Seduction Wears Sapphires
Page 1
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Acknowledgements
Epigraph
Chapter - 1
Chapter - 2
Chapter - 3
Chapter - 4
Chapter - 5
Chapter - 6
Chapter - 7
Chapter - 8
Chapter - 9
Chapter - 10
Chapter - 11
Chapter - 12
Chapter - 13
Chapter - 14
Chapter - 15
Chapter - 16
Chapter - 17
Chapter - 18
Chapter - 19
Chapter - 20
Chapter - 21
Chapter - 22
Chapter - 23
Teaser chapter
Praise for “[the] grand mistress of sensual, scorching romance.”*
“This luscious tale will enthrall you. Enjoy!”
—New York Times bestselling author Sabrina Jeffries
“Sinfully sexy . . . Wickedly witty, sublimely sensual . . . Renee Bernard dazzles readers . . . Clever, sensual, and superb.”
—Booklist
“Scorcher! Bernard debuts with an erotic romance that delivers not only a high degree of sensuality, but a strong plotline and a cast of memorable characters. She’s sure to find a place alongside Robin Schone, Pam Rosenthal, and Thea Divine.”
—*Romantic Times
“Very hot romance. Readers who enjoy an excellent, sizzling Victorian story are going to thoroughly enjoy this one.”
—Romance Reviews Today
“Madame’s Deception is shiverlicious! A captivating plot, charismatic characters, and sexy, tingle-worthy romance . . . Fantastic!”
—Joyfully Reviewed
“Crowd-pleasing.”
—Publishers Weekly
“Steamy historical romance is a great debut for this new author . . . Filled with steamy and erotic scenes . . . The plot is solid and the ending holds many surprises . . . Tantalizing.”
—Fresh Fiction
Berkley Sensation Titles by Renee Bernard
REVENGE WEARS RUBIES
SEDUCTION WEARS SAPPHIRES
THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP
Published by the Penguin Group
Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, USA
Penguin Group (Canada), 90 Eglinton Avenue East, Suite 700, Toronto, Ontario M4P 2Y3, Canada
(a division of Pearson Penguin Canada Inc.)
Penguin Books Ltd., 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England
Penguin Group Ireland, 25 St. Stephen’s Green, Dublin 2, Ireland (a division of Penguin Books Ltd.)
Penguin Group (Australia), 250 Camberwell Road, Camberwell, Victoria 3124, Australia
(a division of Pearson Australia Group Pty. Ltd.)
Penguin Books India Pvt. Ltd., 11 Community Centre, Panchsheel Park, New Delhi—110 017, India
Penguin Group (NZ), 67 Apollo Drive, Rosedale, North Shore 0632, New Zealand
(a division of Pearson New Zealand Ltd.)
Penguin Books (South Africa) (Pty.) Ltd., 24 Sturdee Avenue, Rosebank, Johannesburg 2196,
South Africa
Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.
SEDUCTION WEARS SAPPHIRES
A Berkley Sensation Book / published by arrangement with the author
PRINTING HISTORY
Berkley Sensation mass-market edition / August 2010
Copyright © 2010 by Renee Bernard.
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.
For information, address: The Berkley Publishing Group,
a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,
375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.
eISBN : 978-1-101-18919-1
BERKLEY® SENSATION
Berkley Sensation Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group, a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014. BERKLEY® SENSATION and the “B” design are trademarks of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
http://us.penguingroup.com
To Geoffrey, because you are the man I want in my lifeboat even when it’s leaking. Because you not only give me beautif ul babies, you smile every time you hold them, even when they’re crying. Because you can’t find anything in the house without me, and that gives me the illusion that I know what I’m doing. And because no matter what happens next, you’re still the One for me.
Acknowledgments
This was a tough one and I can’t deny it. There were hard lessons learned recently about how fragile life is, and why they don’t hand out sedatives to mothers in the emergency room is beyond me! (The girls are now fine, and my local hospital staffers at Marshall are all getting Christmas cards next year.) On the other side of the country, my grandmother passed away, and it’s been a series of difficult weeks reconciling loss and trying to count blessings.
But I am blessed. I’m blessed with a great editor in Kate Seaver and I want to thank her for her support. Neurotic authors may be the cliché but I never wanted to be one! I don’t think therapy should be in the list of services provided by one’s publisher, but Kate kept me sane and that is truly saying something!
I’m blessed with family. And not the brace-yourself-for-holidays kind of family, but the kind of family that really loves you when your socks don’t match or you lose track of the days from a lack of sleep (and they still pretend you’re in charge). My father still won’t read my books, but I think he’s rented a billboard in his local town, he’s so proud of his youngest. And my mother still reads everything I write, listens to every radio show, and holds the power to make me blush whenever she says nice things about me to her friends. I’m blessed to be loved by family near and far who make it all worthwhile and will admit to being related despite everything (see above sock issues).
I’m blessed with phenomenal friends. Sheila Clover English and COS Productions forced me to laugh at myself at least once a week on our Internet radio show, “Canned Laughter and Coffee.” Sheila is one of those incredible people that doesn’t really know that she’s incredible (so she still takes my calls). I love the program we’ve created and the opportunity to talk to so many people, but I’m more grateful for her friendship.
I want to thank all the wonderful authors that kept me afloat and shared horror stories with me so that I wouldn’t feel so alone. Thank you, ladies. (I’m not listing you all because it just looks like name dropping, which reminds me again of how lucky I am to know you!) And thanks, of course, to RT and their staff and volunteers for giving me the boost of confidence and the chance to reconnect and recharge every year at the conventions. I’d have a pile of moldering manuscripts in a drawer if it weren’t for you!
Thanks also to Carol and Lisa for all the “hands-on” help. The wheels would have come off the train a long time ago if not for your presence and friendship to Tom and Gini. And to the Shire, I can’t imagine how colorless things would be without you in
our lives.
But most of all, I have to thank the readers. Every single note and e-mail has been so important to me and I’m thrilled and humbled every single time I get one. You’ve kept me going, and as the smoke clears, I’m inspired to do better and to try to make sure I’ve earned even a fraction of the nice things you’ve said.
And yes, I will write faster. I promise.
The way of love is not a subtle argument.
—RUMI
Prologue
1859
The clipper ship’s deck pitched hard, and Caroline’s grip on the railing tightened until she couldn’t feel her hands. She had always aspired to be a woman of modern sensibilities, but sadly, there was one thing she hadn’t anticipated.
Seasickness. God, what would Aunt Emilia say now?
As miserable as she was, the thought of Aunt Emilia’s last lecture was enough to make her smile. Her aunt had screeched about inappropriate travel for young ladies and the disastrous consequences that were sure to follow such a headstrong course until Caroline was convinced that the woman would be mute for weeks afterward. Her elderly aunt would have forbidden the journey outright, but the vague notion of someone else taking Caroline off her hands for a time had proven too irresistible. Even so, complaining was her aunt’s favorite pastime, so she’d still screeched her dire warnings as if to sway Caroline from her decision to leave Boston and America and voyage to London.
Caroline didn’t think anything short of her own demise would have stopped her from seizing this chance and escaping Aunt Emilia’s “generous care.” The letter and proposal she had received from her grandfather’s old business partner had been unique to say the least. And the challenge presented had proven too powerful a lure to set aside. If she succeeded, then all her dreams of independence would be within her reach.
If Aunt Emilia knew the truth behind my social visit to my grandfather’s friend, she would have locked me in the basement and thrown away the key!
The ship rolled and pitched and Caroline shut her eyes tightly, wishing she could divert her internal landscape away from every thought of an early watery grave. I am not a sailor.
Built for speed, the clipper ship was a narrow and sleek vessel, cutting across the ocean at full sails. Caroline knew that every captain felt compelled to approach each voyage on the newly designed ships like a race, as if to prove the success of their innovations and seamanship. The cargo they carried on this run was premium tobaccos and cotton, along with a few special boxes of personal effects of the ship’s owner. Passenger berths were extremely limited, and she’d felt lucky to secure her accommodations aboard the Maryland.
She’d approached her journey to London with the planning precision of a general contemplating a long siege. She’d had illustrious visions of holding her own as an intrepid traveler with her well-organized trunks, books, and a serviceable umbrella. She’d been sure she was ready for anything.
“You’ll want to stand at the leeward side, miss,” a shy and gruff voice came at her elbow.
“Pardon?” She tried to straighten as if she’d been doing nothing more than enjoying the view. Mr. Gilbert was the first mate and the very image of an old salt, but he’d been extremely conscientious toward her.
“If you’re not feeling too well.” His cheeks grew ruddier as he talked, awkwardly offering his advice. “The wind’s so strong . . . if your stomach turns . . . you’ll want to be at the leeward so as not to ruin your skirts.”
He looked as miserable as she felt discussing an indelicate matter, and Caroline had to smile. I am most definitely not a sailor. Her last illusion of romantic courage dashed, she meekly allowed Mr. Gilbert to escort her to the opposite railing.
“Are you off to visit family in England, miss?” he asked.
She shook her head. “Not to visit family, but friends of my family whom I’ve never met. This is my first journey to England so I can only hope to hold my own.”
“You’ll shame them with your lovely manners! Can’t tell you how many hoity-toity slicks we’ve hauled across the Atlantic so they can rub elbows at some titled fool’s big doings!” His color deepened. “Not that I was likening you to . . . I mean, you’ve been nothin’ but politeness, Miss Townsend—a true lady. Not like some others I could tell you about. They think they’re too good for their own skins, much less up to wasting a single breath with a kind word to a deckhand.”
A true lady—I wonder if my host will agree. I’ve heard that the English are very discerning, and if they find out the truth of my situation in Boston . . .
Caroline could only imagine what a few elite passengers would make of an old salt like Mr. Gilbert, and she wasn’t unfamiliar with the disdain of her so-called betters. Her grandfather had made a vast fortune in business and done all that he could to improve his family’s social standing, but even in a young country like America, pedigree was everything. Her parents had preferred to live a quiet life of scholarly pursuits over the flash and fashion of the cities. “You’ve been so courteous and forgiving with me, Mr. Gilbert. I was afraid I’d caused more trouble than most of your passengers with all my questions and efforts to enjoy the air.”
“What’s to forgive? You’ve a keen mind and that’s no trouble to an old man, miss. It’s nice to think you’d bother with staysails and stunsails.”
Her hands gripped the rail again as the ship swayed and dropped with another wave and her courage once again faltered. “I only wish I were a better . . . traveler.”
“Ah, you’re doing well enough. I’ll leave you to enjoy the air, as you say. Just mind you keep your feet firmly beneath you. Captain Coffin would have my hide if we arrived in London short one Boston miss.” He tipped his misshapen wool cap and retreated to his duties, no doubt to provide her a small measure of dignity should she lose the battle to hold on to her breakfast.
She turned her gaze back to the majestic view of ocean and sky and thought again of her Aunt Emilia. She was as far away from the dreary quiet of her aunt’s drawing room as she could imagine.
Caroline took comfort in the notion. No matter how my stomach protests, at least I’m not on the brink of madness trapped in ladylike quiet broken only by her wretched little dog’s snores.
No, this was to be the adventure of a lifetime! Hers was a unique quest, and she tried to summon her grandfather’s spirit and courage, sure that he alone would have understood and supported her desire to take this chance to make more of her life than a charitable case for her relatives.
The ship pitched again, and she squeaked in fright, mortified to think that the men on deck would have heard her.
If only I can arrive with my life, since I’ve already forfeited my dignity.
Chapter
1
“Don’t you take anything to heart, Ashe?”
Ashe Blackwell shrugged before returning his focus to the target at the far end of the archery practice courtyard. The sports club was one of his healthier escapes, and Ashe wasn’t about to let his friend’s attempt at distracting conversation put him off his game.
“Josiah, you are not a man in any position to lecture.” Ashe paused, drawing the string taut and squaring his shoulders. “Which makes me wonder if you’re just trying to make sure you win this wager.”
He released his arrow on a slow exhale and watched with calm pleasure as it sailed toward the center of the target, striking with a solid thuck and then jutting out proudly as an unmistakably perfect shot.
“What a show off!” Josiah Hastings stepped forward to the line, shaking his head. “And no, I can defeat you without relying on misdirection, old man.” Josiah’s stance was equally flawless, but his shot struck the outermost ring of the wooden boards.
Ashe tried to hide his genuine surprise. Josiah had always been the better shot, and the wager between them had been more of an excuse to honorably give Ashe a reason for refilling his friend’s pockets. Josiah’s pride made any open offer of a loan impossible for the struggling artist, but Ashe wasn’t ab
out to accept victory at a humiliating cost to Hastings. He hasn’t a farthing and I’ll be damned if I’ll be the one to force him to admit it. Though where his fortune went from our misadventures would be a mystery I’d give my teeth to solve . . .
Ashe set his bow aside. “You did that on purpose! You’re trying to coddle me, Hastings!”
“Coddle you?” Josiah asked quietly, his disappointment in the afternoon’s outcome all too evident. “Were you in need of a good coddle, Ashe?” Josiah’s wry wit was contagious.
“Clearly you think so.” Ashe calmly stripped off his wrist brace. “All this talk about hearts and my wretched existence, and now this! Something must have set it off, Josiah, so let’s have it.”
The confusion in his friend’s eyes cleared. “Even you have to admit that there’s been a bit more of a mercenary edge to your pleasurable pursuits lately.”
“I’ll admit nothing. A man is entitled to his interests.”
“Your perfumed and pouting little pretty ‘interests’ aren’t unusual, but even for you, I’m beginning to wonder . . .”
“Oh, for God’s sake! I can’t believe I’m hearing this! From you! You have almost as wild a reputation. Don’t artists have their fill of lovely models to choose from? I don’t recall any protests before now when I invited you out for an evening or two of adventure.”
“You’re going to run out of trollops and whores at the rate you’re going, Ashe. London is vast, I grant you, but ever since Galen fell from the ranks of bachelorhood, it’s as if you’ve been trying to make up for the fact that there is one less man on the field.”
“Galen was hardly in the game at all, the wretched sour-puss, before he got tangled up and lost his head. So I don’t think there were many women left weeping in their pillows for him—but it’s a grand notion.” He sighed theatrically. “I suppose if anyone were to heroically try to make up for my peer’s shortcomings with the ladies . . .”