by Lower, Becky
Jasmine smiled slightly. “And we all know her heart was with David all along. Blake was never a real contender for my sister’s heart. I’m glad he and Amanda are seeing each other. I thought all along they belonged together. After all, he towers over her, even with her being so tall. Not many men can do that.”
“It’s not just his height that I’m impressed with. He is a successful businessman, he’s kind and thoughtful. I’ll have you know that the first afternoon he came calling on Amanda, he brought me a bouquet of lovely scented flowers! We are so hoping he’ll propose before the season starts. Amanda is dreading becoming one of the ‘poor unfortunates,’ as she calls them. Walking into the debutante ball with a ring on her finger will be so much better.”
Mrs. Phillips took hold of Jasmine’s hand. “I see you’re of the same mind, with your young man.” She nodded in Alistair’s direction. “Well, maybe not so young, but you get my meaning. Marriage to a viscount, no less. How wonderful for you.”
Jasmine squeezed Mrs. Phillips’s hand. “My relationship with Alistair is moving along, but we’re very far from a proposal yet, I’m afraid. I have hopes for a good outcome, though.”
“You’ll do it, my girl. You’ve always been the kind of woman who gets what she goes after.” Mrs. Phillips gave her a brief hug and left her side. Jasmine wandered over to where Alistair stood with two other gentlemen. She slipped her arm around his.
“Ah, here’s the mastermind behind the bank’s latest venture.” Charles Gray, her father’s dearest friend, placed his hand on Jasmine’s shoulder. “When your father told me of your business plans, I was so impressed. You’ve always had an eye for fashion, and it’s great that you’ve figured out a way to use it to your advantage. Is this lovely creation one of yours?” He motioned to her dress.
“Yes, it is, Mr. Gray.” She ran her hands down the lush silver brocade silk with its subtle feather pattern. It had been adorned at the sleeves and bodice with small black feathers, and her jet-black onyx necklace and earrings complemented her choice of embellishment. “Thank you for noticing. We just finished it this afternoon.”
Jasmine leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. “I never had Ginger’s head for figures, so I’m perfectly content to leave that end of the business to Halwyn, and I’ll handle the creative part. And I’ve already got a celebrity client! Eliza Logan, the Irish actress, wants me to make four exclusive dresses for her. We started today on the first one.”
“I had confidence that you’d make a go of whatever you decided to do.” Mr. Gray glanced around the room before he whispered to her. “Professionally and personally.” His eyes flickered over Alistair before he said, “It looks as if we’re all here now. Shall we take our seats and commence with dinner?”
Was there a hint of disdain as Mr. Gray’s eyes moved over Alistair? Or had Jasmine only imagined it? Coming on the heels of Mrs. Phillips’s remark about his age, Mr. Gray’s expression made her wonder. Does everyone think I’m interested in Alistair simply because of his title? Perhaps I should be a bit more demonstrative with him at dinner, and squash their foolish notion.
But she had to admit, perhaps it was not such a foolish notion after all.
• • •
If Alistair’s purpose in escorting Jasmine to tonight’s dinner was to cause a stir, he certainly succeeded. And not just with her, although she was far more bold tonight than she had been to date. But he caught the veiled glimpses from behind the ladies’ fans. Clearly, they thought he was risking scandal by merely being seen with someone so much younger than himself. Or maybe they were simply jealous that it was not their own darling daughter who was on his arm. Either way, he struggled against their reactions all evening. When the men in the room caught his eye, he found their responses equally unsettling, as they nodded their approval with wicked smiles on their faces, or outright winks in his direction. They might agree with their wives that he was a dirty old man, but their expressions told him each and every one would be more than willing to trade places with him.
The ride back to the Fitzpatrick home was a fairly subdued affair, after the kiss that began their evening. Jasmine seemed content to merely wrap her arm around his as he steered the horses down the street. She laid her head on his shoulder and together they listened to the muffled night noises from the streets of New York.
He tied up the horses at the hitching post outside the home and helped Jasmine down from the carriage. As he caught her around the waist and lifted her to the street, her body brushed up against his. Again, his nether regions remained stoic. He bent down and captured her lips, plundering her mouth once again. She placed her hands on his shoulders and sighed softly, but was quick to break the contact.
“Please, Mr. Wickersham, we’re in the middle of the sidewalk!” She pulled away from him slightly.
“You didn’t seem to mind that we were in the open at the beginning of the evening when we kissed.”
“It’s one thing to be under a blanket in a proper carriage. It’s quite another to be brazenly groping each other on the street.”
Alistair laughed and pulled her to him again for another languid kiss. Still no reaction from his body. If this had been Lydia, he would not have been able to walk her to the door without bodily pain. He drew back, and took her arm as they made their way to her front door. She turned toward him as they reached the landing, brushed his cheek with a kiss, thanked him for the wonderful evening, and darted inside.
Well, this wasn’t Lydia, it was Jasmine. As Alistair began his ride home, he let himself think of her. True enough, she was a pretty girl, and her place in society was secure. He truly enjoyed her parents, and would have no trouble relating to them as in-laws. Perhaps it was not as far-fetched as he’d originally thought for them to wed. And then, after the obligatory heir, if Jasmine rejected his sexual advances, he’d go back to Lydia. He’d discuss the matter with George soon. He knew Jasmine was expecting an offer shortly.
Christ, he wished Lydia’s sister would have her blasted baby so she could return home. Return to him. He could almost smell her musky rose scent as he thought about her, with his swollen manhood between his legs, for the remainder of the ride home.
Chapter Twenty
Parr’s eyes rose from the front of his horse when he caught wind of the footsteps coming into the stable. He was soaking the hoof of the horse in a mixture of Epsom salts and water, and it was hard to keep the horse still. The cure for an abscess was almost as bad as the abscess itself, and the horse wanted none of it. So he didn’t rise from his task. He merely waited to see to whom the footsteps belonged.
His heart stuttered for a moment when he caught sight of a petite form and a head of dark, curly hair. He hadn’t seen Jasmine close up since the night of the colt’s birth. Why was she here?
“Oh, hi, Parr,” she breathed. “What are you doing?”
He rose, finally, from his seat. He didn’t care if the horse overturned his bucket. He needed to get close to Jasmine, and to smell her lavender scent again. He crossed the stall to her side in a few steps. Only the railing remained between them. Best to stay inside the stall and put at least that small measure of safety between them.
“Treating this lazy sod for his abscess. If he weren’t content to just stand around all the time, I don’t think this woulda happened.”
“I stopped by to check on Blaze on my way in. He’s growing up fast.”
“Aye, he’s a pretty fella.” Parr placed his hands on the top railing and held on tightly, to stop himself from vaulting over the stall and sweeping Jasmine into his arms. That would be disastrous, for both of them. If he did something that stupid, he’d have to leave Alistair and their business behind.
“Why are you here?” he croaked.
Jasmine bounced from one foot to the other, before taking up a length of rawhide and running it through her fingers. She was nervous. And all P
arr could think about was having those fingers run through his hair instead of the rawhide. She stole a glance up at him through her lashes.
Her long, sooty lashes. He groaned inwardly.
“Papa and Alistair are inside, talking business, but I needed to see you. I, uh, have a couple pieces of news I wanted to share.”
“Are you here to tell me your mission is accomplished and that you are now engaged to Alistair?” He tried, and failed, to keep the anger from his voice. He avoided her stare.
“No. Well, not yet, anyway.”
“Well then, what else could possibly be so earth-shattering that you’d risk coming here, into my stable? You know I’m not to be trusted.”
“Eliza Logan. The actress. Do you know her?”
“Lord, a’ course I do. She’s a legend in Ireland. But how do you know her?”
“Because she came into my shop yesterday and ordered four dresses from me! I offered to make them exclusive to her, and she was thrilled.”
Parr’s head snapped up and he stared into Jasmine’s beautiful chocolate eyes, to see if she was making a joke at his expense. She seemed serious and excited. His manhood responded. He leaned closer.
“How did that happen?”
“Colleen went to the theater where she was performing, and Eliza noticed her gown. So she made an appointment to come to the store the next day. I stayed up all night preparing sketches of dresses for her to look at, based on Colleen’s description of her. But the gowns she ordered are even more luxurious than I imagined. She’s something else.”
“Congratulations then. If you’re dressing Eliza Logan, you’re on your way. See, I told you, cailín, you were capable.”
Jasmine ducked her head. “Yes, you were the first one to believe in me. Thank you, Parr.”
“So, your second bit of news can’t be nearly as good as the first, but I’m eager to hear it.”
“Did Alistair say anything to you about an agreement about the boots?”
“What boots? What are you talking about?”
Jasmine’s cheeks puffed as she held her breath, and then let it go. “I guess he didn’t then. I told him about your part in coming up with the original design of the riding boots, and he said I should give you some kind of fee for each pair that was sold. So, he prepared a document that assures a transfer of funds into your account each month, based on how many pairs of boots we sell.”
Parr raised an eyebrow. “You mean, we’re to be partners?” At her nod, he continued, “And you don’t object to working with someone you hate?” Again, he couldn’t control the anger in his voice.
She had the grace to be uncomfortable. “I said that in the heat of the moment, Parr, and because my dress was ruined. I don’t hate you. It’s only fair and right that you share in some of the profits. It was your design ideas that make them work, after all.”
Parr grinned. “In Ireland, a deal’s not a deal unless we shake on it.”
“I’m learning more about business every day. A handshake it is, then.” She reached a hand over the stall railing to him. He spit in his hand and extended it toward her. Shock registered on her face, and she wrinkled her nose, making him grin even wider. “Why did you do that?”
“It’s tradition. You need to do the same.”
She pulled her hand back, as if afraid to touch him. Then she returned his grin, spit into her own hand, and extended it towards him again.
Even with the comingling of their spit, sparks emanated from their contact. At least in Parr’s body. Or maybe it was because of the spit, since it reminded him of the last time they’d shared fluids. He focused on her lush lower lip, and leaned forward. He was a hair’s breadth away. Her pink tongue darted out, wetting that lip in a nervous gesture. And then she closed her eyes. Against him.
He caught himself and pulled away.
• • •
Jasmine was mesmerized, studying Parr as he dipped his head, and his lips, closer to hers. She could feel his breath on her cheek, and smelled his combination of hay, soap, and aftershave. Her skin tingled in anticipation of his touch. She closed her eyes, waiting for his kiss.
Which never happened. When she opened her eyes again, he was back over at his horse. The horse dropped his head, and took Parr’s hair between his teeth in a playful gesture.
Ah, I’d been thinking about doing the same thing. She stood beside the stall for a stunned moment more, until she realized he wasn’t going to return to her side.
“Well, that’s all I had to say to the likes of you.” She turned quickly on her heel and took a step, momentarily losing her footing. There was something spilled on the floor that made her footsteps falter. She didn’t want to take the time to study what it was, she just wanted out of the stable. Her face burned and she had never been so mortified in her entire life.
She stopped outside the stable doors to examine her slipper. Good, just water, from the looks of it. At least she wouldn’t carry the scent of horse manure into the house again. Just the manly odor of Parr. Why could she not control herself around him? She was eager for his kiss to ignite her senses again. My God, she practically begged for it. She wanted to jump over the stall fence and tumble with him to the hay-covered floor. Just his mere glance created an ache in her loins. She clutched her stomach and whimpered as she closed her eyes again.
Wiping a hand across her cheek, the cheek that had been warmed by Parr’s breath, she was surprised to find a bit of dampness. She stamped her foot in frustration and let out a small groan. No, she absolutely would not shed even one tear for that awful man in the stable. Nor would she give him another thought. Alistair was her future, and even though their first kiss was not anything to write to Heather about, it was adequate. The fact that he had wealth and a title more than compensated for the lack of sexual spark between them. Things were moving along in the right direction with him. She had one more week until the despised Lydia Smith returned. She had to get Alistair to propose in the next few days.
Smoothing her dress and hair, she began to formulate her plans. Amanda Phillips was holding a birthday dance in two days — just a small affair, a perfect setting from which to extract an offer of marriage. She hoped the marriage proposal would be hers, and not Amanda’s. After all, Amanda had all season to wind Blake Morgan around her little finger. Jasmine had only five more days. The clock was ticking, as her mother had warned her.
She raised her head and studied the house. It had been on the property when Alistair bought this large parcel of land. It was a two-story Greek Revival house constructed from local fieldstones, which had weathered to a soft gray color. White shutters and a matching cornice molding around the door complemented the stones. But the house had been added on to willy-nilly since the original structure was built, and had taken on a misshapen unwieldiness. When Jasmine moved in, she’d see to setting it right, inside and out.
And she would be moving in. Jasmine could read men well enough and she could tell that Alistair was beginning to develop feelings for her. If not scorchingly hot sexual feelings, he at least was thinking about the advantages a well-bred woman such as herself brought to the table. Yes, the birthday dance would be a most appropriate time for him to announce his intentions towards her. Maybe he and Papa were discussing the engagement right this very moment as Alistair asked her father for his permission to marry her! Parr be damned! She hurried across the clearing between the stable and the house, thinking she’d cement things at dinner, and maybe steal a few private minutes with Alistair while her father enjoyed his after-dinner pipe. She began to plan her outfit for the dance as she let herself into the house.
• • •
Alistair picked up the tumbler of brandy and clinked glasses with George Fitzpatrick before taking a sip of the pungent liquor. “I’m pleased that we can ground our relationship in a personal as well as a professional way, George.
”
“Well, I do have a few reservations. Your age difference, for one thing. Forgive me, Alistair, for bringing this up, but you are nearly twice my daughter’s age. As a father, I have to consider if someone closer to her own age would be more suitable. And you do still have the challenge of getting my willful daughter to agree to marry you, so it’s not a done deal yet. When do you plan to propose?”
“I can understand your hesitation regarding our age difference. But you have to know that, if I should die first, I’ll be certain Jasmine is well taken care of, along with any children we may have. I thought I’d offer her my hand as we’re dancing at this infernal birthday party of her friend, in a few nights. We could all come back here afterwards for a nightcap and a celebratory toast. What do you think?”
“That sounds good to me. Lord knows, after punch and birthday cake, I’ll need a stiff drink. Do you want some time alone with her tonight? Shall I take my time finishing my pipe after dinner?”
Alistair smiled as he took a drink. “I don’t think that will be necessary. I can read women and I’m quite certain Jasmine will agree to marry me. She won’t need to be persuaded. Where is she, anyway?”
“She said something about going out to see the colt in the stable, but that was some time ago. She should be back so we can eat dinner.”
Alistair did not reply, but he thought about who or what could possibly be detaining Jasmine. He didn’t think it was the colt. He wondered if the age difference between himself and Jasmine would end up being a huge problem, if he went ahead with this marriage idea. Especially if Parr was just across the way.
Alistair was no fool. He’d seen the way Parr’s eyes lit up when he spoke of Jasmine. Had Alistair ever been that way about any woman, even his wife? Granted, Lydia Smith got his heart pumping, but did she make him stupid with desire? He highly doubted it. He was aware of Parr’s feelings about Miss Fitzpatrick, but did she return his ardor? And if not now, would she look upon him differently once Alistair’s hair went gray and he became bald? He’d need to give this serious thought.
