Every time Don Lorenzo was in the same room with him, he tried to pick a fight, but Matthew was in no mood to tolerate it.
“Why are you still here?” he asked. “You know Jasmine is never going to choose you as a husband.”
“So she keeps saying.” Don Lorenzo shrugged, unbothered. “I’m not here for her. I have business in London that doesn’t concern Lady Jasmine. But her mind is fickle, she may yet change it.”
Matthew scoffed. “Jasmine isn’t fickle.”
“No?” Don Lorenzo clucked as if speaking to a small child. “When she first arrived in Spain, she favored me.A fortnight ago, she favored you.”His voice took on a questioning tilt.“Do you know where her favor is tonight?”
“Is there a point to this conversation?” Matthew snapped.
Don Lorenzo raised his arms in surrender and smirked.
“I’m weighing the competition—there is so much of it lately,” he said. “You and I need not be enemies. We’re in pursuit of the same goal. ‘If mutual interests align, all parties benefit.’ Those are your words. I’ve come here to offer you partnership, Lord Lincolnshire.”
Matthew thought back to the partnership Don Lorenzo had offeredRothwell at the start of the season when they tried to oust him as a suitor.
“I’ve no interest in being your ally in a battle I’ve won.” He curled his lip in distaste. “Jasmine is marrying me.”
“You are blind,Asesino, and you never listen. Tonight, you’ll see—we’ve both lost.” Don Lorenzo chuckled to himself once more, then walked away. “We’ll speak again when your vision is clear.”
Good riddance.
The man spoke in riddles, and Matthew wouldn’t waste any time on them. He swallowed the rest of his punch and handed the empty glass to a footman. Turning his attention back to the entrance of the ballroom, he caught sight of Cassandra and Caroline walking through the door.
Caroline wore a white dress, her golden tresses in loose ringlets. Cassandra walked by her side in an amethyst-colored dress. With a pinched brow and a frown, her gaze traveled the ballroom. She wore the same expression whenever—
Something is wrong.
Matthew moved without thinking. It took seconds to reach their side. A flash of relief crossed Cassandra’s face when she saw him, but Caroline bit her lip, nervously looking around.
“What is it?” Matthew asked.
Cassandra pulled him and Caroline to the side of the room. “Have you seen Jasmine?”
Nausea formed in the pit of his stomach at Cassandra’s worried tone.
“No, I haven’t,” he said. “Is she all right? Is she ill?”
“She’s all right,” Cassandra whispered. “Listen, I need to tell you—”
A collective gasp drowned out whatever Cassandra meant to say next, followed by a loud rumbling of conversation. The chorus ofspreading gossip rose to a crescendo, accompanying the orchestra. Everyone shifted to face one direction, and Matthew did as well, searching the ballroom for the interruption.
Next to him, Caroline’s eyes widened, and her mouth dropped. “Matthew.” She pointed at the staircase. “Is that…?”
His gaze followed Caroline’s finger.
The air left his lungs, strangling his heart. He was in a dream—a terrible nightmare. No other reason could account for the impossible reality of what his eyes beheld.
Jasmine stood at the top of the golden staircase, as she had weeks before. Her long black hair flowed down her back like a veil, and a black dress covered her from her neck to the floor—as if someone had dipped her in ink.
And on her arm…
Duke Kendall.
Dazzling in a white suit with a gold waistcoat, he smiled down at Jasmine as if she were his wife. They descended the steps together—a perfect juxtaposition of light and dark.
Duke Kendall’s eyes found Matthew’s in the crowd. He gave a cordial smile, then returned his attention to Jasmine—and he smirked.