Chapter Eight #2
“Yes, you do! You think that Cassandra, Seth, and Matthew are lying about what happened,” Jasmine accused, jabbing her finger at her mother. “Matthew would not murder a man in cold blood!”
“Perhaps not,” Mother whispered. She reached forward and gently lowered Jasmine’s finger. In a calmer tone, she said, “But he still took a life. He takes lives every single day. That changes a man. You need to be careful with him. I don’t want you to get hurt.”
Jasmine directed all of her fury into a single look, and she spoke the only truth she knew for certain. “Matthew would never hurt me.”
A knock at the door interrupted whatever her mother might have said next.
Her mother called out, “You may enter.”
Minnie came forward with her head bowed.
“Apologies for the intrusion, my lady,” she said, “You asked me to inform you when the guests have begun to arrive.”
Mother smiled at her. “Thank you, I shall be there shortly.”
After the maid excused herself, Mother gave Jasmine a pained expression. “Your gloves are covered in ink. Change them and meet me downstairs in the salon when you’re finished.”
Mother left the room and closed the door behind her with a soft snap.
In the following silence, Jasmine fought the temptation to take the wine-colored drapes and make a rope to climb out of her tower.
She could sell every accessory she wore, change her name, and live out her days comfortably in an ocean-side cottage somewhere.
She stared at her reflection in the mirror and saw not a person, but a bauble to be shown off and traded. Not caring about wrinkling her dress, Jasmine sat at the edge of her bed and counted the minutes until someone inevitably came to retrieve her.
***
It was seven-thirty. There shouldn’t be this many people here already.
The Sinclair drawing room was packed beyond capacity.
Large enough to house most of Lincolnshire, the walls were painted in deep garnet.
Silver Greek columns held up deep, domed ceilings.
An open window to his left let in a humid night breeze, cooling the room.
A harpist played in the center, her gentle melody drowned out by the drum of conversation.
He searched the room for the lord and lady of the house.
Matthew’s gaze found Edward Sinclair, the Marquess of Dorchester, at the front of the room.
He stood tall and proud, with grey hair and skin so pale that one could see his veins.
A group of Spaniards surrounded him, dressed in their best black tailcoats with golden embroidery along their collars and cuffs.
Lord Dorchester spoke softly yet held their rapt attention.
Looks like I’ll have to wait for that conversation.
“I’m going to go find clients,” Zeke informed them. “I’ll inform you if anything bites.”
On evenings like this, Matthew let Zeke do most of the talking.
Of the three, he had the keenest instinct about whether someone was interested in their services or wasting their time.
Seth couldn’t be bothered. If it were up to him, he would shut down the factory and retire to Lincolnshire permanently.
He had to shave his beard for this event and spent most of the night grumbling.
Which was some sort of consolation, if nothing else.
Lady Dorchester entered the room and slowly made her way toward them. She glided through the room with her shoulders set and her chin held high. When she approached them, they both bowed to her.
“Good evening, Lord Lincolnshire, Mr. Reeves.” She looked around. “Where are Cassandra and Caroline?”
“Cassandra is at home resting,” Seth answered. “This pregnancy has been harder on her. She gets nauseous so easily.”
“The poor dear, I remember those days,” Lady Dorchester said. “And Caroline?”
“Caroline is with Lady Worthing for the night.” Matthew pointed across the room. Standing next to Honora, Caroline socialized with a group of gentlemen. Laughter and smiles surrounded her. It was easier for her to shine without his shadow.
Lady Dorchester smiled. “They’re enthralled by her.”
“I’ve been told she’s charming when I’m not around. I’ve never seen that side of her personally.” Matthew gave her a lopsided grin. “On the subject of charming ladies, where is Lady Jasmine?”
“She has been less than charming lately,” Lady Dorchester said, a sentiment Matthew mostly agreed with. “She’s likely pouting in her room.”
Matthew frowned. “I hope I didn’t get her into too much trouble today. Time slipped away from us.”
“Ah, yes.” Lady Dorchester’s eyes narrowed. “During your promenade, which you took her on without my consent.”
“I didn’t mean to overstep,” Matthew quickly assured her. “Had I known she didn’t have permission to be with us, I would have sent her home straight away.”
She smiled as if she didn’t believe him, but didn’t comment. Instead, she gave a simple, “You’ve stolen enough of her time today. She’ll be indisposed for the rest of the evening. As will I. Enjoy your evening, Lord Lincolnshire.”
Matthew’s jaw tensed. When he had first started searching for a wife, he had tried to go about it the traditional way. Attend parties. Ask for dances. Make calls. He had encountered a dozen society matrons who used the exact tone—direct, succinct, and final. It meant only one thing.
Rejection.
Seth’s eyes widened. “What was that about?”
“I’ve upset her, but I truly didn’t realize—” Matthew bit the inside of his cheek. “She has never treated me like that before.”
Jasmine must have said something to her. If Lady Dorchester was in such a state, Jasmine would be worse. She must be exhausted.
They both had a long day, and they left each other on uncomfortable terms. He needed to clear the air, but now he couldn’t get her alone.
Unless…
If he couldn’t speak with Lord Dorchester about his intentions, and Lady Dorchester wouldn’t allow him to talk to Jasmine for the rest of the evening, Matthew would have to get a word in before dinner started.
He checked his watch. He had twenty minutes. Just enough time if he used it wisely.
“Seth, I’m going to step out for a moment,” Matthew said. “If anyone asks where I am, tell them I’m indisposed.”
“No one will ask, and I don’t want to know what that means.”
“It means I’ll see you at dinner.”
Seth shook his head. “Be careful.”
Discreetly, Matthew slipped out of the room and made his way through the halls until he reached a winding square staircase.
His boots clipped against marble as he ascended the steps.
Walking down the hall to Jasmine’s bedchamber, Matthew glanced up at the portraits on the walls of stoic and distinguished Dorchester Marquesses.
He used to invent names for them as a boy while he waited for his father to conclude business.
Now, he couldn’t remember which were their real names and which he had made up.
They were pale, with sharp cheekbones, and a wisdom in their eyes that put him at ease.
Even younger portraits featured silver-haired Sinclairs.
They greyed early, or the weight of their position caused them to age faster.
Thinking of Lady Dorchester, he scoffed.
Perhaps it’s their taste in women.
Matthew stopped in front of a broad oak door and checked to ensure the hallway was empty. Satisfied that he was alone, he gave the knock of a servant. An exasperated groan sounded from the room, followed by an annoyed, “Enter.”
He entered and closed the door behind him softly. The sun had already set. The room was lit by the grey haze of dusk and a single candle flickering on the bedside table near Jasmine—as if she hadn’t the energy to light anything else.
“You may tell Mother I’ll be down shortly, Minnie. I’ll need another minute.”
She didn’t turn to acknowledge him as he approached, but merely stared out of a viewless window. Every breath was a labored, shuddering puff of air. Blotchy red spots marred her cheeks and the tip of her nose.
Matthew’s heart rebelled at the sight, and he wanted to gather her into his arms.
“She made you cry?”
She jolted. “?Dios mío!” She put a hand on her chest and shot him a glare. “Matthew, what are you doing here?”
“I wanted to talk to you.” As he sat on the bed next to her, the feather mattress sank with his weight. He gave her a sad smile. “I won’t get another chance this evening. I’ve angered your mother by not sending you home.” His voice gentled. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine. I forgot how overbearing she is.
” Jasmine dabbed at the edges of her eyes with her fingertips.
Matthew’s gaze followed the movement of her gloveless hand, and he realized how much skin was available to him.
Her arms were bare from her fingertips to her shoulders.
The low neckline of her dress left half of her chest on tantalizing display. And around her throat—pearls.
He wanted to trace them with his tongue.
Lovely.
But damn it looked uncomfortable. The pearls dug in and left indentations on her skin. Couldn’t anyone see it was too tight? He couldn’t steal her away and strip her of the rest of her trappings, but he could fix at least one problem.
“Turn around,” he said.
Her eyes widened. “Why?”
“Because I’m taking that necklace off of you.” He removed his gloves and set them on the bed. He would never undo that small clasp with them on.
Resigned, she shook her head. “Mother insisted I wear it.”
“She can lose this battle.” He twirled his finger. “Turn around.”
Flushed, she did as she was told. She gathered her hair over one shoulder and lifted it above her necklace. She smelled heavenly, like a field of flowers. Her raven hair looked so soft.
“Can you see?” she asked.
“Well enough,” he lied. He couldn’t see anything at all with only one candle, but he wouldn’t let this opportunity pass him by.
He reached for her, then ran his fingertip along the necklace and her skin.
Gooseflesh rose on her arms. Her neck warmed under his touch, and he wanted her.
He grazed a fingernail over her pearls until it caught on the clasp, and he gingerly unhooked it.
The pearls slackened, revealing dimpled skin left over from their pressure.
Matthew rubbed the back of Jasmine’s neck with his thumb.
She swallowed and released a sigh so sweet it tested his resolve.
He could steal one kiss, right where her neck met her shoulder. Glide his mouth up to her ear and take it between his teeth. Only a small taste. His fingertip trailed to the spot. Her breath hitched, and he leaned in. One… Kiss…
No.
He turned away and faced the window. If he stole one kiss, he wouldn’t be able to stop.
He couldn’t take that chance. Not in Jasmine’s bed.
Not with hundreds of his peers, Spanish diplomats, business associates, and a slew of potential customers downstairs.
This was their chance to expand beyond England.
But none of that mattered when Jasmine was sad.
She adjusted her hair to fall down her back, hiding her neck from view once more. She faced him and gave him a weary smile. “Thank you. That feels better.”
“I’m glad.” He nudged her shoulder with his. “Tell me what happened.”
“It’s nothing.” She closed her eyes and relaxed against him. “Another one of our fights. It’s all we do.”
“Do you want to get out of here?” he whispered. “I know of a servant’s passage that leads to the gardens.”
“We would never make it that far.” Jasmine shook her head and stood. “We should go downstairs.” She hesitated. “How should we go about that?”
“You go first,” he said. “I’ll sneak out later.”
She gave him a dubious look. “Are you sure you won’t get caught?”
“I came into your room with the utmost confidence that I could leave it,” Matthew assured her. “Don’t worry. I’ll find my way out.”
When she smiled at him, he had an overwhelming urge to kiss her on the cheek. The moment passed, and she walked to the door. When she reached for the handle, she paused. “I almost forgot my gloves.”
She went to her dressing table, opened a drawer, and searched for her gloves. She pulled out a pair and squinted. “Could you bring the candle here? I’m not sure if this is white or ivory.”
The flame swayed as Matthew brought the candle over to her and lifted it to allow her better light.
“Thank you.” Jasmine inspected her gloves. “I think these are the ones.”
One at a time, she slid her arms into the white silk. She pulled the fabric high over her upper arms, hiding her skin from his view.
What a shame.
He set the candle down on top of her dressing table. They stood in awkward silence, both waiting for the other to act.
After a while, Jasmine said, “I’ll see you down there?”
He nodded. “I’m right behind you.”
She walked away from him, opened the door, exited, and closed the door behind her silently. As he turned to extinguish the candle, a scrap of paper caught his eye. Further inspection revealed it to be exactly what he thought.
The list.
Not wasting a moment, he held it up and read it. His gut sank as he read the list again. For several seconds, he forgot how to breathe.
I’m not on it.
Had he fallen that far out of favor without even knowing it? And he had one nagging question.
What do the stars mean?