Seduction Wears Sapphires

by Renee Bernard

  “I was definitely taller,” she provided cheerfully, stretching her arms upward to demonstrate and forcing Ashe to keep his seat as his body responded to the visual treat the movement provided. She was an unashamed nymph cavorting just out of reach, and his body surged with heat and fire ready to join in the dance.

  His grip on the desk tightened until his knuckles showed white. “Miss Townsend, you need to go back to bed.” Before I rip that gown off your ripe little body and have you in a raw, unbridled fuck that’s going to rob me of the last semblance of civilized humanity I have left.

  And there it is . . . I don’t want to be civilized. God help me. I never wanted to be civilized again after—India. After her . . .

  Another woman’s face began to form at the edges of his thoughts and Ashe moved to his feet to shake it off. “Let’s get you back to—”

  “I’m on my way to the library. Mr. Blackwell said I could borrow any book I wished.”

  “You read too much.”

  “You sound like Aunt Emilia.”

  “She doesn’t approve of your literary pursuits?”

  She shook her head, smiling brightly. “She doesn’t approve of anything. I feel very sorry for her sometimes. Don’t you?”

  “Yes, poor Aunt Emilia,” he said, without any effort toward sincerity. “Bed.”

  “As you wish.”

  Ashe’s relief at the easy concession was fleeting. Instead of turning on her heels and ending the tantalizing encounter, she breezed past him toward the sanctuary of his large four-poster bed. Before he could protest, she’d climbed up to crawl across the coverlet, presenting that beautiful round little ass he’d admired before. It was like watching two halves of a ripe silky peach sashay toward the pillows, and Ashe’s breath caught in his throat.

  She collapsed in a giggling feminine heap, rolling over to sprawl across his bed. She pulled one leg up, baring her thighs in a wicked gesture that would have made the best skills of a courtesan pale in comparison. “I find that I like being taller.”

  This isn’t happening. I’m going to ask Rowan for a sleeping draught to keep the damn creature out of my room!

  His intention was to gently drag her off the bed, but the ankle he gripped was ice cold, and Ashe’s attention shifted instantly. As sexy as his damp siren looked, she was in real danger of pneumonia or fever, and Ashe wasn’t having it.

  He knelt on the edge of the mattress and pulled the covers back as swiftly as he could. She offered no resistance when he reached for her, encircled his arms around her, and lifted her easily up against him. She was as cold as marble but so beautiful he struggled to think. Caroline put her head against his shoulder with a sigh, her damp hair sending a sensual shiver across his skin and pebbling it with goose bumps.

  She was light in his arms but all womanly curves and firm flesh. The instinct to warm her was overwhelming. Propriety was nothing, and the rules meant less as he weighed out the dangers and tried to ignore his desires.

  He set her back down, then slid his hands up the outside curves of her thighs to push her gown up over her hips. “Lift your arms,” he whispered, his voice rough with need.

  She obeyed him without hesitation. Her fingertips stretched gracefully to the ceiling and her eyes met his, a veil of dreams giving their color golden depth in the low light of the room.

  He peeled off the damp garment, up over her head, smoothly and swiftly, drinking in the vision of her bare breasts with their impertinent rose tips puckered and pouting for attention. Her skin was cream and honey, the burnished gold of her hair set off to perfection against his ivory bed. Her hips were wide and inviting, and she faced him, kneeling with her plump bottom balanced on her heels, without a hint of modesty.

  He took a deep breath to try to clear his head and instead was rewarded with the heady scent of her sex—a sweet musk that rivaled any perfume. He turned away as his cock threatened to tear open the front of his trousers, and he quickly laid her gown over a chair by the window to help it dry.

  Damn it! Only the worst kind of cad would take advantage of a woman in such a state! Let’s warm her and then get her back to her own bed before the worst happens and Godwin does decide to knock on the door looking for the girl!

  He turned back and in two strides returned to the bed to press her backward onto the bed, covering her in the warmth of down and silk. He began to strip off his shirt, ignoring the wicked suggestion of a lustful whisper in his head that if he lost his pants as well, the warming would go much faster.

  Her eyes never left his, her expression a drowsy smile of pleasure. He hesitated briefly. What if she wakes up now?

  Hell, if an ice-cold bath isn’t going to stir her, then this shouldn’t cause much of a ripple!

  “This isn’t celibacy,” he ground out softly, pulling his shirt from his shoulders. “This is purgatory.”

  He climbed into the bed as carefully as he could, drawing her against his side and pressing the fire of his bare chest to hers. Her nipples brushed up against him, growing harder as the sensation of the contact with his chest hair stimulated them. Her legs entangled naturally with his, and Ashe was convinced that no man had suffered more than the sweet knifing pleasure-pain of her soft thighs and damp sex nestling against him through the cloth of his pants. He reached down to adjust her position, and made the strategic mistake of cupping her delectable ass; the round curves filled his palms and nearly sent him over the edge. His cock throbbed and pulsed with every shuddering breath he could manage, and Ashe had to close his eyes to fight for control.

  He ran his palms up her back, working the friction of his fingers against her smooth skin to try to draw the chill from her core. “The next time you want a bath, miss, you must ring the bell and ask Daisy for some warm water.”

  He glanced down to see if his words had registered only to have her tip her head back, her brown eyes hypnotic in the candlelight and shadows as she looked up at him. “Is it better to be clever or tall?”

  “That’s a child’s question.” His tone was brusque, but her gaze never wavered as she waited for his reply, and Ashe found himself softening his resolve at the trusting patience in her eyes. “I’d say a bit of both doesn’t hurt if you’re a man, but for you . . .” He drew her closer, savoring the feel of her body against his. “One of us should keep their wits about them, so I’ll say it’s better to be clever, my American.”

  She reached up, cradling his face within the cool blades of her fingers, her breath sweet and warm against his lips, and arched up against him to kiss him lightly, a brush of light silk against the sensitive curves of his mouth. Ashe savored the amazing boon of what was undoubtedly her first kiss, awed by the power of it. He tried to resist the temptation to deepen the kiss, allowing his slumbering siren to have her way with him. But when her tongue darted out, wetting his lower lip only to playfully bite him, Ashe abandoned his reserve.

  The sweet friction was intoxicating and Ashe meant to drink his fill. He seized control, answering her gentle exploration with a more commanding one of his own. She was warm honey and potent as any wine, and Ashe had been too long without the taste of a woman.

  But even so, Caroline was a delight he couldn’t remember experiencing with any other. Each lingering caress of his tongue to hers was an electric storm of sensation and desire, and Ashe reveled in the ebb and flow of need that fueled a fire within him that defied control.

  Ashe’s arms tightened around her, shifting to press her into the down mattress beneath him, sliding effortlessly into the world of the intoxicating solace of a woman’s body. Being partially clothed afforded no shield, but instead intensified the sensation of her wet core and lush nest of curls against his leg. Instead of shy resistance, Caroline was an eager press of artless excitement that made his blood clamor for conquest.

  I could have her, and what man breathing would blame me?

  For a telltale instant, his conscience failed to respond, but even over the roar of lust pounding through his frame, the unwanted a
nswer finally came.

  My grandfather, and every man of good character, would be all too quick to point out my error—right before they flogged me and hung me.

  Damn.

  He lifted his head, trying to keep his eyes closed so that the sight of the siren beneath him didn’t ruin his valiant effort at chivalry.

  Damn chivalry! What an idiotic invention! If I ever met the rusty knight that came up with it, I’d wring his neck and accept the accolades of every man walking.

  She sighed and lowered her face to snuggle against him, her hands making lazy trails across his chest in wide sweeping circles. “Hmmm, purgatory is lovely.”

  It was all he could do to look away to the clock on the mantel across the room and count the minutes while she slowly warmed against him. Her breathing slowed to a steady rhythm that betrayed that she’d fallen fast asleep, and Ashe marveled at the ironies of life.

  I could lock her in her room from now on.

  But his chaperone wasn’t going to stand for it during waking hours, and he would guarantee himself a poisoned letter to his grandfather about the matter.

  I could lock my door.

  Every shred of manly pride rose up against the notion of trapping himself in his own home. I’m the master of this house! Not some errant child to be shut up for bad behavior!

  Ashe let out a long, tired breath. At this pace, I’ll behave simply because I’m too exhausted to think of straying!

  He waited until he was sure the crisis had passed and then extricated himself to retrieve her gown. His body ached from pent-up lust and he only hoped he didn’t limp in the morning. For now, he carried her in a blanketed bundle back down the hall to her room. He didn’t risk dressing her again, for fear of his luck running out.

  It will serve you rightly, Terrier, to wake up to a mystery of your own making.

  It was a strange bit of torture to stand still on a dais while endless measurements were taken, withstanding the assessment of strangers as if she were a life-size doll to be made over. She’d have put off the morning’s excursion if she could, but Ashe had insisted that she couldn’t go to any more functions in any of the gowns she’d brought with her. And it was impossible to explain that she wasn’t feeling like herself after awaking before dawn to the odd realization that she was stark naked. Her dreams had been a strange tangle of dancing in waterfalls and swimming into Ashe’s arms, and awaking to her nightgown strewn across the foot of her bed and a broken water pitcher on her floor had been unnerving.

  Am I losing my mind and cavorting around my room in my sleep?

  The attendants in the shop moved in a complex choreography, circling her and handing the shop’s owner, Mrs. Simms, everything she needed before she even had to voice her desire. At the moment, Caroline was being pinned into an elaborate dress that had more in common with Lady Fitzgerald’s garden than any garment she’d ever seen.

  “I don’t think I like all these flowers.” Caroline tried to keep her tone gentle, but firm.

  “No? I think they are charming, mademoiselle!” the dressmaker protested, rearranging the skirts to show off the organza blossoms that trailed from her waist down her skirts to the hem.

  “I appear to be imitating a flower pot,” she groused softly, beginning to wonder if any of her opinions mattered in the slightest as the woman simply tried pinning even more flowers along the dress’s edge.

  “You look like spring,” Ashe intoned from the doorway, sending Caroline’s heart racing at the sight of him leaning there, assessing her. “Like Persephone in bloom.”

  “Mr. Blackwell, I can see why women are often likened to flowers in poetry and prose, but I’m not sure it’s an analogy I’m comfortable with.” She used her most scholarly tone, deliberately trying to fend off the effects of his gaze. She was rambling and she knew it.

  “What could be wrong with such a comparison?”

  “The implication is that women are objects to be admired, sniffed, and ultimately plucked.” She regretted her cheekiness the instant she’d spoken the words, as his entire expression changed from fleeting shock to pure delight—as if she’d challenged him.

  Even the dressmaker on the floor squeaked in amused horror, but Ashe stepped forward with a wicked smile. “You, Miss Townsend, have a wit that defies analogies, but I find myself wondering what kind of flower you would be.”

  For a moment, she was speechless, and he went on relentlessly, his voice a seductive spell.

  “Surely not a hothouse flower or an exotic orchid. But something just as enticing. Gardenia? Lily? Something—”

  “I am not a flower! Any more than you, Mr. Blackwell, are a—” She bit her lower lip, cutting off her impetuous protest.

  “Any more than I’m a . . . What am I in this game, Miss Townsend?”

  “A gardener,” she mumbled, her face staining with a blush.

  He laughed, and with a wave of his hand dismissed the seamstress to ensure that they were entirely and improperly alone.

  Caroline felt a flash of panic to see the woman go and tried to hold her ground. “Call her back! It isn’t seemly that you should be here without . . .”

  “A chaperone? Ah! But I have my chaperone right here, and so I can see no rules being broken.” Ashe circled the dais, eyeing her from every angle. “Besides, you can always indicate that I wished to reprimand you privately for your wretched attitude, as any proper guardian would do if his little blossom insisted on acting the stinging nettle.”

  Caroline stomped her foot in an ineffective gesture but one that made her feel marginally better. “You twist this arrangement to suit yourself from moment to moment!”

  “Thank the gods my grandfather wisely chose a woman who is not so changeable.” He sighed. “My Miss Townsend never forgets her purpose . . . does she?”

  My Miss Townsend. The intimate implication of his words sent a shimmer of heat across her skin and she marveled at the ease with which he exercised his powers. What woman wouldn’t crave to be at the center of his attentions? To wish for him to—

  “Does she?” he prompted again, taking a step closer until he was next to the dais, looking up slightly at her. “Ever forget her purpose?”

  “No.” She squared her shoulders, ignoring the bite of the pins at the movement. “She never does.”

  But his eyes mocked her, as if he could read her thoughts and knew that they were of anything but her vows to mind her duties. A fleeting image of being pressed against Ashe’s bare chest drowned out a practical protest, confusing her with its power and intensity. She took a slow deep breath to regain her composure before adding, “Never.”

  “I am a lucky man to have such a tenacious chaperone.”

  “Mr. Blackwell—”

  He cut her off with a cavalier wave of his hand. “Mrs. Simms!” he called the seamstress back, ending their private conference and forcing Caroline to hold her place.

  “Yes, Mr. Blackwell,” Mrs. Simms answered quickly, her arms full of a stack of fashion plates for his examination. “I’ve brought a few views for your selection.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Simms. And I’ve decided that Miss Townsend may have been right.”

  It was Caroline’s turn to swallow a shocked squeak. “Really?”

  “She is far too beautiful to need anything too overwrought and I think this color is overwhelming. Miss Townsend should shimmer in color, but not drown in it. The pale sapphire blue, and that coral—we’ll have a gown in each. And yellow, but not the butter. I don’t want her looking like a dandelion. Something in burnished gold with a hint of pink.”

  “Something more creamy to set off her skin and hair?” Mrs. Simms suggested, and Caroline marveled at the way she was instantly dismissed from the conversation yet the center of the pair’s attention at the same time. It was like being caught in a maelstrom of fabric and color that she had never imagined.

  “Yes, exactly. But nothing sweet! As you’ve seen, my American has no patience for frippery and flowers. A few layers and flounces
to keep her fashionable, but only enough to frame her figure and draw a man’s eyes.”

  “I’m not drawing anyone’s—” Caroline began, only to be soundly ignored as Ashe held up a roll of green silk in front of her face.

  “There, now that suits! This for a riding habit, and a darker jade green for a day dress.” Ashe spoke with such authority and confidence that Mrs. Simms simply nodded and took notes while he flipped through the plates at lightning speed. “This one, not these, but this in the coral organza, but no bows, and we’ll take all of these. And undergarments to match each dress. She’ll need everything from the skin out, Mrs. Simms.”

  Caroline took another deep breath. “I don’t need a riding habit, Mr. Blackwell.” Much less new undergarments!

  Ashe shook his head. “You’ll learn. Or at least have the proper outfit if you ever wish to give the appearance of a woman who knows how to sit astride a strong mount and hold her own.”

  The dressmaker squeaked again, but this time she was smiling, openly enjoying Ashe’s unorthodox comments.

  Caroline was not as amused. “You are deliberately being provocative. Mrs. Simms is going to think the very worst!”

  “Oh, no!” Mrs. Simms interjected. “I am the soul of discretion, young miss.”

  “There, you see?” Ashe settled into an ornate chair in the corner, like a man taking a box seat at the theatre. “Mrs. Simms has heard far more shocking things, I suspect, as ladies chatter about their selections.”

  “Mr. Blackwell, I don’t require this many gowns! I don’t see how I’m going to possibly wear all of them!”

  “Ladies of quality change their ensemble at least three times in a day, Miss Townsend.”

  “And have no time for anything else, I imagine!” she protested.

  “Precisely!” he agreed, rewarding her with an impudent pirate’s smile. “Dressing and undressing are the secrets to a woman’s happiness.”

  “That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.” Caroline crossed her arms primly.

  “Only because you’ve never been properly dressed,” he countered, and then added, “or undressed, for that matter.”