Curse it all, Matthew had bungled it again.
Had her answer come from any of the gentlemen in the room, it might have gotten firm approval.
Jasmine slumped in her chair—with herstarredsuitors sitting next to her. That was Don Lorenzo? That pompous cad earned a star on Lady Dorchester’s list? And Matthew had never met a gentleman moreworthless than Lord Rothwell.
Matthew wanted to storm out of the room with Jasmine in tow—reputations and rules be damned. He couldn’t stomach her mistreatment. His fists clenched, and he reminded himself that he was a gentleman.
And gentlemen control themselves.
Lady Dorchester spoke to her guests. “Lord Rothwell is right. Perhaps the gentlemen should save this conversation for another time. There are plenty of genteel topics to discuss. How did everyone enjoy the museum today?”
As conversation resumed, Matthew drowned out the sound, focusing instead on Jasmine’s strained smile and the tremor in her shoulders. The men next to her talked to her, but she didn’t respond except with polite nods and the occasional shake of her head. Aside from taking small bites of her food, her mouth didn’t move for the rest of the meal.
After the last dish was served, Lady Dorchester ushered everyone out of the dining room.
“Ladies, come with me to the ballroom, and we’ll have dancing. Gentlemen, if you would prefer, you may retire with my husband for cards and cigars. Thebestport has been provided.” She gestured wide and opened her arms to Jasmine. “Darling, let’s lead the way.”
Jasmine gave one sharp shake of her head. Prodding gently, Lady Dorchester said, “Come with me, Jasmine.”
“I’m not dancing.” Jasmine turned and walked in the opposite direction. “I’m retiring for the evening.”
Lady Dorchester called out, “Jasmine! Come back here!”
Jasmine didn’t answer her. She rushed down the hall, holding her skirts in her fists. With a stomp, she turned a corner and disappeared. The guests looked around and whispered under their breaths.
Lady Dorchester recovered with a smile. “She is weary from travel,the poor dear. I’m afraid all of this excitement is too much for her. We’ll allow her to rest.” She gestured to the door. “Please, follow me.”
As the guests shuffled out, Matthew stayed behind and considered his next move. What he did now mattered more than any other decision in his life.
He considered the facts.
Jasmine was alone, and he knew exactly where she would go. Lady Dorchester would eventually send someone to find her, and he had limited time. His chances of marrying Jasmine were slim, if not zero. He could lose her forever, or stop being a coward andactfor once.
Lady Dorchester openly disapproved of him, and there would be no persuading her otherwise. He would have to ask Lord Dorchester for forgiveness because he couldn’t risk a refusal. There was only one way Matthew could marry Lady Jasmine Sinclair.
He needed to compromise her.
Properly this time.
With that thought in mind, he followed Jasmine down the hall.
Chapter Ten
Oh, where is it?
Jasmine searched the brick wall leading to the wine cellar. Her one candle didn’t provide enough light to see anything. She rememberedroughlywhere she had hidden the spare key. She traced the mortar surrounding the bricks until her gloves caught, slipping into a narrow crevice.Success! She reached in and slid the iron key from the spot.
Metal groaned against metal as she turned the key in the lock. Hinges creaked as Jasmine opened the door. A rush of humid air greeted her, accompanied by the musty aroma of aged oak. If she reached up, she could touch the low, curved ceiling. Beneath the floor, a trickle of water ran under criss-crossed wrought-iron grates along the center of the room.
She moved to the edge of the room and carefully lit the candles along the walls. A long room that seemed to go on forever emerged in the dim light. Oak barrels lined one wall, and shelves of dark wine bottles lined the other.
A rectangular table with six chairs was in the middle of the cellar—meant for entertaining the trusted few allowed into this sanctuary. She stole her first sip of wine at that table, with Cassandra. Jasmine hated it so much she nearly spat it out, but kept it down to save face. Later, she learned to appreciate the fuzzy feeling wine gave her, but not how wretched she felt the next morning.
She couldn’t care less about how she felt tomorrow.
Everything hurtnow.
After dropping the key to the cellar on the table, Jasmine grabbed a corkscrew and walked to the back of the room. She went to the oldest section with the most expensive wine and chose an amontillado dated 1783. She dusted it off with her gloves. With a few forceful twists of the corkscrew and a hardpull, the cork released with an airypop.