Chapter Fifteen #2
Jasmine forced her greeting through her teeth. “Good morning, Your Grace.”
“I’ve heard much about you, Lady Jasmine. A diamond of the first water with a heart of stone.” He tilted his head to the side, examining her. “My dear, you have a black stain on your skin.”
His spindly fingertip touched her neck, pressed down, and swiped, leaving a blackened smudge across her neck and the fingertip of his white glove. Jasmine stomped forward, her lips pulled back in a snarl.
“What were you doing?” Duke Kendall murmured. “You’re covered in it.”
Duke Kendall reached for her again.
Jasmine slapped his hand away. “Don’t touch me.”
“Such a face.” Duke Kendall’s eyes narrowed to slits. “I helped you. You should thank me.”
Shadows clouded Matthew’s vision. Heat blazed through him. Overcome with the need to punish, he struggled for control. Jasmine was his.
But the Duke was dangerous.
Matthew donned a smile and stepped between Jasmine and Duke Kendall. Attempting to herd the man away before a confrontation broke out, Matthew gestured to the range.
“It’s good that you’ve arrived early, Your Grace. Now that you’re here, we can move straight to the presentation. As luck would have it, I’m warmed up.” He shifted his eyes to Blackmoor. “And my family was just leaving.”
“I’ll ride with them in the carriage,” Blackmoor responded on cue. “I have appointments in town.”
“And, Lady Jasmine must return home.” Matthew put his hand on the small of her back. “If she’s late, I won’t get to have her again.”
“From the looks of it, you’ve had her all morning. There isn’t any rush to get her home now, is there?” Duke Kendall glared at Jasmine. “I would hate for her to miss the demonstration of a one-of-a-kind treasure.”
“I’ll stay.” Jasmine gave Duke Kendall an insincere smile. “I’m sure my father, Marquess Dorchester, will understand that I was held up by a duke.”
“It’s settled.” Duke Kendall turned his attention to Matthew and ordered, “Show me the pistol.”
Matthew nodded to Trevor. The lad ran to the terrace and returned with a rectangular hardwood case with brass corners. He opened the case to display Matthew’s latest invention.
Inside, a Damascus steel pistol lay nestled in crimson felt.
Gold filigree snaked around the rosewood handle, cradling in-laid emeralds and pigeon-blood rubies.
A line of gleaming brass cartridges bordered the gun.
Matthew plucked a handful of rounds and placed them in his pocket.
Lifting the pistol from the case, darkness crept into his veins.
A voice in his head screamed for him to destroy it.
Pitch it into the nearest river or bury it in a forest.
Without a doubt, this gun was the deadliest he had invented.
“Trevor,” he said. “Set the target at twelve paces.”
“Yes, my lord.” Trevor went to the task.
Duke Kendall sat cross-legged on the blanket on the lawn and patted the space next to him. “Come along, little family!”
As the family settled around the Duke, Matthew tried to settle his thoughts.
He meant to practice before the Duke arrived, but there was nothing to be done about it now.
Once Trevor set up the targets and joined the rest of the family, Matthew loaded the pistol.
The cartridge slid in with a metallic trill and locked into place with a resounding snap. He lifted the pistol, aimed, prayed…
And fired.
The scent of blistering oil spiked the air. He peered through the smoke from the barrel, and the first shot hit right on the mark. Releasing a breath, he gave a small laugh. It worked! He grinned at Seth—the bastard had fixed it in days.
Duke Kendall gestured for him to continue.
Matthew’s shoulders relaxed, and he fell into rhythm, shooting through the target perfectly twice more.
“Well done!” Duke Kendall approached. His fingers fell against his palm in a series of quick claps. “What a show!”
Plastering on a winning smile, Matthew gave a showman’s bow and presented the pistol to Duke Kendall with a flourish.
“Would you like to give it a try? We might make adjustments to suit your needs.”
“No, no, Lord Lincolnshire.” He waved his hand dismissively. “I do believe you’re missing part of the show.” He covered both his eyes with his fingers and peeked through them. “Do your trick!”
“You mean for me to shoot blindfolded now?” Matthew’s brows lifted, then he stuttered, “And ruin your birthday surprise?”
“I watched your trick from the terrace. I can see how you’ve impressed several ladies, but none of those pretty ladies paid you a handsome fee for it.”
Matthew’s gaze shot to Jasmine. Cocooned next to his sisters, her lips set in a firm line. What did she think of his weakness? Torn asunder, he pulled the black blindfold from his pocket.
“I’ll assist.” Seth moved to stand, but Matthew shook his head. Seth wouldn’t be at the birthday celebration.
“I’ll do it myself.”
Duke Kendall danced up to him, holding his hand open. “I’ll do the honors.”
He took the blindfold from Matthew and held it in a strangle-hold between his hands. Trying not to focus on the Duke behind him, Matthew memorized the location of the target, mentally calculating distance and angle.
“Three times.” Duke Kendall placed the blindfold over Matthew’s eyes. “No cheating.”
Blackness enveloped Matthew’s vision, and the rest of his senses enhanced.
The heat of the sun burned his face, and the soil beneath his feet shifted under his weight.
He inhaled the mingling scents of ambergris from Duke Kendall’s perfume, gunpowder, and his own sweat.
One trickle ran down his cheek and caught at the corner of his lip, filling his mouth with the taste of salt.
Matthew inhaled deeply. He could hit anything at this distance—with a flintlock pistol half the weight. Blind, he rummaged through his pocket for the cartridges. His fingertips met the lace of Jasmine’s gloves, and then a metal round.
As deftly as he could, he opened the pistol, loaded the cartridge, and lifted the gun.
When he squeezed the trigger, violent vibrations traveled up his arm.
Seth smoothed the shot, but Matthew felt the subtle disconnect when he squeezed the trigger.
Repeating the process, he heard each round hit the target.
Crack. Crack. Crack.
Matthew lifted his blindfold. And his heart dropped. Three holes lay in the target…
In a triangle surrounding the outside ring.
Duke Kendall’s face contorted with his scowl, and his voice snapped like a whip.
“Still not ready.”
He turned on his heel and walked to the house.
Matthew ran after him.
“Your Grace, the pistol is accurate! It’s my skill—I’m unfamiliar with the weight. There’s plenty of time to get it right. I only need to practice—”
“I expect the best from you, Lord Lincolnshire. You’ve been given ample time, and the pistol is far from done. I can’t help but wonder if you’re unnecessarily distracted.” Duke Kendall looked pointedly at Jasmine, then back at Matthew. “I would hate for you to embarrass me on my birthday.”
As he walked away, Matthew bowed. A murmuring came from behind him, but he couldn’t tear his gaze from Duke Kendall’s retreating form.
Soft footprints approached, and a gentle hand held his elbow. Concern graced Jasmine’s features. His shaking hands reached into his pocket and held her gloves out to her.
“Please forgive me.” He closed his eyes and whispered, “I failed you.”
Instead of taking her gloves, Jasmine took his face in her hands, then lifted his chin until their eyes met. “Is it always like that with him?”
“I’m normally better at managing him,” he mumbled. “I shouldn’t have let him touch you.”
“He’s far from the first man who’s touched me without my permission. And he’s a duke.” She half-shrugged. “There was nothing you could have done.”
Matthew gave a self-deprecating scoff.
That’s the problem.
He could do nothing to stop a duke from touching his sisters or his intended.
Or from tainting a memory. All of his strength and wit—crushed under the thumb of a tyrant.
Now, Duke Kendall’s sights would be set on the woman who challenged him openly and his golden-haired, freckle-covered baby sister.
“He’s intimidating, but you know,” Caroline whispered to Cassandra, “I think he liked me.”
“Don’t even dream of it,” Matthew snapped. “You’re going home.”
Caroline scrunched the skin at the top of her nose. Cassandra reached forward and linked her arm with her sister’s.
“We’ll discuss this on the way home.”
“Sister, this is the opportunity of a lifetime,” Caroline hissed.
“And you aren’t taking it,” Matthew said. “Seth, Trevor, go to the factory. Check the schematics for any points of failure. Blackmoor—”
“I’ll take the women home,” Blackmoor said. Face set with narrowed eyes, he kept his attention on the door where Duke Kendall had disappeared. “I’ll keep them safe.”
One by one, Matthew’s family members made their way into the house, but Jasmine stayed behind in the yard.
“You should go with them,” he said. “Blackmoor will protect you. You needn’t fear—”
“Am I in danger, Matthew?”
“Of course not!” His stomach lurched at the thought. “I will never let anyone hurt you.”
“Then I won’t be afraid.” Jasmine reached for him, and he took a step away. She grabbed his hand and pulled him to her. Cupping his face in her hands, she lifted on her toes and pressed her lips to his cheekbone.
“A kiss for a king.”
Her tender touch filled his heart, and he wanted to kiss her lips and hold her. When she slipped from him, he followed her. Wrapping his arms around her, he buried his face in the crook of her shoulder.
“I don’t want you to leave.”
Jasmine threaded her fingers through his hair and held him close.
“It’s not for forever,” she whispered, and the yearning in her voice nearly broke him. “Be early to the assembly on Wednesday. I want to dance with you.”
“I’ll be there,” he promised.
After one more squeeze, she released him.
He ached from her absence and always—always—watching her walk away.
Jasmine offered a small wave before she disappeared into the house, leaving Matthew alone.
The wind whistled in his ears, the sky darkened with the threat of rain, but he walked back to the range.
He needed to practice.