Chapter Two
Matthew Cooper.
And my, how he had changed.
No longer lanky and thin from poor nutrition—this Matthew was lean and muscular.
Broad-shouldered and strong. His unruly brown curls were tied back and tamed with the cedarwood-scented pomade he had always used.
His voice wasn’t the tenor she remembered, but deeper now.
Not only the pitch—the way he spoke had changed to something confident… but also annoyingly arrogant!
Dressed in all black with a matching mask held at his side, his smile was the same as she had always known.
Except it didn’t show in his eyes. His amber-brown eyes hadn’t left hers for a second since he had danced with her.
Not the teasing gaze of a childhood friend.
These eyes locked onto hers with the intense determination of an attracted man.
Though not related by blood, the Cooper and Sinclair families were close enough that the Coopers called Jasmine’s parents Aunt and Uncle.
For her entire life, Matthew had been like a brother to her.
He was always too close to be considered an acceptable match.
Her mother had tried to set them up multiple times, but he had never shown an interest.
Until one night he had.
He surprised her with his interest.
Alone during a harvest festival, drunk on ale and mulled wine, he had pressed her against a wall in an alley and kissed her. A desperate, aching kiss. Her only kiss. A kiss she couldn’t stop thinking about, even a world away.
But he hadn’t been serious.
Not when he never brought it up again.
Now he stood before her as if nothing was amiss.
Even furious at him, she wanted to throw herself into his arms and hug him—she had missed him terribly and had a thousand questions—but most importantly…
she wanted to slap him! Hard. How dare he make a fool of her?
As soon as they were alone, he owed her one solid punch to his arm, and she would give him two if he flinched.
As he escorted her to the side of the ballroom, away from the dancers, she glowered at him.
“What, didn’t want a third dance?”
“And embroil you in scandal immediately?” He mock-gasped. “What type of man do you take me for?”
“You could have said something,” she grumbled.
He grinned. “Why? When I was having so much fun?”
Why was it that men could misbehave, but when she did it, she risked her entire reputation? Just as he had right now. And he thought she should thank him?
Don’t count on it.
He kept his hold on her hand as her mother approached.
Lady Valentine Sinclair, the Marchioness of Dorchester, was a tall, formidable Hispanic woman. She had pewter hair and an hourglass figure, donned in a wine-colored dress. She approached with her best smile, though it was tight at the edges.
Now she shows up, Jasmine thought bitterly. Some chaperone.
“Lord Lincolnshire.” Mother offered her hand.
Matthew released Jasmine to bow to her mother, and dutifully bent to kiss the air above the back of her hand. “Good evening, Lady Dorchester. It’s been some time.”
After concluding with pleasantries, Matthew placed his hand on the small of Jasmine’s back.
She trembled as he traced the curve of her spine with his thumb.
With a fire in his eyes, he looked at her as if she were the only person in the room.
He touched her as if she belonged to him.
Stroking idly, he watched her reaction from the corner of his eye.
He was being positively indecent!
With a subtle movement, Mother took Jasmine’s arm and tugged her to her side.
“If you wanted to start the first scandal of the season, you’ve done a good job,” Mother said, finally with the disapproving look Jasmine had been hoping for.
“Certainly not my intention.” He leaned in and whispered, “But who doesn’t love a good scandal? It’s practically a family profession.”
“Two dances at her first public appearance doesn’t bode well for her reputation, you know,” she admonished. “I would appreciate less brashness in the future.”
“I apologize,” he said. “I couldn’t let her go.”
“How peculiar you got her to dance at all. She assured me she wouldn’t be stepping foot onto the ballroom floor.”
Matthew nodded. “She did mention that.”
“He didn’t give me a choice,” Jasmine grumbled, then shot a glare at her mother. “And neither have you.”
“I had to seize the opportunity when it presented itself, and then I’ll admit I got greedy. I never get to dance at these events anymore.”
Furrowing her brow, Jasmine asked, “Why?”
He gestured broadly to himself. “The Lincolnshire Slayer, at your service.”
“No.” She gasped. “After all this time?”
Jasmine glanced around. Guests without masks sneered at Matthew as if he were rotting fruit.
But he was innocent!
Four years ago, during a charity soirée, in the dead of winter, Matthew fatally shot Sir Reginald Thomas to save his sister Cassandra’s life.
But as far as society was concerned, the defense claim was hearsay.
There had been problems between the families previously.
In a humiliating blow, Cassandra rejected Sir Reginald’s nephew in favor of marrying Seth Reeves—the only other witness to the crime.
And years before that, Seth fell asleep on watch, leading to the accidental death of Sir Reginald’s son.
And Matthew—a known miscreant from the poorest house in the aristocracy—was found with a smoking gun in his hand while a respected baronet bled to death in the middle of a hedge maze.
To make matters worse, Seth’s brother, Lord Blackmoor, patched the case clean, clearing Matthew of murder in a scant three days. London erupted in protests, claiming nepotism and misuse of power, but all calls for justice went unanswered.
As she left for Spain three years ago, the newspapers were still calling Matthew that awful name. Glancing up at him, she saw his true full mask.
Nonchalance.
“It’s nothing to worry over,” Matthew said. “An inconvenience more than anything.”
Bouncing lightly on her toes, a young woman inserted herself into their circle. Blonde, lithe-limbed and glowing like sunshine, Caroline Cooper spoke as if she had been there all along.
“Matthew is persona non grata,” she said. “You would think at least one person could look past it, but so far no such luck.”
“Thank you, sister, for that invaluable input,” Matthew drawled. “Consider our conversation enriched.”
Caroline’s smile was bright enough to light up the room. “Lady Jasmine, welcome home!”
Jasmine brought her close in a crushing hug, returned with the same amount of force.
“I’ve missed you so much!” Perking up, Jasmine looked for Matthew’s other sister. “Is Cassandra here?”
“She’s in Mayfair with Seth and their children. They arrived this morning.” Caroline beamed. “Breakfast is tomorrow! You haven’t forgotten?”
Saturday morning breakfast was Jasmine’s favorite Cooper family ritual.
The Coopers collected family like crows with shiny baubles.
Every Saturday morning, they invited close friends over for an all-out rambunctious event with a full spread of delicious food.
Informal and chaotic, but filled with love.
“I remember.” Jasmine smiled. “I’ll be there tomorrow, I can’t wait to see everyone!”
“We would love for you to join us.” Matthew leaned in and whispered low, “Much has changed in your absence, I can’t wait to show you what you’ve missed.”
Gooseflesh rose on her arms. Heat rushed to her cheekbones, her face surely as flaming red as the mask that hid it. The appraisal in his gaze sent a lightning spike of attraction through her. If he were any other suitor, she wouldn’t have tolerated it, but this was Matthew.
And he doesn’t care.
When she first arrived in Spain, she had spent month after lonely month missing home. Night after night, in a foreign bed in a foreign country, she stared up at her canopy… wondering why Matthew was the only Cooper not returning her letters.
“We have plans tomorrow,” Mother reminded her sternly. “She’ll be too busy to attend.”
“My plans will be rescheduled,” Jasmine said with a demure smile. “As I’ve said multiple times, Mother, my priority this season is to spend time with my friends. It is my last season after all.” She raised a haughty eyebrow. “Isn’t that right?”
Before her mother could argue, a blond gentleman approached.
Fit, composed, and dressed as a musketeer with a feathered hat and cape.
He waited, as if hesitant to approach. After a breath, he squared his shoulders, then bowed to the group.
To Jasmine’s surprise, instead of asking her to dance, the gentleman turned to Matthew.
“Forgive me for the interruption, Lord Lincolnshire.”
Matthew turned to the newcomer with an icy glare, a drastic contrast to the tenderness from moments before.
“Lord Croydon?” Matthew turned to the gentleman. “What is it that you require?”
“Might I have the honor of Miss Caroline’s next dance?” He flashed Caroline a brilliant smile. “If it pleases you as well, my lady.”
Matthew flicked his gaze to Caroline, who hid her face behind her fan. She communicated with him through a subtle glance and a minuscule shake of her head.
Matthew’s face split with a shark-like grin. As if negotiating a business deal, he said, “Certainly! You may dance with Caroline once you’ve cleared your gambling debts at White’s and when you stop neglecting your child in…” He paused, frowned, then turned to Caroline. “Where was it, sister?”
“Bath,” Caroline said under her breath.
“Bath,” Matthew repeated. “As you know, my sister Cassandra married a bastard. Our family has a fondness for them.”
Lord Croydon’s face turned red.
“The nerve!” Charm lost, he stomped away.
Caroline and Matthew shared a smug smile as if toasting to one another as the man faded into the crowd. Turning to them, Caroline said simply, “My dowry could purchase five countries.”
Matthew shot a glare at his sister.