Chapter Thirty-Two #2
Remembering his first kiss with Jasmine, Matthew almost pulled her into the next alley to give her a repeat performance. She averted her eyes to give the couple privacy, but gave him a sly wink.
He couldn’t wait to get her home and—
“There goes society’s darlings,” a familiar voice slurred. “A murderer and a harlot.”
Arousal evaporated. Faster than thought, Matthew pivoted, guiding Jasmine behind him. Clenching his hands into fists, he readied himself. He had heard plenty of men talk like that in the rookery. Drunk. Foolish.
Violent.
“Stay behind me,” he told Jasmine. “If anything happens, I need you to do precisely as I say.”
“What do you—?”
Her words were interrupted by the clattering of an empty bottle rolling out of the alley they had just passed. A blond man with a crooked nose stumbled after. The scent of alcohol wafted from Lord Rothwell as if he had fallen into a vat of it.
“Oi!” He jabbed a finger at Matthew. “You’re not going to turn around and face me like a man?”
“I am facing you, you lack wit,” Matthew spat. “You’re too drunk to see it.”
Following him, Vivian crossed her arms. Her dress was rumpled, and her smudged lips set in a firm line.
“Leave them alone, Rothwell,” she warned.
Jasmine tugged at Matthew’s arm. “Ignore him, let’s go.”
He remained where he was, knowing better than to give a drunken man his back.
“You!” Rothwell jabbed a finger at him. “You owe me an apology.”
“I don’t owe you anything,” Matthew snarled and spoke around him. “What a reputable gentleman you’ve found here, Lady Ravenshaw. I knew you had low standards, but this?”
“Don’t talk to my fiancée,” Rothwell hissed. “You’ll answer for what you’ve done.”
“I’ve done you nothing but favors!” Matthew scoffed. “You have my money and my cast-off, what more could you possibly want from me?”
“Matthew!” Jasmine hissed. “That’s enough!”
“How dare you?” Vivian’s eyes narrowed to slits and her lip curled upward, but her voice turned sickly sweet. “Rothwell, darling, he isn’t worth our time.”
She tugged at his arm, but he shrugged her off.
“Not until I’m finished!” He returned his attention to Matthew. “You’ve made me the laughing stock of the ton. Do you know how many doors have been slammed in my face in the last month?!”
“Not enough for you to learn your lesson! You blackmailed my wife and attacked her in her home. A broken nose and a little humiliation is more than fair.”
“She got what she deserved.”
Vivian gasped. “So it’s true.” Her gaze traveled from Jasmine to Rothwell, then back again. “He assaulted you?” Face reddening, she rushed forward and shoved at Rothwell’s back. “Coward! You lied to me! You said—”
With a grunt, he shouldered her off him and pushed her to the ground. She fell with a shout.
“Lady Ravenshaw!” Jasmine rushed to her aid. Rothwell stepped toward the women, fist up to strike—
And Matthew lost the last of his patience.
He clapped his hand around Rothwell’s wrist, spun him around and pressed him face-first into the brick wall. Pinning him, Matthew twisted Rothwell’s arm high on his back and growled, “You’re making it damned difficult to be the bigger man.”
“Unhand me!” Rothwell struggled, but Matthew lifted his arm higher until the man shrieked.
“I can do this all night,” he promised. “Doesn’t feel good to be powerless, does it?”
Jasmine helped Vivian to her feet.
Looking over his shoulder, Matthew asked, “Are you two all right?”
“I’m unharmed,” Jasmine said. “Lady Ravenshaw, are you—”
“I’m fine.” Vivian huffed, fixing her skirts. “I didn’t need your help.”
Jasmine approached slowly, but stopped at the firm shake of his head. “What are you going to do with him?”
Rothwell feebly tried to move in Matthew’s hold. As inebriated and enraged as the man was, he wouldn’t risk retaliation on Vivian that evening. Calling for a night watchman would make matters worse.
“I’ll hold him here until Lady Ravenshaw leaves, and I’ll let him go. And everyone will go about our evening.” He lowered his voice at Rothwell. “Or would that be too humiliating?”
“You’ll die for this, Lincolnshire.” Rothwell slackened and laughed. “Mark my words.”
“Yes, yes, and I’ll go straight to hell.” Matthew raised a brow at Vivian. “Well, Lady Ravenshaw, don’t you have somewhere else to be?”
Vivian hesitated, eyes shifting to him. She stepped forward, opened her mouth—
“Go on, you whore,” Rothwell snarled. “I see where your allegiance lies.”
“I don’t want any part of this.” Vivian turned to Jasmine and Matthew. “You should both go, before someone gets hurt.”
“Leave!” Rothwell roared. “Traitorous bitch—” his words ended with a wheeze as Matthew lifted him and shoved him hard.
Vivian gritted her teeth. Releasing an angry sob, she fled. Once she was out of sight, Matthew spoke to Jasmine, “Why don’t you walk ahead, love? I’ll meet you at the phaeton.”
Shoulders set, Jasmine nodded and did as he asked. When she was at a safer distance, he loosened his grip on Rothwell.
“Now, I’m going to release you,” he said slowly. “You’ll go your way, I’ll go mine, and that’ll be the end of it.”
He backed away with his arms up as the other man set himself to rights. Freed, Rothwell sneered at him, lifted his fists, shifted his weight—and violently vomited onto his own shoes. Liquid splattered over brick. Matthew jumped back, covering his nose.
“Good Lord, get yourself together.”
Movement from the other side of the street caught his attention. A cloaked figure stepped out of the shadows.
They were being watched.
No. No. Something was wrong. Every hair on his body rose. Dark eyes glinted under lamplight. A flash of metal—and dear God, was that a gun?!
He dove to the ground.
A loud POP split the air.
A sharp zziippp cut past him.
Rothwell screamed.
“You shot me!” Rothwell crumpled in a ball, clutching his shoulder. His white glove grew red. “You weren’t supposed to shoot me!”
Blood dripped down Rothwell’s arm, the stain slowly spreading to his elbow.
Heart racing, Matthew looked for a gunman, but saw nothing. In every alley, shadows danced between the oil lamps. He staggered to his feet and sprinted to their phaeton.
Jasmine ran toward him. “What happened?! I heard a gunshot!”
He draped himself around her, shielding her with his body. “Stay near me.”
The windows in the buildings above them opened. On the other side of the street, a small crowd of people in their night clothes formed, whispering to each other behind their cupped hands.
The wooden clatter of a night watchman’s rattle came from nearby, followed by a bellowing, “What is the meaning of this?”
The approaching man had yellowing teeth, an unshaven face, and wore a uniform that didn’t fit his frame, but Matthew had never been happier to see law enforcement. Keeping Jasmine close to him, he walked to the watchman.
“Fortuitous timing,” he said. “This man has been shot, but the gunman may still be close.” He fixed his gaze on the crowd on the other side of the street.
The watchman knelt down and inspected Rothwell. Stepping back, he took in the scene with disgust.
“Dueling in public?” he seethed. “On Haymarket, no less!”
“We weren’t dueling!” Matthew raised his hands. “I didn’t shoot him!”
Rothwell whimpered, “He s-shot me, and he said he wouldn’t—”
“Good sir, this is a misunderstanding,” Jasmine cut in. “My husband did not shoot this man. If you would only—”
“Over a trollop no less.” He sneered and waved her off. “Take whatever pittance they gave you and get gone.”
Jasmine’s face turned red. “I am the Viscountess of Lincolnshire, and you will treat me with respect!”
“I don’t care if you’re the bloody Queen, dueling is illegal. As is prostitution! Get out of my sight before I arrest you.”
“I hope you enjoyed being employed,” Jasmine hissed. “It’ll never happen again.”
A vein in the watchman’s temple bulged. He unfastened a pair of manacles from one side of his belt and unstrapped a wooden staff from the other. “Which one will it be, my lady?”
The manacles clinked together, swaying in the man’s hands as he rose his staff in the air. Matthew stepped in front of Jasmine, tamping down his outrage. On the other side of the street, the crowd doubled. The last thing he needed was for anyone to be harmed or for this to be made public.
He offered his wrists to the watchman.
“I’ll go with you, if you let the lady go,” he said. “We’ll straighten this out at the watch house with your superiors.”
“We certainly will.” The corner of the watchman’s lip curved. He held Matthew’s hands behind his back and placed a manacle around one wrist. The cold metal bit into his skin, its weight settling heavy as the watchman turned the key in the lock.
“I will not stand for this!” Jasmine stomped forward. “Matthew, you must stop him!”
“Remember what I said earlier? I need you to do as I say. Go to Cassandra’s and tell Seth to find Blackmoor. He’ll take care of this.”
“No.” Her eyes watered. “You cannot ask me to leave you alone.”
“This isn’t the first time Blackmoor has gotten me out of a scrape. Trust me, and allow me to handle this.”
Matthew winced as the manacle closed tight on his other wrist.
After he was properly detained, the watchman yelled out to the crowd, “Are you all going to stand there and watch a man bleed or are one of you lurkers going to help?!”
Jasmine held Matthew’s face. “Please don’t go with him.”
He leaned in and rubbed his nose against hers. “Go. Hurry.”
“I’ll make haste.” She pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Te amo.”
“I love you,” he whispered. “Now go.”
Lifting her skirts, she ran to their phaeton.
Bound, Matthew followed the watchman in the opposite direction.