Why was it that men could misbehave, but whenshedid it, she risked her entire reputation? Just as he had right now. And he thought she should thank him?
Don’t count on it.
He kept his hold on her hand as her mother approached.
Lady Valentine Sinclair, the Marchioness of Dorchester, was a tall, formidable Hispanic woman. She had pewter hair and an hourglass figure, donned in a wine-colored dress. She approached with her best smile, though it was tight at the edges.
Now she shows up,Jasmine thought bitterly.Some chaperone.
“Lord Lincolnshire.” Mother offered her hand.
Matthew released Jasmine to bow to her mother, and dutifully bent to kiss the air above the back of her hand. “Good evening, Lady Dorchester. It’s been some time.”
After concluding with pleasantries, Matthew placed his hand on the small of Jasmine’s back. She trembled as he traced the curve of herspine with his thumb. With a fire in his eyes, he looked at her as if she were the only person in the room. He touched her as if shebelongedto him.Stroking idly, he watched her reaction from the corner of his eye.
He was being positively indecent!
With a subtle movement, Mother took Jasmine’s arm and tugged her to her side.
“If you wanted to start the first scandal of the season, you’ve done a good job,” Mother said,finallywith the disapproving look Jasmine had been hoping for.
“Certainly not my intention.” He leaned in and whispered, “But who doesn’t love a good scandal? It’s practically a family profession.”
“Two dances at her first public appearance doesn’t bode well for her reputation, you know,” she admonished. “I would appreciatelessbrashness in the future.”
“I apologize,” he said. “I couldn’t let her go.”
“How peculiar you got her to dance at all. She assured me she wouldn’t be stepping foot onto the ballroom floor.”
Matthew nodded. “She did mention that.”
“He didn’t give me a choice,” Jasmine grumbled, then shot a glare at her mother. “And neither haveyou.”
“I had to seize the opportunity when it presented itself, and then I’ll admit I got greedy. I never get to dance at these events anymore.”
Furrowing her brow, Jasmine asked, “Why?”
He gestured broadly to himself. “The Lincolnshire Slayer,at your service.”
“No.” She gasped. “After all this time?”
Jasmine glanced around. Guests without masks sneered at Matthew as if he were rotting fruit.
But he was innocent!
Four years ago, during a charity soirée, in the dead of winter,Matthew fatally shot Sir Reginald Thomas to save his sister Cassandra’s life. But as far as society was concerned, the defense claim was hearsay. There had been problems between the families previously. In a humiliating blow, Cassandra rejected Sir Reginald’s nephew in favor of marrying Seth Reeves—the only other witness to the crime. And years before that, Seth fell asleep on watch, leading to the accidental death of Sir Reginald’s son.
And Matthew—a known miscreant from the poorest house in the aristocracy—was found with a smoking gun in his hand while a respected baronet bled to death in the middle of a hedge maze.
To make mattersworse, Seth’s brother, Lord Blackmoor, patched the case clean, clearing Matthew of murder in a scant three days. London erupted in protests, claiming nepotism and misuse of power, but all calls for justice went unanswered.
As she left for Spain three years ago, the newspapers were still calling Matthew that awful name. Glancing up at him, she saw his truefull mask.
Nonchalance.
“It’s nothing to worry over,” Matthew said. “An inconvenience more than anything.”
Bouncing lightly on her toes, a young woman inserted herself into their circle. Blonde, lithe-limbed and glowing like sunshine, Caroline Cooper spoke as if she had been there all along.
