Seduction Wears Sapphires

by Renee Bernard

  Well . . . that was damaging.

  Galen cleared his throat. “My darling,” he addressed his wife, “come look at this painting with me for a moment.”

  Haley looked as if she would protest, but a quick glance at her husband’s face ended the debate and the pair discreetly withdrew to give Ashe a moment alone with his ward.

  “She was very friendly,” Caroline noted. “Though that was a bit more conversation than I was led to expect from a woman of your preference.”

  Damn the woman’s memory!

  “I am not going to discuss a woman like that—here!”

  “You won’t discuss her,” Caroline echoed, looking after Margot as she disappeared down the stairs before turning her focus back to Ashe, “but you’ll enjoy her company when it suits you. How sad!”

  “Margot hardly needs your sympathy,” he said, then winced at his inadvertent use of the courtesan’s first name. It was an implicit confession he’d never meant to make.

  “I meant to say how sad for you, Mr. Blackwell. You value your company less than your conversation.”

  “In this instance, Miss Townsend”—Ashe tried to keep his tone low to not draw any more attention from passersby—“I value my reputation and privacy.”

  “But only in this instance?” she asked pertly.

  “Mr. Blackwell,” the unmistakable voice of Lady Fitzgerald cut into their exchange, and Ashe began to wonder if he hadn’t earned some kind of curse. “What have you done to my American?”

  “Lady Fitzgerald, do you not approve of the changes?” Ashe held his ground.

  Caroline had also turned at Lady Fitzgerald’s unexpected appearance and had the good grace to blush.

  “You look like a dream in that color, Miss Townsend,” her ladyship noted, just as a haggard Miss Eustace Woodberry caught up with her friend. “Doesn’t she look wonderful, Eustace?”

  “L-lovely,” Eustace agreed, desperately trying to catch her breath.

  “We are here to see this new modern style of painting on display for ourselves,” Lady Fitzgerald continued. “Naturally, I don’t intend to return in case my interest is misinterpreted as an endorsement, so I’m determined to take in everything I can to form an opinion in a single afternoon.”

  Eustace nodded miserably behind her and Ashe had to bite the inside of his lip at the inconvenient urge to laugh. “Well, then we are lucky to meet you, even briefly, Lady Fitzgerald. Since you recall Miss Townsend, may I introduce Lord and Lady Winters?”

  “I know your father, the Earl of Stamford, Lord Winters, and it is a genuine pleasure to meet you at last.” The dowager gave them a courteous nod before signaling Eustace to prepare to keep walking. “Lady Winters, I am charmed. If I recall, you were a Moreland before your marriage, were you not?”

  “Yes.” Haley nodded. “I was.”

  “A very old family,” Lady Fitzgerald pronounced with approval—as if her word were final in all matters. “Well, if you’ll excuse us, we have much to see and Eustace is eager to proceed.”

  Lady Fitzgerald set sail with a nearly limping Miss Woodberry in tow, bringing a comical touch to the strange interlude.

  Galen put a hand on Ashe’s shoulder, his voice low enough that only his friend could hear. “You certainly have no shortage of interesting women in your life.”

  “You have no idea,” Ashe said under his breath, his gaze fastening on the one woman who stood primly and unapologetically at the center of the chaos that had become his life.

  The day ended without further upheaval, but Caroline wasn’t sure if the quiet served her nerves any better. She was humbled by the sweetness of Lady Winters and the casual humor of her husband, and she truly hoped she’d found a friend in Haley. Caroline tried to remind herself that only she knew of the strange twists in her relationship with her “guardian,” but it was hard not to allow the turmoil of her emotions to show. Miss Margot Stillman was a beauty, without question, with her jet black hair and pouting lips. And while she’d naturally known that he had dozens of women, that his indiscretions were the reason for his grandfather’s threats, meeting the courtesan had hit her far harder than she’d expected. The woman was like a bird of paradise, and she’d suddenly felt foolish in her new dress—a mud wren putting on airs.

  I’m jealous. My God, I bristled like a woman with something to claim—and why? Because he’s toyed with me? Almost kissed me? Occupies my every waking thought?

  It was an indefensible situation to be in. Jealousy came tangled with a dozen other admissions she wasn’t ready to face, but she was far too proud to pout about it in front of Lord and Lady Winters.

  When they reached the brownstone and made their farewells, Caroline braced herself for yet another disagreement with her charge. But as she pulled off her new bonnet, Ashe simply headed upstairs without another word.

  “Did you enjoy the Royal Museum?” Godwin asked as he took the bonnet from her numb fingers.

  “Yes, it was . . . extremely enlightening.” She watched Ashe’s retreat, unsure of what to say. “If you’ll excuse me, Godwin, I need to ask Mr. Blackwell about something.”

  She followed him up the stairs, wanting more than anything to apologize and heal the rift between them. When she reached the open doorway of his rooms, it was clear he was preparing to go back out. “Please don’t go out, Ashe.”

  “You have enough for ten letters to my grandfather, Caroline. There’s no need to worry about me instigating anything at this hour.”

  “We had such a lovely day. I was hoping that we could talk and—

  “A lovely day? Allow me to summarize. We were publicly accosted by a whore of my past acquaintance and if that didn’t sting enough, you decided to turn it into an open debate about character upon which Lady Fitzgerald chose that moment to appear unannounced and make my ‘lovely day’ complete.”

  “Is that what she really is? A whore of your past acquaintance?”

  “Say what you mean to say, Miss Townsend.”

  “She seemed extremely . . . familiar with you.”

  “She once was—extremely and intimately familiar with me, Miss Townsend.” She knew he was being deliberately provocative, but it stung nonetheless.

  “But not now.”

  The storm in his eyes became ominous. “You overstep, but then, I should be used to that by now.”

  “I want your word that you aren’t seeing her, or anyone like her, on these excursions of yours.” God help me, I sound more like a jealous woman than anything else!

  “And what would my word be worth? Would you trust anything that I might say?”

  She hesitated for a heart-stopping moment and instantly regretted it. His look was scathing as he walked past her, heading out into the hall and down the stairs out of the house.

  Chapter

  10

  After lunch the following day, Caroline stared at the blank paper beneath her fingertips, doing her best to compose her thoughts before laying the point to the page. She wanted to send a letter to the elder Mr. Blackwell and reassure him that all was well, but she wasn’t sure how to sound convincing.

  I am enjoying my time in London and your grandson’s hospitality.

  Caroline sighed. It wasn’t a lie, but the note would be miserably short as any additional details seemed inappropriate. It was hard to imagine how his grandfather would interpret a description of her misadventures to date. She’d started enough arguments to qualify as a harridan, yielded control of her wardrobe, and discovered that she may be just as susceptible to Ashe’s charms as any other woman—despite all her resolutions to the contrary.

  And had misplaced a second candlestick from my room, somehow broken a water pitcher, and woken up without a stitch on. Thank goodness Mrs. Clark is a woman of such good humor when it comes to the house’s furnishings! Even so, I can’t help but worry. If either Blackwell gentleman learns of my poverty, petty theft would be just the minor incident to seal my fate and lose my chance for an independent future.

  S
o far, everyone’s assumption that she had inherited some of her own dear grandfather’s wealth had gone un-challenged. It wasn’t in her nature to betray her family’s small cruelties to the outside world and it was hard to imagine what Ashe’s reaction would be if he learned that she had a profession. Ladies from good families were allowed to do charity work so long as it didn’t interfere with the vast portion of their lives or overexcite their passions to qualify as a “cause,” but a profession was out of the question. She’d always understood the rule, even if she didn’t accept it, and had never said anything of her teaching position in her correspondence with Mr. Gordon Blackwell.

  I am enjoying my time in London and your grandson’s hospitality. She tried the sentence out again in her mind. Your grandson’s hospitality. His home was lovely, and his servants extremely attentive. But Ashe still refused to eat most meals with her, avoiding her company whenever he could, which made the erratic moments when they were together even more potent and unsettling.

  I am enjoying London and even did some unexpected shopping the other morning.

  At last, Caroline abandoned delays and began to pen as straightforward and entertaining a letter as she could manage, without betraying any unsettling details. She described her impressions of the people and places and assured her patron that kippers had been the best surprise so far.

  “Making a report to Grandfather Walker, are we?”

  She looked up, instinctively covering the page with another blank sheet of paper. “I thought he’d wish to know how much I’m . . . enjoying London.”

  “Really? Enjoying London?” Ashe’s expression conveyed his skepticism, his eyes dark with some unnamed foul mood. “Don’t forget to mention the lovely weather we’ve been having.”

  “Would you like me to convey any message from you?”

  “I’m sure you’re being thorough enough that I’d have nothing to add.”

  “You’re pouting.” She set her pen down. “If it’s any comfort, I kept the indiscretion with Mrs. Lowery out of my recounting—”

  “By all means, don’t leave anything out! What kind of dutiful chaperone and spy would you be if you began editing your tales?”

  “You’re trying to goad me into some kind of quarrel, like some guilty adolescent!”

  “Damn it! I am not a child!”

  “No, you are not!” She stood, hands on her hips, squaring off with him and fearlessly ignoring how he towered over her. “You are a grown man who was crowing about his wicked reputation when I first met him, so why you’re roaring at me like a wounded lion is beyond my understanding! I’m writing a letter to a dear old man who has treated me like family and was kind enough to send for me and request my help! I’m dutifully sending him word, just as he’d asked, and if you have issue with it, speak plainly or write your grandfather yourself!”

  “I’ll speak plainly! I’m growing tired of this ridiculous charade! I’ve demonstrated that I can manage myself. Why don’t you write and tell my grandfather that there’s no need to continue?” Ashe held his place, refusing to step back. “He’d be happy to have you back at Bellewood and you can congratulate yourself on a man reformed!”

  “You’ve demonstrated nothing of the kind! You behave when it is in your better interest to do so, but you’re a notorious flirt. And I’m hardly confident you’re managing yourself when you leave the house alone at all hours!”

  “I made it clear when you arrived that I will come and go as I please!”

  “You can make whatever rules suit you, Mr. Blackwell. It doesn’t mean I’m going to turn a blind eye to your strange propensity to make social calls late into the night—and return at any hour!”

  “My God, what are you doing? Standing at the windows all night?” he asked, his voice dropping with an icy chill.

  “No!” Caroline hated the heat that flooded her cheeks, aware of the telltale color that accompanied it and made her look like a guilty spy. “I have trouble sleeping. . . .”

  “You are having trouble sleeping,” he repeated, an ominous look in his eyes.

  She suddenly felt wary of him. “It isn’t unheard of.”

  “I’ll tell you what’s unheard of.” Ashe leaned just an inch or two closer, and Caroline’s heart skipped a beat—but not out of fear. “What is unheard of is a man with any measure of a spine putting himself through all of this.”

  “Is it truly that difficult?” she spoke quietly. “Parties and dinners? Afternoon socials and teas? Are they so horrible to endure? Or is it my cumbersome company that stings your pride the most? Am I such a wretched harridan that I drive you to behave like a rude oaf out of sheer defense? For you certainly avoid me as often as you can!”

  “I’m going out for a ride, chaperone, and I’m not asking your permission or making any promises to return before next Thursday!” He turned, stalking off in a rage. He called over his shoulder, “Keep up if you can, Miss Townsend, but otherwise, stay the hell out of my way!”

  Caroline stomped her foot in frustration, loathing the man for his stubborn pride and unpredictable moods. One moment he’s playing the generous guardian and being attentive and playful and the next . . . he’s storming off as if it’s my fault that he’s in this mess!

  “I’ll keep up with you, Rogue! You’re not in charge of me, you big bully!” Her words echoed in the empty salon. Caroline looked down at the unfinished letter, wishing she had more courage. A clock ticked on a side table and the decision to follow him was made in a single reckless breath. Caroline marched out of the room, determined to teach him that she was not some lapdog to be kicked aside whenever he pleased.

  She reached the stable yard just behind Ashe, in time to see him mount a sleek brown stallion in the courtyard and ride off.

  “Is there a horse saddled that I can take, James?” she asked the groomsman.

  “I . . . I was about to give Juno a walk-up, but—”

  “I’ll take her.”

  “Are you . . . sure?” He eyed her plain dark green day dress with its full skirt and crinoline. “I mean, if you’d like, I can hold her while you—”

  “James, I’ll take her now. Thank you.” Caroline eyed the gray roan mare stoically. The animal was far larger than she’d anticipated. But she wasn’t about to back down. Riding seemed a simple thing. You sat on the horse and held the reins and held on. How difficult can it really be? People do it all the time! Even my cousin Mary Louise, who has the intellect of a house cat, rides!

  “Y-you don’t have gloves or boots, Miss Townsend,” James pointed out miserably. “Not even a proper coat!”

  “Please help me up, James!” She stepped up onto the little wooden stool next to the mare. “I have to catch up to Mr. Blackwell! Please, hurry!”

  “Miss Townsend, I . . .” James tried again to delay her, but she gripped his arm in panic.

  “James, please!”

  The young man’s shoulders sagged in defeat as he reluctantly gave in to her unorthodox pleas and helped her up into the saddle. Her skirts and petticoats were no small encumbrance, but once she had the reins, Caroline wasted no more time in worrying about the details.

  You’re not going to escape me this time, Ashe!

  He never expected her to follow. He’d left the salon like a man with all the demons in hell at his heels. And suddenly, it was as if they were.

  Wisps of memories long banished tangled with recollections of the dungeon that the Jaded shared and the strange balance he was sure the universe had kept by punishing him there. He’d been too fractured for recovery and hated the cause of all of it—his own weak and wanton nature.

  “All misfortune is earned, either in this lifetime or a previous one, and a man must taste each drop of misery with a smile before he can achieve growth,” an old shaman had intoned when he’d first arrived in India, and Ashe had laughed because life was about pleasure—not pain! And then, the universe had enjoyed the last laugh as the flood-gates of agony had opened up on his head. . . . He’d fallen in love for th
e first time and brought nothing but misery and death to her doorstep in return. If there’d been joy, it was too fleeting to bring any comfort, and he’d lost the ability to feel anything before he’d been caught and hauled off to that dungeon. All misfortune is earned.

  The American siren had brought it all to the surface with her dreamlike kisses and looks of disapproval. I’ll write my grandfather myself and see if there’s any chance of packing the puritan off before—

  “Ashe!”

  He heard her calling just as he started to gallop down the drive and realized with a shock that she’d taken him at his word. He reined in his horse and turned, struck with the horrifying sight of Miss Caroline Townsend wrestling with her horse as the mare took fright from Caroline’s full skirts flapping about its neck. The animal bolted in panic and he knew Caroline wasn’t going to make it past the stable arches. He spurred his own mount to try to reach her in time but could only watch helplessly as the grooms desperately ran forward to aid her—but not before she fell.

  The world slowed, and Ashe felt severed from reality, the only sound his own ragged breathing in his ears as he closed the distance and jumped from his horse before it had even stopped running to try to get to her faster. “Caroline!”

  He was at her side instantly, pulling her into his arms, fear choking him.

  She pushed against him, an impatient and unwilling victim. “I’m fine!”

  “I’m going to dismiss that groomsman for ever allowing you to—”

  “You can’t! Poor James was nearly in tears when I practically stole that horse, and I would feel directly responsible! Please, don’t!” she pleaded.

  “Poor James can keep his job then, but he’ll get a lecture from me about letting strange American women steal my horses,” he conceded begrudgingly.

  She shifted away from him again and only managed to sit more squarely in the ice-cold muck. “This was not at all how I imagined it!”

  He bit the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling as he took in the delicious sight of a spitting-mad Caroline Townsend, ignobly landed on her ripe derriere in a mud puddle—unharmed. “How did you imagine it?”