“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.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Jasmine was born three weeks before Cassandra. At four years old, Matthew hadn’t known what to think of her—this chaotic bundle of noise screeching in his ear.
His father made him sit down to hold her.
‘Support her head.’
She was the smallest human being he had ever seen. Light and fragile. So very fragile, like the woman he now held in his arms. Now, Jasmine was quiet, limp, and heavy.
He kept his feet moving. With every forced breath, his lungs burned. Arms aching, he shuffled Jasmine for a better hold, and she whimpered.
“It’s me. I have you,” he soothed. “No one is going to hurt you.”
Step after agonizing step, he made his way to the entrance of the manor. As best as he could, he supported Jasmine’s head on his chest. The rising volume of the music from the ballroom guided him, growing louder with every turn until he reached the main hall.
The entryway was just ahead.
And so was Duke Kendall—framed by the pillars of the open doorway, with the evening sky as a backdrop. Three ladies stood with him, two blondes and one brunette, all wearing identical shimmering pearl dresses. They lifted their fans, laughed, and stood directly in Matthew’s path.
As if they had been there all evening.
When Matthew approached, the women surrounded him in a circle,reaching for him—for Jasmine—and he snarled at them.
“Get out of my way.”
Duke Kendall’s hands rose, palms out. “Everyone, calm yourselves. I’m sure there is a reason for this spectacle.” He leaned forward and leered at Jasmine.
“Pardon me,Your Grace—Lady Jasmine needs medical attention.”
“My, my. It looks likesomeonehas had too much punch.” He smirked. “Step aside ladies, leave Lord Lincolnshire to his lush. If Lady Jasmine cannot handle her libations, she is not the wife forme. She’s all yours, seeing as she’s ruined now.”
Matthew shouldered past him. He descended the stone steps onto the street and searched for his carriage in the long line of vehicles. The horses and carriages bled together, looking the same on the crowded street. A dozen aristocrats hurried forward, calling out to him in concern.
“Is that Lady Jasmine?!”
“Lord Lincolnshire, allow us to help!”
“Lord Lincolnshire! Lord—oh, someone, please!”
“Mrs. Winslow, find Lady Dorchester! Make haste!”
