Chapter 22
Chapter Twenty-Two
The shot cracked, sharp and wrong, and in the half-second it took to register, Jasper saw the barrel jerk sideways. He saw the smoke belch where it shouldn’t. He saw the shot screaming in her direction.
There was no thought, only movement.
He spurred his stallion hard, closed the distance, and threw himself from the saddle. He caught Matilda full against him, pulling her down into the long grass, his body caging hers as the world tilted violently.
The hounds barked, riders shouted and chaos erupted around them, but Jasper’s focus narrowed to her face beneath him.
Her pale grey eyes were wide with shock and her breath was trembling.
For a heartbeat, there was no sound but their breathing, ragged and uneven.
His hand was pressed at her waist, the heat of her searing through the thin layers of fabric.
He should move. He knew he should. But he couldn’t… not yet.
“Are you hurt?” His voice came rough, harsher than he meant, as if dragged from deep in his chest.
“I—I don’t think so.” Her words trembled, and that was enough to jolt him back to himself.
He pushed off her, rising swiftly, and then pulled her to her feet with both hands, steadying her when her knees buckled. He held on a moment longer than necessary, searching her face for any sign of pain. Only when he was certain she was whole did he turn and fury roared through him.
The young lordling who had mishandled his rifle was stammering apologies, pale as death. “I didn’t mean… my grip slipped… I swear I—”
Jasper’s stride ate the ground between them. He grabbed the man by the front of his coat, hauling him up as though he weighed nothing.
“You bloody fool!” he snarled, his voice like thunder. “You could have killed her!”
The man sputtered. He was terrified. Several gentlemen rushed in at once, tugging at Jasper’s arm, urging restraint.
Robert’s voice cut through the din. “Jasper! He is shaken enough. Let him go.”
The other gentlemen closed ranks around the hapless lordling, steering him away with sharp reprimands and muttered curses. Jasper barely heard them. His pulse was still thundering, his fists aching from the urge to strike harder than he already had.
He turned back to Matilda, who stood pale but upright, brushing grass from her skirts. Without thinking, he reached for her arm. “Come. I’ll see you back to the house—”
She pulled against his grip, her eyes flashing. “No. I’ll not leave the hunt.”
“Matilda,” he snapped, harsher than he intended, “do you not see? I told you it would be dangerous out here! And now, God help me, you nearly—” His voice cracked before he could finish. He swallowed hard, anger rising only to mask the sickening fear that still churned in him.
Her chin lifted defiantly. “You are not responsible for me, Jasper! You have no right to command where I go or what I do.”
He dropped her arm, but his voice only grew firmer. “It is not about command, it is about duty. As a gentleman, as a duke, as someone who could not stand idle while you were at risk—”
“Duty,” she cut in, her voice tight with fury.
“That is what my husband always called it, too. Duty to keep me silent, duty to keep me shut away, duty to strip every choice from me until I scarcely remembered what it was to live.” Her chest rose and fell sharply, and for a moment her voice trembled. “I will not suffer it again.”
The words struck him like a blow. His anger faltered, leaving only raw fear beneath. “That is not what I meant,” he said low, almost pleading. “I would never—”
“Then do not try to control me,” she retorted, her grey eyes glistening with a storm of pain and defiance.
Jasper fell silent, the breath leaving him in a ragged exhale. He had no defense. He had not sought to command her, not as her late husband had, but he could not deny that the instinct to shield her had been overwhelming.
He raked a hand through his hair, torn between fury at the danger, and an ache he could not yet name.
“You terrify me,” he muttered at last, the words half to himself.
They had drifted apart from the others, the company resting their horses and talking in low voices after the chaos of the misfire.
At last, Matilda broke it. Her voice was quiet, but it cut through him all the same. “Why did you say that?”
He hadn’t meant to let the words slip, hadn’t meant for her to overhear him. But she was watching him now, and he found he couldn’t retreat.
“I know what it is to be controlled, Matilda. To be told, every day, that you must fit into a mold that does not fit you. To be measured, corrected, punished until you scarcely know what part of you belongs to yourself anymore.”
Her breath caught. He didn’t look at her… he couldn’t. His gaze stayed fixed on the horizon, on the shifting line of the trees.
“My father,” he said at last, the word clipped and bitter.
“He demanded perfection. I was never enough, never right. If I failed, I paid for it. If I succeeded, it still wasn’t enough.
It was… relentless.” He forced a sharp exhale, as if pushing the memory away.
“So yes, I know what it feels like to have your life dictated, to feel every freedom stripped from you.”
Jasper had not intended to say it. The words escaped before his pride could prevent them, and once spoken, they lingered like smoke between them. Her eyes widened, pale grey and solemn. He thought she might turn away in disdain, as so many would.
For, what use was confession, after all, to a woman who despised him already? But she did not. She only regarded him in stillness, her brow softened.
“That must have been difficult,” she said quietly.
Difficult.
A word so mild it almost provoked his laughter. His childhood had been bruises concealed beneath fine coats, lessons drilled into him with words sharper than any blade. Yet he found no bitterness in her tone, only a gentleness he had not expected.
“It was… instructive,” he replied at last, his lips curving in a sardonic half-smile. “I learned quickly that failure was not tolerated. And so I became very skilled in concealing it.”
Her gaze held his without flinching. “You speak as though you believe yourself still under his command.”
He shifted, uncomfortable under her steady scrutiny. Few dared to look at him so directly. Fewer still saw anything past the surface. “I assure you, madam, I am master of myself now. My father has been in his grave for years.”
“And yet,” she said, her voice no louder than the rustle of leaves around them, “you carry him with you.”
Jasper felt the words strike home. He clenched his hands behind his back, aware of the old scars burning faintly against his gloves. How had she seen so much, when others saw only charm and bravado?
He forced a lighter tone. “You are unusually perceptive, Lady Matilda. Most ladies are content to take me for a rake and nothing more. You, however, would strip a man’s armor bare.”
Her mouth curved, not into a smile but something drier, edged with wit. “You wear it so loudly, Your Grace, one can scarcely help but notice. Besides, it would seem that is not so different from my own.”
The admission startled him. He studied her and her pale eyes, so often cool and guarded, which were now softened with a candor rare in their acquaintance. There was pain in her reserve, but also a strength he had underestimated.
“I had thought you merely disapproved of me,” he said, almost lightly.
“Oh, I do,” she replied at once, her chin tilting with a spark of her usual defiance. “You are intolerably arrogant. You meddle where you should not. And you imagine every lady in England waits upon your notice.”
His laugh rang out, surprised and genuine. “And yet you speak with me.”
“Against my better judgment.” Her eyes narrowed, though a faint flush rose to her cheeks. “But I suppose,” she hesitated, as if admitting the thought cost her dearly, “that there is something to be learned in knowing that one is not the only creature in the world who has been… disappointed.”
Her words hung there, fragile and bare. He bowed his head slightly, more in respect than mockery.
“On that score, Lady Matilda,” he said softly, “you have my full agreement.”
For a moment, neither spoke. The forest stretched quiet around them, broken only by the distant calls of the hunting party.
Jasper felt the strange, unfamiliar pull of kinship, which was something he had not sought, and certainly not with her.
Yet it settled between them all the same, like the hush before rain.
He found himself thinking, against every resolution he had sworn, that he would not mind standing in such a silence again.