The Tempestuous Debutante: Book 4 in the Cotillion Ball Series (Crimson Romance)

by Lower, Becky

  Jasmine took several steps back from him, her eyes filling with tears, and her hand on her mouth. “What have you done, Parr?”

  “I think there were two tongues involved here, cailín, not just mine. And you didn’t gag, as you did with the cobbler’s.”

  She turned from him as her tears spilled over onto her cheeks. She moved quickly to the stall door, then stopped suddenly and turned her attention to the floor. The hem of her dress was trailing through a pile of fresh horse manure.

  “Oh, no. Now my dress is ruined.”

  “’Tis not ruined. You merely have to wash it.”

  “But I’m about to have dinner with Alistair! I can’t sit down to dine with him smelling of horse dung! You’ve ruined everything, Parr O’Shaughnessy. I hate you!”

  “I’m sorry, cailin. Not for the kiss. No, never for that. But I overstepped, and for that, I’m sorry.”

  Jasmine wiped the tears from her face as she let herself out of the stall, and out of Parr’s life.

  • • •

  Jasmine stopped her headlong flight just outside the stable, and leaned up against the wall. She needed to pull herself together before she returned to the house. What had just happened? She bent over as her stomach roiled, and her tears continued. Parr was merely a friend, someone to possibly flirt with, filling the same role Philippe had done the previous year. Why had he kissed her? And why, after giving him a slap on the cheek for his outrageous liberty, had she taken his face in her hands and insisted — no, demanded — he continue? Their kisses had been scorchingly hot, and all the stolen kisses she’d had in years past paled in comparison to this.

  My God, Parr was not who she wanted. She put a hand on the side of her head to stop her thoughts from spinning. Alistair was the man she needed in her life, if she wanted to continue in the indulgent lifestyle her parents had provided for her thus far. And she’d best remember that. She now had her moment of opportunity with him. The woman who’d turned Alistair’s head initially — her rival, Lydia Smith — would be returning from visiting her sister in time for the season’s commencement. Which meant Jasmine had a mere handful of weeks to convince Alistair that she was indeed a worthy replacement.

  She may not have Lydia’s flaming red hair, or her knowledge of what was involved when it came to lovemaking, but she could match Lydia with intelligence any day of the week. So far, Alistair thought of her only as a piece of confection, adding to the conversation if they were talking about social events and the upcoming high season. If she wanted to fulfill her ambition to be engaged to Alistair by the time the events started in earnest, she had to redouble her efforts, and quit dawdling with the help. Stable boys were for young women, to test their abilities at things such as flirting and kissing. But they were not to be taken seriously. Alistair was the only one worthy of her company.

  She straightened herself, and wiped the last of the tears away. If anyone noticed and asked her about them, she’d simply say she was overwhelmed by seeing a newborn colt. Yes, that would do. And if she could come up with a clever name for the horse, Alistair just might see that she was more than a pretty face. If he bestowed her chosen name on the horse, she would be convinced she was making headway. Now, if only something could be done for the dung on her hem. She bent over to make a closer inspection of the damage.

  Blast! It was too dark to see well, but she could smell the stink as she got closer to the hem. Well, nothing could be done about it now. She’d merely have to pretend there was nothing amiss. Straightening back up, she shoved herself away from the stable wall. Her hand went to her lips, still swollen from the passionate kisses she had just shared with Parr. Her stomach flip-flopped as she relived the scene in the stall, and wetness pooled between her legs again. She’d not been immune to his manhood pressing up against her center when he pushed his leg between hers, and she thought she would explode from the sensations he was drawing forth. For a brief, wild moment, she wanted to put her hand on his shaft, to feel and touch it, and see if he responded to her touch in the same way she was reacting to his.

  She groaned and closed her eyes, putting her back against the stable wall again. She’d best get herself under control, and fast. Her father was at the house, talking to Alistair, and while she might be able to act as if nothing was amiss in front of Alistair, her father would pick up on it.

  That’s enough! No more thoughts of Parr, and how he had ruined her plans. She still had time to right things, and it would start by forgetting how his kisses inflamed her. She was positive Alistair’s kisses, when she got to that stage of their relationship, would have the same effect on her. Wouldn’t they?

  • • •

  What had he done? Parr lay on his cot, for the first time in over a day and a half, with the fine, tweed cap clenched tightly in his hand. Shite! He was a fecking eejit, that’s what he was. Things had been going so well for him, and now he had ruined it all, in a moment of impetuousness, brought on by his exhaustion. Yes, that’s what it was. He was extremely tired, and didn’t have the energy to keep his emotions in check. Every time he was around Jasmine, his heart opened up.

  He had been doing a fine job of befriending her, since he determined early on that, while she may have a lot of acquaintances, she had only one true friend: her twin, Heather. And now that Heather had married and left her side, she was rudderless, until she met him. Under her frothy exterior, an intelligent, spirited woman existed, and he helped her realize she could do anything she wanted. He had been able to keep his feelings about her bottled up inside himself. Until tonight.

  Now his fragile friendship with her was shattered by his lust-filled deed. Alistair would have something to say about it, he was certain. And how would he react, watching as Jasmine became more friendly with Alistair? He could picture it now — being called upon to saddle up two horses for them to ride off, with picnic basket and blanket in tow, so they could dine and spend time together in the open. After all, Alistair had done so on several occasions already with Lydia Smith, despite the chill of January, so why not Jasmine as well?

  Parr groaned and rolled onto one side as a flash of jealousy ripped through his body. He wanted to be the one to educate her in the ways of love, not Alistair. He was still hard as a rock from their encounter, despite his weariness. He wished Jasmine would return to him, right this minute, and they could continue their explorations of each other, here on his cot. He was not so weary that he couldn’t make love with her for the next several hours.

  Ach, but that was not to be. Ever.

  Best get that daydream out of his mind. Jasmine was not the kind of woman to dawdle with in a stable, for God’s sake. She was a true lady, not some parlor maid. He needed sleep first, then he’d go to Alistair and confess his misdeeds. He doubted Alistair would dissolve their partnership over this, but he would have harsh words for Parr, of that he was certain.

  He still had no idea why Alistair had plucked him from oblivion and poverty to bring him to America and into this horse empire they were building together. It puzzled him at times, but he decided it was just the luck of the Irish, and let it go at that.

  He’d begun hiring himself out as a jockey when he turned fourteen. During one of his victories, he was given the Grey Ghost in lieu of money. It meant working even harder, to keep the horse in feed and a stall in a neighbor’s barn. As the horse came into his own, and with Parr’s guidance, he turned into the fastest racehorse that County Kildare had ever seen. It was worth all the extra work. He and his mother were on their way out of poverty when her death happened.

  If he hadn’t been so busy, he would have picked up on the subtle clues that something was wrong with her. He would have sold Grey, as heartbreaking as it would have been, if there was a chance he could have gotten treatment for his mother to make her better. But, instead of seeking help, she’d hidden her symptoms from him until it was too late. So Parr was grateful when Al
istair walked into his life, and offered him companionship as well as a partnership in this new country. Parr would do nothing to jeopardize their relationship, especially if he wanted Jasmine. Alistair was the better-suited man for her, anyway.

  Despite this being America, the land of opportunity, there was still a class structure in place. And Jasmine out-classed him, way out-classed him. And once he paid his penance to Alistair, he wouldn’t forget it, ever again.

  Chapter Twelve

  Jasmine stopped inside the doorway of Alistair’s home, and drew in a deep breath. She needed all her wits about her, in order to pull off the task she had created for herself. Somehow, some way, she was going to make Alistair Wickersham forget all about Lydia Smith in the next few weeks, and be so enchanted by her, Jasmine Fitzpatrick, that he would ask for her hand by the time the season began in April. And she had to start now. She pressed a finger to her lips, which were still a bit swollen from Parr’s kisses. Puffy lips can be enticing, she thought as she smoothed out the skirt of her rose-colored silk dress, and tried to hide the soiled hem. Straightening her shoulders, she moistened her lips with her tongue and entered the room where her father and Alistair were sitting and smoking cigars.

  Alistair glanced up at her. “There you are. We were getting worried about you. So, did you get to see the colt?”

  Jasmine sat across from him, making sure to tuck the soiled part of her dress behind her leg. She inhaled the fragrant scent of the cheroots and hoped the smell of tobacco would hide her hem’s smell of dung. “He’s an absolutely gorgeous horse, Mr. Wickersham. Have you selected a name for him yet?”

  “No, I haven’t given it a thought. I need to see him again. Do you have a suggestion?”

  Jasmine caught her lower lip with her teeth. Now was her chance. “Well, since he has that blaze down the middle of his face, I think the name should refer in some way to his markings. Something such as Lord Blaze, Blaze of Glory, or, if you want to give credit to Parr, who delivered him, maybe Emerald Blaze?”

  “Hmmm. All good names. I’ll have to think about it and make my choice in the next few days. Will Parr be joining us for dinner, do you think?”

  Jasmine searched his face, to see if he guessed what really happened in the stable, but she couldn’t read him. She shrugged daintily. “I believe all Parr wants to do right now is to fall in bed.” With me, she added silently.

  “He was exhausted when I checked on him, right after the delivery. He’s been up with the mare for more than a day and a half. I’m surprised he was still awake when you went to the barn.”

  “He couldn’t tear himself away from the colt just yet, I think.” Or from me.

  “The next colt produced on this property is going to have Parr’s stallion, the Grey Ghost, as the sire. We were going to use Belle as the dam, but seeing as how this birth was so difficult, we may need to change our plans slightly. But, however it happens, the Grey Ghost will be at the root of our eventual dynasty.”

  Jasmine was uncomfortable with the way this conversation was going. Alistair was talking about horse reproduction when her thoughts were filled with taking the first steps in the very human process of lovemaking with Parr. She needed to change the topic, and fast. Neither topic was appropriate dinner conversation. “Why is Grey Parr’s horse? Can’t you just buy it from him? After all, he’s only the stable boy.”

  Alistair stared at her for a long moment. “No, let me correct your assumption. It’s time you knew. He’s an equal partner in this venture. I provide the necessary funds, but he provides the horseflesh and his expertise. We think it’s an even exchange.”

  Jasmine shook her head. “It doesn’t sound even to me. Money always wins out.” Then she granted Alistair her best smile. “But enough of Parr and the colt. I’m starving!”

  “Jasmine,” her father interjected. “Is that any way for a young lady to talk? What would your mother say?”

  Alistair smiled. “We were waiting for your return before we began dinner, but it’s ready.” His chair scraped the floorboards as he rose and extended his arm to her. “I know you must be weak from hunger. May I escort you to the table?”

  Jasmine rose in a graceful motion and wrapped her arm around his. Now this was more of what she had in mind. She glided into the sumptuous dining room and studied the table settings. Normally, the man sat at the head, his wife at the foot, and the most important guests on either side of the man. This evening, there were places ready for Alistair at the head of the table, and settings on either side of him. She raised her eyebrow at him for clarification.

  “I prefer to keep my guests close, so I told the staff to set the table this way. Saves us from tossing the rolls to you down at the end all by yourself.”

  Jasmine nodded and smiled. At least he had pondered for a moment putting her at the foot of the table. Soon enough, she’d be ensconced there permanently.

  • • •

  Despite his misgivings, Alistair truly enjoyed his dinner guests. He and George were two of a kind when it came to business, and their partnership in the bank was moving along just fine. George sensed a panic looming on the financial horizon in America in the very near future, and Alistair trusted George’s gut instinct. After all, he had been in the banking business his entire adult life, and had been quite successful up to this point.

  Also, the storm clouds were gathering as this new nation divided itself into the North and the South. If tensions escalated into all-out war in the next couple of years, it could spell financial disaster for the country. Or it could be a financial boon, depending on how they positioned the bank’s assets in the coming years. The situation would bear close watching. They discussed both problems in depth, and Alistair respected George’s wishes to not deny anyone who wanted to withdraw their funds from the bank. The payback for such largess would happen soon enough, as people remembered which bank honored their requests during a time of struggle.

  Yes, he had no problem with George. His daughter, though, was something else again. He’d originally thought she was merely another pretty girl with not much substance. Similar to a piece of hollow chocolate candy. But tonight, when she gave up on her rather childish attempts at coquetry and shared her idea to begin making shoes, boots, and gowns for ladies, she came alive. Her eyes sparkled and her hands flitted through the air as she outlined her business plan, her idea to use her brother’s business expertise to help with the financial side of the project, and her partnership with Blake Morgan.

  “This is a good business model, from what I can tell. I’m impressed. Have you always been interested in fashion?”

  “I remember having the most fun as a child when I could go into Mother’s armoire and put my own ensembles together. They were probably outrageous combinations of materials and jewelry, but I thought I created quite a fashion statement. I loved the way the light sparkled on Mother’s jewels.”

  George reached over and patted his daughter’s hand. “And you did look adorable.”

  She smiled at her father before she turned her attention back to Alistair. “But I never gave a thought to the design of footwear, until two things happened, both of which involved the same cobbler, Philippe Louboutin.”

  “I’ve already been told the story about the red paint, and that’s why your season got delayed by a year. But what else happened?”

  “I was having trouble riding using the lady’s boots that are in style today, so Parr lent me a pair of his, from when he first began to race … ” Her voice drifted off and she ran her fingers over the design in the tablecloth.

  “And they worked for you?” Alistair prompted.

  Jasmine blinked her eyes, bringing her focus back to him. Were those tears in her eyes? No, just a sparkle because she was talking about her creative side, he was certain.

  “They were much more comfortable, and made me feel more secure in the saddle. Parr pointed
out the elements of the boot that made it work so well, and I drew up a more feminine version that included all the features Parr said were necessary. I took my design to Philippe, and he crafted a pair for me, which are wonderful. But what I didn’t realize was that he began to pass off my design as his original, and has been making the same boot for everyone else. Mrs. Smith was wearing a pair just a week ago!”

  Alistair smiled. “So you decided to get back at the Frenchman by opening your own shop, have you? Vengeance is not always a bad motive. Plus, with Halwyn monitoring the bookkeeping, I think you have a sound course of action.”

  “I’ve put together some designs for new slippers and boots. Colleen and I met with a cobbler the other day who seems willing to create a few pairs so I can display them in the shop. If I add several gowns to go with them, we should have the making of a nice shop display.”

  As Jasmine continued to lay out the plans for her business, Alistair let his mind wander. Yes, she was lacking in some of the social graces Lydia had mastered. And he was certain Jasmine had no idea how to properly seduce a man. There was something to be said for an older, more seasoned woman. But Lydia was out of town for several weeks, and he needed a partner for his various social obligations. He could do far worse than Jasmine Fitzpatrick. At the very least, she was a step above the other young ladies he’d met, since she didn’t just talk incessantly about the latest bauble or design to emerge from France, but was acting upon her interest by being enterprising. Besides, if he appeared to be smitten with her, matrons with their eligible daughters would leave him be. For the time being, anyway.