Seduction Wears Sapphires

by Renee Bernard

  Caroline gasped at the inference but wasn’t about to argue the point in front of strangers.

  He went on smoothly, “Consider this a way to give your poor ladies’ maid something to do besides dust your desk and books.”

  It wasn’t hard to imagine Daisy’s delight at new dresses, and Caroline was cheered by the thought of leaving her young friend a few lovely prizes after she’d returned home. “For Daisy, then.”

  “Mrs. Simms, we’ll also need to see anything you have ready-made for alterations. We have a ball to attend in three days and I cannot take Miss Townsend in brown wool no matter how she fusses. Naturally, we’ll pay for the rush.”

  “My best dress will do for—” Caroline bit the inside of her cheek at the quelling look she got from Ashe for her efforts to save poor Mrs. Simms some hard labor and Ashe some of his fortune.

  Mrs. Simms looked as happy as a child at Christmas. “We’ll bring in what we have and see to it that your ward is a vision for the ball, Mr. Blackwell!”

  “And if you can recommend a hairdresser and arrange for them to attend Miss Townsend at this address later today”—Ashe handed over his card—“I would be ever so grateful. Her ladies’ maid can observe and ensure that the necessary final touches can be duplicated for future outings.”

  “And shoes?” Mrs. Simms inquired, a greedy bird enjoying the feast.

  “Without a doubt! We’re going to the milliner’s next, but I’ll trust you to immediately send the shoemaker our color palette to see that Miss Townsend has everything she needs.”

  “I’ll take care of everything, sir!” Mrs. Simms curtsied and bustled from the room, no doubt visions of the bills she would send to that same address he’d provided already warming her heart.

  “Oh, and Mrs. Simms, one last thing.” Ashe stopped her just at the door. “A half a dozen nightgowns of the finest quality with matching wraps. Beautiful things to improve her sleep, if you will.”

  “Yes, Mr. Blackwell!” Mrs. Simms curtsied again, merrily closing the door behind her.

  Caroline stepped down from the dais, ignoring the bite of a few pins left at her waist. “It’s too much!”

  “It’s the bare minimum, and you promised to sweetly accept this without argument.”

  “I did?”

  “Well.” He shrugged his shoulders, unfazed by her sputtering and foot stomping. “I haven’t your memory for conversations, so it may not be a direct quote, but that was the gist of it after breakfast.”

  “I thought agreeing to be outfitted for my visit here meant two or three gowns! But you’re outfitting me for a lifetime, Mr. Blackwell, and frankly, not for the life I’m likely to lead.” She sighed, and tried a gentler tone. “I’m very grateful for your generous gesture. But isn’t it a bit of a waste to—”

  “It’s never a waste to fulfill a promise and I believe I’m in enough control of my faculties and fortunes to decide what I will and will not do. If you’re grateful, then I could have sworn the proper response was something along the way of a thank-you.”

  “Thank you. B-but nightgowns? I fail to see what my appearance in public has to do with you buying me . . .” The heat flooding her cheeks made her words falter a bit, amazed that she was about to argue about nightgowns of all things. “I have a nightgown, Mr. Blackwell, and I am sleeping just fine!”

  And there it was again. A look from him that spoke volumes she couldn’t decipher. That strange heat in his gaze that made her knees feel unnaturally weak and her skin shiver with a sensitive and lazy streak of lightning.

  He’s looking at me as if he’s fully aware of the state of my nightdress! But that’s impossible! He’s at some game, that’s all! Could he somehow know that I awoke without it this morning after a night of fitful dreams? Is he . . . spying on me? She couldn’t believe that even Ashe Blackwell was capable of such a vulgar thing.

  “No doubt,” he finally spoke, then took a small step closer, the blue in his eyes darkening like a summer storm. “Indulge me, Miss Townsend.”

  Indulge me. She was a bird staring up into the sun, too dazed to protest. Every intelligent reason for argument evaporated in the heat of his presence, but Caroline stiffened her spine. “You expect every woman to indulge you without argument.”

  “Never you.”

  She shook her head slowly. “Never.”

  Without another word, he turned on his heels to follow Mrs. Simms out the door to add whatever he pleased to the day’s order, leaving her to wonder how any woman could deny him anything when asked.

  The rogue likes shopping. And frankly, I’m beginning to grasp its appeal.

  Ashe left the carriage for her so that she could get back to the brownstone safely alone later, along with an alerted footman who would be waiting at the door of the shop to escort her out, and he made his way down the street to try to clear his head.

  He’d accompanied her only because he feared that on her own, she’d have come back with more gray wool. Keeping his distance was taking its toll, and after another long, restless night without real sleep, he sensed he was reaching his limits. Even as he’d teased her, he was the one who’d felt the sting.

  Because there she’d stood—his prim American chaperone, tight-lipped and protesting every luxury meant to elicit her smiles—and all he could see was the siren who’d sprawled naked across his bed, shameless and sweet, so irresistibly sexy and impossibly asleep. She’d been fiery magic in his arms, and he was having trouble banishing the illusion from his thoughts.

  Ashe had found himself deliberately pushing the conversation to see if Caroline remembered anything of her nocturnal adventure, but it was difficult to tell. She’d blushed and seemed a bit flustered, but any flirtation could have elicited the same reaction.

  Seducing an unmarried female guest under your own roof was as cliché and foul a mistake a man could make, and once again, Ashe had to question his grandfather’s true intention. Is the old man deliberately testing me by placing the delightfully challenging Miss Townsend within reach?

  He took some small comfort in his restraint, knowing that a hundred other men would simply have taken what was offered and blamed providence. But to Ashe, it smacked of rape to take a woman unaware of herself, and as difficult as it might be to face the terrier if things came to light now, he could still defend his behavior.

  If not actually take pride in it.

  Is the woman who kissed me last night some hidden part of her? Is it real in any way? When he could get Caroline to smile or laugh, it was easy to see a glimmer of the playful minx he’d encountered, but her reserve was formidable and gave Ashe pause. What a revelation it would be to awake that part of her! To see Caroline come alive as she was in her dreams and wield that power!

  Ashe’s mood turned black, frustration whipping through his frame. It’s a fool’s daydream and an idiotic fantasy that’s going to yield me nothing but a miserable outcome with my grandfather and an onset of blue balls likely to put me in my grave!

  Impossible creature! I’m damned no matter what I do!

  At least he’d seen to her wardrobe and could now rely on Darius to bear the brunt of her company. And frankly, it might be time to take an evening to himself and vanquish some of his tensions in a harmless bit of fun.

  If last night was a test, then I can honestly claim to have passed. But I’ll be damned if I’m walking through that fire again!

  Chapter

  8

  “You’re out of sorts this evening, Ashe.”

  “That’s a hell of a greeting to give a friend after a miserable night at the tables at Clives!” Ashe threw himself into his favorite overstuffed chair in Rowan’s study. “And I’ll have you know I’m as cheerful as a meadowlark!” he growled.

  Rowan smiled and held out a glass of wine for Ashe. “How could I have missed it? But then most meadowlarks don’t look like they’ve had a burning coal shoved into their—”

  “For a physician, I’d expect a bit more tact and consideration,” Ashe cut hi
m off, his better humor asserting itself as the magic of the Jaded’s sanctuary took hold. There was simply something about Dr. Rowan West’s cluttered library and study that made the world retreat and lose its bite.

  The room was filled with strange souvenirs from his family’s travels and academic adventures that yielded odd statues or leather-wrapped scrolls valued only by obscure specialists. It was a mismatched jumble of various cultures and styles, but the owner’s character overruled the chaos, and Rowan’s small brownstone was the sanctuary and unofficial headquarters of the Jaded’s membership.

  It wasn’t the finest of homes, though it was situated in a comfortable enough neighborhood to inspire Dr. West’s richer clients’ confidence. They wouldn’t have trusted a man too far down on the social ladder, nor tolerated one who seemed to have risen too far up it.

  Tonight, Ashe had been relieved to find Rowan still awake, apparently just returning home less than an hour before, according to his manservant, after a late-night call on an elderly patient.

  “After your note warning us off, I wasn’t sure I’d be seeing you until the spring, but Darius said you were having a unique Season. Not that he elaborated on what constituted a unique Season, but you can imagine how it makes a man wonder.” Rowan took the chair opposite, stretching out his long legs. “Just assure me you haven’t done anything too insane.”

  Ashe shook his head. “There’s nothing to tell. My grandfather has requested a favor of me, and I’ve undertaken a ward for the next few weeks. Though at the rate we’re progressing, she’ll either run home or I’ll inadvertently kill her, so I expect it’s a temporary imposition.”

  “Well, that’s unique enough,” Rowan said. “And does this ward have a name?”

  “Miss Caroline Townsend, and don’t pretend you haven’t heard about my American problem.”

  “A rumor here and there, but I didn’t give it much credence. Frankly, you’re not exactly the sort of person I can imagine anyone entrusting with the care of a young woman of any nationality.”

  Ashe winced. “There’s a bitter tonic to swallow! I’m not the devil, Rowan.”

  “I’m sorry. Didn’t you just say something about killing this girl?”

  “Inadvertently!” Ashe corrected him quickly, shifting guiltily in his chair. “I’m not plotting her murder.”

  “A relief for Miss Townsend,” Rowan jested, “but I’m not sure I’m convinced of her safety. What sort of girl is she, Ashe?”

  “The worst sort! Humorless thing, prim and prudish and stubborn! She has more opinions than any man I’ve ever met. In other words, I’ve asked Darius to distract her if he can.”

  “Poor Darius!” Rowan leaned forward and added a little more wine to his agitated guest’s glass. “She’s pretty, then?”

  Ashe almost denied it out of rote habit, but the memory of caramel brown eyes and the beauty he’d seen unfold before him in the last week choked off his response. The taste of her still lingered on his tongue, and Ashe drank some of his wine to try to banish it. Pretty? She is like a star sapphire that seems a dull blue stone of no consequence until it is polished and the light strikes it just so. . . . I’d have never looked twice or even noticed her, but now I’m having trouble looking away. “Some might think so.”

  “And your thoughts?”

  “Irrelevant.” Ashe tipped his head back onto the chair’s pillows to make an evasive study of the room’s ceiling. Inset pressed tin tiles painted copper added to the room’s strange elegance, and Ashe’s eyes traced the intertwined patterns to gain a bit of control. “Better to think of her as a gargoyle.”

  “Rather than an angel?” Rowan finished, intuitively sensing his friend’s dilemma. “Ah, the joys of being the sober and careful guardian of a young woman’s virtue!”

  Ashe laughed, abandoning his meditation on West’s ceiling. “Sober and careful—these are words I had never aspired to.”

  “I shouldn’t mind seeing a sober and careful Ashe Blackwell—even if it is a passing novelty.”

  His humor faded at the familiar words, and he wondered if his grandfather hadn’t somehow gotten the word out about his hopes for the Season. “I’m always careful, and sobriety is overrated.”

  “You’re no drunkard,” Rowan countered.

  “No, but I’m not a teetotaler! I have my reputation to protect!”

  Rowan laughed. “One bout of babysitting is not going to tarnish your reputation! It’s not as if you’ve thrown on monks’ robes and sworn off whorehouses!”

  Ashe struggled to maintain his composure, his friend’s jest coming far too close to the painful truth. “Any more signs of trouble for our merry band? Rutherford was quick to give me another round of dire warnings about keeping a close watch, especially with London invaded by so many tourists this time of year.”

  The doctor’s eyebrows rose at the quick change of subject, but he allowed it out of respect for his friend. “Nothing of note, and I believe I received the same speech from him last week. I’m hoping that after a bit of time, we can stop worrying about every shadow and go on with our lives. If the Company is really that interested in treasure, they know enough about the Jaded to make a more direct case than breaking windows or bothering with subterfuge, don’t you think?”

  “Rutherford’s been more than a little frenetic in his watch lately. Even Darius hasn’t escaped a dire word of doom and gloom—as if Darius needs it, living the quiet life of a scholar!”

  “Darius isn’t as disconnected from the world as you imagine, Ashe.”

  “And I’m grateful he isn’t! Tomorrow, we’re attending the Royal Museum with Galen and his bride, and then in another two evenings to Worthley’s, where Darius will make his charming debut. If all goes as I have planned, the rest of the winter will evaporate like a bad headache, and my life will go on undisturbed.”

  Rowan nodded, reaching up to massage the back of his neck in fatigue. “I won’t ask exactly what your plans are, but I’ll wish you luck.”

  “I don’t need luck, Rowan.” He looked over at his friend and recalled the hour. “Well, I’m off for the night, Dr. West! I’ll leave you to your well-earned rest.” Ashe stood up in one fluid movement, grateful for the brief reprieve and good conversation.

  “Stay out of trouble, Ashe.”

  Ashe rewarded the comment with a devilish grin. “Easier said than done,” he replied and made his way back out into the night.

  It was a restless night as Caroline turned the events of the day over and over in her mind, wishing to take most of it back. She kicked against the coverlet with a sigh and then froze at the sound of a carriage pulling up in front of the house.

  Curiosity overruled all else, and Caroline left the bed to quickly take a look from her window. Ashe’s silhouette in the lamplight was unmistakable as he made his way up the stairs and into the house.

  Fury and disappointment warred within her, but also a growing realization that she was on a mission of folly. His grandfather couldn’t possibly expect her to keep an eye on him at every moment, could he?

  How in the world can anyone stop a grown man from doing as he wishes? And if I’m not here to guide or halt his baser nature, then all of this is for nothing.

  “Miss?” Daisy asked tentatively from the doorway. “Would you like some warm milk? I’ve brought up a small tray.”

  Caroline turned, instantly remembering that she’d put off questioning her maid in a belated onset of guilt about using Ashe’s servants against him. But recent events and Ashe’s late return diminished her reluctance. “Thank you, Daisy.” She picked up a wrap for her shoulders and moved away from the window. “I’m sorry to have kept you up at such an unreasonable hour.”

  “Oh, there’s no worry there,” Daisy said as she set the tray down on the small table next to the bed. “I was still awake.”

  “Really?” Caroline drew closer to accept the cup of milk. “Were you having trouble sleeping as well?”

  “Oh, no!” Daisy bit her lower lip self-con
sciously. “It’s nothing like that. It’s just . . .”

  “Yes?” Caroline said, hoping to encourage the young girl to confide in her without seeming too eager.

  “My beau is one of the coachmen, and I admit I like to keep an eye out for him.” Daisy smoothed out her apron nervously. “Not that it’s not all proper and that. Mrs. Clark isn’t one to allow for shenanigans under her watch! And it’s just a walk on our day’s off to—”

  “I don’t see anything improper with wanting to know that he’s safely returned,” Caroline said. “In fact, I think he’d be touched to know of your concern.”

  Godwin is too clever and there I have it—the means to know of Ashe’s every outing. But it feels so underhanded, and now that I’m looking into her eyes, I don’t think I can ask it of her.

  “You’re so kind, miss!” Daisy beamed. “Was there anything else I can do for you?”

  “No.” Caroline shook her head. “Not tonight.”

  Daisy bobbed a curtsy and left her to her milk and her sleep, and Caroline took her warm cup to bed, wishing she had a more ruthless nature. There would be no reward for her at the end of the Season if he fell into his old habits and set the tongues of London wagging about his ignoble feats.

  But the true source of her pain had nothing to do with the risk to the bargain she’d made with the elder Mr. Blackwell. She’d stood at the center of his attention and scrutiny today and allowed him to dress her as if she were his. And she’d secretly gloried in it. But no matter how pleasurable and forbidden it all felt, Caroline’s isolation and loneliness had only increased when she’d realized that he’d left her at the shop and gone out. Her pain was in knowing that Ashe’s flirtations meant nothing to him, and that whenever he wished, he was free to seek his entertainments without any care of her.

  Whereas I am not so lucky. . . . I cannot escape the growing sense that if the blackguard beckoned, I would abandon my own conscience and every rule I ever thought to hold to.

  But that is my dilemma, and not his.