by Lauren Royal
Once it had seemed like a lifetime stretched ahead of her before she had to wed. She’d put it off, and put it off, then last spring her father had announced she was twenty-two and it was time to get on with it.
He’d set a date, and that had been that. No matter that Robert thought his wife should stay upstairs and mend his clothes; no matter that he resented it when her designs sold faster and she received more custom orders than he did.
No matter that she didn’t love him. Not the way a wife should love a husband. Not the way it was in the French novels she read. Not the way she had felt, five years ago at the coronation procession, when that nobleman’s emerald eyes had locked on hers.
She’d never forgotten that feeling.
She would learn to love Robert, her father said. But it hadn’t happened—not yet, anyway. Not even close.
Amy sighed and lifted the plait off her neck, rubbing the hot skin beneath. She’d set out to talk to her father dozens of times, but her courage always failed her. Since the death of her mother in last year’s Great Plague, it seemed she could take anything but her father’s disapproval.
When the casting was set, Amy plunged it into the tub of water by Robert’s workbench. She rubbed the mold’s gritty plaster surface, feeling it dissolve away in her hands, watching Robert’s knife send wax shavings flying as he sculpted a model.
She scowled at his curved back. “I believe I fancied you more as Lady Smythe.”
Robert turned and stared at her for a moment, then hunched over suddenly. His face transformed, taking on a Lady Smythe look. “Are you certain, madame?” he asked in that high, wavering tone. “I hear tell you’ve had dancing lessons and speak fluent French. Such pretensions. I don’t hold with women reckoning account books, you know. Not at all.” His voice deepened into his own. “Or making jewelry, either.”
Amy flinched. She pulled the casting from the water and carried it to her workbench to brush off the remaining bits of plaster.
He rose and came up behind her, tilting her head back with a hand beneath her chin. “Two more weeks, and a proper wife you’ll be.” With little finesse, his mouth came down on hers.
The faint scent of his breakfast had her squeezing her eyes shut and praying for the end to this torment.
“Part your lips, Amy,” he demanded against her mouth.
She didn’t. She wished he’d use one of those newfangled little silver toothbrushes Aunt Elizabeth had sent from Paris.
Finally he raised his head. “Two weeks,” he repeated.
Her eyes snapped open and burned into his. “Papa would never allow you to keep me from making jewelry.” Looking down, she brushed at the casting harder.
“Hugh Goldsmith won’t be here forever.” His hand moved to snake down her bodice.
Amy’s gaze flickered toward the showroom in warning.
Wrenching away, he strode back to his workbench, back to his ale. “At least soon he won’t be able to threaten me with bodily harm for sullying his virginal daughter,” he spat, raising the tankard in a salute. “Two weeks,” he added with a grin.
A grin that Amy had once thought boyish, engaging…but of late had made her uneasy.
They both turned as the bell on the outside door tinkled. Amy stood and whipped off her apron. “I’ll get it.”
“Your father is out there,” Robert reminded her. “He can handle it.”
She paid him no mind, but smoothed back a few damp strands that had escaped her plait. Pausing to straighten her gown, she put a shopgirl smile on her face before heading through the swinging doors into the cool, bright showroom.
“A locket,” a young woman at the far end of the L-shaped case was saying, smiling up at a gentleman with his back to Amy.
Deep red curls draped to the lady’s scandalously bare shoulders; her lavish golden brocade gown had a neckline much lower than Amy’s father would ever allow. The man’s mistress? In the years since the Restoration, the nobility had taken King Charles’s lead as far as morals were concerned, which was to say they had very few.
The tall man addressed Hugh. “My sister would like a locket.” He urged the lady—his sister, not his mistress—forward. “Go on, Kendra, see what you fancy.”
Though the gentleman seemed determined to work with her father, Amy stepped closer, poised to turn the corner and help close the sale. Hugh glanced at her, then smiled. “Have you a style in mind, or a price, Lord…?”
“Greystone.” His back still to Amy, he waved an impatient hand. “Whatever she likes.”
Hugh cleared his throat. “Perhaps my daughter can help you decide. Amethyst, please show Lord Greystone the lockets.”
She took a tray from the case and moved to set it before the man’s sister instead.
“They’re all so pretty!” Lady Kendra exclaimed in delight. When she bent her head to look closer, her beautiful red curls shimmered to rival the glitter of jewels in the case.
Amy’s hand went reflexively to her own head, as though she could rearrange her hated black hair into something more fashionable than her serviceable plait. Resisting the urge to sigh, she lifted an oval locket with tiny engraved flowers.
“See the gold ribbons forming the bale?” As her father had taught her, her voice was sweet and confident, reflecting her certainty of both the quality of the piece and her ability to sell it. She snapped open the locket and extended it, looking from Lady Kendra to Lord Greystone. “It’s—”
Her voice failed her.
Hugh nudged her, frowning. “Amy?”
“It-it’s quite feminine,” she stammered out, telling herself Lord Greystone couldn’t be the man she remembered.
But then his emerald green eyes locked on hers—as they’d done five years earlier. He was the man she remembered, the man she’d been unable to forget…
The nobleman from the coronation procession.
Her heart seemed to pause in her chest, and for a second she thought she would drown in those eyes; then she looked away, with an effort, and down to the locket she was holding.
Lady Kendra reached to take the locket from Amy. “Oh, look how pretty it is, Colin.” She held it up to her bodice, turning to model it for her brother.
With seeming reluctance, Lord Greystone swung his gaze toward his sister’s chest. “I’m not sure I care for it.”
“Notice the fine engraving, my lord,” Hugh rushed to put in. “Truly first quality.”
Lord Greystone ignored him and looked back to Amy. When his eyes narrowed, Amy found herself studying him in return. Classic symmetrical features: a long, straight nose, sculpted planes, a slight dimple in his chin. His clean-shaven complexion appeared more golden than was the fashion.
God in heaven, she’d never seen such a handsome man.
When he finally spoke, his voice, smooth and deep, sent a shiver down her spine. “Have you a locket with…amethysts?”
Amethysts…
She opened her mouth to answer, but the words refused to come out.
“No, my lord, we don’t,” Hugh said. “But emeralds would suit the lady—”
“Yes,” Amy interrupted, finally finding her voice. “Yes, we do have amethysts! If you’ll but wait one moment.” She reached to grab the key ring off her father’s belt, then turned and bolted for the workshop.
“What are you in such a rush for?” Robert asked as she jammed the key into the first padlock on their iron safe chest.
“Customers are waiting.” Having removed the second padlock, she knelt on the floor and began working the twelve bolts in their complicated sequence.
Robert wandered over, wiping blunt hands on his apron, leaving streaks of abrasive gray slurry. “What customers?”
“A gentleman and his sister,” she said as the last bolt slid into place, allowing her to access the final lock. She opened it with the largest key, then lifted the lid and rummaged inside.
Luckily, the locket she was after was there in the top tray. “Ah, here it is.” Just seeing the piece, the shim
mering gold, the sparkling gems, made her smile.
She rose and headed back to the showroom, Robert at her heels. He lounged against the archway and fixed Lord Greystone with a distrustful blue stare.
Well, she would just ignore him.
“I found it,” she announced, handing the locket to Lord Greystone. She watched for his reaction even as she plunked the key ring into her father’s outstretched palm.
Lord Greystone blinked at the piece in his hand. “Beautiful. It’s truly beautiful.”
Amy’s heart swelled. “It does have amethysts, my lord, and diamonds, too.”
“I can see that,” he said, staring at the locket. “It’s splendid.”
It had taken her weeks to make it, so many hours she could still see it with her eyes closed. On top, a cutwork pattern of diamond-set leaves surrounded an amethyst flower. The lozenge-shaped locket dangled beneath, encrusted with amethysts and diamonds, its lid enameled with delicate violets. Swinging from the bottom, a large baroque pearl gleamed.
Lord Greystone finally looked to her father. “It’s remarkable.”
“I made it.” Amy felt a flush blossom on her cheeks.
Lady Kendra’s mouth dropped open in surprise. Lord Greystone’s startled gaze swung to Amy, over to her father, who nodded proudly, then back to Amy. “I don’t believe it. You’re—”
“A woman?” She heard the challenge in her own voice.
His grin was a bit sheepish. “However did you learn to make something like this?”
Her father cleared his throat. “We hadn’t much to do during the Commonwealth, my lord. I expect you were abroad?”
Lord Greystone nodded.
“Well, jewelry was much frowned upon, other than some mourning pieces. I had time aplenty to train Amy in the arts of goldsmithing.” Amy’s father placed a possessive hand on her shoulder. “She’s a natural—even did the enameling herself.”
“I must—I mean, Kendra—must have it.”
Hugh shook his head. “I’m afraid it’s not for sale. It’s Amy’s own keepsake.”
“Of course it’s for sale, Papa.” Amy regarded Lord Greystone with a speculative gaze. “But it’s very expensive.”
“I’d expect so. We’ll take it.”
Lady Kendra turned to him, a frown creasing the area between her light green eyes. “Are you sure, Colin?”
He looked down at his sister. “Don’t you like it?”
“It’s lovely, but…”
“I said I would buy whatever you chose for your birthday. I want you to have it.” He fished a pouch of coins from his surcoat and handed it to Amy. “Here. Take whatever’s fair. Include a chain; I want her to wear it now.”
Shocked that he would leave the price up to her, Amy fumbled with the pouch. She drew out a few coins, then a few more. The materials had been costly, and the piece had taken a lot of her time—she didn’t want to take advantage of the man, but she wouldn’t short herself, either.
“Papa?” Closing the pouch, Amy showed her father the gold she’d taken.
Hugh nodded. “That’s fine, Amy.” He pocketed the coins and placed a gold chain on the counter.
As she returned the pouch to Lord Greystone, he handed her the locket. His fingers brushed her hand, and a brief, warm shiver rippled through her. Her breath caught; she hoped no one noticed.
Robert sullenly pulled a cloth from his apron pocket and moved from the archway to stand beside her. He polished the glass case as she threaded the chain through the bale on the locket, then held it up for Lady Kendra to see.
“Ooh,” Lady Kendra breathed. “Will you put it on me?”
She turned, and Lord Greystone lifted her hair so Amy could fasten the clasp.
Lady Kendra faced Amy and touched the locket reverently. “Thank you so very much. I’ll treasure it always.”
“Thank who?” her brother prompted with a smile.
“Thank you, Colin,” she said and turned to embrace him.
Amy bit her lip, feeling an unexpected twinge of envy for this woman’s shiny red curls and low-cut gown. But most of all, she envied the way Lady Kendra was hugging Lord Greystone. She glanced down at the counter, lest Robert catch sight of her telltale eyes.
Lord Greystone ushered his sister outside, then lingered in the doorway, looking oddly reluctant to leave.
“Can…” The long fingers of one hand drummed against his muscled thigh, then stopped. “Can you make a signet ring?”
His question came low across the small shop, to Amy, not her father.
“A signet ring?” she said with a small smile. “Of course, it’s a simple matter.”
Beside her, Robert stopped polishing.
“Excellent.” Lord Greystone paused, frowning a bit. “I’ll send a messenger with a drawing of the crest,” he said at last. “And my direction to deliver it when you’re finished.”
Amy nodded, feeling a quick stab of disappointment that she wouldn’t be seeing him again. Robert’s hand resumed its deliberate circular motion on top of the counter.
“I thank you,” Lord Greystone said. Then he melted out the doorway and into the teeming streets of Cheapside.
The bell rang again when the door shut. Amy stared at the solid wood until her father cleared his throat.
“I cannot believe you sold your locket,” he remarked. “I thought it was your favorite piece.”
“It was,” she answered dreamily. “But I can make another one.”
Her stomach fluttered with happiness, just knowing Lord Greystone admired her craftsmanship and his sister would be wearing her locket. And soon, he would be wearing her ring.
“If you ask me, it was a clod-headed idea,” Robert put in with a shake of his carrot-topped head. “You’ll never find time to make another locket with all the custom orders you get.”
Amy and her father shared a quizzical look.
“Besides, I didn’t like him,” Robert added. “I didn’t like the way he looked at you.”
Amy lowered her gaze and brushed past him into the workshop. She’d liked the way Lord Greystone looked at her, very much.
Very much indeed.
COLIN ENTERED their carriage to find Kendra seated inside, her arms crossed. “What took you so long?”
He sat opposite her and looked out the window. The door of the jewelry shop was closed, so he couldn’t see the girl named Amethyst, the girl with that long, thick, ribbon-entwined plait his fingers had itched to unravel.
“I ordered a signet ring,” he said.
“You what?”
Colin could have asked himself that question. He’d known he was acting out of character, but in all his twenty-eight years he’d never met anyone like the girl who had made that exquisite locket. He’d wanted his sister to own it, and he’d wanted something she’d made for him, too. “I need a signet ring, for a seal.”
Kendra shot him a look of patent disbelief. “You couldn’t even afford this locket.” She shook her bright head. “Something happened in that shop.”
“Nothing happened,” he said, although he knew very well something had. He’d noticed the way the girl’s amethyst gaze had been drawn to his own. She’d felt it, too—that compelling, undeniable attraction. Remembering, he smiled to himself.
It made a man feel good, though nothing would ever come of it.
Unfortunately, his younger sister was observant as hell, a fact that could be deucedly inconvenient at times. “I just thought it was a beautiful piece of jewelry, and I wanted you to have it.”
“Od’s fish, Colin, you’re the one always lecturing us about saving funds…”
He turned off her voice in his head, instead considering the possibility of landing that enticing little jeweler in his bed.
“…planning for the future…”
She was completely off limits, of course. Not a widow, not an actress, not a lightskirt, not a highborn member of King Charles’s licentious court.
“And then you ordered a ring. You never wear jewel
ry!”
A sheltered young woman of the merchant class, she would never bed with any man outside of marriage. And Colin Chase, Earl of Greystone, had no intention of marrying beneath himself.
“I cannot believe you bought this locket in the first place.”
Besides, he was already betrothed to the perfect woman.
“I do love it, though.”
As they passed Goldsmith & Sons, he glanced out the window. He would never go back there. It had been a harmless flirtation, nothing more. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d set foot in a jewelry shop, and…
No, he had no reason to ever return.
“Thank you, Colin. I truly do love it.”
He blinked and looked at Kendra. She was sighing, gazing down at the locket and fingering it possessively.
What had she been saying?
Oh, she loved it.
“I’m glad. Shall we go buy our brother that telescope he’s been hankering for?”
“Are you sure? Ford will be thrilled.” Kendra bounced on the seat, then settled her skirts about her as though she’d just remembered she was grown up. “Can it be from me, too? Sometimes he drives me mad as a Bedlam wench with his scientific obsession, but he is my twin, and I love to see him happy.”
Colin gave his sister a fond smile, hoping the man she finally consented to marry would have more energy than he did. “Yes, it can be from you, too. Now, where do you suppose we might find such a contraption?”
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Excerpt from TEMPT ME AT MIDNIGHT
Tempt Me at Midnight
Book One of
Chase Family Series: The Regency
Lady Alexandra Chase has always done what was expected of her. But when the man she's loved since her girlhood returns from a long spell abroad, she quite suddenly finds herself hoping the fine lord her brother has picked for her won't propose.