“Oh, of course!” Jasmine grabbed the key from the table. With a slight shake of her hand, she slid the key into the lever lock. A sense of unease clawed at him as the lock opened with afamiliarclick, tugging at a half-lost memory. As he walked through the open door and down the hall, he shoved that feeling down.
Of course he was unsettled! Any man in his right mind would be. He was about to kidnap and debauch a marquess’s daughter! If he were to get away with it, he needed to use everysecondwisely.
And the clock started now.
***
At precisely eleven, Jasmine waited in the back garden. Passing clouds temporarily obscured the moon, and she used that opportunity to move away from the house toward the street. The cool air licked at her bare legs, and she held her wool cloak tighter. Underneath, she wore her best silk nightgown. She nearly laughed outright at wanting to impress Matthew Cooper. But he wasn’tjustMatthew anymore—the curly-haired boy from her childhood who taught her how to fish, climb trees, and to throw a right hook.
He washerMatthew now.
A full-blooded man, who clearly wanted her. Plain as the hardness he pressed into her on the settee. Every time they had been close to intimacy, he pulled back. Not a lack of interest, but restraint.
And she was through with it.
Keeping close to the wall, she rounded the corner of the house—and bumped into something solid.
“Oh!”
The shadow covered her mouth and pressed her back against the wall of the house. Matthew dropped the hood of his own cloak and held his fingertip to his lips. She relaxed and nodded.
Stealing her away like a thief, he held her hand and led her downthe street. They kept to the shadows until they reached a two-seat open carriage, drawn by a pair of black horses. Built for speed, it was shorter than a typical carriage butmuchhigher off the ground. The wheels were slender, with the back two being a quarter size larger. Known for their tendency to tip over, only the truly reckless were brave enough to drive one.
“You own a high-flyer phaeton?” she asked.
“It’s cruel to make a coachman keep my hours,” he explained. “Come here and I’ll lift you up.”
Jasmine stood in front of him. He lifted her by the hips enough for her to grab the side of the carriage and haul herself inside. It rocked with her weight as she sat down on the leather seat. She held onto the edges for support as Matthew followed, climbing up with a grunt.
“Wear this.” He removed his greatcoat and draped it over her, enveloping her with the scent of cedarwood, warm from his body heat. “It’s not going to be a comfortable ride, so hold tight.”
He grabbed the reins and encouraged the horses into motion. Hooves clopped and wheels creaked over cobblestone. The phaeton jolted over every bump, swaying them precariously from side to side. The wind whipped over her cheeks, and London blurred in a streak of lamplights and houses—almost fast enough to convince her shewasflying. Until Matthew slowed their speed and rolled them to a stop.
He climbed out and opened his arms to her. She placed one hand on his shoulder for balance. He held onto her legs, then slowly eased her down, but he didn’t release her. “Put your arms around my neck, I’m carrying you from here.”
Indignant, Jasmine scoffed. “You aren’t carrying me, I’m not a child—oh!”
Gravity shifted once more when Matthew bent down, hooked his arm around her knees, and unceremoniously hauled her into his arms.
Kicking her legs, she squirmed and protested, “Put me down!”
“You’re not walking in my factory, you’ll ruin your clothes.” Carrying her like a bride, Matthew walked forward, grumbling, “It’ll be obvious enough that you were with me by the smell.”
“I’ve already thought of that. Rose water, hair powder, and a change of clothes.”
He gave an unconvinced huff and shifted her to open the front door. The factory greeted her first with the scents of grime, steel, and ash. It slowly revealed itself as her eyes adjusted. Like walking through old ruins, moonlight filtered in from the windows above, drifting from the vaulted ceiling to the sleeping forges below. It seemed to go on foracres.
With a factory this large, Matthew could arm all of Europe.
Wooden floorboards creaked under his boots in the walkway down the center. At the back of the building, he carried her up a set of narrow stairs. She held her cloak closer and ducked her toes to not hit the railing.
Standing in front of the door, he shifted her to grab the doorknob, then pushed it open with his shoulder. Breathing hard, he crossed the room in three strides and set her down on a long bed. Firm and functional, with cotton bedclothes and a wooden headboard insulating from the cold brick wall.
Matthew went to light the oil lamps along the walls. Flickering flames revealed a wardrobe, a washstand, a chair, and a tall, rectangular mirror.
He positioned the mirror in front of the bed.
Moisture collected in her palms, and her throat dried. “What is that for?”
