Bewitching Kisses (Bewitching Kisses Series)

by RainyKirkland

  “What?” Danvers sputtered. “You can’t do this. I’ve worked for Beaumont Shipping for over two years.”

  Nick’s face grew hard. “I am Beaumont Shipping.” he said, his voice carrying a dangerous tone. “Therefore you work for me. I have no use for employees who speculate about my private life or spread tales like gossiping old women.” He watched Danvers’s pale face turn a fiery red and knew he had hit the mark. “Consider yourself well paid and get out of my house.”

  Danvers glanced down to the amount recorded. It was more than generous, but his reputation was threatened. “Surely you don’t mean this, Nick. Your thinking is confused because of that girl. Those violet eyes of hers can make a man’s mouth water. But think of all the service I have been to you and your grandmother.”

  Nick’s gaze locked with Danvers, and in that instant he saw guilt. The man wasn’t even wise enough to pretend indignation as Sarah had done. Instinctively Nick knew he would believe Sarah’s story before he would ever trust Danvers again with his business matters. He retrieved the paper from the attorney’s trembling fingers and ripped it in two. “You’re right.” He said quietly. Again his quill scratched across paper, then he handed the new note back.

  Danvers looked down and his eyes grew wide. “But this is half the amount.”

  Nick stood. “That’s right, and if I think on the matter further, I might change my mind again. I believe you will find it in your best interest to leave immediately.”

  Danvers bit back his words of protest as he clumsily gathered his belongings. There were others, he thought bitterly, who would pay for the information that he already carried about Beaumont Shipping. But first, he was going to pay a timely visit to Mrs. Agatha Beaumont. Once he hinted about the nature of his information, the old lady would pay dearly to find out what her grandson was up to. And when she learned he had taken a common bondswoman to his bed. . .

  “Danvers.” The menacing quiet of Nick’s voice stopped the man in the doorway. “Stay away from my grandmother. If you should try to drag her into this in any way, know here and now that I will consider it a personal insult and deal with the matter accordingly.”

  Danvers felt the sweat trickle down his back and tried to swallow, but his heart filled his throat. He had watched Nick Beaumont’s ruthlessness in business for months but never had he thought to be on the receiving end. Knowing the threat not to be an idle one, he nodded and hastily left the study.

  In the foyer, Wadsworth stood ready with his cape and hat. Danvers glanced about the hallway with envy in his eyes. An imported vase filled with fresh flowers stood on a table by the wall and he knew its cost would have paid his expenses for a year.

  Stepping outside, Danvers squinted in the sunlight. The month was only April but already the spring heat was growing. He watched an open carriage stop and Madame Rousseau, the dressmaker, descend. Danvers tipped his hat as the Frenchwoman passed. She was certainly going to have her work cut out for her. The girl might look beautiful, but blood would always tell.

  Danvers took several steps and felt his heart quicken as a new thought prevailed, Agatha Beaumont had many spies; maybe he could work a deal. If he played his cards close to his chest and distributed bits to several different sources, Agatha would get her information, he would get his money, and Nicholas Beaumont would have no one on whom to lay the blame.

  Whistling a tune as he left the mansion, Danvers felt his head grow light as his plan began to take form.

  Chapter Four

  Nick rose as the French couturiere entered his study. “Ah, Madame Rousseau, how good of you to come.”

  “But of course, monsieur.” Charlotte Rousseau smiled as Nick executed a courtly bow and then kissed the back of her hand. “You know you have only to send for me and I am at your service.” She didn’t mention the two customers she had shooed from her shop or the appointment she had canceled. If Nick Beaumont wished her presence she would be there, for there was a debt between them that had nothing to do with money.

  Charlotte accepted the julep Nick offered. “Ah, my favorite.” she sighed, taking a sip of the sweetened rum drink. “And what can I do for you, mon ami?”

  Nick set his own glass aside and wondered exactly where to begin. “I have a guest in my home, Madame, who is in dire need of clothing.” He watched Charlotte’s pale gray eyes grow wide as he quickly shared the story of Sarah’s kidnapping. “So you see,” he concluded, “in order to protect her reputation, she needs a – “

  “She needs a wardrobe worthy of a guest in the Beaumont household, does she not?” Charlotte interrupted. “I can certainly do that. But Nicholas, what of your grandmama? Surely you do not think to fool her with this crazy plan of yours. She would certainly remember if she had met your Sarah’s family and with but one false word all would be lost.”

  Nick rose and began to pace, uncomfortably with the easy way Charlotte had labeled Sarah as his. “I shall handle my grandmother. I need only know if you can provide the necessary garments in a timely fashion.”

  Charlotte nodded and rose to stand before him, wishing, not for the first time, that she was ten years younger. “I shall help you, mon ami, but your grandmamma is going to make your life living misery when she finds out that you have deceived her.”

  Nick took her hands and squeezed gently.“I am thirty and three, madame, I love Gran dearly for all that she has done for me, but my gratitude does not run so deep that I can allow her to dictate my life. The price is simply too high. Besides,” he winked, “if all were calm, she would have nothing to complain about.”

  Charlotte shook her head and reached for her sketchpad. “Enough,” she chided, “or you’ll have me believing you are doing this for your grandmama’s benefit. Now where can I find this petite enfante who you have rescued?”

  “Madame, you are a dear friend.” Nick smiled as he opened the door to his study.

  Charlotte Rousseau looked back over her shoulder. “You won’t think so, cher ami, when you get my bill.”

  Less than half an hour later, Charlotte again found Nick in his study. “She is indeed enchanting, Nicholas, but I fear we have a small problem.”

  Reluctantly, Nick pulled himself from his work. He had lost too much time already, and his patience was beginning to wear thin. “Madame, I am up to my ears, as you can see.” He gestured to his cluttered desk. “If you fear the cost is a problem, best put it from your mind. Sarah may choose, with my blessing, anything you can create for her. Does that satisfy you?”

  Charlotte nodded. “You mean to purchase an entire wardrobe?”

  “Of course. The only clothing she has is the absurd garment that Mrs. Killingham was kind enough to lend to her.”

  Charlotte’s eyes narrowed with thought. “Mon ami, ‘tis not that I don’t appreciate your business, but . . .”

  “Enough,” Nick interrupted. “Madame, I want her to be outfitted completely from the skin out and with a variety of gowns. The cost matters not, so let your conscience be at ease.”

  The smile faded from her lips. He’s in love, she thought, watching Nick’s dark head bend again over the column of figures. Charlotte felt the last dream of her youth begin to crumble. She was respected and successful, but Nick would never turn to her in wonder and declare his love. She would never feel his strong arms gather her close, except in friendship. He’s in love and he hasn’t even realized it yet, she thought. Her eyes pressed closed from the painful reality.

  Nearly fifteen years had passed since the night she had gathered her courage and approached Nicholas Beaumont in the Blue Horse Tavern. She had offered her body for his pleasure, knowing the pocket change he carried would pay her rent for more than a year, and although she had approached him privately, Nick’s friends had accurately interpreted her intentions. They publicly laughed and scorned her offer. Nick was legendary with the ladies, they touted. He didn’t have to pay for pleasure. And what would he want with an old hag like herself? Charlotte shuddered from the memory. She had been onl
y six years his senior, but in that moment she had felt as ancient and desirable as Medusa. Desperation had given her a stubborn streak, and with her pride shattered, she had asked young Nicholas for a loan.

  Charlotte opened her eyes and smiled sadly as she watched Nick tally his last column of figures. He had known her only as the widow who did mending for his grandmother, but he had not laughed at her that night as his friends had done. He bought her a drink and a meal, listened intently to her needs, and then turned her down flat. He would not loan her the money, he had stated, but he would consider a partnership. And thus their unlikely friendship had been formed.

  With the burden of keeping a roof over her head lifted from her shoulders, she was free to do what she did best – design clothing. Nick arranged for her fabric to be imported at his expense, and within months she had had more orders than she could fill.Now, fifteen years later, she owned her own home and her own business. Her daughter lived in France studying the latest fashions and her son attended university in England. Five girls now worked for her, and everyone of station wore clothing made by Madame Rousseau. Nick looked up, piercing her with the crystal-clear sapphire eyes that always caused her heart to flutter.

  “I understand your intent, mon ami.” Charlotte struggled to keep her voice even and her smile in place. “But are you sure you wish to leave the choices to Sarah?”

  “I see no reason not to.” Nick made a final notation and set down his quill. “How soon can you have something ready?”

  Charlotte rose, feeling each of her thirty-nine years, and silently cursed the circumstances that had tossed Sarah onto Nick’s doorstep. “I shall send something around before the evening meal, mon ami.” Donning her cape, she paused at the door. “Just remember that I bow to your judgment in this matter and am doing as you wish.”

  Sarah smoothed the gentle folds of the new gown and surveyed herself in the tall looking glass. Vanity had never held a place in her upbringing, and now she wasn’t exactly sure how she felt about seeing so much in herself. Prudence Thompson had owned a looking glass once, she remembered. But it had been a small one. The glass fit into the palm of Prudence’s hand and didn’t allow one to view both mouth and eyes at the same time. Now, as she gazed before her, she could see the top of her head and the toe of her shoe all at once.

  Sarah shook her head in wonder. Madame Rousseau had done such a beautiful job and so quickly. Had she herself made the gown it would have taken two days at least. It would have mattered not that the cut was simple and the style plain. She turned up the hem of the skirt and ran her finger over the smooth, even stitches, each perfect in its placement. The lady was truly a marvel. Carefully, she smoothed the skirt back into place as her fingers gently brushed back and forth over the fabric’s soft nap. Never had she owned a gown so fine.

  Sarah combed her hair back from her face and secured it with the pins Madame Rousseau had lent her. ‘Tis still too fancy to do housework in, she thought, looking at her reflection, but mayhap if I’m careful. . . Sarah smiled, realizing that for the first time since she had been taken from her home, she was beginning to feel like her own self again. And for that she owed thanks to Nicholas Beaumont. Indulging in one final look, her smile deepened at the image she presented. I am going to be the best housekeeper Nicholas Beaumont has ever encountered, she declared solemnly. And with her determination firmly in place, Sarah went to seek her chores.

  The hall clock struck the hour of seven as Nick entered the dining room. A frown marred his features when he saw that three places had been set at the large oaken table. He was in no mood for company and, try as he would, he couldn’t remember extending an invitation for anyone to join him. Determined to get an answer, he reached for the small golden bell that sat beside his place. Wadsworth entered immediately bearing a silver platter and set it on the sideboard. But before Nick could voice his question, Sarah entered and added the covered dish she carried to those already displayed. The butler turned and was gone as silently as he had come, but Sarah remained.

  She reached for Nick’s plate, meaning to serve him, but his angry words halted her actions.

  “What in the devil are you wearing?” he challenged.

  Stunned, Sarah felt all sanity flee from her body as she silently stood before him. Nick paced completely around her frozen form.

  “What is this?” His fingers ran down the long, fitted sleeve of her black velvet gown.

  Sarah clutched her hands tightly together. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered to the ground before looking up to face Nick’s displeasure. “I know I should not have chosen such a costly garment, but Madame Rousseau insisted that it be made in this fabric. I’ll take it back at daybreak tomorrow and ask her to exchange it for one less expensive.”

  “Less expensive?” Nick eyes narrowed. “I can’t even imagine this gown coming from her shop.”

  Sarah gave a weak smile, understanding his distress. “It is beautiful, is it not?” she sighed. “Still,” she straightened her shoulders, “it is much too fancy for a housekeeper and I shall return it as soon as possible. But you must admit, Madame Rousseau is most talented.”

  Nick’s frown deepened. “You mean to tell me that that gown is one of Charlotte’s designs?”

  Sarah grimaced, wishing his scowl wasn’t quite so fierce. “I did ask her to make several changes,” she stammered. “But Madame Rousseau assured me that the added fabric at the neck and sleeves would not alter the cost.”

  Nick stared and wondered how in such a scant amount of time Sarah could have charmed the most stubborn dressmaker in Virginia into creating a garment so plain that even his cook would have refused to wear it. The neckline reached her throat and had no collar to decorate. The sleeves were long and fitted, but they, too, sported no cuff. The black velvet was indeed a fine choice of fabric, but not a sprig of lace or a single bead graced the gentle folds of its skirt. Nick shook his head. Sarah looked magnificent.

  “I’m very sorry to have caused you such distress.” Sarah whispered, suddenly close to tears.

  Nick felt his anger drain as he watched her eyes grow bright. “Forgive me.” He spoke gently and moved to the chair on is right. “You look lovely. I would not think of asking you to return something that brings you such pleasure.”

  Sarah blinked back her tears, raised her eyes to his, and felt her breath leave her body. He was the most handsome man she had ever encountered. The skin on his face was smooth and tanned, and the blue of his eyes startled her with its brilliance. She watched him pull back a chair and motion for her to sit. “But I thought – “

  “Hush,” Nick interrupted. “It was the plain style of the gown that startled me, not the cost. I had expected to see you in something more grand.”

  Sarah’s eyes grew wide in confusion. “Grander than this?” Her tone clearly carried disbelief. As Nick smiled, Sarah felt her heart begin to thump loudly in her chest.

  “You are beautiful.” Nick continued, realizing that she had not an inkling of how comely she appeared. And if a simple gown could give her such elegance, what a vision she would make in one of Charlotte’s special creations. Nick made a mental note to visit Madame Rousseau first thing in the morning. He reached for the platter of meat that rested on the table before them and passed it to Sarah only to notice her brow wrinkled in thought. “Is there something amiss?” he questioned.

  Sarah swallowed hard. It was not her way to instruct others or to point out their faults, but her upbringing would not allow the Lord to be slighted. “In the confusion I have caused with the new gown, I fear we have forgotten to give thanks.” She replied softly, praying her response would not bring him embarrassment.

  Nick’s puzzled look returned. “Thank who for what?” He watched Sarah’s violet eyes grow round with amazement. Then she smiled. That mouth, he thought, watching the edges curl gently upward. Had he ever seen anything so deliciously sensuous?

  “You are teasing me, aren’t you?” Still smiling, she bowed her head.

&nb
sp; For several seconds Nick stared at her bent head and folded hands until it dawned on him she was waiting for him to offer a prayer of thanks for their meal. How was it possible, he wondered for her to appear both captivating and innocent at the same time? Shaking his head, he mumbled words he hoped would be appropriate. She was a paradox to be sure, and silently he vowed to find the answer.

  When Sarah raised her head and unclasped her hands, Nick reached for the meat platter and again Sarah frowned. Sitting it down with an impatient thump, he directed his full gaze upon her.

  “Is there something else I have forgotten?” he questioned, noting the blush that stained the porcelain of her cheeks.

  Sarah heard the impatience in his voice and knew she was the cause. “Should we not wait for Wadsworth to join us?” She looked pointedly at the third place set across from her.

  Nick stared in amazement and wondered where she had gotten such a ridiculous idea. “Madame,” he said slowly, “I consider myself a fair employer, but I do not eat with my servants.”

  Sarah’s face bloomed a bright scarlet as she jumped from her chair. “Oh, I’m so sorry,” she stammered, trying to maneuver the gown’s full skirt from between the table and chair. “I didn’t realize. I thought . . .” she looked down at the place she had assumed would be hers and realized the magnitude of her error. It had never occurred to her that they would not eat together.

  Sarah struggled to keep her composure, but in her haste her chair tipped precariously. She turned to grab for the falling chair, but the velvet nap of the gown caught on the tablecloth, and as Sarah moved, the table covering moved with her.

  In the blink of an eye, Nick was on his feet to rescue both the chair and his dinner. Catching Sarah by the arms, he stilled her motion. “Stop.” He commanded. The tone of his voice left no room for argument, and he felt Sarah turn to stone under his hands. His fingers gentled. “Look at me.” When she refused to raise her head, Nick released one arm and, using only the arc of his forefinger, lifted her chin until their eyes locked. “I’ve embarrassed you,” his voice was warm and soothing, “and for that I apologize.”