Chapter 26
Chapter Twenty-Six
Matilda folded her hands before her, prepared to enjoy the duke’s discomfort. She had not truly believed he would actually take the child, and yet here he was: stiff as a board, with his broad shoulders held so rigidly it was a wonder the babe did not slip at once.
But then something curious happened. The baby gave a soft sigh, nestling his small head against Jasper’s chest. Jasper froze, his blue eyes widening as though the infant had performed a miracle.
And instead of fussing, the child went still… perfectly calm.
Matilda’s lips parted in surprise. She had expected wailing, perhaps a clumsy rescue. Not this, not Jasper standing there so awkwardly, but strangely steady, with the baby resting as though he belonged there.
Her heart gave an unexpected leap. She told herself it was only astonishment, but her gaze betrayed her, lingering on the way his large hand supported the child’s back, the way his head bent just slightly, protective without even seeming to know it.
“You see?” she said at last, though her voice had softened against her will. “He likes you.”
Jasper looked up sharply, as though startled by her tone. A slow, incredulous smile curved his lips. “I think… he does.”
Matilda tore her eyes away, cursing herself silently.
This was absurd. She had long believed Jasper Everleigh incapable of tenderness, a man too consumed with arrogance and bravado to concern himself with something so fragile.
And yet he was holding her sister’s child as though the world beyond the parlor had ceased to exist.
It unsettled her more than all his teasing ever had.
“I should not be impressed,” she said briskly, gathering her composure with effort. “But it seems you are not entirely useless after all.”
He chuckled, low and warm, his gaze still fixed on the infant. “High praise indeed, Lady Matilda. You may wound me yet with such generosity.”
For one improbable moment, Matilda thought she might never see him move again. He stood utterly still, as if carved from stone, with the baby content in his arms. She dared not look too long, because her heart thumped traitorously with every breath.
Then the infant gave a sudden grunt, followed by the most unmistakable of sounds.
Jasper stiffened. “Good God.”
Matilda blinked. “What—?”
His expression was stricken, almost horrified. “He has… he has done something.”
She pressed her lips together, trying not to laugh. “Babies are rather known for it, Your Grace.”
“No,” Jasper insisted, lowering his voice as though the babe might understand. “This is unnatural. No creature so small should produce such… such violence.”
Matilda could not contain herself. A laugh burst free, bright and ringing. “Violence? He has soiled himself, nothing more.”
“Nothing more?” Jasper’s eyes widened as the child wriggled again. “Madam, the very foundations of my coat are in peril.”
Her laughter grew until she had to clutch the arm of the settee. “Oh, Your Grace, you are absurd. Give him here.”
He wasted no time obeying, thrusting the baby carefully but with visible relief back into her arms. “I relinquish all duty. My role as godfather does not extend to,” he gestured vaguely, as though even naming the offense was beneath him, “this.”
Matilda shook her head, still smiling as she adjusted the infant against her shoulder.
“Coward,” she said again, though there was warmth in her tone this time.
Jasper gave a half-smile, tugging at his cuff as though to restore his dignity. “A prudent man knows his limits, Lady Matilda. Mine, it seems, end where napkins begin.”
Matilda was still laughing, unable to help herself, when the door opened.
“Ah, just look at you two!” Evelyn swept back into the parlor.
She paused, taking in the scene at once: Matilda flushed and smiling with the baby on her shoulder, and Jasper standing stiffly beside her, tugging at his cuff as if he could polish away indignity.
“How wonderful!” Evelyn clasped her hands in delight. “I knew you two would manage splendidly.”
Matilda gasped, heat rushing to her face. “Evelyn! You cannot simply abandon us in such a way—”
“Nonsense,” Evelyn said serenely, moving to reclaim the baby. “You were quite equal to it. Look at him, peaceful as can be.” She glanced knowingly between them. “I daresay he enjoyed himself.”
“I would not go so far as to call it enjoyment,” Jasper muttered, his voice dry as dust. “The child performed an act of war upon my coat.”
Evelyn laughed, clearly delighted. “Ah, then he likes you, Your Grace. He is quite selective in bestowing such honors.”
Matilda groaned softly, pressing a hand to her brow. “Please, Evelyn, do not encourage him.”
But Evelyn only smiled all the wider, cuddling her son. “Encourage him? Why, I think you both have done marvelously. Who would have guessed?”
Matilda dared not answer. She could still feel the echo of her own laughter and the weight of Jasper’s gaze when she had let it slip.
And for once, she had no clever defense against either.
Jasper straightened, regaining his composure with visible effort. He gave a small bow as he spoke ceremoniously. “Well, it seems the ladies have all in hand. I should take my leave before I prove more hindrance than help.”
Evelyn smiled sweetly, bouncing the baby in her arms. “As you wish, Your Grace. But do not forget, we have dinner this evening, followed by music in the music room. You must not even consider excusing yourself.”
He pressed a hand to his chest, feigning solemnity. “My lady, I would not dream of such dereliction. The evening will be my highest duty.”
She laughed at his mock gallantry, but Jasper’s eyes had already strayed first to the infant in her arms, then, inexorably, to Matilda. She stood a pace aside, and there was color still high in her cheeks. Now, her lips were curved faintly as though she struggled between amusement and vexation.
The sight struck him harder than he cared to admit. Her laughter still rang in his memory and the image of her pale eyes softened by the child’s presence clung stubbornly to his mind.
It unsettled him. More than unsettled… it shook something deep he had spent years burying.
He bowed again, this time lower, covering the restless beat of his pulse. “Until dinner, ladies.”
Without waiting for reply, he turned on his heel and quit the parlor in a brisk stride. Yet even as the door closed behind him, Jasper could not rid himself of the weight pressing at his chest.
Jasper strode down the corridor, his steps sharper than he intended. He should have gone straight to find Robert, to discharge Grayson’s tedious errand and be done with it. Instead, he found himself climbing the stairs to his own chambers, his mind far too restless for business.
Once inside, he shut the door with more force than was necessary and began to pace. Back and forth, like a caged animal. He dragged off his gloves, tossing them carelessly onto a chair, and flexed his scarred hands as though the tension could be wrung out through his palms.
It was absurd. Entirely absurd. He had held dozens of women, danced with scores, kissed more than he dared count.
And never once had it unsettled him, never once had it lingered past the moment of pleasure.
Yet one glimpse of Matilda Sterlington cradling her sister’s child, and his chest still burned as if branded.
He stopped at the hearth, bracing a hand against the mantel.
His reflection glinted back at him in the glass above: his own face, composed, handsome, the picture of calm.
But beneath it, his heart was beating like a drum, louder and louder with every thought of her laugh, of her pale eyes glimmering with reluctant amusement, and of her lips parted in surprise when the baby settled against him.
He cursed under his breath.
This was precisely why he had sworn never to marry, never to tether himself. To feel so raw, so unguarded… he despised it. It was a weakness his father would have punished without mercy.
He raked a hand through his hair and forced a steady breath. He would go to dinner. He would smile, flirt, laugh, drink, and make himself the very image of careless amusement, for that was who he had always been and who he would always remain.