“Is it interesting to be an American?” Caroline watched as her items quickly and efficiently disappeared from her trunks to be hung in a beautiful mahogany wardrobe in the corner.
“Naturally! A novelty for the house, at least, and . . .” She unfolded the first of Caroline’s day dresses from the box. “Well, here’s a practical thing! I’d always heard Americans were . . . self-reliant and . . .” She pulled out the next two, and it was clear that for once in her life, Mrs. Clark was having trouble coming up with something to say. “Durable.”
Caroline abandoned her tray, tired of pushing the food around, and retrieved her dresses, lending Mrs. Clark a hand. “I wanted to bring clothes that would suit any weather, and I wasn’t sure what to expect. The shopkeeper assured me that these were just the thing! And the materials wouldn’t show any wear or stains.”
It was her pride that made her defend the dreadful clothes. Her budget hadn’t allowed for anything frivolous and, with Aunt Emilia’s supervision, only the dingiest choices were approved. Her grim aunt had refused to even look at anything “unsuitable” for her—which meant anything with a hint of flattering color that might draw attention. The sabotage had not been subtle, but at the time, Caroline had been grateful for any new clothes for her journey. She was aware that her wardrobe tended to be dreary, but the new day dresses had been tailored just for her hourglass figure, and Caroline hoped that the hangers might not be showing them to their best advantage.
“Was there another trunk?” Mrs. Clark asked as she hung up the last of the dresses, this one a light blue silk that Caroline considered her best.
“There’s a smaller leather case with my books, but . . .” The look on Mrs. Clark’s face stopped her. Clearly, she’d missed a critical point in the conversation. “No, no other trunks.”
“Have you no evening dresses, ball gowns, and the like, miss? Did I misunderstand? Mr. Godwin said that the master had informed him that you were here to enjoy the Season, and from the pile of invitations and notes in the study, I’m sure you’ve a dozen outings in the next week alone!” Mrs. Clark peered back into the trunk she’d just emptied, as if hoping to discover a miraculous hidden compartment. “I only counted two bonnets and two pairs of gloves.”
“Yes.” Caroline nodded. “One for everyday and one for special occasions.”
“Oh, my!” Mrs. Clark shook her head, her eyes full of kind sympathy. “Well, I’m sure the master has things well in hand! I’m to find you a ladies’ maid, and if I may make a suggestion, there’s a sweet girl upstairs I think might suit. She has a good head on her shoulders and has never given me a moment’s worry. Mr. Godwin said something about placing an ad for a proper French maid, but . . .” Her look wandered back to the empty trunk. “I think Daisy will be a happier match.”
Caroline knew that one of a ladies’ maid’s compensations was her mistress’s cast-offs, and it was obvious that there was little in her trunk to currently excite a new hire. She only hoped Daisy’s disappointment wouldn’t be as obvious as Mrs. Clark’s reaction foretold. “Yes, thank you, Mrs. Clark, though I confess I have never had a personal maid, so please ask Daisy to be understanding.”
“Aren’t you a dear!” Mrs. Clark beamed. “I’ll let her know in the morning. For now, I can help you into your nightclothes and see to your personals. There’s a water closet on the other side of your dressing room, just through there, and I’ll arrange for a bath tomorrow morning. We have hot water pipes on the ground floor for the kitchens, but the rest of the house hasn’t been improved yet. Mr. Blackwell has great plans for it, but these things take time, I always say!”
“I can imagine.” She smiled as the woman continued to busy herself, now with the bed linens. “Have you been with your employer long?”
Mrs. Clark nodded. “For many years, since first he set up a house of his own, I’m proud to say. My aunt has long been at Bellewood and I was happy for the reference when it came. Mr. Ashe has always been the best of employers, never too cross or demanding. Not like some I’ve heard others speak of. Not that I’d waste time gossiping with other households!” Her face colored a little at the slip. “Terrible thing, idle chatter.”
Caroline looked away, unsure of what to say since Mrs. Clark’s beloved employer apparently provided his neighbors with more than enough gossip on his own—even if all his servants never said a word. “You seem to me a woman far too loyal to be distracted by idle chatter, Mrs. Clark.”
“Aren’t you a dear!” The woman puffed up at the compliment. “I keep my own counsel when I can.”
“You are very wise.” Caroline walked over to the vanity and idly rearranged the one luxury she’d kept throughout the years. The silver hairbrush, comb, and ornate mirror had been her mother’s, a legacy from another life of ease and wealth that Caroline couldn’t even remember now. She’d been too young to appreciate the blessings of her grandfather’s generosity, and instead, innocently believed that everyone must live as they did. It was only later after her grandfather’s passing and the loss of her parents that she’d learned a painful lesson about the precariousness of the world.
“Shall I help you to bed, miss?” Mrs. Clark offered behind her.
“Yes, thank you.” She accepted shyly, more to try to appease the housekeeper’s expectations than out of need. She’d been seeing to herself for so long it felt indulgent to have the attention. But her time at Bellewood had already taught her to appreciate the benefits of another pair of hands, and Caroline knew it would be something she would miss when her adventure was over.
Her white cotton nightgown was retrieved from a drawer, and within moments, she was free of her traveling clothes and seated at the dressing table for Mrs. Clark to brush out her long hair.
“Oh, my!” Mrs. Clark remarked. “All these lovely curls! I’ll have to ask Daisy to see if she can help you show them off a bit more.”
Caroline blushed, sure that the woman exaggerated to be kind. But she stole a glance at the mirror and allowed that her hair looked prettier this evening than usual. The sensation of the long, gentle strokes of the brush was soothing and brought the slight waves of her hair to life in the lamplight.
“Shall I braid it for you, miss?”
Caroline shook her head. “I’d prefer not.” She’d always disliked the strange jolt of waking up with a rope of hair around her neck and faulted that she must toss and turn a great deal in her sleep.
“Well, there you are then! Just as pretty as a picture!” Mrs. Clark set the brush down and stepped back to begin making sure the bed was ready. “It’s lovely to have a guest in the house and I’m sure I’m not the first to wish you a lovely visit!”
“Thank you, Mrs. Clark. You have been so sweet and I am grateful for that welcome. I hope to be as little trouble as possible and not burden the staff.” She waited until the woman had left the room before climbing up onto the soft mattress and nestling under the bedding. The carriage had been well sprung, but it was always a little bruising to travel, and of course, her travel companion had added to the day’s tensions. He’d deliberately tried to make it an eternal ride from Bellewood, although she’d anticipated him and brought a book along.
Even so, they’d managed yet another argument, their second in as many days. . . .
I wonder if it’s possible to chaperone a man without actually speaking to him! He’s deliberately provoking me, and what’s worse, I seem to be incapable of not rising to the bait. Dratted man!
Exhaustion began to overtake her, and Caroline fell asleep thinking of poor Mrs. Clark’s face when she’d held up the dark green woven poplin dress. . . . Oh, well. I’m not here to compete with the lovely ladies of England’s peerage or play the coquette, nor would it be appropriate to try. I’m here as a chaperone. And tomorrow, I will strive to do better. No matter what the man says, I will hold my temper and my tongue!
As deep sleep claimed her, her last thought was of a strange image of Ashe, in all his tawny glory, like a stallion fighting again
st the leather straps that held him back—and in her hands were reins.
Ashe glanced again in disbelief at the pile of vellum folded notes and engraved invitations that graced the silver platter on the writing desk in his bedroom. Godwin had brought it up along with his dinner tray, giving his employer a glimpse of the days and weeks ahead.
Grandfather hadn’t been speaking figuratively when he said he’d made arrangements for my respectable Season in Town. Hell, there are at least six notes telling me how thrilled they are to receive my acceptance and how they’re looking forward to meeting my ward, Miss Townsend! An afternoon party? He can’t be serious!
He lifted an invitation, marveling at the turns of his life. He’d never made plans, deliberately keeping himself away from the ebb and flow of mainstream society, ever since their return from India.
“You are so far into the dark woods, I don’t think you remember who you are. It’s whatever that India business was, but it’s no matter.” His grandfather’s words came back to him, an odd echo in the quiet of the room. “That India business” had more to it than anyone had yet guessed. Ashe knew that each of the Jaded would carry more than a few private scars of that time to their grave. The Jaded were known in London as some kind of secret club, named for their handsome members’ notoriety and wealth. The group deliberately protected their privacy and allowed the rumors about their disdain for society to keep casual inquiries at bay. The men shared a bond unlike any other, but each man’s wounds were different, and most of Ashe’s had come just before he’d met the others.
He’d been broken before his capture, sitting drunk in the shadows, waiting for the worst. He’d put up almost no resistance to the thugs storming his house. He’d expected to be murdered, and it was only later in the pitch dark of an ancient prison that the bitter gall of disappointment at finding himself alive had insulated him from his heartbreak.
No fortune would have been vast enough to act as a healing salve, but the accidental wealth from their shared misadventure in a raja’s dungeons had gone a long way to ensuring the Jaded’s independence from their peers after their return to England.
They’d been strangers before they were captured by a mad raja who thought to use them for political or financial gain. Truthfully, the man had never explained his purpose while he held them in dark and filth. They’d learned almost nothing except how to suffer and survive.
But secrets had been exchanged and lives altered forever.
Escape had come through miraculous providence, but Ashe wasn’t sure that any of them would ever really leave “that India business” behind. Especially me—for ghosts are rarely that merciful. And I still cannot even speak her name. . . .
Even now, thoughts of India evoked an ache sharp enough to force him to swallow a moan—and on its heels, the urge to push it all away through some mindless release provided by a woman’s soft skin and the unquestionable welcome of her body to his. He’d lost his heart in India and vowed after walking out of that prison to never again risk that kind of love. Instead he would drown himself in all that life had to offer—and hold back the pain. Hell of a time to become a celibate, eh?
The invitation in his hands recaptured his attention. None of his friends would believe the mess he’d landed in. But he intended to compose a few notes to warn them that he would be unfortunately occupied for most of the Season and not to ask too many questions. If all went as he expected, it would be a temporary misery, and if they cared for his company or companionship, they would avert their gaze and busy themselves elsewhere until it was over.
The clock on the mantel struck one, and Ashe stretched out his legs and pushed away from his desk. Fatigue made his head ache, and it had been a long day. Rather than ring for his valet, he began to undress himself, preferring his solitude. He shrugged out of his shirt and carelessly dropped it on the back of a low settee before starting on the buttons of his breeches.
The sound of the door’s latch captured his attention in the space of a single breath. No servant in his employment would dare to come into his private rooms without summons, and Ashe’s muscles tensed, adrenaline dictating an immediate, instinctive response.
In bare feet, he silently sprang into motion, crossing the room to put himself against the wall. The door itself would shield him from the intruder’s view and give Ashe a fleeting advantage. Fists clenched, a dark calm flooded his frame as the latch moved again.
I’m unarmed, but with the element of surprise, I can still emerge victorious if I—
The door opened slowly to admit the most unlikely villain Ashe could imagine.
Miss Caroline Townsend glided into the room, her blonde hair cascading down her back to her waist in a surprising silk waterfall of curls. She wore nothing more than a simple white cotton nightgown, a frayed ivory ribbon tied loosely at the neckline revealing an astonishing glimpse of a bare collarbone and shoulder as she walked calmly past him. The candlelight flattered the pale honey of her skin and set the unassuming gold in her hair off in a shimmering show of hidden riches.
Even more breathtaking for Ashe was the glimpse of a silhouette of his chaperone’s smooth curves and firm backside through the thin fabric of her nightgown as she stood before the lamplight on his desk. Her breasts were ripe and set high, without the aid of a corset, the tiny pink nipples tilted up to invite a man’s kisses and endless attentions. Her hips were just wide enough to make Ashe’s mouth pull into a smile, and her bottom was almost impossibly attractive. His hands itched to trace each round curve and pull her up against him.
His cock was ignoring the illogical turn of events and had naturally turned blistering hard against his half undone breech buttons. The familiar weight of it goaded him into ending the encounter as quickly as possible.
If she means to sabotage me . . . Can that be part of some plan she has?
The thought helped him to rein in the blaze of raw lust and address the problem at hand—why in God’s name was Caroline Townsend in his bedroom?
“Miss Townsend?” He stepped forward, deliberately making no effort to race for a dressing jacket or make some show of false modesty. It would serve the little terrier right to get a taste of her own medicine. “If you meant to call me on my jest about helping me to bed . . .”
She turned to face him, and he knew immediately that something was off. The crisp intelligence that generally shone from her eyes was muted behind a dreamy glow. She smiled as if they were the oldest and dearest of friends, and Ashe had to swallow at the strange power of this softer, gentler Caroline. “Can you believe it? I never thought to make such a good sailor, but the seas are so calm.”
“Are they?” Ashe smiled and shook his head at the amazing revelation that his prim and impossible little chaperone suffered from a most delightful malady.
The lady sleepwalked.
Chapter
3
“And where are you voyaging, miss?”
“To England and then . . . perhaps I’ll see more of the world I’ve read about.” She reached up to push her hair back off of her face, unwittingly accenting her curves again as she arched her back, making Ashe almost groan. “I find that I like to explore.”
“The world may never be the same, Miss Townsend.” He shook his head again, trying to clear the heat from his veins and reconcile the relaxed and sensual creature in front of him to the woman he’d spent almost two days actively disliking.
She laughed, and the sound of it captivated him like nothing he could recall. Unlike the practiced melodic giggles that generally made him want to run from all civilized company, this was like warm water tumbling over smooth stones—a natural sound of purest joy that enchanted without inhibitions. He couldn’t remember hearing a woman laugh like that. But there she stood, an unlikely sprite, with her unfettered blonde hair and sparkling brown eyes, innocently unaware of the havoc she was wreaking on his nerves.
He was trapped with her in a dreamlike exchange, unsure of how to guide her back to bed without waking her
up. Not that it didn’t occur to him for one fleeting moment how entertaining it would be to see how the terrier would react to finding herself nearly naked and less than six paces from his bed—the risk would almost be worth the reward.
But Ashe knew better. One scream and he’d forfeit all in a mortifying avalanche of consequences and regret. Hell if my grandfather would understand this particular wrinkle!
“Miss Townsend,” he tried again. “Perhaps we should see about disembarking and getting you to . . . bed.”
She shook her head, sweetly demurring his suggestion. “You can hardly just step off a ship, sir, while she’s at sea.”
She’s talking to me in that kind tone one uses with the village idiot.
“Yes, of course, what was I thinking? But, the tide was with us and isn’t that our first view of the port there?” He pointed toward the fireplace and dared to hope.
“Oh!” She followed his gaze and stepped forward, the strange, dreamlike haze in her eyes taking on a new, excited shine. “Oh, isn’t it lovely?”
Ashe nodded solemnly, praying the humor of it all didn’t undo his efforts to maintain his self-control. “We should be there within moments, and then you can disembark.”
She clapped her hands in childlike merriment. “I can hardly wait! Just think of it!” Caroline reached out to touch his bare arm, the silk of her fingertips sliding up to his elbow. “A few weeks ago, there was nothing to look forward to. But now, everything seems possible.”
Ashe had to look away from her, and he diverted his attention back to the fireplace. “Does it? I have never known London to inspire such change.”
She slipped her hand around his arm, as if he were escorting her about the deck in her dreams. “You have never been in my Aunt Emilia’s downstairs parlor for one of her teas and wished for the blessed release of a house fire.”
Ashe smiled. “Ah, the perspective of an old woman’s tea—it’s a wonder we haven’t all run away.”
Seduction Wears Sapphires Page 5