Seduction Wears Sapphires

by Renee Bernard

  He seemed to hesitate, and Caroline watched the mercurial change in his eyes as they thawed with his mood. “Was Saunders truly looking for her?”

  Caroline wished she really were a better liar but decided the truth was all she had. “N-no, not exactly, but it was clear he expected her to appear at any moment.”

  “A good guess, since Mrs. Lowery’s reaction confirmed it.”

  “It wasn’t as if the woman was subtle, Mr. Blackwell.” Caroline sighed, some of her own frustration bleeding through into her words.

  He shook his head. “Subtlety is overrated and stop looking at me like that. I think I had a tutor once who used to give me that look over the rim of his spectacles when I’d failed to memorize a lesson.”

  Caroline tried not to smile. How is it possible he can be so disarming when I should be railing against him for so rudely dragging me from the Bedfords as if I’m the one who’d done something wrong? How is it possible that I’m starting to feel as if I’m the one trespassing? “It’s a look you’re earning, sir.”

  “You overreact to a simple flirtation, Miss Townsend.”

  “Simple flirtation? You were kissing that woman!”

  He shook his head. “I was about to kiss that woman, and it is sad to me that you cannot tell the difference. A tragedy, actually, that a woman your age could make such a mistake.”

  She squeaked in protest at the “woman your age,” as if twenty-four were some decrepit measure of time. “I fail to see a single element of tragedy in not being able to interpret the subtle nuances of you mashing up against a married woman where anyone could have discovered you!”

  “Mashing up against?” he asked, lifting a hand to his chest in a melodramatic show of mortification. “I was mashing?”

  “You—” She stopped to take a breath and attempt to rein in her temper. “You are entirely cognizant of what you were doing, Mr. Blackwell.”

  “Not if it looked like mashing! I must be getting rusty.” The man displayed no trace of regret but instead was managing to sound a bit hurt at her choice of words. “Then again”—his blue eyes settled on her with an unspoken purpose, and Caroline suddenly found it harder to breathe—“the easiest course may be to repair your lack of education.”

  “M-my education is not lacking for—”

  “Have you ever been kissed, Miss Townsend?”

  Oh, God. An impossible question from an impossible man—and I think I’ve inadvertently answered him by sitting here like a dunce with my cheeks getting warmer by the second. “Yes, I have!” she blurted out the lie, instinctively trying too late to save face, and regretted it instantly.

  He didn’t blink, but instead smiled, a slow, sensual smile that mocked her proclamation. “Truly and thoroughly?” he asked.

  She had no idea what that might mean, but she was too far into the ruse to give it up without sacrificing her pride. “I don’t see how that is any of your affair!”

  He leaned forward. “You really are a terrible liar, Miss Townsend.”

  A crisp denial bled away as his proximity unraveled her composure. It was so unexpected to be at the center of his attentions and to feel the first flush of his masculine powers. She’d dubbed Mrs. Lowery a fool, but now, there was nothing foolish about her own desire to understand what it would be like to be “truly and thoroughly” kissed by Ashe Blackwell. Every sensible thought of how inappropriate it was to even allow him to encroach slipped out of her reach as the male scents of sandalwood and cinnamon worked their magic.

  He was inches away, and the uneven stones beneath the carriage made every sway and lurch of the compartment his accomplice. She held her place, unwilling to stop him, fear and anticipation warring inside of her. There would be no going back. Afterward, she would have to say something, do something, slap his beautiful face in an antiquated ritual of outrage that she wasn’t sure she felt—but all that was for after this kiss.

  Her eyes fluttered closed, and the world seemed to narrow to the sweet fan of his breath intermingling with hers.

  The carriage stopped and Caroline opened her eyes in a rush of embarrassment as she realized that they’d arrived back at the brownstone and that Ashe was now looking at her with a look of pure triumph as he innocently sat back against the seats.

  “You!” She wasn’t sure what to accuse him of—but indignation nearly choked her.

  He laughed softly. “Perhaps now you’ll have a little more sympathy for poor Mrs. Lowery!”

  Before she could think of a cutting reply, the footman had come to open the carriage door and Ashe had gracefully unfolded to climb out and offer her a hand down from the vehicle.

  Caroline had no choice but to step out of the carriage. She wasn’t about to throw a scene in front of the servants, but the urge to shove the man over onto his smug English behind was almost more than she could forbear.

  Ashe watched her storm into the house, head held high, and shook his head. Once again, he’d pushed her further than was wise, and truly, he wasn’t sure why he’d done it. There had simply been something elusively irresistible about the terrier lecturing him on “mashing,” of all things!

  Chapter

  6

  “I apologize for . . . any misbehavior last night.” Ashe smiled. “Flirting is like a breath of scented air in a musty closed room for some people. Perhaps I inhaled a bit too deeply.”

  Morning light flooded the dining room, touching on the silver and china of the elegant breakfast table laid out before them. Caroline had been pushing around her eggs and trying not to look at Ashe, but his apology surprised her. Clearly, he was referring to his encounter with Mrs. Lowery and not necessarily to their fleeting nonencounter in the carriage. Last night after he’d schooled her on his charms, she’d locked herself in her room and spent most of the night pacing.

  She’d never felt so foolish in her life. One look from the man and everything she’d valued about herself—her self-discipline, control, and intelligence—had vanished.

  Hours of blaming Ashe had given way to the miserable conclusion that she was the only one who could solve the problem. And that was by never again deluding herself that a man like Ashe Blackwell would do more than toy with her. If the rogue had power, it was because she’d given it to him. And as dawn had broken, Caroline Townsend of Boston, Massachusetts, had determined that it was time to reclaim her own independence and remember her place in the world.

  “It was a musty room,” she admitted, unable to stop a smile as Mr. Bedford’s endless descriptions of mundane industrial wonders came to mind.

  “And you’ll be pleased to note that I reconsidered your scolding and I’ve decided to renew my vows to toe the line,” he said.

  “Oh, really?” Caroline almost dropped her spoon. “Did I say something profound?”

  “You must have.” He shrugged his shoulders, a man disarmed. “Or the ghost of Mr. Withers, my old tutor, must have, for I’ve awoken with new determination.”

  “Well, I should thank Mr. Withers, or more likely, Mrs. Lowery. She’s reminded me not to become too distracted to leave you alone for moonlit strolls.” Not that you were alone, scoundrel!

  “Was Colonel Stevenson such a distraction? My goodness, I didn’t think the old bird had it in him!” he teased.

  “Oh, please!” She tried not to laugh. “Truce, Mr. Blackwell.”

  He held up his right hand, as if to add to the weight of their détente with a wry oath. “Truce, Miss Townsend.” He refilled her teacup, serving her as naturally as if they were the oldest and dearest of companions. “So, let’s see if we can start over on a more cordial note and pretend to have met under more ordinary circumstances.”

  “I would like that.” As if any meeting with Ashe Blackwell would have felt ordinary. “Was Mr. Withers a bit of a tyrant?”

  “He tried to be,” Ashe said. “But once I learned he had a penchant for brandy, we became the best of friends.”

  “Did you ply your own tutor with brandy?” she asked in astonishment. />
  “Of course not! I was ten!” His protest was humorous. “But I knew enough to have a bottle secretly sent to his rooms on the nights before I knew the weather would be fine enough for fishing and games.”

  “If it were anyone else, I’d not believe a word of it.” She stirred her tea. “I once had a teacher, a Mr. O’Connor, who was well-known for sleeping through his lessons, except now I’m wondering if one of the other students didn’t have your same clever ideas.”

  “Ah! Every young man’s dream of the ideal instructor is one who can snooze through a Latin lesson!” he said.

  Caroline smiled over the rim of her teacup. “I take it you were not the ideal student then?”

  “Hardly!” he confessed without a trace of guilt. “I take it you were an ideal student then?”

  “It was such a gift! My male cousins hated their tutors, but I remember counting the hours until they would come again. Every minute I could steal away with my books was . . . heaven.” She spoke without thinking, instantly aware of how odd she sounded. “I took advantage of whatever education I could seize upon.”

  “Why? Wasn’t your life and fortune advantage enough? Why not paint teacups and learn how to embroider?”

  Caroline shook her head, accepting his natural curiosity but wishing to deflect it without revealing too much of her personal woes. “Not every woman is fulfilled by painting on porcelain. My situation is unique, Mr. Blackwell, but suffice it to say, I would prefer to make my own way in the world. My parents always stressed the value of independence and self-reliance, and after they died, those traits have served me well.”

  “We have something in common, you and I.”

  His response surprised her, and Caroline could feel her face warming at the lack of censure in his eyes. “And what is that?”

  “Besides losing our parents, I’d say that neither one of us has shied away from seeking our own path. My grandfather may grumble, but I have never wanted to rely on his wealth or his approval for my happiness.” He then reached over to offer her a tray of kippers. “Would you care for a kipper?”

  She laughed softly, the change in conversation to a mundane offer of fish too strange not to strike her as funny. “Yes, thank you!”

  “Ah! There, you see? It never fails! Nothing cheers a woman like kippers for breakfast.”

  Caroline felt some of her good humor evaporate at his inadvertent reference to the endless parade of women who had undoubtedly enjoyed a more scandalous breakfast with the man. It was enough to bring her back to reality with a cold snap.

  “They’re very delicious,” she intoned quietly.

  “Now, there’s a solemn endorsement,” he said, heaping his own plate high. “I’ll have Godwin tell the cook to make sure you have them at every meal.”

  “I’m sorry. They are delicious, Mr. Blackwell, and please don’t torture dear Ellie. She might miss the subtle sarcasm and you’ll spoil her menu for the week. I understand from her assistant she’s gone to a great deal of trouble to try to impress you on your return.”

  “Ellie?” he gave her a quizzical look then smiled, and Caroline’s breath caught in her throat at the strange power of it. “I’d forgotten that my grandfather had mentioned that you have a talent for getting to know the staff. He was very struck by it, Miss Townsend, as am I—so long as you don’t go instigating rebellions!”

  “It was never my intention, Mr. Blackwell. But only tyrants need worry about revolutions, isn’t that right?”

  He laughed outright. “You are too quick for me! God help the man who thinks to outwit you, Miss Townsend.”

  Is everything with this man about conquest and contests? Caroline’s eyes dropped to the kippers, unwilling to challenge him and end the strange truce between them.

  “I’ve arranged for a ride this afternoon,” he went on, pushing his own plate aside. “The weather is unseasonably warm and, after all, what is a social Season without a ride through one of our famous parks?”

  Her hands fisted so tightly beneath the table, they began to ache. This time she would be forced to admit an inadequacy to him—and there was no softening the news. “I cannot ride, Mr. Blackwell.”

  “Pardon me.” He cleared his throat. “Not at all?”

  “Not at all.”

  The flash of stunned horror in his eyes was something to behold, but he mastered himself well and rallied to ring the bell on the table. “I’ll have Godwin tell the stableman to arrange for an open carriage instead.”

  “Is the carriage open to allow me to look at London’s finest, or for them to look at me?”

  “A mutual study is inevitable,” Ashe agreed with a wry grin. “And what do you think so far of London’s elite?”

  She shrugged. “They seem ordinary enough, and perhaps that’s a pleasant surprise.”

  “Ordinary?” he asked in astonishment. “You cannot be serious.”

  “Of course I am. I’ve not found anyone to be inherently superior, Mr. Blackwell—not in taste, or conversation, or education. They seem to think more highly of themselves than is warranted, but then that’s hardly their fault. Everything seems arranged for them to believe that blood alone determines worth.”

  “That confirms it—you are a revolutionary.”

  “I’m an American.”

  “Ah! It’s the same thing!” He laughed. “And I suppose at home, only the most tasteful, witty, and educated people rise to power and wealth.”

  “Life is never so fair, Mr. Blackwell. Human nature doesn’t vary with geography.”

  Ashe sighed. “Now, there’s a pearl of wisdom. My friend Darius will want that carved over every Jaded’s doorway.”

  “Jaded’s?” she asked.

  “A silly term for a social circle consisting of a few boring men in my acquaintance.” Ashe waved the question away. “On a different and brighter note, I also thought we might consider another excursion for tomorrow morning. What do you say to a bit of shopping, Miss Townsend?”

  “Shopping?” Caroline set down her fork, feeling instantly wary at his friendly tone. “What sort of shopping?”

  “The sort I understand young women enjoy,” he replied as he rose from the table to stretch his legs. “A new wardrobe for your first visit to Town!”

  “Clothes?”

  “You say the word as if I’d just asked you to taste eel oil.” His blue eyes darkened a bit, and she knew she’d surprised him . . . unpleasantly.

  “No, clothes are—hardly fish oil. It’s just—”

  “I thought it would please you. I’ve made inquiries into the best shops and arranged for appointments for you tomorrow morning.”

  “I realize my wardrobe isn’t exactly”—she took a deep breath before going on—“up to your standards, but I can assure you, Mr. Blackwell, that I couldn’t possibly allow you to buy me clothes.”

  “Why in the world not?”

  “It isn’t proper.”

  “I’m getting lectures to the contrary everywhere we go, Miss Townsend. What the hell isn’t proper about a man buying clothes for his ward?”

  “I am not your ward!”

  “Well, since you’re the only one who knows that besides my grandfather, that logic isn’t going to hold, Miss Townsend!”

  Caroline’s arguments stumbled as she realized that he was right. Even so, it was difficult to allow him the liberty. . . . “You’re right. But if you are doing it to please me, then I shall release you from that burden here and now. I don’t need new clothes.”

  “Like hell you don’t!”

  “Language, Mr. Blackwell!”

  “Very well.” He let out a long, painful sigh. “Since you are determined to rob me of my diplomatic approach to the subject, I shall be extremely direct and frank about this matter.”

  “As you wish.”

  “You look like a mud wren, Miss Townsend, and have been mistaken more than once for a servant. Now, while this may suit some perverse American sense of martyrdom when it comes to fashion, I have to beg you to
see reason. You are in my care, whether you like it or not. And your appearance reflects on that care. At this point, everyone seems to think I’m the cruelest and most frugal guardian they’ve ever met.”

  “They cannot possibly think such a thing!”

  “They can, dear little Quaker, and it will certainly only get worse as we proceed,” he corrected her. “And since you are supposedly determined to prevent scandals connected to my name, I am finding it hard to believe that you would fuel this particular danger.”

  “It’s not that I wish to fuel any rumor! But . . .” She lost her thought, caught in a miserable web of embarrassment and pride. She had no money of her own, but admitting such a thing to Ashe was out of the question. “I don’t care what anyone thinks about my bonnets, Mr. Blackwell.”

  “My grandfather expressly instructed me to see to you.” He crossed his arms, his expression one of quiet resolve.

  “Perhaps”—she took a deep breath—“if you allowed me to repay you for the expense.”

  One eyebrow raised before he replied, “No. And I say no only because I’m going to find it distasteful to negotiate every damn bit of cloth with a woman who by the looks of things doesn’t comprehend the value of sundries and silks. There will be nothing practical in this new wardrobe, Miss Townsend, and may I say, you are the first woman I have ever met who required an argument to go shopping.”

  “I don’t want to be in your debt, Mr. Blackwell.”

  “You won’t be.”

  Caroline felt a strange stop in the conversation at the unlikely turn. “I won’t be? How is it that you are going to buy me a new wardrobe that you will not let me repay you for, and I won’t be in your debt?”

  “You’ll be doing me a favor by giving in. And so, technically, I will be in your debt when this business is over.”

  “No one else would see it that way. And if . . .” She bit her lower lip, but then went on determined not to leave anything unspoken. “I won’t turn a blind eye to any more flirtations, Ashe, in exchange for this favor. I won’t be purchased with a few yards of fabric.”