Chapter 30
Chapter Thirty
When the others turned back toward the house, Matilda let herself lag behind.
She pretended to pause over a late rose, with its petals bruised by autumn’s chill, but in truth, she wanted the quiet.
Cordelia, in her eagerness, hardly noticed, and Hazel, ever watchful, cast Matilda one considering glance before allowing her space.
Soon the chatter faded toward the terrace, leaving Matilda alone in the garden.
She drew her shawl more tightly about her shoulders and wandered a few steps down the gravel path.
The air scented faintly of damp earth and the last of the blossoms. It was peaceful and soothing, precisely what she needed after days hemmed in by people, by laughter, by Jasper Everleigh’s laughter most of all.
Her thoughts, as they so often did of late, turned to the nunnery.
She had told herself it was the right course… perhaps the only course. A quiet life, stripped of society’s expectations, free from the snares of men and their fickle affections. A life of usefulness, of devotion, where she might at last be safe from her own wayward heart.
Yes. It was sensible. She had made the mistake once of believing in love, in happily-ever-after. The scars of that folly still marked her, and she would not risk such ruin again.
And yet, her breath caught as she recalled the library, his teasing drawl, the way laughter had burst from her despite herself. The warmth of his eyes as he’d looked at her with the baby in his arms. The spark between them in the quadrille, sharp as fire and just as consuming.
Confusion wrapped around her like a net. What was it about him that unsettled her so? He was a rake, a charmer. Every lady in the room turned her head when he passed, and he obliged them all with his careless smile. It was nothing unique, nothing personal.
She pressed her hand against her heart as though to still its unrest.
He was like this with everyone, with every girl. She was not special. She could not be.
Matilda drew herself up, feeling her resolve settling once more. The nunnery remained the only safe answer and the only choice untouched by folly.
Gravel crunched softly behind her. Matilda did not turn at once, assuming it was Evelyn come to collect her.
“I am heading back to the house,” she called out without turning around. “The air grows chilly.”
But the reply was not Evelyn’s gentle tones.
“Then allow me to walk with you.”
Matilda froze. It was Jasper Everleigh’s voice, warm and too near.
Her heart gave an unwelcome lurch, and she forced a sigh to cover it. The weight of her earlier thoughts clung heavily, leaving her too weary for their usual skirmishes. She turned at last, having already schooled her expression, though her eyes betrayed her fatigue.
“Have you come,” she asked flatly, “to tease me further about my book?”
He stood a few paces behind, his hands clasped loosely behind his back, his gaze unusually steady. No smirk, no glitter of triumph.
“No,” he said quietly. “I came to apologize.”
Matilda blinked, stunned. Of all the words she had expected from his lips, those were the last. For a moment, she only stared, uncertain whether to believe him, her breath caught between disbelief and something far more dangerous.
“I did not mean to offend you,” Jasper continued, urged by her silence. “Nor to embarrass you. The book is not nearly so shocking as everyone pretends.”
Her brows drew together. “It is not?”
He gave a small shrug, as if it were nothing. “Hardly. At worst, it describes a kiss. That was the page you were on, was it not?”
Heat flooded her cheeks. She opened her mouth, but no denial would come. The silence was enough, and she was certain he noticed. He did not press her, though. He only glanced away, his jaw set in that half-careless, half-guarded way of his.
“A kiss,” he continued, “is hardly the corruption society paints it to be. It is not an evil, nor a scandal. Merely… human.”
Matilda’s heart gave a sharp, traitorous flutter. She tilted her head, searching his face, but his expression revealed little. There was no smirk and no triumph, only a curious seriousness that unsettled her more than his teasing ever had.
Matilda drew a slow breath, forcing herself to recover. “You speak as though it were harmless. Yet kisses have ruined many women, Your Grace. You know as well as I that society deems them the first step to—” She faltered, her voice tightening. “To disgrace.”
He looked back at her then. “Society,” he said at last, “is a poor judge of virtue. It condemns women for a kiss while excusing men for far worse.”
His tone was quiet, but there was steel in it. Matilda felt her breath catch. She had expected him to jest, to brush it aside with his usual irreverence. Instead he sounded almost furious.
She tightened her shawl around her shoulders. “So you would make light of it?” she asked, though her voice was softer now, betraying her confusion.
“No,” he said simply. “I would call it what it is: a moment between two souls. It is not ruin, Lady Matilda. It is not corruption.” His mouth curved then, though faintly, not in triumph but in something nearer to sorrow. “If it were, half of England would be in rags and ashes by now.”
Matilda’s cheeks burned hotter. She turned her face away, though her heart pounded traitorously.
It was intolerable. He unsettled her even when he was serious, perhaps especially then. Because for the first time, she wondered if beneath his mocking and his charm, Jasper Everleigh actually believed the words he spoke.
Her pulse thundered, every beat urging her toward words she dared not say. If she spoke to him seriously, if she confessed even an inch of what twisted in her chest he would see too much. She would be exposed, and she could not bear it.
So she did what she always did when the ground beneath her feet felt unsteady: she reached for her wit.
“You argue so fiercely,” she said at last, forcing her voice into cool composure, “that I begin to wonder. Are you trying to convince me a kiss is not a great matter because you wish to bestow one yourself?”
The words left her mouth in a rush, sharper than she intended, but she held her chin high.
For the first time, Jasper did not meet her with a quick smile or careless jest. His eyes widened, a flicker of color rising to his cheekbones.
“I—no,” he said, the word more defensive than she had ever heard from him. “That is not what I meant.”
Matilda froze. She had expected a rakish grin, a smooth retort about temptation or opportunity, not a man suddenly unsettled, almost caught out.
“That is good, then,” she said lightly, as if nothing of importance had taken place. “For I should hate to offend your pride by rejecting your advances.”
At that, Jasper’s head snapped up, and the flash of indignation in his eyes was so sharp that she nearly laughed. He recovered quickly, of course, slipping the familiar mask back into place, but she had seen it: she had caught him off balance.
“Reject me?” he drawled, his grin returning, though it tugged crookedly at his mouth. “Impossible. No woman has yet had the willpower.”
“Then I must be the first,” she returned crisply.
His chuckle was low, infuriating, yet softer than usual. “I should like to see you try.”
She rolled her eyes, turning to start back toward the house. “You would only be disappointed, Your Grace. My resolve is far stronger than your ego.”
He fell into step beside her, every line of him deceptively casual. “Your resolve, perhaps. But not your curiosity.”
Her breath caught, but she kept her gaze forward, her lips curving with forced calm. “Do not flatter yourself. I am not curious.”
“Of course not,” he said easily.
Matilda gasped, half affronted, half flustered, and snapped her eyes to his. His were bright and teasing, but beneath the mischief lay something far more dangerous.
They held one another’s gaze for a heartbeat too long before she broke away with a sharp laugh. “You are intolerable.”
“And you,” he said smoothly, though his voice was quieter now, “are very poor at pretending.”
Matilda lifted her skirts, quickening her pace to escape him. Their words might have turned playful again, but her heart was still racing. The conversation had cut deeper than either of them dared admit.
And as they neared the terrace, she knew one thing with piercing clarity: they could laugh, they could spar, they could deny it all they wished. But something had shifted between them, and neither banter nor pride would unmake it.