Chapter Twenty-Four #2
Good Lord, Duke Kendall was going to ask for Caroline’s hand now. Matthew felt as helpless as Cassandra looked, and he couldn’t refuse.
But maybe he could buy himself some time.
“If it pleases you, I’ll call upon you this week. With my current mood, I’ll only sully your evening.”
“You aren’t enjoying yourself? Why didn’t you say so sooner?” Duke Kendall tsked. “I have just the thing to make you feel better. Come with me, I have a gift for you.”
Duke Kendall waited for Matthew’s answer, as did the rest of the ballroom. Cassandra and Caroline both met his eyes, with questioning glances of their own. Matthew squared his shoulders and plastered on a smile.
“Very well.” Matthew turned to Cassandra and said pointedly, “I’ll see the two of you at home.”
Caroline tried to argue, “But the evening isn’t half over—”
Cassandra elbowed Caroline. She reluctantly curtsied and dutifully wished Duke Kendall a pleasant evening, then left on Cassandra’s arm. After Matthew lost his sisters in the crowd, he turned his attention to Duke Kendall—grinning from ear to ear.
“Lead the way, Your Grace,” Matthew said.
And without another word, Duke Kendall led him from the ballroom, through the same winding halls. But no. Matthew frowned. These halls were different. Unlit. Instead the hall to Duke Kendall’s study, they seemed to be in a guest wing.
Identical white doors lined the walls, and ahead, two silver candelabras illuminated one door.
And Matthew wanted to run. He wasn’t going in there. Didn’t wish to know what happened behind closed doors in this manor, or why Duke Kendall vibrated with energy when they stopped in front of the room. Like a magician, Duke Kendall flicked his wrist, and a key appeared between his fingers.
“Your present awaits inside.”
He held out the key, but Matthew hesitated—he didn’t want whatever Duke Kendall offered. Wouldn’t walk right into a trap. Shaking his head, he stepped back, but Duke Kendall reached for him and pressed the key into his palm.
“You should make haste,” he whispered, “While you can properly enjoy her.”
Her.
Hands shaking, Matthew placed the key in the lock and opened the door.
Duke Kendall followed him inside. Matthew’s eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness, with only one flickering candle in the room.
On a table near a bed. A black canopy bed.
At first, he saw nothing. Nothing but a lump in the middle of the mattress.
Then it moved. And he saw her, with her black hair and black dress flared out beneath her.
He bounded to her.
“Jasmine!”
Matthew sat on the bed next to her. He tried to lift her, but her head lolled back. He tapped her cheek. “Jasmine, love, wake up. Open your eyes for me.”
But she didn’t. She sighed, and her breath carried the scent of alcohol.
He set her back down and snarled at Duke Kendall. “What did you give her?”
“Laudanum. Two drops in her punch and two under her tongue,” Duke Kendall instructed. “Now you can have what her dearest papa denied you,” he cooed. “But alas, time is ticking. All sleeping princesses wake eventually.”
Matthew ground his teeth together. Blood rushed in his ears, drowning out his thoughts. With each breath, the thin shred of his sanity slipped. He stood, met Duke Kendall’s gleeful grin—as pleased as a cat who brought home a dead mouse.
And he snapped.
Matthew charged at Duke Kendall. The other man’s eyes widened, and he released a surprised shout. Grabbing Duke Kendall by his collar, Matthew lifted him and shoved him against the wall.
Duke Kendall grunted as the air left him, and Matthew did it again.
Gold brocade ripped under his grip as he kept Duke Kendall aloft.
The Duke’s feet kicked in the air between them, and Matthew lifted him by his throat.
Duke Kendall choked. He pressed harder on the Duke’s windpipe—fighting every instinct to break it.
“What did you do to her?!”
“Nothing,” Duke Kendall hissed.
“Did you touch her?!”
“Why would I touch her?” Duke Kendall croaked. “She’s your gift.”
“Answer me! Did. You. Touch. Her?!”
With each word, Matthew asserted more pressure until Duke Kendall’s face turned purple.
“No.” Duke Kendall met his gaze directly, eyes bloodshot and bulging. “Release me, or I’ll have you hanged.”
Jasmine groaned, Matthew loosened his grip, and Duke Kendall pushed him off. Matthew moved to Jasmine, and she seemed to reach for him.
Then her arm slipped off the bed, and she lay limp.
Kneeling on the floor next to her, he held her hand—warm to the touch, even under her silk gloves. Duke Kendall shook his head and laughed. He wagged his finger as if Matthew had played a prank on him.
“It’s always good to see you in your true form, Lord Lincolnshire. Tamed as you are, I forget you’re feral.” Duke Kendall fixed his collar and straightened his coat. “I’ll forgive you for your reaction, and remember that you don’t care for surprises.”
He coughed, straightened his spine, and left the room.
Matthew focused on Jasmine. Lifting her under her shoulders and knees, he heaved her uncooperative body into his arms. His knees buckled and every muscle in his back screamed when he tried to stand, but he couldn’t leave her there.
So he tried again.
Jasmine’s body drooped, her dress bunched, the silk brushed the floor—she was so heavy. Impossibly heavier than when he had carried her before.
He shifted her.
Took a step.
Then another.
And as fast as he could with her in his arms, he ran.