Jasmine followed his gaze.
A woman approached, her face hidden under a parasol of black silk. A charcoal grey dress clung to a curvaceous frame. She was pale, as if the sun had never touched her skin. Under a wide-brimmed bonnet, her dark hair was styled in elaborate braids. Seeming to be in her early thirties, she carried herself with a regal air. Her almond-tipped brown eyes lit up when she noticed them, and she walked straight in their direction. Cassandra and Caroline tensed, but the woman greeted the family as if she were one of them.
“Caroline, Cassandra.” The woman came forward and kissed their cheeks. Her voice was musical and light when she asked, “Cassandra, my darling, how is Rose?”
“She’s well, Lady Ravenshaw,” Cassandra clipped, then shot a glare at her brother.
Lady Ravenshaw addressed Matthew with a sweet smile. “Lord Lincolnshire. It’s wonderful to happen upon you, I was hoping for a word.” She looked at Jasmine, gaze flicking over her in appraisalbefore saying, “But where are my manners? We haven’t been introduced, I’m Lady Ravenshaw. It’s wonderful to meet you, Miss…?”
“LadyJasmine.” Matthew stepped forward to stand next to Jasmine. He kept his eyes on Lady Ravenshaw and gave her a winning grin. “My dear friend, returned to me from Spain. Can you believe it?”
Lady Ravenshaw’s sharp gaze narrowed a fraction. The surrounding air crackled with tension as—per custom—she curtsied. Jasmine gracefully returned the gesture and stood next to Cassandra.
“A pleasure to meet you,LadyJasmine,” Lady Ravenshaw said. Then, she turned to Matthew and crooned, “Now, I really must speak with you, Lord Lincolnshire—on aprivatematter.”
Matthew turned to his sisters and cheerfully said, “You all go home, I’ll join you there soon.”
Standing before Jasmine, he took her hand in his. Slowly, he brought the back of her hand up to his lips. With his eyes on hers, he pressed a lingering kiss onto her glove, warming her skin with the heat of his breath. Voice like velvet, he said, “I’ll see you tonight, Lady Jasmine.”
“Yes,” Jasmine breathed as he released her.
“We’ll take our leave. Good day, Lady Ravenshaw,” Cassandra said. She linked her arm through Jasmine’s and guided her down the path. And it almost felt likefleeing. Behind them, Matthew and Lady Ravenshaw walked in the opposite direction.
Silently, Cassandra walked Jasmine out of the park and onto the road back to Mayfair. As the distance increased between them, Jasmine could only focus on one thought.
She looks like me.
Chapter Seven
Blood boiling, Matthew hissed, “Is something wrong with your eyes? I am with myfamily,Vivian.”
“When did Cassandra return?” Vivian cooed. “She looks lovely, a tad plump, but Caroline’s becoming quite the beauty. I might call upon them for tea.”
“Don’t bother. We have plans this evening.”
“Yes, the Dorchester soirée.” Politeness forgone, she glared at him from the corner of her eye. “My invitation was rescinded this morning. Now I see why.”
Vivian held her head high and shifted her parasol in subtle ways to block his face completely, especially when they passed by someone sheknew.
Matthew scoffed.
Still the same old song and dance.
Her steps were steady, gliding across the gravel soundlessly—as if they walked through the park together all the time. But under her bonnet, she clenched her jaw, and her cheeks strained to keep her smile up. She held her reticule tight in her other hand. The black silk bag scrunched under her fingers.
Of her many emotions, fury was his least favorite and the most time-consuming. He had a thousand tasks before he could return to Mayfair and ready himself for tonight. He didn’t have time for a full Vivian-scale explosion. He opened his watch and made a show of reading the time.
“You have five minutes to say whatever it is you need to say, Vivian,” he said, as if beginning a business negotiation. “You came by myfactory, you’re stalking me through the park. All that effort for small talk?”
Her entire body tensed. Her parasol shook as she roughly yanked open her reticule. She reached inside the bag, brought forth a folded piece of paper, then shoved it into his chest. Lip curled, she hissed, “You made the headlines.”
He took the paper and read the contents. The article was from this morning. He was too busy arguing with Jasmine to read anything properly. Not that he wasted time on drivel like the gossip sheet.
Old Friends… or Old Flames?
The mysterious phoenix who drew Lord Lincolnshire into a flight of fancy at Duke Kendall’s masquerade ball was unmasked to be none other than Lady Jasmine, the prodigal daughter of the Marquess of Dorchester. Eager to reunite with each other after a long separation, the Spanish Rose and the London Rake scorched a trail through the ballroom floor. Dance after dance, the pair appeared ready to ravish each other.
Which leads to the question: are these two old friends or old flames? Coming off a rumored split from a not-so-secret affair with a certain widow, Lord Lincolnshire has made his intentions known—he’s trading age for beauty. Move aside, lady-ravens, there’s a new bird in town.
