She didn’t reply, instead closing her fan with a snap. “You’ll earn a scratched face for your efforts, Mr. Blackwell.”
He smiled, a humorless thing. The impulsive vow he’d made after kissing her yesterday still tasted like poison on his tongue, but his resolve and pride were all he could hold to. Or forfeit my sanity.
He spotted Darius in the throng, making his way toward them in his best evening clothes, but instead of relief, a surprising new emotion gripped him.
Damn!
“May I introduce Mr. Darius Thorne to you? Darius, this is Miss Caroline Townsend of Boston.” Ashe made the introductions, his tone clipped and emotionless, and then briefly bowed. “If the two of you will excuse me, I just spotted an old acquaintance I should speak to.” Ashe walked away to quickly put some distance between himself and the pair, quietly cursing the anxiety and jealousy that had attacked him when he’d seen Darius dutifully crossing the room.
Well, here’s a twist! This was my brilliant idea, and by God, I’m not going to stand here and pout like a miffed schoolboy. Thorne’s a man of his word and he’s only here as a favor to me.
Ashe’s displeasure snaked inside his chest, and he let out a long, slow breath to embrace the pain. “All misfortune is earned,” he whispered to himself.
Caroline watched Ashe walk away with stiff steps, his back ramrod straight as he retreated so unexpectedly.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you at last, Miss Thomspon.”
“At last?” Caroline smiled as her newest acquaintance managed to look even more uncomfortable in their surroundings than she felt. Tall and striking, his green eyes were kind, as he bowed over her hand.
“I am an old friend of Ashe’s and he spoke very highly of you.”
She laughed. “Did he? Nothing of his reports can be good if they are accurate, so I’ll just pretend to be flattered, Mr. Thorne.”
“That can’t be true.” Darius shook his head.
“What exactly did he say, then?”
Darius hesitated long enough for them both to start to smile. “I couldn’t repeat his praise verbatim, but I’m sure he mentioned that you were incredibly clever.”
“Clever is his way of saying difficult, I should warn you. Mr. Blackwell doesn’t appreciate a woman with opinions of her own.”
“Mr. Blackwell doesn’t appreciate anyone with opinions of their own,” Darius countered, “but as his friend, I’ve learned to ignore his more troublesome traits and render my opinions as I wish.”
“Exactly the approach I was taking!” Caroline fanned herself, marveling at how comfortable she was with Mr. Thorne. “Have you known Mr. Blackwell for many years?”
“A few, but I would boast that from those brief years in his acquaintance, I know more of him than most.” Darius shrugged. “Ashe is . . . complicated.”
“Is he?” she asked, her voice soft and careful. “I suppose he must be.”
“Must?” Darius gave her a curious look.
“The man would have it that he is just as you see, but he’s as changeable as quicksilver and as difficult to contain.” She shrugged. “Is that not complicated enough?”
“I’d say you have a firm grasp on the man.” Darius held out his arm to escort her toward the dance floor.
“How did you come to know Mr. Blackwell?”
“We met abroad. I was traveling to study the linguistic links between ancient Sanskrit and Arabic, but also to survey some of the architectural design of the local temples.”
“How fascinating!”
“You’d be one of the first to think so, I’m afraid. My scholarly pursuits rarely make for interesting parlor conversations.”
“Do they not? I cannot imagine a better subject than one that shares knowledge or enlightens the mind.” Caroline shook her head. “Perhaps that’s why my parlor conversation is never very entertaining.”
“Ashe said you were well read.” He stopped at the floor and swung her into position to join the other dancers. “Shall we dance?”
Caroline took a deep breath. “I can only promise to do my best not to injure your toes, Mr. Thorne.”
“A generous promise,” Darius said with a smile. “And one I’ll try to uphold myself.”
He swept her onto the floor, his own awkward steps disguising hers as they both did their best to navigate the crowded room with some semblance of grace. After a minute they were both laughing at their subterfuge, hiding amidst the other more skilled dancers and trying not to trade pinched toes.
“Tell me the truth, Mr. Thorne,” she said. “Should I mercifully lose my dance card and hide behind the drapes for the rest of the evening?”
“And deprive your other partners of this test of chivalry?” Darius did his best to turn her in time to the music, narrowly avoiding a collision with another couple. “Never!”
Caroline meant to say something clever about misguided knights, but a man approached from behind Darius and tapped him on the shoulder at exactly that moment.
“Pardon,” the man began, his expression congenial. “But may I borrow your delightful partner for the remainder of the dance?”
Darius stopped, the intrusion unexpected but not out of bounds when it came to the rules of etiquette. “If Miss Townsend has no objections, I suppose that would be acceptable.”
Caroline shook her head, privately disappointed to lose her newest ally so soon, but she acquiesced. “Yes, though I hope to hear more of your studies, Mr. Thorne.”
“Absolutely, I’ll make a point of it.” Darius bowed to her and then courteously allowed the other gentleman to take his place.
Fashionably pale, the interloper’s cravat was an elaborate and exaggerated concoction that seemed to highlight the fact that the man seemed to have no chin, but his smile was friendly. “Miss Townsend! You cannot imagine what a pleasure it is to have this chance to meet at last!”
“At last?” She tried not to laugh. “Everyone keeps saying that and I cannot see how anyone deserves such anticipation.”
“Oh, I’m sure you are deserving, Miss Townsend. I am a relative and friend of the Blackwells and delighted to learn of your arrival. If you’ll permit me, I am Winston Yardley.”
He guided her back into the swirling crowd, his hold much lighter than Mr. Thorne’s and less protective. What had been amusing with Darius felt unsteadier now, but Caroline did her best to brazen it out.
“Of course, Mr. Yardley.”
“You are from Boston, are you not?” he asked. “I knew, of course, that the elder Mr. Blackwell had partnered with an American some years ago, but when I heard that the connection had endured and that your family had entrusted you to English friends for a time . . . it was a happy surprise.”
Caroline’s mirth faded. There was something about the gentleman that didn’t set well, but she couldn’t name it. “Yes, from Boston.”
“You are not what I expected, Miss Townsend.”
“What did you expect, Mr. Yardley?” Caroline asked as she barely missed having her instep crushed by the man.
“I’d heard you were inevitably awash in gray wool and gabardine. But you seem as fashionable a woman as any here!” He beamed at her. “I have often said that I wished to travel to America and explore some of your wilderness, but alas! I am needed here and cannot shirk my duties to go off on selfish adventures.”
“A shame.” She kept her eyes on his shirt front, thinking her first impression of Mr. Winston Yardley hardly allowed for him roughing it in the American West.
“And how are you finding London? Is it . . . satisfying?”
Caroline’s heart skipped a beat. His tone made the polite question seem anything but polite. “It is a great city.”
He grinned as if she’d made some lively jest. “You have a reputation for a quick tongue, Miss Townsend. I’d expected far more of an anecdotal reply.”
“I hate to disappoint, but surely you’ve heard too many clichés about London to desire another tourist’s tales.”
�
��There is nothing cliché in any of your reported speeches, but what of my cousin? Any good anecdotes about him?”
She tried to hide her shock at the brazen inquiry, but before she could think of a response, he went on.
“No, no! I wouldn’t dream of asking you for gossip about your guardian!” he said with a theatrical flourish of his eyebrows. “After all, gossip about Ashe is easy enough to come by, isn’t it?”
“I wouldn’t know, Mr. Yardley.” Caroline stiffened, beginning to pray that the dance would end before she disgraced herself by making a scene. “I am not—”
A hand on Mr. Yardley’s shoulder interrupted yet again, but this time the touch was not gentle and it was no chivalrous request to cut in. Ashe stood behind Mr. Yardley with an expression of fury that made her blood run cold. Relief at finding her rescuer so close at hand was matched by the sudden fear that Mr. Yardley might not survive the evening.
The music concluded, and while the other dancers retreated from the floor or hesitated as new partnerships were made, the three stood like a strange island in a glittering sea. Caroline almost forgot to breathe, but at last, Ashe spoke. “Miss Townsend has promised the next dance to me, Yardley.”
Mr. Yardley stepped back, retreating with an awkward bow. “Naturally.”
Ashe reached for Caroline, moving in front of Winston Yardley without a second glance, pulling her away farther onto the dance floor.
“Mr. Blackwell, I—” she began, but his hand tightened around hers and Caroline lost her train of thought.
And then the music began again and she was in his arms, and she was alone in the world with only Ashe to cling to. She forgot to worry about her toes or the steps of the dance because there was only Ashe’s strong arms, guiding and holding her. Caroline felt graceful and weightless, and all her resolve to show him nothing but the practical and detached chaperone he deserved vanished.
She risked a glance up at his face and met his gaze, drowning anew in the deep blue she found there. Since they’d met, she’d experienced so many of his moods, but now, it was impossible to read him. He was fire and ice, desire and scorn, and Caroline felt a renewed sense of fearlessness as she faced him. I am not afraid of you, Ashe.
The room spun with each sweeping turn of the waltz, and the small distance between them became charged with an unspeakable energy. The simple dance transformed as the connection between them grew palpable. The rhythm of his body moving with hers, the fleeting touch of his hard thigh through her skirts sent shimmering arcs of heat up into her hips and back. Caroline became aware of each breath she took and every inch of her skin.
“Did I . . . do anything wrong, Mr. Blackwell?” she asked.
He shook his head but didn’t speak.
Caroline nervously pursed her lips before trying again to divert herself from the havoc his touch was wreaking on her composure. “I thought you weren’t dancing.”
“And disappoint you?” He smiled at last, and Caroline marveled at the power it wielded, her knees weakening at the gleam in his eyes.
“Did I look disappointed?”
“You looked like a woman in need of a better partner.”
She could feel the blush that bloomed on her cheeks. Are all my feelings so transparent? Can he read me even now? “I only hope I didn’t offend anyone if I’m so obvious.”
“It’s not possible, Miss Townsend. But did you enjoy meeting Mr. Thorne?”
“He was very amicable.”
The gleam in Ashe’s eyes darkened. “And Mr. Yardley?”
“Mr. Blackwell, are you jealous?”
“No.” His next turn was a little faster, forcing her to cling to him in response. “Not of Yardley. But you should know that if I fail in my wager with my grandfather, it is the delightful Mr. Winston Yardley who stands to gain in my stead.”
“Yardley inherits? If . . .”
“Yes.”
It was too monstrous to think of, and Caroline’s fingers trembled. She’d suspected that there were terrible consequences to his wager, but she’d never directly asked for fear it would affect her judgment. Suddenly all she could feel was sympathy for Ashe. Whatever his sins, it would be an injustice to forfeit his fortune and holdings to a man like that.
She felt new shame at her role in the sordid game. After all, she knew what it was to live without means at the discretion of someone else.
He went on, “It makes no difference, Miss Townsend. When I was younger, the world’s fabric was woven of one passion or another—like a cloak that protected and insulated me from the dark cold of the world. And even when I learned that passion was no shield, I refused to change.”
“And now?”
“I’ll change because I choose to,” Ashe said softly, “not because I’m compelled by the threat of a troll like Yardley.” He swept her into another turn. “Tell me, Miss Townsend, did you mean what you said to my friends about not looking for a husband?”
“Yes, Mr. Blackwell.”
He shook his head. “It’s too simple an answer. I thought most women considered matrimony an ideal state to achieve . . . happiness.”
“Is that the case for men? Is it essential to their happiness?” she countered, enjoying the intricate steps of their quiet discussion as much as the dance itself. “Are you not questing for a wife, Mr. Blackwell?”
“Not now, but I will marry when I must, for all the usual reasons.”
“And what reasons are those?” she asked.
“Duty, fortune, and family. I’m sure my grandfather has already selected some suitable young lady to occupy her place at Bellewood when the time comes.”
“Are you not master of your own fate, sir?”
The smile he gave her never lit the melancholy blue of his eyes. “Is anyone?”
“You speak so readily of passion, Mr. Blackwell. But never love.”
“Love is far more dangerous, Miss Townsend, than passion.”
“Do you speak from experience or the cynical vantage point of a man too worldly to bother with such a dangerous emotion?”
He shook his head. “Experience is the best teacher. Isn’t that the old saying?”
“Then you . . . you have been in love?” she asked, suddenly hoping desperately that he hadn’t, that somehow no other woman would have such an intimate part of him.
“Once.”
“And?”
“Once was enough and I’m not in the mood for confessions, Caroline. I prefer passion. No one gets hurt.”
Except me . . . Each time you touch me and then push me away, she silently replied.
“Though I should warn you that as your guardian and one currently denied all distracting passions, I actually had visions of murdering my best friend tonight. My best friend who I would have joyfully sacrificed my own life to protect, but the sight of the two of you dancing together, conversing so easily and laughing . . .”
It was an admission that stunned her into a temporary silence, the flattering power of his jealousy too new for her to comprehend. He is jesting. He is saying these things to tease and torment me, simply because he can. “How lucky for him that you aren’t prone to murder!” She blushed and smiled. “Thank goodness men no longer wear swords to formal occasions.”
“I wouldn’t need a sword. I was thinking that strangling Darius would be satisfying enough.”
“Ashe,” she said, his name sweet on her lips. “Perhaps you shouldn’t introduce me to any more of your friends if—”
“Thorne is a good man. A better man than myself. And if I had any last shred of decency, I would simply step back and allow—”
She interrupted him. “I’m not a horse to be handed over, Mr. Blackwell.”
He swept her into another turn. “Must everything be an argument?”
“No.” She slid her hand down to touch his arm, an unconscious gesture of comfort and reconciliation. “Not everything.”
But Ashe pulled away as the music ended, and he left her alone on the dance floor.
&nbs
p; Chapter
12
Much later that night, Caroline nervously made her way to his rooms, unwilling to retire with so much unsaid. He’d retreated yet again behind a sullen wall, watching her dance with various partners until she was sure she’d done enough damage to her country’s reputation to ensure a war. And then, at last, he’d sent her home with Mrs. Grantley overseeing her safe delivery into Mr. Godwin’s custody. She’d waited by her window, keeping watch for him and his late solitary return. She was determined once and for all to have a straightforward conversation with the enigmatic man and put an end to the misunderstandings between them.
No more cat and mouse. I will tell him honestly of my position, and then he will give up the chase and I won’t have to worry about my own weak inclinations when it comes to Ashe’s charms. No man of his status will continue to bother with a schoolteacher—and we can finish the winter holidays without conflict.
She knocked softly on his door and waited for his hail before entering quietly. “Pardon the late hour, Mr. Blackwell, but I—”
“Not again,” he moaned softly, squaring his shoulders as he turned to face her, an unashamed Adonis with his unbuttoned shirt and open dressing gown. His long legs were still encased in black tailored pants, but his feet were bare and he looked every inch the reckless rogue. “I don’t have it in me tonight to turn you away, miss. You have spent all your chances at virginal escapes.”
Caroline hesitated, confused. Again? Did he refer to the kiss? To their arguments? Virginal escapes? “I didn’t come to . . .”
“What do you want, Miss Townsend?” He poured himself a generous brandy from the sideboard. “Another session of nocturnal torture? For I will have to admit that I am at my limits. You give me those stern looks and cheeky lectures on how I should behave during the days and then . . . you present yourself in soft silk with that ripe little naked body underneath and pretend you haven’t the foggiest idea of how your eyes drive a man past reason.” He took a deep draught from the crystal glass. “You make a man wonder things he should not, Miss Townsend.”
For Caroline, the world came to a dreamlike halt. “What kinds of things?” she whispered.
Seduction Wears Sapphires Page 16