Chapter Sixteen #2
“Does the passion fade?” Jasmine asked. “Does it get boring?”
Cassandra snorted. “I would never describe Seth as boring.”
“How do you keep things interesting?”
Blushing, Cassandra went back to her needlework. “There are ways.”
Jasmine grinned at her. “Good for you, Cassandra.”
“Shameless, the both of you,” Honora said. “Passion is unseemly.”
Cassandra teased, “One day, Lady Worthing, you’re going to find a man who will sweep you off your feet.”
“I couldn’t imagine a worse fate.” Honora picked up her needle and thread. “My feet like to remain firmly on the floor.”
Once more, Percival knocked on the door.
“Pardon me, my lady. A gentleman has called and asked for you and Her Ladyship.” He discreetly looked around. “Might you know where she may be found?”
“Is it calling hour already?” Jasmine’s eyes traveled to the clock in the room. Half past twelve. Soon, there would be a flood of visitors to attend to. She groaned and reluctantly stood.
“My mother is in the garden. I’ll fetch her myself.” She spoke to the ladies. “Stay as long as you’d like, but please say goodbye before you leave.”
Making her way through the house, Jasmine followed the path down the winding stairs, and toward the door to the gardens.
In the middle of the hall stood Lord Rothwell. Unaccompanied. His blue eyes sparkled above a smile as white as the bouquet of roses in his hands. He had the audacity to walk alone in her home!
She stomped past him.
“Go away, Lord Rothwell. I’m not at home.”
Undeterred, he followed her.
“It’s my turn to call today, Lady Jasmine. I’ve come to request an outing of my own. A ride through the park, or a walk through the museum?”
“There are plenty of ladies who would love to be on your arm.” She lengthened her stride. “Go find one.”
“Perhaps Mrs. Reeves would accompany us. It would only be fair after chaperoning her brother.” Dropping his gentlemanly facade, he hissed, “To keep the playing field even.”
“The playing field?” She stopped and shot him her nastiest glare. “You’re wasting both of our time. I will never choose you, Lord Rothwell.”
“Why not? Your standards are the lowest I’ve ever seen. You would marry a social outcast over a man with a respectable title and a good name.” His face hardened. “Someone who doesn’t care if you’re a harlot.”
“What did you call me?!” She clenched her fist. “Leave my home immediately.”
As she stormed away from him, his quiet response stopped her in her tracks.
“I saw you on Saturday.”
Her stomach churned, and a chill crept up her spine. Adopting a haughty tone, she said, “You sat next to me at dinner—it was hard to miss me.”
“Don’t play coy. Late in the evening, I saw you leaving the cellar. Lip stain smudged and dress rumpled. You were in quite the state. To my surprise, not three minutes later did your father and Lord Lincolnshire emerge. Some conversation you must have had down there.”
“You followed me?!”
“Na?ve as you are, I can understand how rake could seduce you. But to lower yourself to the taint of a murderer is beyond shameful. Lucky for you, it doesn’t matter to me that you’re damaged goods, as long as you aren’t with child.”
“I am not damaged,” she hissed. “And do not talk about Lord Lincolnshire like that.”
“He is beneath you. It isn’t too late to turn back to the right path—what you were born for.”
“I was born for Matthew!” Jasmine snapped. As the words left her, she felt the truth in them and clamped her hand over her mouth. Lord Rothwell’s face twisted with hatred.
Her heart beat in double-time, and her instincts warned her to flee.
“I’ll say it was me,” he ground out. “It’ll be your word against mine.”
“You’ll be doing me a favor.” She turned and walked away. “It’ll only hasten my marriage to Matthew.”
As she lengthened her strides, he stomped after her. “You’ve always been a cut above the cloth, haven’t you?”
He grabbed her wrist and yanked her backward.
Nostrils flaring, fist up—without thought—Jasmine punched him square in the nose.
A sickening crack followed, and a shock of pain traveled up her arm.
Lord Rothwell howled and clamped one hand to his face as blood gushed down into his mouth.
Spluttering and groaning, he tightened his grip on her wrist. Cursing, he dragged her close enough to his face for her to smell the metallic tang on his breath.
“I’ve done everything right. I’ve brought flowers and danced for years, and now, you will submit to me—”
“My daughter does not submit to anyone.” Her mother’s voice pierced the air like a blade. “Drop your hand before I remove it from your body, Lord Rothwell.”
Lord Rothwell released his grip. Eyes wide, he stepped back. Jasmine held her throbbing wrist with her split fist. Mother approached with her hands clenched into fists, as if prepared to strike too. Feral rage radiated from her, and Jasmine feared for Lord Rothwell’s safety.
“You are no longer welcome in my home, nor in my sight,” she growled, her every word dripping poison. “My husband will be hearing of this.”
“He’s not the only one,” he snarled back at her. “Everyone will know what happens under this roof.”
Holding his nose, he turned on his heel and left them alone in the hall. Silence descended upon them, with only the sound of their unsteady breathing filling the space.
“That is your starred suitor.” Jasmine pointed down the hall with her shaking hand—already bruising. “What a gentleman!”
Mother’s voice broke. “Did he ever touch you like that before?”
“No.” Jasmine trembled, and she forced the words out. “But I knew something was wrong about him. That’s why I didn’t marry him the first time! Or the other four times you let him court me!”
“You didn’t tell me.” Mother shook her head. Denying it still! “You should have told me!”
“I tried—you didn’t listen!” Tears welled in Jasmine’s eyes. “You never listen to me!”
“Speak louder!”
Her mother’s shout echoed in the hall. Tears streamed down her face, unashamed and concerned. Jasmine had never seen her mother cry. She choked back a sob.
“If you’re listening, you should know Don Lorenzo is constantly looking down my dress. If anyone is likely to mishandle me in the future, it’s him.”
Mother reached for her hands and held her as gently as she would hold a newborn. “Don Lorenzo is highly valuable to your father. You cannot insult him—or strike him—without considerable political damage.”
Jasmine gritted her teeth. “It’s worse to have me lead him on! He does not take no for an answer.”
“We will make him take no for an answer.”
“Allow Matthew to propose and that’ll happen sooner.”
“We’ll discuss it while we put some salve on that bruise, and ice on your hand.” Gingerly linking their arms, her mother guided her down the hall. With a raised brow, she asked, “Who taught you how to punch like that?”
Jasmine smiled and gave credit where it was due.
“Matthew.”