He loved her.
And she was starting to love him back.
Chapter Eighteen
Jasmine followed Cassandra through her house, down dark, narrow steps, then through a door. Once inside, her eyes widened.
“What is all of this?” she asked.
Matthew stood grinning in the middle of the kitchen. He wore his shirtsleeves rolled to the elbow and an apron two sizes too small. Behind him, the lit oven range filled the kitchen with the faint scent of oak smoke. A wooden worktable held knives and cooking utensils. Onions, tomatoes, peppers, and the seasonings required for the dish were lined up in glass bowls along with fresh chicken—quartered, cleaned, and ready to cook.
“You promised to teach me how to makepollo al chilindrón.” Matthew opened his arms. “Mi cocina es tu cocina.”
“It’smykitchen,” Cassandra corrected, moving to stand next to Jasmine. “You only live here.”
“I live here more than you do,” he countered. “Tell me, sister, where doesyourchef keep the oil?”
“Far away from my nose.” She covered her face with her sleeve and gagged. “I’ll be upstairs. Icannotabide the smell of raw chicken.”
She kissed Jasmine on the cheek.
“Make good decisions,” she said sternly. Without another word, she left the kitchen, closing the door behind her and leaving the two of them in silence.
Jasmine smiled. “She is a terrible chaperone.”
But a true friend.
“I’ve already ruined you.” Matthew gave a non-apologetic half-shrug. “What’s the point?”
Alone with him for the first time in days, she cast her eyes downward and reddened from the back of her neck to the tips of her ears.
“Unless you don’t wish to be alone?” he asked quietly. “If you’d prefer, we can do something else—”
She held her hand up to stop him.
“I want to be alone with you. It’s nice not to have an audience for once and be justus. It’s only…” Her hands shook, and there she was, getting nervous again. “Before we start, I have something for you.”
“Oh?”
She fished her hand in her pocket, clasped a piece of cloth—and had the immediate impulsenotto give it to him. She had talked herself into it all morning!Goodness, this was not a difficult thing! But perhaps she should wait. Oh, but she already announced that shewould—
Matthew approached with a concerned furrow to his brows. “Jasmine, what is it?”
“I have a gift for you,” she blurted out. Cringing, she thrust the cloth into his hand. “Please don’t look at it right now.”
He did anyway.
Matthew held the linen handkerchief face up and rubbed his thumb over the uneven redMshe had embroidered into the corner.
“A favor from a princess,” he whispered. He gave the brightest smile to the world’s ugliest handkerchief, and her heart did a backflip.
“It’s not very good,” she mumbled.
“What are you talking about? It’s beautiful. I’ll treasure it,” he promised, placing the handkerchief in his pocket. “I’ll carry it every day.”
She sighed. “I wanted to do both initials, but that’s as far as I got.”
“Because of Rothwell.” He scowled. “I’m taking care of that. Mysolicitors will draw up the papers today—he’ll be destitute by the end of the week. Blackmoor’s digging for information, and Honora is spreading the word.”