Chapter Twenty
Matthew groaned into Jasmine’s mouth and ruthlessly deepened their kiss. His tongue battled with hers, and he backed her against the wall. Pressing his full weight into her, he trapped her body with his.
He needed to stop. By God, he had to stop. But all thoughts of that fled when she dipped her tongue into his mouth. Threading her hands through his curls, she gripped his hair and pulled hard.
Taking a handful of her hair, he gently tugged, tilting her head up to face him. He brushed his thumb over her lips, parting them. With his eyes trained to her mouth, his voice deepened, commanding. “Tell me you want me.”
She kept her eyes on his, licked the tip of his thumb, and let him feel every word. “Te deseo.”
He crashed his mouth onto hers. A breathless moan escaped her. Sucking his bottom lip into her mouth, she breathed, “Quiero más.”
She shifted her hips into his, igniting a delicious fire through him.
He lifted her skirts, touching her bare skin.
Above her garter, onto the curve of her inner thigh, an inch away from her center.
And how he wanted to close that distance, slip his finger inside of her and show her the pleasure he could give.
But they were in her parents’ house.
He wrenched his mouth away.
“Damn it, Jasmine—we can’t do this here.” He pressed his head against the wall. Every part of him shook. Jasmine choked on a sob and gripped his shirt in a tight fist.
“We can’t do this here,” she repeated. Her chocolate eyes met his, and she dared him, “Take me to your factory and show me what depraved means.”
Shaking his head, he stepped away from her. “I can’t.”
She advanced, cornering him until the backs of his calves hit the green velvet sofa. With a fingertip on each shoulder, she pushed him to sit down.
“That’s all you ever say.”
“Because it’s true.” He shouldn’t be here now, locked in her sitting room with her. Anyone could walk by or hear them. But the call of her kiss was too strong to refuse.
And she was breathtaking—like a goddess with flushed cheeks, reddened lips, and half-lidded eyes.
She lifted her skirts and straddled him.
A carnal instinct surged in his blood, overpowering his reason.
He brought her down to sit flush in his lap, capturing her lips in a bruising kiss.
He ground her over his cloth-covered erection, pressing right where she needed him.
Her breath hitched, and he loved the sound so much he did it again.
Sweet heavens, he could unfasten a few buttons and be inside her.
The night breeze from the window behind the sofa cooled his burning neck, providing enough of a distraction for him to hold on to a shred of sanity.
“I can’t take you to my factory.”
“Yes, you can. You have a bed there, don’t you?” She pleaded with him with each slow roll of her hips. “A sofa, or a desk?”
He whimpered at the image of taking her over his desk. Growling, he stilled her movements, taking back control.
“You drive me mad. You told me to protect our reputations,” he reminded her. “And now you want me to take you to the docks? You’re asking me to throw gunpowder into a furnace.”
“Matthew, I’m not asking. I am going to your factory tonight.” She kissed his neck. “Either I’ll find my way through the dangerous streets alone, or you’ll take me there yourself.” She licked his pulse point, then bit. Soothing the spot with a kiss, she murmured, “Up to you.”
He lifted her chin with his thumb, looking into her eyes. It was easy to accept scandal in a cloud of lust, but he had to make sure.
“You’ll accept the potential consequences of being caught?” he asked. “You’ll risk everything for one night?”
She nodded. Voice sure, she said, “Yes, because I know you’ll keep me safe.”
With the conviction in her eyes, the rest of his resolve fluttered to the wind. For too long, he had wished to taste every inch of her, touch deep inside her, and hear her cry out for him. Her body was hot over his, moving over him like he had always dreamed, and he could have her naked tonight.
Willing and eager.
A dark voice in his mind whispered, ‘What’s stopping you?’
The answer?
Nothing.
“You win,” he whispered.
A victorious smile lit Jasmine’s face.
“I knew you would agree.” With an awkward shimmy of her hips, she got off his lap and stood. “Meet me in the back garden at eleven.”
Holding his hand, she pulled him to his feet and brought him in for another kiss.
“You’re going to get me killed,” he muttered.
“I thought I was worth a thousand thrashings?” She smiled sweetly. “I’ll see you in a few hours.”
After double-checking his clothing—and his state of affairs—Matthew proceeded to the door. He tried the handle, then remembered, “Jasmine, you locked us in.”
Her face paled. “I did what?”
“The door?” He pointed at it. “You have the key.”
“Oh, of course!” Jasmine grabbed the key from the table.
With a slight shake of her hand, she slid the key into the lever lock.
A sense of unease clawed at him as the lock opened with a familiar click, tugging at a half-lost memory.
As he walked through the open door and down the hall, he shoved that feeling down.
Of course he was unsettled! Any man in his right mind would be. He was about to kidnap and debauch a marquess’s daughter! If he were to get away with it, he needed to use every second wisely.
And the clock started now.
***
At precisely eleven, Jasmine waited in the back garden.
Passing clouds temporarily obscured the moon, and she used that opportunity to move away from the house toward the street.
The cool air licked at her bare legs, and she held her wool cloak tighter.
Underneath, she wore her best silk nightgown.
She nearly laughed outright at wanting to impress Matthew Cooper.
But he wasn’t just Matthew anymore—the curly-haired boy from her childhood who taught her how to fish, climb trees, and to throw a right hook.
He was her Matthew now.
A full-blooded man, who clearly wanted her. Plain as the hardness he pressed into her on the settee. Every time they had been close to intimacy, he pulled back. Not a lack of interest, but restraint.
And she was through with it.
Keeping close to the wall, she rounded the corner of the house—and bumped into something solid.
“Oh!”
The shadow covered her mouth and pressed her back against the wall of the house. Matthew dropped the hood of his own cloak and held his fingertip to his lips. She relaxed and nodded.
Stealing her away like a thief, he held her hand and led her down the street.
They kept to the shadows until they reached a two-seat open carriage, drawn by a pair of black horses.
Built for speed, it was shorter than a typical carriage but much higher off the ground.
The wheels were slender, with the back two being a quarter size larger.
Known for their tendency to tip over, only the truly reckless were brave enough to drive one.
“You own a high-flyer phaeton?” she asked.
“It’s cruel to make a coachman keep my hours,” he explained. “Come here and I’ll lift you up.”
Jasmine stood in front of him. He lifted her by the hips enough for her to grab the side of the carriage and haul herself inside. It rocked with her weight as she sat down on the leather seat. She held onto the edges for support as Matthew followed, climbing up with a grunt.
“Wear this.” He removed his greatcoat and draped it over her, enveloping her with the scent of cedarwood, warm from his body heat. “It’s not going to be a comfortable ride, so hold tight.”
He grabbed the reins and encouraged the horses into motion.
Hooves clopped and wheels creaked over cobblestone.
The phaeton jolted over every bump, swaying them precariously from side to side.
The wind whipped over her cheeks, and London blurred in a streak of lamplights and houses—almost fast enough to convince her she was flying.
Until Matthew slowed their speed and rolled them to a stop.
He climbed out and opened his arms to her. She placed one hand on his shoulder for balance. He held onto her legs, then slowly eased her down, but he didn’t release her. “Put your arms around my neck, I’m carrying you from here.”
Indignant, Jasmine scoffed. “You aren’t carrying me, I’m not a child—oh!”
Gravity shifted once more when Matthew bent down, hooked his arm around her knees, and unceremoniously hauled her into his arms.
Kicking her legs, she squirmed and protested, “Put me down!”
“You’re not walking in my factory, you’ll ruin your clothes.” Carrying her like a bride, Matthew walked forward, grumbling, “It’ll be obvious enough that you were with me by the smell.”
“I’ve already thought of that. Rose water, hair powder, and a change of clothes.”
He gave an unconvinced huff and shifted her to open the front door.
The factory greeted her first with the scents of grime, steel, and ash.
It slowly revealed itself as her eyes adjusted.
Like walking through old ruins, moonlight filtered in from the windows above, drifting from the vaulted ceiling to the sleeping forges below. It seemed to go on for acres.
With a factory this large, Matthew could arm all of Europe.
Wooden floorboards creaked under his boots in the walkway down the center. At the back of the building, he carried her up a set of narrow stairs. She held her cloak closer and ducked her toes to not hit the railing.
Standing in front of the door, he shifted her to grab the doorknob, then pushed it open with his shoulder. Breathing hard, he crossed the room in three strides and set her down on a long bed. Firm and functional, with cotton bedclothes and a wooden headboard insulating from the cold brick wall.
Matthew went to light the oil lamps along the walls. Flickering flames revealed a wardrobe, a washstand, a chair, and a tall, rectangular mirror.
He positioned the mirror in front of the bed.