It probably didn’t help his cause that his head felt like a cement block some unseen source was taking a hammer to. After finishing off the decanter of brandy last night, he and Brice had set off for the gaming halls, where he’d lost more money than he’d won. At least Brice had been sober enough to drag him away from the table before the American poker player had a chance to win the deed back to his house in New Orleans. Alex had staggered home just as dawn was beginning to break.
Inis was mucking out Goldie’s stall with her back to him as he entered the stable. He stepped into the shadow of the doorway to watch her. As she bent forward to shovel the dirty straw into a pile, her rounded backside popped up, defined all too well by her breeches. Although the head on his shoulders was a bit slow to take in the unintentional invitation, his other head was having no problem. He felt himself harden.
Bloody hell. He had no business being attracted to her. She was his employee. While he felt no guilt about bedding Society wives—the women were willing, after all—he had never taken advantage of someone who worked for him. Perhaps part of his problem was he didn’t feel that Inis was a servant. Her status as his hostler was part of that, but Inis didn’t act like the rest of his female staff. She spoke her mind and took matters into her own hands. Inis looked him in the eye, but not in a suggestive way. She didn’t act coy, either. Maybe that was what he found so tempting. Oddly enough, he found himself wanting her respect, and not just because he was her employer.
He must have made a sound, because she turned. Her glance swept over him and, although she kept her face impassive, he had the strange feeling she knew he’d been out all night carousing. Heck, he probably looked like he had.
“Jameson took one of the horses to the farrier for new shoes, but I can saddle your stallion, if ye wish to ride.”
Alex noted she’d offered to saddle his stallion instead of the gelding, which meant she had no intention of inviting herself along. “I do not wish to ride. I came to speak with you.”
Inis gave him a level look. “Do ye have a complaint about my work?”
“Of course not. I think you are doing an excellent job.”
She returned to shoveling soiled straw. “Then have ye decided nae to go ahead with your plan to teach me to be a lady?”
“The plan has not changed. I wanted to explain about what Caroline mentioned.”
Inis paused, resting her hands on the shovel handle. “Ye doona owe me an explanation, my lord.”
Alex winced at the honorific. Inis was putting him in his place by deliberately creating distance. “I really would prefer Mr. Ashley, if you feel you need to be formal.”
Inis raised her brows. “Is formal nae the proper way to be?”
He wanted to say no, but after Caroline’s remarks, Inis would probably take that the wrong way. Actually, he’d like for her to take it the wrong way. No. No, he did not want that. Or did he? Alex rubbed his forehead. Obviously, the effects of the alcohol were still clouding his ability to think straight.
Her gaze followed his gesture and, although she made no remark, he dropped his hand. He didn’t need to make his hangover any more obvious. “Actually, I believe a little less formality is in order. If I am to present you as a lady in Society, you should get used to calling me Alexander, like Caroline does.”
“Ye gave me your word that would nae be until I am ready.”
“Yes, I did.” Lord, after what Caroline had said, Inis no doubt thought she’d be facing a pack of she-wolves—which was probably the truth. “I can assure you I will be with you every step of the way.” An odd expression crossed her face, one he couldn’t decipher.
“Is it true?”
Alex frowned. “I can assure you I will by your side every minute.”
Another strange expression flashed across her face and she shook her head. “I dinna mean that. I meant…” She blushed and looked down. “Never mind. ’Tis nae my place to ask.”
“Ask?” Inis seemed embarrassed, and the reason suddenly prodded itself through his alcohol-soaked mind. “You do not have to worry. I have no plans to make you part of the club Caroline mentioned.”
Inis looked up, her eyes flaring wide. “I have nae intention of joining such a club. What kind of a floozy do ye think I am? I am nae one of your light skirts, my lord.”
“One of my…” Damn. Now he’d insulted her. He really should have had the sense to postpone this discussion until his head was clear. “I did not mean to suggest that. At all. I would never think to—”
“Ye doona have to go on about it,” Inis said. “Just so ye ken, I doona want a fancy night rail. ’Tis nae part of the agreement.”
“Understood.” Alex thought it wise to beat a retreat before he lost the battle entirely. “We missed the lesson yesterday. But before we go on, I think Caroline was right about one thing. I do need to buy you some gowns.”
“Ye doona need to do that. Ye were kind enough to offer me a fair wage, instead of keeping me indentured—”
“The idea that John Adler practically enslaved you did not set well with me.” Alex grimaced at the thought of the man making Inis work free for months simply because she had stowed away in his carriage.
“And I thank ye for it, my…Mr. Ashley. But I can purchase my own clothing once I save some coin.”
Alex raised one brow. “Even with a fair wage, it would take you months to be able to afford a variety of dresses.”
“I willnae be needing a variety, now will I? Ye gave me your word nae ten minutes ago ye would nae push me into Society. All I need is one or two simple day dresses.”
She needed a lot more than that, but a man needed to pick his battles. “Fine. Day dresses for now. I still want to purchase them. Shall we plan on going to the shops tomorrow about eleven o’clock?” Inis looked unsettled. For a moment, he thought she might refuse, but then she nodded.
“Eleven o’clock.”
Alex nodded back, not wanting to make any further gaffes. But as he turned away, he could imagine exactly how she’d look in one of those negligees.
Chapter Six
Inis stared after Alex as he left the stable. Had she just seen a smile on his face before he turned around? Or maybe it was a smirk. She frowned and jabbed the shovel under a load of muck and threw it on top of the pile. He really didn’t have to go on and on about how much he wouldn’t think about making her one of his bed partners. She knew she lacked the lush curves men wanted in women they took to their beds.
Not that she wished to be taken to Alex’s bed. Of course she didn’t. Sweet Mary. According to his friend Caroline, the man was a notorious rake. Inis tossed another shovelful of manure. A rake with a bevy of admiring females. Females who actually formed a club so they could talk about his skills and prowess.
She paused and frowned again. Like what kind of skills? She had seen plenty of animals rutting during mating season. Not terribly appealing. She’d also stumbled upon a milkmaid and a stable boy once in a barn on her uncle’s country estate. The maid’s skirts had been hiked up and the boy’s breeches were down, his white arse rising and lowering like a pump handle. They were both grunting like swine at a trough and neither of them had seen or heard her. Inis hadn’t found the scene particularly appealing, either. She certainly didn’t understand why anyone would want to talk about such a thing, let alone brag on it. Most of Irish aristocratic women were jaded and cynical, and Inis suspected the English women would be even more. What did Alexander Ashley do that made the ladies atwitter and want to compete with each other for his return to their beds?
She laid the shovel aside and went to fetch a wheelbarrow. She wouldn’t deny that Alex was attractive with his high cheekbones, straight nose, and full, wide mouth, or the way his longish dark hair fell over his forehead. She’d have to be stumbling-about-in-the-dark blind not to see that. He moved with feline grace, too, in spite of being tall and broad of shoulder. Young debutantes probably sighed and near swooned when he signed their dance cards, thinking him a cou
rtly knight. He certainly was smooth with words and was quick witted—although she did wonder about his wits when it came to this scheme of his.
He was also a gambler. She was living proof of that since he’d won her in a wager. Alexander Ashley apparently liked high stakes and high risks as well, since not only was he playing with flames, he was setting fires by systematically cuckolding the nobility. Taking their wives to bed was bad enough, but then gifting each of them with a negligee? Identical negligees. What if their titled husbands ever found out?
She shook her head to clear it. What the man did was none of her business. He was, first and foremost, an obvious rake who managed to captivate women with his charm. She would not allow herself to fall under the spell he used to mesmerize those other women. Tomorrow, she would allow him to purchase one dress for her and she would pay him back. And they wouldn’t even look at night rails…silk, lace, or otherwise.
…
Alex walked toward the foyer at five minutes before eleven o’clock the next morning, wondering how long Inis would make him wait. Most women considered twenty to thirty minutes a minimum before they put in an appearance, so he was pleasantly surprised to see her already standing in the hall when he arrived.
He eyed the poorly fitted dress she wore. The simple muslin garment belonged to Fern, one of Alex’s maids, and it hung as loosely as a sack on Inis’s slight frame. He would have sent a note to Caroline to borrow one of her gowns for this excursion, but Caroline was much taller and even more buxom than Fern. Inis would have looked even more the waif than she did now. He glanced down at her feet, relieved that she wore the slippers he’d also rewarded Fern generously for, although he could see they were several sizes too large as well.
“I would really prefer to wear my own clothes,” Inis said, as though she had read his thoughts.
Alex shook his head. “Riding in breeches is one thing. Parading you on Regent Street in them is quite another. Better no one takes notice of you.”
“I doona think I will blend in dressed like this, either.”
“We only have to get you from the carriage to the modiste shop.” Alex handed her a shawl he’d borrowed from Elsie. “You will have your own clothing from which to choose soon enough.”
“One dress will suffice,” Inis said and raised a foot, only to have the slipper dangle off her toes. “And perhaps a pair of shoes.”
Bloody hell. She wasn’t wearing any stockings. He could see the delicate bones of her ankle and the fair skin of her slim foot. His cock jerked as he thought about running his hand along her naked calf and up her thigh. Alex swallowed hard. “You will get blisters without stockings.”
“I doona have any,” Inis replied. “My wool socks would nae fit inside the slippers so I went without.”
She probably wasn’t wearing pantaloons, either. He managed—barely—to push aside the carnal thought of finding the warmth at the apex of those slender legs. His wayward shaft jerked again, and he quickly grabbed his overcoat from the rack by the door to cover his growing bulge. “We had best be on our way.”
Inis followed him down the steps to where his coach and two matched chestnuts waited. She started toward the horses to check the hitches, but he put his hand on her arm. “You are not the horse handler on this trip.”
She lowered her brows. “’Tis a precaution.”
“And a good one if we were going to journey out of town,” Alex replied, “but I can assure you we will not be moving faster than a turtle can crawl once we get close to Regent Street. The carriage could probably lose all four wheels, and we’d only feel a slight bump as it stopped.”
“I hope that does nae happen, just the same,” Inis answered and opened the carriage door to pull down the step.
Alex stepped forward and offered his hand. “Let me help you.”
She gave him an incredulous look. “Ye doona think I can step into a carriage by myself?”
“I am quite sure that you can, but ladies always accept a gentleman’s assistance.” Alex smiled. “First lesson.”
She opened her mouth, then closed it and put her hand in his. It felt small in his, but the grip of her fingers closing over his palm was surprisingly strong. He could also feel the beginnings of calluses on the tips and made a mental note to purchase a pair of durable leather gloves for her to use.
Alex sat across from her on the ride along Kensington High Street. She kept her gaze trained on the landscape passing by the window, although Alex wondered if she was really interested or if she was merely avoiding having a conversation. She certainly didn’t look excited to be going shopping. He didn’t know a single woman, young or old, who didn’t like buying new clothes. He already knew Inis had a great deal of pride and didn’t much like having clothing provided for her, but this was a necessity. She’d have to understand that. He already felt like an ass for not noticing she only had two pairs of breeches and a couple of shirts that had been in the knapsack she’d brought to the house. She was always clean, so she probably laundered one of the shirts every night herself.
Alex thought about how much he wanted to—would need to—teach her. He supposed orphans of immigrant parents who’d probably been little higher than peasants in Ireland wouldn’t be used to accepting a man’s assistance in something as simple as stepping into a carriage. Young ladies of the ton acted as though they weren’t capable of opening even a parlor door, let alone a carriage one and putting down the step. It was just such subtleties that the gossips would notice. He smiled inwardly, thinking of how nicely her small hand had fit in his when he assisted her. The feel of her warm, strong little hand had sent a pleasant surge of warmth coursing through him as well. Perhaps he’d take these training opportunities to touch her as much as he could.
The carriage slowed to a stop, and Inis finally turned her attention to him. “Is this the place?”
“Yes,” he said as the coachman opened the door. Alex stepped out and offered his hand. This time, she placed her fingers quite gracefully into his palm and stepped down. She was a quick learner. “This is the modiste shop I mentioned earlier.”
Inis’s eyes rounded. “Madame Dubois? The negligee maker?”
He was thankful he had a hold on her hand because she turned to climb back into the carriage. He slipped his other hand to her elbow to steer her firmly toward the door. He managed to keep from laughing. “I take it you do not want a negligee?”
Inis glared at him, blue flames practically shooting from her eyes. “Never.”
Alex felt his mouth twitch. She would look particularly stunning in one, he was sure.
…
Inis managed to contain her fury as she was propelled toward the modiste shop. Alex’s hand may be gentle, but his grip was firm. He’d already forestalled her attempt to get back in the carriage, and the driver had moved to secure a spot farther on. The speed with which the carriage left made Inis wonder if Alex hadn’t anticipated her resistance to visit this particular shop.
She’d made perfectly clear she was not interested in negligees. For that matter, he’d made himself perfectly clear he wouldn’t think of pursuing making her the recipient of such a gift. So why were they here where the proprietor would no doubt come to the conclusion that Alex was outfitting a mistress?
“Relax,” he whispered as they entered the shop.
Inis bit back a response and looked around the shop. A mannequin in one window wore an elaborate ball gown of apricot silk with short puff sleeves and an ivory lace overlay on the bodice. The high-waist skirt was festooned with satin streamers that swept to the floor and would swirl around a dancer like so much confetti. In the window on the other side of the door, a mannequin posed in a rich burgundy riding habit, the velvet spencer adorned with gold cord and brass buttons. What seemed like hundreds of bolts of material lay on a variety of tables, and to one side, a wall was covered with ribbons and bonnet accessories.
A plump, gray-haired woman hurried toward them with a smile on her face.
“M
onsieur Ashley. Comment allez-vous?”
“I am well, thank you, Madame Dubois. I find I am in need of your services.” He gestured toward Inis. “For my friend, Miss O’Brien.”
“But of course.” The woman’s gaze moved to Inis, a slight furrow appearing between her brows as she took in the ill-fitting clothing, and looked back to Alex. “A complete wardrobe, monsieur?”
“Yes,” Alex said.
“Nae,” Inis said.
A brief flicker of surprise crossed Madame Dubois’s face as she looked from one to the other. Inis doubted the woman had many female clients who didn’t want dozens of dresses, gowns, and…negligees. She felt her face warm. Dressed as poorly as she was in the company of a wealthy man intending to purchase an entire wardrobe clearly labeled her for what she did not want to be. That the modiste’s expression remained open and not judgmental meant nothing. Alex was obviously a welcome client. How many negligees had she made for his amours?
Inis straightened her shoulders. “One day dress.”
“Three,” Alex said.
“Oui. I will need to take your measurements,” Madame Dubois replied neutrally and walked toward the back of the room to pull aside a curtain. “This way, s’il vous plaît.”
Inis reluctantly followed her and then slowed her steps even more when she realized Alex was following them. She lowered her voice. “Ye need to wait out here.”
He raised a brow. “Why?”
Inis stared at him. Was he that much of a rake that he thought he could watch? His paramours probably reveled in that kind of thing, but she wasn’t one of them. “It is nae proper.”
“I assure you Madame Dubois and her seamstresses are quite used to male patrons approving purchases.”
“For their mistresses, maybe,” Inis practically hissed the words. “I am nae such, and I doona want it thought I am.”
Alex looked amused. “I told you Madame Dubois is discreet. Your reputation will remain intact.”
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