Chapter 33
Chapter Thirty-Three
Jasper blinked. For a moment, he thought she jested.
“You are what?”
“Joining a nunnery,” she repeated with calm precision, as though discussing the weather. “It seems the most sensible course. Peaceful. Useful. Away from all this.” She even shrugged a few times, as if it were of no conscequence at all.
Jasper stared at her. “You cannot be serious.”
“I am.”
“But… you? Locked away behind stone walls, chanting prayers at dawn? Forgive me, Lady Matilda, but I can hardly picture it.”
“Then you must exercise your imagination, Your Grace. You’ve had enough practice with gossip.”
He ignored the barb. “Why would you do such a thing?”
Her eyes locked with his with utter determination. “Because I am tired of trying to belong somewhere I do not. I have made enough mistakes in company. I prefer solitude now.”
“That is not solitude,” he said sharply. “That is exile.”
“Perhaps I deserve it.”
He swore softly under his breath. “Deserve? For heaven’s sake, Matilda, what sin could possibly justify throwing away your life?”
She gave a quiet, humorless smile. “You speak as though my life were of great consequence.”
“It is,” he said, before he could stop himself. The words came fiercer than he intended them to. “It damn well is.”
The silence between them deepened. The hum of bees and distant laughter only made it more pronounced. Matilda turned her face away, but he saw her throat move as she swallowed.
“You know nothing of it,” she said, and he could almost hear her voice breaking. “Nothing of how it feels to be a disappointment, to be someone’s mistake.”
“Don’t I?” he murmured.
For a heartbeat, neither spoke. Then Jasper looked away, raking a hand through his hair as though to shake it off.
“So, this is it, then? You mean to hide yourself away and call it redemption?”
“I mean to find peace,” she said softly.
“And what if peace finds you first?”
Her brow furrowed. “What are you implying?”
He rose, feeling suddenly restless, then standing before her. “Only that you seem very determined to punish yourself for the sins of others.”
Her eyes flashed. “Do not pretend to know me.”
“I know enough,” he said, leaning forward. “Enough to know you are not meant for walls and prayers.”
Her tone was cool as glass. “And what am I meant for, then? To endure another round of parties, of polite pity? To be the lady everyone whispers about behind their fans? I have been that creature long enough.”
He ran a hand over his jaw. He could feel the sharp bite of frustration. “You cannot simply dispose of yourself without affection.”
She stared back at him, wildly and unapologetically. “How could I not, when affection has done nothing but harm?”
The air thickened between them. The music from the main lawn seemed unreal, as if it belonged to another world.
For all they cared, it did. He wanted to speak, to argue, to beg her not to say such things, but no words came.
She sat so perfectly still like a marble statue, as though daring him to contradict her.
Jasper was pacing a few steps before turning back to her. “You think this will bring you peace, but what you mean is safety.”
“And what is wrong with safety?” she asked, matching his tone. “Do you think me too proud to crave it?”
“No,” he said. “Only too alive to bury yourself before you are dead.”
Her breath caught, though she masked it quickly. “You presume much of me.”
“Someone must, when you yourself refuse to,” he shot back.
She stood then, quickly, perhaps to end the argument, but when she did, they found themselves closer than either intended. The moment tightened. Her lavender perfume rose between them. He saw her throat move as she swallowed. He saw the faint tremor in her hands though she clasped them tightly.
He should have stepped away… he didn’t.
“You should not look at me like that,” she said, with her voice barely above a whisper.
“Like what?”
“As though you would…” She started but the thoughts drifted away.
He felt the words on the edge of his tongue, the truth pressing against the barrier he’d built for years.
He wanted to tell her she was wrong. He wanted to tell her that she was seen, that he of all men understood what it was to hide behind pride and call it peace.
But he could not. If he said it, it would undo them both.
So, he did the only thing a man in his position could do… he kissed her.
It was not gentle. It was not planned. It was the collision of every unsaid thing between them: the anger, the disbelief, the ache neither would name. His hand came to her jaw, his fingers trembling against the smooth line of her cheek. She froze for the barest instant, then melted against him.
He drank her breath into himself, catching it as the world fell away.
The taste of her shattered every barrier he had built.
He had kissed women before, more times than he cared to count, yet none of it had ever felt like this.
There was no performance here, no practiced charm. This was pure, all-consuming fire.
When she gasped softly against his lips, his control faltered completely.
He drew her closer, one arm circling her waist and the other lost in the silk of her hair.
She rose onto her toes to meet him. Her fingers clutched at his coat as though afraid he might vanish.
The roses around them blurred and everything disappeared into the hum of blood and breath.
When he pulled back at last, his forehead rested against hers.
Both of them were breathing hard. He could not take his eyes of off her.
For a moment, he nearly said it. That she made him feel alive again, that he wanted her, that the thought of her locked away in some cold convent made his chest tighten with something too raw to name.
But he didn’t.
Instead, he only whispered her name, as though her name itself might steady him. “Matilda…”
Her lips parted once, closed again, and he saw the struggle flicker in her eyes. Whatever she meant to say hovered between them, fragile as the petals beneath their feet. Then, suddenly, laughter reached them, dangerously close.
Matilda froze, and just like that, the spell was broken,
“They are coming this way,” she whispered.
He glanced toward the path, catching the flicker of parasols and bright muslin through the leaves. The guests were wandering toward the rose garden.
“Let them,” he said under his breath. “What care have I—”
But she was already stepping back, and her composure was snapping into place with alarming swiftness. The flush on her cheeks remained, but her voice regained that careful, measured calm.
“I care,” she said, not quite meeting his eyes. “I cannot…” She stopped herself, as if the rest were too dangerous to finish. “I must go.”
He reached out before he could think better of it, but his fingers didn’t reach her arm. “Matilda—”
She hesitated just long enough for him to see the war between pride and something deeper, then shook her head once. “Please, Your Grace.”
The title stung.
She turned, as her skirts whispered against the path, and walked swiftly toward the approaching voices.
He watched her go until she disappeared beyond the hedge.
The laughter grew louder as others entered the garden, but Jasper barely heard it.
His pulse still thundered in his ears, as his mouth still tasted of her.
He ran a hand through his hair, swore softly under his breath, and sank back against the bench. The roses swayed in the breeze, mere silent witnesses to his folly.
What had he done?
No… what had she done to him?
Matilda could not think. She could scarcely breathe.
What have I done?
The question beat in her mind with every hurried step. She had allowed him… him, of all men, to kiss her. And worse, she had kissed him back.
The memory of it still burned through her like fire beneath her skin.
It had been wild, unrestrained, and utterly without reason.
Never in her life had anyone touched her in such a manner without demand, without deceit.
There had been no thought, only the rush of something fierce and alive, something she had thought long dead within her. And yet…
How foolish. How dangerous.
She slowed as the hedge opened into the wide green of the lawn. The chatter of guests washed over her like a sudden tide, bringing her back into familiar surroundings. She drew a long breath and smoothed her skirts with trembling fingers.
The Dowager Viscountess of Forth would not appear flustered. Not over a man. Certainly not over him.
“Matilda!”
Cordelia smiled as she waved from beneath a striped canopy. “Wherever have you been? Hazel was convinced you’d been kidnapped by one of the gardeners.”
“I told her you were too sensible for that,” Hazel said, handing her a glass of lemonade. “Though perhaps not too proud to hide from the heat.”
Matilda forced a small smile and accepted the glass. “The roses were calling to me,” she replied. Her voice sounded miraculously steady. “I could not resist.”
Cordelia’s eyes sparkled with suspicion. “You look flushed. Did the roses quarrel with you?”
“Only with my composure,” Matilda replied, which made Cordelia laugh and Hazel roll her eyes.
“You truly must take better care in the sun,” Hazel said, fussing as she adjusted Matilda’s bonnet. “We cannot have you swooning like the heroines in Cordelia’s novels.”
“Perish the thought,” Matilda murmured, though her heart still beat far too fast for comfort.
She sank onto a nearby chair, pretending to study the guests scattered across the lawn.
Evelyn stood at a distance with her husband, radiant and laughing.
As always, she was the picture of contentment.
Cordelia and Hazel continued to chatter about the music and the upcoming baptism.
It was all so normal and so perfectly ordinary that it felt like a play she had once known by heart and was now performing on trembling legs.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw movement by the hedge. Jasper had returned as if nothing had happened. He was speaking to Lord Greyson, smiling that easy, careless smile he wore so well. No one would suspect that only moments before, he had looked at her as though he would devour her whole.
Her fingers tightened around the glass.
He caught her gaze, just once, across the lawn. His expression did not change. There was no smirk and none of his usual arrogance, but something passed between them all the same. It was a mere flicker, quick as lightning, gone before it could be named.
Matilda forced herself to look away. She smiled faintly at something Cordelia said and let the practiced ease of conversation wrap around her like armor.
As the laughter ebbed around her, Matilda found herself half listening and half adrift.
Cordelia was recounting some absurd story about her husband mistaking a goose for a trespasser, and Hazel’s dry remarks kept the others in stitches, but Matilda’s thoughts were far away.
Her gaze wandered, as it had too often that day, toward the edge of the lawn where the rose hedge stood tall and quiet. She caught sight of Jasper conversing easily with a small group of gentlemen. His expression was relaxed and amused, as always.
An unexpected and dangerous warmth stirred beneath her ribs. Perhaps… perhaps they might speak again. Privately. She could tell him she regretted the manner of their parting. Not the kiss, for she could not bring herself to regret that, but the silence that followed. Perhaps they could—
“Lady Matilda,” a voice drifted to her.
Matilda turned only to find Lady Isabelle standing a pace away, wearing ruffles and calculated grace. Her smile was precise, but her eyes were not.
“Lady Isabelle,” Matilda said politely, rising. “I hope you are enjoying the afternoon?”
“Oh, immensely,” Lady Isabelle replied, though her tone suggested quite the opposite. “The Aberons do everything with such taste, don’t they? So charmingly rustic.”
Matilda inclined her head. “Indeed.”
A small pause followed. Cordelia and Hazel had drifted toward the lemonade table, leaving Matilda conveniently alone. Isabelle took a dainty step closer, lowering her voice with an air of confidence that did not quite reach her eyes.
“I know what you are doing.”
Matilda blinked. “Pardon me?”
Isabelle gave a delicate laugh. “Oh, come now, there’s no need to pretend with me. The Duke of Harrow can be… difficult to resist. I understand.”
Matilda’s composure did not waver, but her heart gave a small, traitorous jump. “You seem quite sure of many things, Lady Isabelle. Might I ask what, precisely, you believe I am doing?”
The younger woman smiled, triumphant in her own imagination. “You’ve captured his attention for the moment, I’ll grant you that. He has such a fondness for strays, doesn’t he? But I assure you, he belongs to me. He simply requires a little time to remember it.”
Matilda’s head slightly tilted. “Belongs to you?” she repeated softly. “How very curious. I was not aware that people could be owned.”
Isabelle faltered, though she tried to recover with a tinkling laugh. “You know perfectly well what I mean. We have an understanding.”
“I see,” Matilda murmured. “And has His Grace expressed this understanding? In words, I mean, not just in your imagination.”
Color rose in Isabelle’s cheeks. “You are very bold, Lady Matilda, for someone with your history.”
Matilda smiled faintly. “One learns boldness when one has been foolish enough to live without it.”
For a moment, the younger woman looked as though she wished to slap her.
Instead, she drew herself up and said, with all the dignity she could muster.
“I only mean to warn you. The Duke of Harrow has no interest in widows who think they can charm him into redemption. Whatever fancy he has taken will soon pass. It always does.”
“Then I suppose I have nothing to fear,” Matilda said calmly, while her heart was beating like a race horse at Ascot’s. “A fancy that passes is no burden to anyone.”
Lady Isabelle blinked, unsure whether she’d been insulted or consoled. “You… you would do well to remember your place, Lady Matilda.”
“My place,” Matilda concluded sweetly, “is wherever I choose to stand.”
There was nothing more to be said. Isabelle floundered for a parting barb, found none, and retreated with a stiff curtsy that made Cordelia, who was just returning at that moment, raise a brow in suspicion.
Matilda only smiled faintly, though her pulse was still unsteady. As Isabelle vanished into the crowd, she turned her gaze once more toward the hedge.
Jasper was gone.
And though she told herself it was for the best, she could not help wondering if he had seen them, and furthermore, if he cared.