Ravish Me with Rubies

by Jane Feather

  “Right away, Miss Petra.”

  Petra hurried up the stairs to her bedroom, her friends on her heels. “So, what do you think is going on?” she asked, closing the door behind them with a decisive click.

  “Well, it seems to me that Lord Ashton is interested in pursuing something with Miss Petra Rutherford,” Diana said, sitting on the daybed beneath the window. “What d’you think, Fenella?”

  “The same,” Fenella said, frowning a little. “But it seems a bit like he’s playing a game. He seems to be smiling to himself.”

  “Exactly,” Petra agreed, peering into her wardrobe at the array of neatly paired shoes. “These should do.” She backed out with a pair of soft bronze kid shoes with a small heel. “It’s his manner, and now I think of it, it was exactly the same ten years ago. But I found it attractive then,” she added a trifle glumly. “More fool me.”

  “He certainly seems somewhat complacent,” Diana stated. “I always find infuriating that air of superior certainty that some men have, and Lord Ashton has it in spades. It might be amusing to see if we could deflate him a little.”

  Petra shook her head. “D’you really think that’s possible?”

  “I don’t see why not,” Fenella said, and then fell silent as Dottie came in with the sherry.

  “Do you need my help, Miss Petra?” Dottie set down the tray. “Should I get the witch hazel again?”

  “No, I think my feet are much better, thank you, Dottie.” Petra sat down to slip her feet into the kid shoes. She wriggled her toes experimentally before standing up. “If I avoid walking on hard surfaces as far as possible I’ll be fine,” she concluded, after taking a few steps. “That’ll be all, Dottie, thank you.”

  She passed around the sherry glasses as the maid left, then took a deep draft from her own glass. “What’s your idea, Fenella?”

  “Much like what you hinted at before. Guy Granville’s interested in you and makes no secret of it. He’s so accustomed to women falling all over themselves for his attention, I imagine he’d be somewhat piqued by one who appeared to treat him with a degree of indifference. Not hostility,” she said, “just a casual, take-him-or-leave-him attitude. Perfectly friendly but make him realize that when you spend time with him it’s only because it suits you.”

  “I use him as he used me,” Petra said with a little nod of satisfaction.

  “And then we find you another suitor,” Diana said, her eyes gleaming with enthusiasm. “You start slowly, a little playful flirtation, and then you increase your evident interest in the new man and . . .” She smiled. “I’m willing to bet that his lordship will not like playing second fiddle.”

  “No,” Petra agreed, taking a smaller sip of her sherry. “No, I’m sure he won’t.”

  “Don’t forget Madame La Vicomtesse,” Diana put in, moving to the dressing table, taking up Petra’s silver comb to tuck a stray wisp of hair behind her ears, where diamond studs glistened in the sunlight from the open window.

  “No, and if she’s his mistress, why would he be interested in me?” Petra asked.

  “The vicomtesse spends quite a lot of the time away from London,” Fenella said, her fingers readjusting the elegant rose silk scarf at her throat. The unusual sapphires on the bracelet at her wrist seemed to change color as her hands changed position in the light. “I’m guessing Granville would think pursuing a flirtation with you while the Frenchwoman is unavailable is perfectly acceptable.”

  “Variety is the spice of life, after all,” Diana added with a cynical twist of her lips. “Are we ready?”

  “In a moment, if I could borrow my comb back.” Petra moved to the dressing table, holding her comb as she examined her reflection critically. “Can I get away with leaving my hair like this?” She hadn’t troubled with her coiffure that morning as she hadn’t intended to leave the house, and had simply pulled her thick luxuriant locks into a fat knot on the nape of her neck. Unruly strands that had escaped the pins wisped around her face.

  “It gives you a rather delightfully careless air,” Diana said. “It suits you. You’ve never wanted to look perfect, there’s always something a little outré about you. It’s your style.”

  “Outré,” Petra said, grimacing. “Is that supposed to be a compliment?”

  “Take it as such, dearest. It’s merely a statement of fact. It’s you, anything else would be artificial.” Diana drank the last of her sherry. “If we’re ready, let the games begin.”

  Petra adjusted several hairpins, took a light copper–colored bolero jacket from her wardrobe and followed her friends back downstairs.

  “Foster has sent someone to fetch a couple of hackneys for us,” Jonathan told them as they reentered the parlor. “They should be here by now.” He set down his empty glass, flung out an all-encompassing arm in the direction of his sister and her friends and swept them out into the hall. Guy finished his whisky in a more leisurely fashion before following them outside, where two cabs awaited, one seating four comfortably, the other only two.

  “Rutherford, you escort Mrs. Lacey and Mrs. Tremayne. Your sister and I will take the second one.”

  Petra opened her mouth to object but her brother was already handing Diana and Fenella into the larger of the cabs. Guy had taken her elbow and was turning her toward the smaller vehicle before she could summon a reasonable protest. She climbed up into the carriage wondering how he had managed so smoothly and swiftly to maneuver four independent-minded people into the positions he’d chosen for them.

  “There now,” Guy said with a note of satisfaction, taking his seat beside her. “You look a little put out, Petra. Are you?”

  She shook her head. It was a perfectly sensible traveling arrangement, there was no point feeling manipulated, even if she had been. Besides, she was supposed to be showing only a careless, friendly indifference to the man; expressing annoyance would give him the opposite impression.

  “Of course not. How could anyone be put out on such a glorious day?” She gave him a bland smile, folding her hands in her lap. “I’m surprised you don’t have one of those motors, Guy. I would have thought you’d have been one of the first to drive one.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Why do you assume I haven’t one?”

  “Because you’re sitting in a hackney,” she responded.

  “As it happens I do own a motor, but I don’t use it around town. There’s too much horse traffic.”

  “I can see your point,” Petra said agreeably. “Do you keep it at Ashton Court?”

  “I do.” He turned his head to look at her. “Perhaps later this summer, after the Season, I’ll persuade you to join a small house party at Ashton Court and I’ll show you the pleasures of a leisurely drive around the countryside. It’s very pretty around there.”

  “I know it is,” she said. “I live there myself, if you remember.”

  “Ah, yes, so you do. How unchivalrous of me to forget.”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t say that,” she responded with a mock frown. “You can’t be expected to remember everything, after all it’s been ten years since we last spoke. I’m sure you haven’t given that summer a second thought.”

  Guy’s eyebrows lifted. “Petra, how long am I going to pay for an act that I freely admit now was both discourteous and unthinking?”

  “You brought it up,” she pointed out. “You mentioned chivalry, or rather its lack.” She smiled suddenly. “Shall we consign the past to the devil? It was a long time ago and I certainly was a very different person then.”

  “I’d like to think I was too,” he said. “So yes, let’s please call a truce. I would like very much to get to know the grown-up Miss Rutherford, if you’ll allow me to?” He laid a hand on her knee, his head tilted as he regarded her quizzically.

  Petra remembered just in time that she was receiving the undivided attention of an expert seducer. His moves were practiced and presumably he was accustomed to their success. She lifted his hand and gave it back to him with a calm deliberation. “If we contin
ue to see each other around town, Guy, I’m sure we’ll become better acquainted.”

  Something flashed in the dark depths of his eyes, then he inclined his head in mute acknowledgment, saying nothing more until the carriage drew up underneath the portico of the Savoy. He jumped down, reaching up a hand to help her alight.

  “Thank you.” Petra took his hand, jumping lightly to the cobbled carriageway before the ornate doors to the hotel. She shook out the folds of her skirt, waiting as the hackney in front disgorged its passengers.

  “If you’re agreeable, Petra, we thought we’d like to lunch in the River Room rather than the Grill,” Diana said, coming over to her. “The river’s so lively on a day like this.”

  “Absolutely,” Petra agreed. “Is that all right with you, Guy?” She offered him a friendly smile.

  “Your wish, my dear girl, will always be my command,” he returned with an exaggerated flourish. “Rutherford, I’m going ahead to see about a table, if you’d like to escort the ladies.”

  Petra glanced at Diana and Fenella, who both raised inquiring eyebrows. “How was the drive?” Diana asked quietly as Jonathan finished paying their cab driver.

  “Interesting,” Petra returned as softly. “But if I’m to pull this off I’ll have to keep my guard up.”

  She touched a finger to her lips in warning as Jonathan came up. “Shall we go?” He gestured they should go ahead of him as the doorman opened the double doors and they stepped into the hotel’s cool, high-ceilinged lobby.

  Guy was talking to the maître d’hôtel outside the entrance to the River Room. He waved them over. “How fortunate, Christophe has a window table for us.”

  “If you’d like to come this way, my lord, mesdames, monsieur.” Christophe walked through the busy dining room. At first glance, it seemed to Petra that all the tables were occupied, but the maître d’hôtel moved unerringly to the far end of the dining room where a table stood in semi-seclusion in a window embrasure overlooking the river.

  They took their seats and almost immediately a waiter appeared with a bottle, which he showed to Guy, who glanced at it and nodded. “I thought a cool glass of Puligny-Montrachet might be welcome to start with.”

  The pale straw–colored wine was poured into crystal glasses, the bottle ensconced in an ice bucket on a side table, and Guy raised his glass. “To present company.”

  It was a perfect toast, elegant, courteous and inclusive. “To present company,” Petra returned with the rest of them. She took a sip of the crisp, cold liquid, reflecting that Guy must have ordered the wine at the same time he had somehow arranged this private table on the spur of the moment in a full restaurant. “Weren’t we lucky to be able to get this table?” she observed, watching Guy over the lip of her glass.

  “Ah, well,” Guy said with a little smile, “I happen to know that Christophe keeps this particular table free just in case someone he likes comes in unexpectedly.”

  “And, of course, he likes Lord Ashton,” Petra said, shaking her head in feigned wonder.

  “Lord Ashton goes out of his way to express his appreciation for any little courtesies that Christophe does for him,” Guy said bluntly. “Don’t pretend you don’t know how our world works, my dear.” He took another sip and then said, “Now, I hope you understand that you’re all my guests. I took the liberty of ordering lunch for us. Charles here will tell us the menu.” He gestured invitingly to a waiter who now stood at attention beside the table.

  Guy was insisting on playing host, therefore it was entirely reasonable that he should order the menu just as if they were in his own dining room. Nevertheless, Petra felt that a proper invitation would have been nice. She cast a quick speaking glance toward Diana and Fenella sitting across the round table from her. They both flicked their eyes in instant response.

  Jonathan cleared his throat and his sister understood immediately that he was put out. Obviously, he had not expected to find himself lunching at Guy’s expense and it put him in an awkward position. As he’d understood, he and Guy were having lunch together and together had invited the women. But he couldn’t protest now without causing the table general embarrassment. It was yet another example of how Guy Granville managed his affairs without giving a thought to how his actions might affect anyone else, Petra thought grimly.

  Chapter Six

  Try as she might, Petra could not fault Guy’s menu or his hosting skills. He was an easy conversationalist, an attentive host, and no fault could be found with oysters, poached Christchurch salmon with a delicate watercress mousseline, buttered new potatoes and tender spring peas, followed by baby strawberries with thick clotted cream.

  “What a perfect summer lunch,” Fenella said, putting down her spoon with a sigh of repletion. “Thank you, Guy.”

  “And I thank you, Fenella, for gracing my table,” he returned with a smile. He glanced at Petra, who dabbed at her mouth with her napkin before offering her own approbation.

  At some point during lunch, Petra had noticed that Guy had dropped formality when addressing her friends, and if they’d noticed they hadn’t objected but simply followed suit. It was yet another example of the ease with which he managed situations. She was still annoyed for her brother at the way Guy had usurped the role of host without so much as a word of consultation.

  “Lunch was delicious,” she said neutrally. “Thank you.”

  Guy frowned at her, a question in his dark eyes, but Diana jumped in with her own thanks, redirecting the conversation. Petra let the small talk swirl around her until the party began to break up. She saw her brother discreetly touch Guy’s elbow, drawing him to one side, away from the women gathering their possessions.

  Petra watched them for a moment. Joth was talking earnestly, seeming to remonstrate with the baron.

  “What’s going on?” Diana asked in a whisper, drawing on her elbow-length pale silk gloves.

  “Joth thought he was also hosting this lunch. Guy took him by surprise,” Petra told her sotto voce. “I know it made him feel small and subordinate. Which is something his lordship is very good at doing.” Her voice was tight with annoyance.

  “Ah.” Diana nodded her comprehension but said nothing as the two men turned back to the table.

  “Ladies, I must love you and leave you, I’m afraid. I’m expected in the House.” Joth kissed them goodbye with the familiarity of long acquaintance. “Granville, I’ll see you later tonight.” He held out his hand.

  “Indeed.” Guy shook his hand. “I’ll see your sister safely to her door.”

  “That will not be necessary,” Petra said swiftly. “I have things to do this afternoon. What about you, Diana? I know Fenella has her play reading.”

  “Yes, I’m already late,” Fenella said, extending her hand to Guy. “Thank you again for lunch.” She kissed her friends and left them with a jaunty wave.

  “I must go too. I have to visit my great-aunt and she gets very crotchety if I’m later than I promised. Thank you again for lunch, Guy. Petra, I’ll see you this evening at the Andersons?”

  “Oh, yes, of course. I forgot their party was tonight.” Petra frowned. “Thanks for reminding me.” She kissed Diana goodbye.

  “What do you have to do this afternoon?” Guy asked, handing her her gloves and handbag.

  As it happened, Petra had no plans for the afternoon and didn’t want any either. “Oh, just things,” she said vaguely, waving a distracted hand. “Thank you for lunch.” She turned to leave the dining room.

  Guy followed her and paused in the hotel foyer, watching as she seemed to hesitate at the entrance, as if deciding what to do next. After a moment she seemed to make up her mind, saying something to the liveried doorman before going out under the portico. The doorman blew on his whistle and a hansom cab approached immediately.

  Guy sidestepped quickly around the doorman and opened the cab door himself. “Miss Rutherford . . .” He gestured invitingly.

  “Are you stalking me?” Petra demanded in an indignant undertone, co
nscious of the attentive doorman.

  “Of course I’m not. Whatever gave you that idea? Are you getting in, or not?”

  Petra stepped up into the cab and was not surprised when Guy followed her, settling on the seat next to her. “Where should I tell him to take you?” he asked pleasantly.

  Petra leaned forward to the cabbie. “Brook Street, please.” She sat back again reflecting that if the man wouldn’t take a gentle hint it was going to be difficult to pursue her intended course of bland indifference to his attentions.

  “I’ve upset you in some way,” Guy said without preamble. “Since we agreed to let bygones be bygones, I’m at a loss to know what I’ve done now. So tell me, please.”

  “Very well.” She turned her head to look at him. “You made my brother uncomfortable. He assumed he had invited us to lunch and you swept the ground from beneath his feet. You must surely understand that he looks up to you to a certain extent, you’re older than he is and you sit in the Lords. He’s a very junior member of Parliament and you outrank him in age and status and you made that clear.”

  “Yes,” he agreed calmly. “I did. It was thoughtless and when he pointed it out to me, I apologized for it. I think, Petra, that your brother is quite capable of fighting his own battles. He expressed his discomfort to me and I did what I could to make amends. Do you think he would appreciate your going to bat for him? I would think that he might find it a little mortifying.”

  Petra was silent, the wind completely taken from her sails. He was of course right. Joth would hate to feel that his sister thought she had to fight his battles. After a moment she said hesitantly, “You’re right, of course. But it was thoughtless of you, and Joth and I are very close. He’s only two years older than I am and we grew up very much left to our own devices. At least in the holidays. We’ve always stuck up for each other.”

  Guy smiled, disarming as always. “He’s a very lucky man to have you in his corner.”