Chapter Ten
Oh, where is it?
Jasmine searched the brick wall leading to the wine cellar.
Her one candle didn’t provide enough light to see anything.
She remembered roughly where she had hidden the spare key.
She traced the mortar surrounding the bricks until her gloves caught, slipping into a narrow crevice.
Success! She reached in and slid the iron key from the spot.
Metal groaned against metal as she turned the key in the lock.
Hinges creaked as Jasmine opened the door.
A rush of humid air greeted her, accompanied by the musty aroma of aged oak.
If she reached up, she could touch the low, curved ceiling.
Beneath the floor, a trickle of water ran under criss-crossed wrought-iron grates along the center of the room.
She moved to the edge of the room and carefully lit the candles along the walls. A long room that seemed to go on forever emerged in the dim light. Oak barrels lined one wall, and shelves of dark wine bottles lined the other.
A rectangular table with six chairs was in the middle of the cellar—meant for entertaining the trusted few allowed into this sanctuary.
She stole her first sip of wine at that table, with Cassandra.
Jasmine hated it so much she nearly spat it out, but kept it down to save face.
Later, she learned to appreciate the fuzzy feeling wine gave her, but not how wretched she felt the next morning.
She couldn’t care less about how she felt tomorrow.
Everything hurt now.
After dropping the key to the cellar on the table, Jasmine grabbed a corkscrew and walked to the back of the room.
She went to the oldest section with the most expensive wine and chose an amontillado dated 1783.
She dusted it off with her gloves. With a few forceful twists of the corkscrew and a hard pull, the cork released with an airy pop.
Not allowing the wine to breathe, Jasmine drank straight from the bottle. She grimaced at the dry, pungent taste. For being such a prized bottle of wine, it tasted no different from the other wines she had sampled. But as a numb, light feeling came over her, she realized it was certainly stronger.
She moved back to the table and sat on the tabletop.
Feet dangling, she flicked off her slippers.
They fell to the ground with a quiet plop, and then another.
The humidity made her clothing stick to her skin.
One after the other, she removed her gloves, stockings, and tiara, setting them on a chair.
Lifting her feet, she stretched her legs and toes in the air.
She took another generous swig of wine. Ooh, she should have kept her mouth shut! Laughed out of her own dining room—and her mother wanted her to dance in the ballroom.
What for?
To be polite? To be respectful?
No one afforded her the same luxury.
The sound of approaching footsteps rose from the other side of the door. That didn’t take long. Jasmine set her shoulders and steeled herself for the incoming argument. The door creaked open, and a shadowed figure stepped into the room.
“I’m here for privacy, Mother.”
“You’ve certainly come to the right place for it.” A chuckle sounded, and Matthew said, “This is perfect.”
He closed the door behind him with a resounding click. He stepped into the dim candlelight and walked to her. Towering over her, his head almost touched the ceiling.
“How did you find me?” she asked.
“You always come here when you’re upset. I wanted to—” He stepped back and looked at her. His eyes widened, and his voice cracked. “Where are your shoes? Your stockings—blazes, Jasmine! You’re scarcely dressed!”
“I wasn’t expecting company.” She huffed and crossed her arms over her chest. “I didn’t feel like wearing them. It’s muggy in here. If you don’t like it, you can leave.”
Matthew pursed his lips, thinking it over. He hummed. “You know, I believe you’re right. It is muggy in here.”
He removed his gloves and began unbuttoning his coat.
“What are you doing?” she squeaked. “Why are you taking off your clothes?”
“I’m getting comfortable.” He shrugged out of his coat, folded it over a chair, then rolled his sleeves.
Trying hard not to focus on his arms—and suddenly feeling quite thirsty—Jasmine took a long drink of wine. “Did my mother send you?”
“No, I came on my own.”
“Well I’m sure she’ll be along any minute.” Jasmine sighed. “She can never let me be.”
Matthew sat down on the table next to her. “In that case, I better make the most of this time. We need to talk, Jasmine.”
The heat of his body warmed the air between them. He motioned to the bottle. She handed it to him, and he took a large swallow.
“Allow me to apologize.”
“For what this time? You’ve humiliated me in every public setting we’ve been in. Dancing with me twice. What you said in the park. And tonight?” Sounding weak, she whispered, “I thought we were friends.”
“We are friends.” Matthew’s voice sounded as broken as hers. “Or at least, I’d like to be. More than anything, I want to make things right between us. I’m not purposefully humiliating you.” He grumbled, “This is all going so wrong. I wasn’t expecting you to come back.”
“Yes, you’ve made that clear.”
“No, listen to me—”
“No, you listen to me, Matthew.” Her voice rose with each word. “I left for Spain because you told me to leave. And you didn’t even write to me! I poured my heart into the letters I sent to you, and all I got was silence.”
“Pushing you away is the biggest mistake of my life.” Matthew’s eyes blazed into hers. “If I knew it would have made a difference, I would have written every day. I started letters so many times, but what was I to say?” He scoffed. “Another rainy day in London. Working hard at the factory?”
“Anything. I waited,” Jasmine whispered. “Did you even read my letters?”
“Of course I did. I have every one of them in my desk at home.” Matthew sighed. “I thought you would find a husband in Spain who wouldn’t appreciate your childhood—male—friend sending you letters.”
She took the wine bottle back from him and took a sip. She stared into its inky depths as if she could find answers at the bottom. “I didn’t find a husband.”
“You cannot fathom how glad I am for it,” he said. “I want the opportunity to make things right—to try to rekindle our friendship.”
“We can’t fix anything if you keep hiding from me. You have to let me in,” Jasmine implored. “Why not tell me what’s on your mind for once?”
“You,” Matthew said simply.
She looked up from the wine bottle into his amber-brown eyes, closer than he had been before. His fingertips brushed over the back of her hand as he slowly took the bottle from her fingers, then set it to the side.
“Thoughts of you consume me. You cloud my judgment beyond all reasoning, and I find myself lost,” he whispered. “I can’t stop thinking about the kiss we shared in Ringwood.”
She remembered his conversation with Seth earlier. Hurt again, she looked away. “Are you really that angry over it?”
“Is that what you believe?” Matthew laughed. “That I’m angry?”
Not appreciating being made fun of, Jasmine huffed. “Why did you kiss me in the first place?”
Matthew paused. Then, as if it were obvious, he said, “Because you dared me to.”
Jasmine’s mouth fell open. “I did not.”
Matthew spoke slowly. “If ‘you’re not brave enough to kiss me, Matthew Cooper’ wasn’t a dare, it was certainly an invitation.”
“I didn’t! I—” Jasmine stopped as the memory flashed through her mind. Drunk on mulled wine, she had matched Matthew drink for drink the entire night. When he joked about his plans to become a rake, she had laughed at him. How could he become a rake when he wasn’t…
She slapped her hands over her mouth.
Oh, Lord. She had!
It hadn’t been a dare or an invitation, merely a stated fact! Or so she thought. And how wrong she was! She had spent all this time wondering and it had been her fault all along. Matthew hadn’t wanted to kiss her—he wanted to prove a point.
“It doesn’t matter if it was a dare or not, you didn’t give me express permission. I took advantage of you.” He inhaled deeply. “A better man would have done the right thing. I should have married you.”
“I wouldn’t have forced you into it.” Jasmine shook her head. “I released you from your obligation.”
“You shouldn’t have.”
“We were both drunk—”
“I was sober,” he ground out. “I’m a large man. It takes more than three beers to get me foxed.”
“Oh, please. The ale was strong. You didn’t know what you were doing—”
“I knew exactly what I was doing.” Eyes intent on hers, he leaned in. His gaze traveled to her mouth.
Jasmine told herself that the heat coursing through her was because of the wine, and not his nearness. He trailed his fingertip over her hand, then up her arm, watching her all the while.
“Have you kissed anyone else?”
“No,” Jasmine whispered, as if the air between them was fragile. “I haven’t had the opportunity.”
“Truly?” He toyed with the sleeve of her dress, then hooked his finger underneath the fabric. He eased it down, exposing her shoulder. “That makes me the best kiss of your life.”
“Bold.” She laughed. To ease the tension, she teased, “That’s unfair, I have no basis of comparison.”
He didn’t laugh. His eyes followed the path of his fingertip, inching across her neck, ghosting along her jawline. Up. Up. Her breath caught as he traced the curve of her ear with his fingernail. He removed her earring, and she shivered as he soothed the strain with his finger and thumb.
His voice deepened. “Tell me how it felt when I kissed you.”
“I’m not sure I can,” she breathed.
She had been so surprised that she hadn’t thought about the feeling itself—only that Matthew’s hands were in her hair, and his tongue was in her mouth. She had liked it a great deal. Embarrassment burned within her at the sounds she had made. It had all felt so—overwhelming.
“I didn’t think you remembered it,” she said.