters is calculated to grate. Every look she casts suggests I am some villain fresh from the gallows. A man cannot breathe near her without incurring judgment.”
Mason’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “And yet you notice her every look, every word, every breath. Fascinating.”
Jasper gave him a flat stare, though the corner of his mouth tugged despite himself. “You mistake exasperation for fascination. And if you persist in this line of nonsense, I shall knock the wind from you entirely.”
Mason laughed, lifting his hands in mock surrender. “Peace, cousin. Only remember that denial is the first symptom.”
Jasper shook his head, turning away to strip off his gloves, though Mason’s words echoed unpleasantly in his mind. Weak spot indeed. If Lady Matilda was so eager to believe the worst of him, then let her. He would not trouble himself to change her mind.
And yet, as he wiped the sweat from his brow, he could not banish the image of her stormy grey eyes, condemning him as though her judgment alone might damn him forever.
By the time the cousins left the boxing room and made their way toward Mason’s townhouse, Jasper’s mood had settled into that peculiar mix of irritation and amusement which only Mason could inspire.
He had agreed, albeit reluctantly and most reluctantly so, to call on Cordelia right then and there, and offer an apology.
That she would forgive him, he never doubted. That he should have to offer the apology at all still rankled.
“Mind you,” Mason said as they mounted the steps, “a touch of humility never killed a man.”
Jasper arched a brow. “Is that so? Then pray explain why so many husbands shuffle about like ghosts of themselves.”
Mason only laughed, and Jasper was obliged to follow him into the familiar drawing room.
Cordelia rose from her seat at once, her expression gracious as ever. “Your Grace,” she said, inclining her head, though her eyes glimmered with gentle reproach.
Jasper bowed with a flourish, masking his discomfort. “My dearest lady, I come to abase myself before you. My presence in your library was most unworthy, my company less so, and I beg you accept my sincerest apologies for both.”
Cordelia’s lips curved, betraying her amusement despite herself. “You do have a gift for turning contrition into performance, Jasper.”
“Better performance than scandal,” he returned smoothly.
Before Cordelia could reply, a rustle of skirts drew his attention and his steps faltered. Matilda stood near the window, her grey eyes fixed upon him with the wary sharpness of a hawk.
Of course she would be here. Where else but the very place he had no desire to meet her?
“Lady Matilda,” he said with a curt nod.
“Your Grace.” Her voice was cool enough to frost the glass beside her.
Mason, devil that he was, made no move to ease the tension, only sat down with the air of a man well entertained.
Cordelia, ever the diplomat, tried to smooth matters. “You see, Matilda, Jasper was just making his apology to me. Isn’t that nice of him?”
“Indeed?” Matilda’s brows rose. “A pity it does not extend to the other half of the library’s witnesses.”
Jasper let out a short laugh, tilting his head. “Would you prefer a personal apology, Lady Matilda? I warn you, mine come as rare as diamonds and are just as dearly bought.”
Her chin lifted. “Then do not trouble yourself, Your Grace. I should hate to see you impoverished.”
Mason chuckled under his breath, Cordelia shot him a quelling glance, and despite himself, Jasper felt the faint tug of a smile. She had a tongue as sharp as any he had met, and for all her disdain, it roused in him a most inconvenient sense of admiration.
“Then we are agreed,” he said lightly, bowing again. “No apologies owed, none accepted. How perfectly balanced.”
Mason cleared his throat with the authority of a magistrate passing judgment. “Well then, Jasper has apologized, Cordelia is satisfied, Matilda’s honor remains intact… splendid! That is quite enough for one morning. Jasper, come along to the study. Let the ladies enjoy themselves.”
Jasper arched a brow. “By enjoy, you mean gossip, I presume.”
Matilda’s grey eyes flashed. “That is not all ladies do, Your Grace.”
He turned his head toward her, lips quirking into that half-smile which so often provoked rather than soothed. “Is that so? Then pray enlighten me, what do ladies do, when they are not sharpening their tongues on absent friends?”
Her answer came quick, steady, and wholly unexpected. “We notice. We remember. And sometimes, we forgive far more than we ought.”
Jasper stilled, the retort caught on his tongue.
The words, simple as they were, held a depth that unsettled him.
He had been prepared for a prim lecture, not for the kind of truth that pressed directly against his ribs.
For the briefest instant, the noise of the room fell away, leaving only the unflinching clarity of her gaze.
Mason tugged at his sleeve then, breaking the moment. “Come, cousin, before you begin another duel with words. My study awaits.”
With deliberate ease, Jasper inclined his head to both ladies, masking the faint curl of interest stirring in his chest. He let Mason steer him out, though his mind lingered behind, circling back to Matilda’s answer.
He had meant only to provoke her, to amuse himself with her indignation. Yet she had disarmed him with a single remark, intriguing him beyond measure.
And curse it all, he realized as they entered the study, he enjoyed every minute of their sparring. No other woman took so seriously every careless phrase he tossed, as though each syllable mattered.
It was all so absurdly, impossibly diverting.