Seduction Wears Sapphires

by Renee Bernard

  “I’m not running away.”

  Her solemn tone caught his attention, and Ashe looked down at her, inadvertently treating himself to a delightful view of her cleavage. “Not even from Aunt Emilia?”

  “I’m going to change the course of my life.”

  His breath caught in his throat. She was so hopeful—so impossibly sweet. “And where was it heading before, Miss Townsend?”

  “Oblivion,” she answered solemnly.

  There’s a destination I know well enough.

  “But now you’re here.” It’s all nonsense and dreams talking and I’m a fool if I take any of this conversation to heart and think for a minute that the terrier is an object of sympathy. She’s a grown woman who’s decided for whatever reason to place herself in my path and assist my grandfather in providing for a humiliating Season. “And let’s see about getting you ashore, shall we?”

  She put her head on his shoulder and sighed. “Yes.”

  Ashe ignored the bolt of heat the simple contact initiated back down his spine and across his skin. Instead he retrieved his shirt from behind her off the arm of the settee and shrugged into it before holding out his arm to attempt to direct her from his rooms. They’d be a sight for the staff if anyone spotted them, but Ashe was determined to return her to her own room as quickly as possible and end the surreal encounter before she awoke and the dream turned into a nightmare.

  “Here we are, Miss Townsend.” He deliberately walked her with the care of a man approaching a gangplank, guiding her through the door and back down the unlit hallway.

  “London is dark,” she remarked, her voice tinged with a fear and awe. “I don’t think I expected it to be this gloomy.”

  “It’s the fog, Miss Townsend.” He smiled in the shadows. “It’s one of the charms of the great city.”

  “Oh!” Her grip on his arm relaxed slightly. “It does add a touch of mystery, doesn’t it?”

  Ah! Miss Townsend harbors a bit of the romantic! “Awoman’s point of view, and one of your charms, Miss Townsend.”

  “That I’m a woman? Or that I have a point of view?” she asked, as sweetly as if inquiring after the weather.

  Ashe laughed softly, unable to stop himself. “With you, I suspect the two are irrevocably intertwined.”

  She laughed again, and the magic of it wasn’t lessened in its new familiarity. Ashe liked this lighter and merrier version of the terrier. This Miss Townsend was all feminine sweetness and corruptible curves, without the glowering looks and prim little sniffs of disapproval. This Miss Townsend had an appeal that transcended his opinions about pushy American women and chaperones in general.

  But this Miss Townsend was just as forbidden to him as any other woman, and Ashe bit the inside of his cheek hard enough to sting and remind him that, while she had the luxury of dreams, his feet needed to stay firmly planted in the waking world.

  “Here we are.” He stopped at her door, opening the latch for her and glancing inside to note the lack of light. “Let me see if we can’t light a candle and get you settled,” he said, guiding her just inside the doorway.

  She put her head on his shoulder and he could feel her nod in acquiescence. She was clinging to him innocently enough, but the sensation of her pert breasts pressing against his arm and side through the thin silk of his shirt was pure torment. He tried to recall the room’s arrangement by memory, but he’d never bothered much with the guest rooms.

  Ashe instinctively acted to protect the terrier’s shins and avert a bad ending to their adventure. “Wait here, miss, and I’ll make sure everything is as it should be.” He gently guided her hand to the door frame, anchoring her safely so that he could make his explorations.

  “You’re so kind to me.” She sighed.

  Kind. I’m the devil in the dark, and she thinks I’m kind.

  He strode toward what he thought was a best guess of the direction for her bed and side table and instead was rewarded with a bruising blow across his shins from one of her traveling trunks. Ashe bit down hard to swallow a string of curses from the throbbing pain before trying another direction and finding success. With a hand on the bed curtains, he traced the edge of the mattress and found what he was looking for.

  The glow from the single taper was more than enough to illuminate the waiting figure in the doorway, and Ashe forgot about his bruised shins at the vision she presented. Once again, her thin cotton gown did nothing more than accent everything her dowdy fashions struggled to hide from view.

  The heat in his blood reignited and Ashe smiled, wondering if his grandfather had any idea of the hellfire he’d poured on his grandson’s head. Sacred oaths and familial duties aside, his chaperone was proving to be an unexpected problem.

  “Must I go to bed now?” she asked, and Ashe’s cock instantly became painfully hard, its swollen head pressing against the waist of his pants. When he risked a glance downward, he could see it, one pearl of moisture beading from its tip.

  He closed his eyes and tried to banish the demon that snaked through his body, its power emanating from the raw hunger between his thighs. “Yes,” he managed to grind out, roughly pulling the covers aside. “In, Miss Townsend.”

  “Won’t you be showing me more of London?” She walked toward him, her voice giving no hint of an intimate double meaning to her words, no trace of an illicit invitation—but her nightgown had fallen even farther down her shoulder, revealing the top of a creamy orb, an invitation in itself.

  Oh, the things I could show you, Miss Townsend.

  “Not tonight.” He tugged at the covers again, his hands itching to see just how much of a pull it would take on the ribbon of her gown to allow it to fall to the floor. He forced himself to look away from the frayed strip of narrow satin so tantalizing within his reach. “Time to rest and tomorrow . . . we’ll see about you beginning your adventures in London.”

  She sighed, lifting the hem of her nightgown with the innocence of a child to allow her to climb unencumbered up into the bed and giving Ashe a delicious peek at her legs in the process. “I’ve never had an adventure before!”

  It was all he could do not to grab one of her ankles and drag her over to the side of the bed and ravish her without apologies. Instead, he stiffly threw the covers over her and took a firm step back. “Stay. In. Bed.”

  “As you wish.” She smiled sweetly, pressing back into the pillows, her blonde curls fanning out to frame her face. Her eyes looked at him without seeing him, and Ashe finally accepted that retreat was his only option.

  He took the taper with him, hoping to avoid another stumble on his way out. He’d nearly made it to the door when she called out softly, “I can hardly wait until tomorrow.”

  He shut the door behind him and blew out the candle.

  God, give me strength.

  Caroline arranged the last of her books on the small desk in the corner, comforted by the familiar titles, each volume’s heft and touch something she would have known blindfolded. The morning light gave her room a more cheerful atmosphere, and she was pleased to be setting out her own things. It made the room feel more like a place of her own.

  “Was there anything you needed, miss? I waited for you to ring, but Mrs. Clark said it was better to just come up and ask.”

  Caroline turned, startled by a young maid in a freshly starched bob cap she realized was probably the promised Daisy. “That was very thoughtful of you, Daisy.”

  The girl’s eyes widened with happy surprise. “You know my name!”

  “Why, yes! Mrs. Clark said she thought you were the very best young lady to assist me, and I couldn’t imagine her sending up anyone else at this hour.”

  “She said you were nice, for bein’ an American, and all.” Daisy curtsied awkwardly, then headed straight toward the bed to remake it.

  Caroline blushed to think her efforts to straighten her own bedding weren’t up to the house’s standards. So much for my show of independence!

  “Just so you know,” Daisy went on cheer
fully, “I’m determined to be the best ladies’ maid you ever saw. I’m a quick learner and Mrs. Clark said she’ll keep an eye out so I don’t make a muck of things! There, that’s better! Now, I’ll just . . .” Daisy hesitated, eyeing the nightstand unhappily. “Where’s the candlestick? Usually I’m to change it if the taper’s burned too low, but it’s not here. Did you move it?”

  “No,” Caroline said, glancing around the room to make sure she hadn’t inadvertently rearranged the item when she’d unpacked her things. “I remembered it there last night.”

  “Well.” The maid shook her head but then regained her good spirits. “It’s bound to turn up! I’ll tell Mrs. Clark all the same, to be safe.”

  Caroline certainly hoped it turned up quickly, as she couldn’t imagine anything more awkward than being accused of pilfering her host’s housewares. When she was sixteen, her cousin Mary Louise had misplaced her favorite earrings and Caroline had never forgotten the blame or the bruising beating that had followed. Even when the earrings had been discovered later in one of Mary Louise’s reticules, there had been no apologies from her Aunt Emilia.

  She wasn’t sure how Ashe would react to any signs of theft in his household, but she wasn’t in any rush to find out. He might seize on the excuse to rid himself of an unwanted and cumbersome chaperone—an excuse that even the elder Blackwell couldn’t dispute.

  “It was here on the dresser when I went to sleep. I can’t imagine—”

  “Don’t fret, miss!” Daisy put a hand on her arm to give it a comforting pat. “One of the housemaids may have thought to change it while you were in the dressing room and forgot to put it back. It’s no trouble. You mustn’t look so concerned.”

  “Thank you, Daisy. You’re right, of course.”

  “Now, then, you’re already dressed but you must promise to ring for me if you need to change. And I’ll ask Cook to send you up a breakfast tray. After all, it’s the least a ladies’ maid can do, yes? See to her lady’s comforts?”

  “Yes, though I’m not hungry, Daisy, but I can see I’m in the best of hands.” Daisy had curtsied and left before Caroline could ask her a bit more about herself or the routine of the household—or even if Mr. Blackwell had already eaten or where she could find him. But she was used to being on her own and preferred it.

  Caroline left her room, glancing down the hallway to decide which direction to take. Either one looked promising, with its dark wood archways and hanging artwork.

  She turned to the right, beginning a casual exploration to savor the quiet of the house before the next storm. Despite my vow to behave better, I think only a fool would expect a miraculous turn in both of our temperaments overnight.

  Every house was thought to reflect its owner in some way—his tastes, his interests or lack of them, even his personality. So Caroline had to wonder what Ashe’s home would say about him. But the portraits from ages past and the artwork didn’t seem to reflect anything at all—they were all unfamiliar faces and fashionable choices that betrayed little of Ashe’s soul.

  She didn’t venture into any of the closed rooms, but instead headed down to the first floor to retrace her steps back to the drawing room where Ashe had instructed her about the “rules.” On the way, she spied an open doorway and a room awash in powder blue and soft light.

  It was a music room with a piano and a harp near the windows, and it made her wonder if anyone played them or if it was all for show. Or did he invite those nonargumentative, nonconversation-loving ladies over for private concerts for his own entertainment?

  A pointless flash of jealousy struck her at the thought. Not that it made any difference to her if every nymph in London wished to perform concerts for his amusement. Caroline suspected it was her own lack of talent in music that fueled her feelings. She trailed her fingers lightly over the keys without depressing them to give away her presence.

  Mr. Godwin interrupted her reverie from the doorway. “Miss Townsend. Do you play?”

  “I’m afraid not.” Caroline turned around, hoping she didn’t look as guilty as she felt for snooping about. “Do you often have music in the house? Would it be too forward to ask if Mr. Blackwell is a musician?”

  “His mother was the musician and a fine one at that. A voice like a nightingale, my uncle used to say. He was the butler here many years ago and shared wonderful stories of the family.” Mr. Godwin shook his head. “No one has played them in years since her death.”

  Caroline felt a new flood of guilt that she’d been so quick to imagine the worst. “What a shame!”

  “Mr. Blackwell instructed me to make sure that you knew of an afternoon party today that he wishes to attend. I’ll advise Daisy so that she can help you prepare.”

  “It sounds as if I’m going into battle,” she said, laughing.

  Mr. Godwin smiled. “I would not expect casualties, Miss Townsend, but I imagine the principles of war often apply to London’s social Seasons.”

  “The Chinese general Sun Tzu said that all warfare was based on deception.”

  It was Mr. Godwin’s turn to chuckle. “He sounds like a very wise man who may have attended more than one party in his day.”

  “I’m not sure I’m a good enough liar to win the field, but I’ll do my best not to embarrass my host.” Caroline decided to forge ahead on the question at the head of all her thoughts. “Where is Mr. Blackwell this morning?”

  “He’s at his sporting club, miss. He and Mr. Rutherford have a standing appointment for fencing and exercise, but he’ll return shortly to make his own preparations for the battle—or rather Lady Fitzgerald’s party.”

  “I see.” She took a deep breath. “Then perhaps you could direct me to Mr. Blackwell’s library, if he has one.”

  “Yes, of course, right this way.” Mr. Godwin led the way, and Caroline followed, trying to gain control of her emotions. The butler had given her more information than required about his employer’s whereabouts, and she was grateful to the man. Her first thought had been to accuse the dratted Ashe Blackwell of running off into mischief to spite her after their dreadful argument, but even so, her limitations as a chaperone chafed.

  Mr. Godwin stopped outside a carved heavy door. “Here it is, Miss Townsend.”

  “Mr. Godwin? May I ask . . . that is, this may seem a bit strange, but . . .” She hesitated, unwilling to offend the butler but determined not to fail without a fight.

  “I’ll naturally do my best to accommodate any request you care to make, Miss Townsend,” he offered diplomatically.

  “If I knew beforehand when Mr. Ashe intended to leave the house, it would be . . . extremely helpful.”

  He shook his head. “I’m afraid I will have to disappoint you.” He pushed open the door and stepped back to allow her to pass him. “Perhaps you’d have better luck with your ladies’ maid regarding this matter.”

  Daisy? Why in the world would Daisy be familiar with Ashe’s comings and goings?

  Before she could make sure she’d understood him, Mr. Godwin bowed politely and made his way back down the hallway.

  Caroline bit her lower lip, accepting that her choices were very limited. Asking Daisy seemed unlikely to lead to success, but doing nothing would guarantee her failure to meet her obligations to the elder Mr. Blackwell.

  Ashe truly couldn’t be a prisoner in his own home—and she’d set her mind on finding a way to make sure he was holding to his oath. But asking his staff to betray him . . . Caroline worried that she might be going too far.

  God, give me strength.

  Chapter

  4

  Ashe waited in the downstairs salon for Caroline to appear. This was to be their first public outing and he wasn’t sure what to expect. He’d deliberately seen nothing of her since their strange nocturnal encounter the evening before, nervously wondering if she’d recall any of it.

  Not that she’d openly confess to such a thing, but let’s hope she doesn’t. It would undoubtedly be a blessing if the entire affair was beyond her.
God, what an odd wrinkle to this impossible drama!

  He glanced at the clock on the table, wondering if he should waste the energy it took to wish the girl would beg off with a headache or some other invisible female malady to allow him to escape the torture of an afternoon party. It was a bit too late to throw himself on her mercy and beg off himself.

  “I’m sorry if I’m late.” She spoke from the doorway, and Ashe had to instantly put on his best gambler’s face. There was no trace of the sensual minx that had unnerved him so much last night. In a sensible, modest dark blue day dress of indestructible cotton with her hair pulled back in a firm chignon, it was hard to even imagine that this was the same woman who had deprived him of sleep. Is that gray or blue? Hell, it’s not a funeral! Does this woman own a single thing that didn’t qualify as drab and unflattering?

  “Most women seem to spend more time at their dressing tables worrying about the tint of their cheeks rather than the time. You’re actually more prompt than I’d expected.” Ashe put his hands behind his back, briefly wondering if he’d padded the time enough to allow her to run upstairs and change. But the wickedest part of him shook off the idea. She’d scoffed at all his warnings, so perhaps it was best that Miss Townsend got a small taste of the cruel tongues of the Ton. Poor girl! She’s making it all too easy for them! Their hostess, Lady Fitzgerald, was a notorious dragon of a woman, and he was willing to bet his finest horse that after one look at Caroline in her ridiculous garb, she’d be dismissed as a servant and given the attention of a houseplant.

  “You, Mr. Blackwell, have wretchedly low expectations when it comes to women.” She pulled on her gloves and gave her redingote a small tug. “A small tragedy, in my opinion.”

  It was clear that his chaperone remembered nothing of her visit to his bedroom as she bundled herself up for the carriage ride. “I hope the staff has made you feel comfortable, Miss Townsend, and that you’ve enjoyed your first night here.”

  “Very much so,” she assured him. “They seem to go out of their way to be kind.”