“I wasn’t trying to encourage you to increase your pace.”
“Well, I should if I now have to make up for your lagging as well. You disappear for weeks, and when the Jaded catch you in company, you seem . . . different. Come, Josiah, have you found religion or what’s going on that you’re trying to rein in a prize stallion?”
“A prize stallion?” Josiah gave him a skeptical look. “Are you actually likening yourself to an elite breeding animal?”
“A poor metaphor, but you’re trying to avert the question!”
“I heard no question.” Josiah leaned his bow expertly to the inside of his leg, then pushed it back against his thigh, unstringing it in a single motion. “Only some endless nagging about how we should all be keeping up with your ridiculous amorous campaigns, when all the while I’m wondering why you’re so determined to waste yourself.”
“I’m not wasting myself.”
Josiah set the last of his equipment aside. “Then what are you doing?”
“I’m living life to its obvious limits and enjoying what I can.” Ashe pressed a small purse with the amount of the wager inside of it into Josiah’s palm. “And I’m honorably settling my debts and praying we can mercifully put this conversation behind us.”
“You didn’t lose the wager, Ashe.”
“A technicality. I would have, so take it.” Ashe rebut-toned his waistcoat, casually ignoring his friend as they moved back toward the club’s entrance onto the green park square.
“I don’t need it, Ashe!” Josiah held the purse back out to him solemnly. “Hell, I’ve probably got more than you in my accounts since I don’t bother with—”
“Nonsense! This isn’t about needing anything! And I’ll refrain from mentioning that you look like a man three steps from debtor’s prison from the condition of your coat. You’d have defeated me easily if you weren’t deliberately tossing the game, so the money is rightfully yours. And there’s an end to this discussion, about the wager and my personal business, Mr. Hastings.”
Josiah opened his mouth to protest, but a small boy clutching a note interrupted their conversation.
“Urgent message fer ye, Mr. Blackwell, sirs,” the young lad said breathlessly.
“Urgent?” Ashe took the sealed note and fished out a generous coin for the smudged-face child. “We’ll see, won’t we?”
“Thank ye, sir! Thank ye!” he yodeled and was gone in the blink of an eye.
Ashe scanned the lines, a pang of anxiety and irritation changing the tenor of his afternoon. The roads are going to be a sloshy slice of hell, but it can’t be helped. Damn it!
“Bad news?” Josiah inquired carefully.
Ashe folded the paper and slid it into his coat pocket. “Hard to say, but it seems my plans have changed.”
A carriage pulled up, and both men’s eyes were drawn to the brightly costumed inhabitant leaning forward to give an inviting wink and wave with one pink gloved hand.
Damn! I forgot about Margot!
Ashe shook his head. “And so apparently have yours, old friend. I’m afraid it falls to you to extend my regrets and make up to the lady for a promised rendezvous I’ll be forced to miss.”
“What? I’m not—”
“Come, now! Margot is a shameless flirt and I think even you can charm her into an unforgettable demonstration of her unique talents.” Ashe clapped Josiah on the arm. “Take my place and do your best not to look so sour, friend. You’re starting to remind me of Michael.”
“Now, there’s a compliment!”
“You’re an artist. Tell her you’re looking for your next muse,” he suggested, then turned with a quick wave to Margot and headed down the lane to find a hackney for hire, leaving Josiah to sort it all out with the lively and delicious bird pouting in her carriage.
Though she’ll part him from his money, I’d say he’ll make a fair trade of it. Whereas I, on the other hand, am starting to get the sinking feeling that Fate may have put my own pleasures out of reach in the meantime.
His grandfather’s summons was not a thing to ignore, and Ashe only hoped the old man wasn’t truly unwell. With messages hinting at the worst, he’d been called home to his family’s estates at Bellewood only to endure a grueling lecture or an ambush of distant relatives and dry conversation.
But Ashe was far too loyal to hesitate. If his grandfather needed him, then he would go. Duty reigned over all things in his life, despite appearances, and Ashe Blackwell wasn’t a man to shirk his responsibilities.
Though he did take one soulful look backward at Margot’s carriage and wished the day had gone differently.
The quiet of the country ate at his nerves and Ashe had to force himself not to pace. Bellewood, his family’s home, was less than a day’s ride from Town, but it felt to Ashe like it sat on the farthest edges of civilization. His grandfather’s library had always been his least favorite room as a child, with its gloomy colors and dusty shelves. It was here he’d been brought if there was a punishment to be determined or a stern reprimand to be given. Gordon Walker Blackwell was not a man Ashe had ever wanted to face after he’d been caught at one childhood misadventure or another.
Damn! How is it a man can live for more than three decades and then suddenly feel like an eight-year-old in short pants? Hell, it’s not like I’ve recently been around to break vases or get caught snogging the—
“Is that the style in London these days or did you not change your clothes after arriving?” His grandfather’s voice was edged in familiar icy authority, but the years had robbed the older gentleman of the power of volume, and Ashe winced to hear it. It saddened him to see the dear monster losing his teeth. “Your coat is rumpled, Ashe, like a man who takes no care of himself.”
Ashe managed a half bow and tamped down on his habitual sarcasm out of an old love for the codger. “I only just arrived and meant to change after a muddy ride, but your butler brought me here and indicated that your business could not wait.”
“Nor can it! I’ve no time to waste as you seem to have.”
“I make the most of every day, Grandfather,” Ashe countered gently.
“How dare you, sir! You make the most of your nights and I suspect you haven’t seen much of a morning ever since you returned to England! You are a disgrace, Ashe. I hear report after report of your carousing in London and I marvel that you can stand before me without hanging your head in shame.”
Ashe’s spine stiffened, not enjoying the lecture. “I’m flattered that you would follow my pursuits so closely. But the gossips may exaggerate my—”
“Do they?” His grandfather stepped closer, cutting him off. “Is it all wrong? Am I misinformed? Are you a moral example of what a gentleman should be, my boy?”
Ashe hesitated at the strange new tone in the older man’s voice. Was that desperation? But a lie wasn’t possible. “No, Grandfather, you are not misinformed.”
Silence strung out between them and Ashe’s chest ached at the look of raw disappointment in the old man’s eyes.
“Which brings me to the reason that I summoned you out of Town.”
Here it comes. Lecture finished and now we’ll get to whatever is troubling him.
“I’m dying.”
Shock froze Ashe in place at the unvarnished announcement. His grandfather was older, yes, and looking a little slighter, but on the verge of passing? Finally, he managed to reply, “Is this Dr. McAllister’s opinion as well? Are you . . . ill?”
An impatient gesture cut off the awkward sympathetic line of Ashe’s questions. “I hate doctors and, of course, I’m not ill! Don’t be daft! Do I look desperately ill to you?”
“You just said you were dying. I’d say that was a logical inquiry.”
“We are all mortal, and don’t give me that knowing look. I’m sharper than a man a fraction my age and I’ve not gone soft in the skull.”
“A relief to hear.” Ashe struggled not to smile.
“Mind that wit of yours!” He straightened his shoulde
rs and Ashe caught a glimpse of the formidable younger man again. “I’m closer to the end of life than I care to contemplate! And who do I have before me to carry out even the saddest parody of a legacy?”
Damn. The lecture hadn’t even gotten started.
Ashe’s smile faded. “No one could match your legacy, sir.”
“You could at least try!” The old man turned away, moving to the great marble fireplace over which his own great-grandfather’s portrait looked down on them both. “When I lost your father—when your parents were killed, I took you on and never thought that all the promise and potential you held would be squandered before my eyes.”
“I’m not an opium addict, Grandfather, and I’m certainly not squandering—”
“You had your moments of mischief before, but I was never alarmed. But ever since your return from India . . . I’m not even begging you to marry. Although, God knows, it’s not a ridiculous thing to ask you to make a good match and provide this family with a healthy heir or two.” A sigh rattled through his slender frame, and he leaned against the carved Italian marble mantel. “Give me some hint that you’re not completely lost, my boy.”
“I am not lost.”
His grandfather turned back, the same odd intense light in his eyes that had made Ashe wary at the start of their conversation. “You are so far into the dark woods, I don’t think you remember who you are. It’s whatever that India business was, but it’s no matter. I have the solution, Ashe.”
“Do you?”
“I could threaten to cut you off, naturally. I could tell my solicitors that your name is to be struck from the will. I could do it, Ashe.”
“It is your right to do so. And since I’ve disappointed you, not even I would dare argue against that decision, Grandfather.” Ashe spoke as honestly as he could. “I would rather forfeit ten fortunes than earn your disdain. And I’m sorry for it.”
“Ah, hell!” His grandfather drew closer. “Enough! I know that even if I removed every farthing from the will, it won’t leave you destitute, since you clearly made some sort of fortune on your misadventures—but there is more to an inheritance than money, my boy.”
“True.”
“So . . .” He circled Ashe, as if assessing a new race-horse. “I understand you are a gambling man.”
Ashe nodded slowly. “I’ve been known to take a risk or two.”
“Then hear my proposal.” His grandfather gestured toward two waiting chairs by a small side table, and the men settled in. “I want some reassurance that if you truly wanted to, you could rein yourself in.”
“Rein myself in?”
Gordon Blackwell growled in displeasure. “You used to be a living example of gentlemanly restraint, Ashe. Even in the fever of youth, you had a cool and temperate head, but ever since your return from India, it’s as if you’ve pointed your toes down a path of self-indulgence and destruction that defies belief. And since you have refused to share any details of your adventures there . . .”
“I am the same man,” Ashe answered stoically.
“My greatest fear is that you’re now beyond the call of discipline, my boy, and while I love you beyond measure, I will not leave our family’s fortunes, land, and holdings in the hands of a jackass who can’t keep his pants buttoned.”
Ashe leaned back in his chair. “Some reassurance? Are you asking me to reform in a religious flash of fervor? Join a monastery? Or did you just want some kind of vow that I could, as you put it, rein myself in, if and when I wished to?”
A black look answered his questions. “I’ll take a simple demonstration.”
“What kind of demonstration?”
“Reform yourself! Between now and the end of the winter Season can you exist and not cause a solitary scandalous ripple in the wide and murky pond that is London?” The older man leaned forward. “It’s not much, Ashe, in the greater scheme of things, but I’d be hard-pressed to think you’d admit that you don’t have the spine to behave for the briefest span of a few months. Or have you grown so weak that you’re sitting over there wondering how you might possibly survive such an ordeal?”
“Not at all. I was wondering why you’d set the bar so low.”
“Oh, it may not be as easy as it looks. After all, with a reputation like yours, a single unremarkable Season may not truly be possible. And I’m not going to allow you to hide in the country and wait it out, either. You’ll be in Town with all your demons. But”—he sat back, shifting as if to feign indifference—“if you managed it, then all threats of cutting you out would forever be gone. I’ll face my final years knowing that when the crisis comes, you still have the potential to live up to your lineage.”
“And if I fail?” Ashe asked, aware that no dare was without consequences.
“Not only will I cut you out, but I will hand all things over to your second cousin, Mr. Yardley, who, by the way, has been less than subtle in expressing his desires to improve the house and make a better show of it.”
Yardley? Winston Yardley is a sniveling excuse for a human! The memory of the ferret-faced man who’d often been a childhood companion and occasional acquaintance made his skin crawl. Of all the people to stand in the wings, Yardley was the last person on earth that Ashe wanted to see benefiting from a great man’s passing. “Like hell he would!”
His grandfather’s smile held no hint of mirth. “But that’s not the last of it. For you see, Ashe, I would then see your name published with infamy and make it publicly known on both sides of the Atlantic that you are a scoundrel and irredeemable in your family’s eyes.”
My God, he’s serious.
He went on before Ashe could respond. “I’ll take an article out in every paper of note on this globe warning every woman of quality to shun you and every man of name to reconsider his friendships.” The threat was quiet, but Ashe didn’t think a gunshot would have resounded any harder.
“So, let me understand your meaning. I take this challenge, or . . .”
“Or the worst unfolds, just as I’ve described it.”
Ashe hated feeling cornered, but it was difficult to think of a soothing argument that would divert his grandfather now. Once the old man was set on an idea, he was notoriously stubborn.
But this? What trap is this?
“A few weeks of impeccable behavior and all is forgiven?” Ashe asked. I’m missing a step here, but if it means keeping Yardley’s clammy hands off my grandfather’s silverware . . . “And it didn’t occur to you to just ask without all this posturing?”
“I’m fairly certain I’ve already attempted simple requests—to no avail, Ashe.” He shook his head. “I can’t face seeing you drag our name through the mud, and while you may think your activities have gone unnoticed, I can assure you, they have not.”
Ashe clenched his jaw, feeling defensive and impatient. “Have no fear, Grandfather. I’ll be the consummate gentleman.”
“You’ve agreed then?”
“Yes, but not because of the inheritance.”
“No, of course not, but I am pleased to know that some small part of you cares enough about your reputation and the future of our family to give me the demonstration I need.” His grandfather stood, and Ashe reflexively did the same. “Take my hand, Ashe, and swear to me that you won’t so much as twitch off the respectable path of invitations and activities I’ve laid out for you. No gambling and no whores, my boy, or I’ll prove that one of us, at least, is a man of his word, and I’ll make good my threats.”
Invitations and activities he’s laid out for me? I think a part of me is twitching already, but there’s no out now.
“I swear it.” Even as he spoke and shook his grandfather’s cool, dry hand, Ashe felt the weight of his words for the first time. He was vowing to genuinely behave for a winter Season, which would have been challenging enough, but this Season had promised to be particularly wild and exciting—and the temptations that abounded in London would be hard to resist. Well, at least Josiah and the others will get a chu
ckle out of this ironic twist of Fate.
“Good.” The elder Blackwell moved over to a sideboard to pour himself a small measure of port. “Oh, I forgot one small caveat.”
Ah! Here’s that missing piece. “And what was that?”
“You’ll understand if I cannot simply take your word for this good behavior. Not that I don’t trust you”—he lifted his glass in a token salute—“but I don’t trust you, Ashe.”
“Will you be accompanying me to London then?” Ashe asked, praying the answer would be no.
“Hardly! I’m too old for Town and, frankly, too old to try to keep some sort of watch on your person at every hour!” He scoffed then downed his port to set the small glass aside.
Thank God. Not that I’m off to cheat this wager, but—
“No,” he continued smoothly. “I’ve arranged for a chaperone.”
Ashe blinked twice. “A what? You arranged for a . . .” He couldn’t say it. It was too unbelievable.
“A chaperone.” His grandfather’s smile was far more genuine now, as he openly enjoyed his grandson’s discomfort. “I have arranged for someone who will be at your elbow and accompany you at every event to guarantee that you don’t forget what’s at stake.”
“You’re serious! I’ll be damned if I’m walking about like some virginal debutante with a dragon in tow!”
“Nonsense! Look on it as my way of showing support for your new moral effort. By providing a chaperone, you’ll be less likely to stumble. And no one need know of the position you’re in! Your chaperone won’t declare their role openly or the nature of our arrangement.”
“Well, there’s one thing we agree on. I’m not about to announce to my peers the reason I’m playing choirboy and tooling about with a chaperone!”
“Mind your manners!” his grandfather said, his stern looks returning. “All this protesting makes me think you had every intention of botching this wager from the start! Well, if you want out, and your word means nothing, then say so now. Because if you meant your oath honestly, then it shouldn’t matter if I hire a legion of chaperones and spies, should it?”
Seduction Wears Sapphires Page 2
