My God, he thinks I’m a Quaker!
“A noble goal, Mr. Yardley, but I’m not sure I understand your point. After all, my good opinion can’t be worth all this fuss if—”
“I am aware of your odd situation, Miss Townsend. You see, I think my great-uncle, Mr. Gordon Blackwell, thought it best to rely on as many safeguards as he could to ensure that the best man would ultimately be named as his honorable and capable heir.”
“My situation?” Caroline wasn’t sure how to respond. “I’m not sure I—”
“Oh, it is still a secret to the rest of the world, for I am no gossip!” Winston held up a hand as if to ward off any interruption she would have made. “When my dear uncle let the truth slip in a recent conversation, I had no choice but to rush to London to see for myself the young lady who would attempt to restrain my cousin. And after meeting you, I knew you would be relieved to know that you have an ally and friend on hand should you need one.”
It was impossible to say what he knew, and Caroline struggled not to sputter in protest at the unpredictable turns in the conversation. She stood to end the conversation, forcing him to follow suit. “Whatever you may have inadvertently been told, frankly, Mr. Yardley, you have rushed to London for all the wrong reasons. But I will be sure to convey your concern for my well-being to your cousin.”
“Whatever my great-uncle has offered for compensation, I’ll double it. Though naturally, the payment would have to be delayed until I received my fair and just inheritance.”
“You’ll pay me for what exactly?”
“For helping me to expose my cousin’s weak character to the world and ensuring that he loses this foolish wager.” Winston’s smile was as benign as if they were discussing the weather. “I’m no villain, Miss Townsend! And I know it may seem that greed is an element in my plot, but let me say in complete honesty that it has nothing to do with the money.”
Caroline shook her head in astonishment. “Does it not?”
“Not at all! Ashe is a wastrel and he would squander his inheritance on vice and self-indulgences! But I”—he squared his shoulders as if preening—“I would make the most of Bellewood and restore the family’s honor. I had no hope or thought of this windfall until I learned of Ashe’s recent folly and wager, and now I cannot help but think that it’s a moral challenge I mustn’t shy from.”
“Windfall? You wouldn’t accept it, knowing that it meant another man’s downfall!”
“Naturally, I would! And if the man is a worthless waste, I cannot help but think a woman of your moral fiber must find Ashe as abhorrent as I do.”
Caroline stared at him in amazement. “I can assure you nothing of the kind! The only thing abhorrent to me is a bully who thinks to manipulate the moment to his own advantage!”
“Ah! There’s that spirit I’ve heard so much about!” He beamed merrily and then retook his seat as if she’d asked him to stay for tea. “Come now, Miss Townsend! Ashe’s sins are too tawdry to examine in your presence, but you cannot be completely unaware. He’s kept half the whores in London well employed this last year, but it is a truly public scandal we require if we’re to unseat him.”
“We don’t require anything of the kind!” Caroline fisted her hands at her waist in frustration. “You can make your own way out, Mr. Yardley.”
He went on as if she hadn’t spoken. “You can ensure his failure by simply using his weaknesses against him. From what I garnered at Worthley’s, he is not disinterested, is he? It’s a bit obvious, but you should make yourself available to him.”
Caroline held her ground, fury making her movements stiff and ungraceful. “Forgive me for being obtuse, but I believe you just asked me to prostitute myself! You, Mr. Yardley, need to leave this house.”
“So you intend to champion a man like Ashe? You’d side with a declared womanizer? Is it possible you’ve already fallen victim to—”
“If this is your attempt to win me to your side, Mr. Yardley, you have the skills of a lummox.”
He stiffened, the color draining from his face. “You’re no chaperone, Miss Townsend.”
“No, I am not.” Caroline brushed off her skirts and moved toward the open door. “On this one point, you have finally gotten it right.”
He stood slowly from the chair. “You should consider your choices very carefully. For while you’re not to Ashe’s usual tastes, I don’t think the truth is relevant. It would be far too easy to drop a few hints to the right people to ensure that every decent door in London is closed to Ashe’s American mistress.”
“You’d lie? You’d do that?”
“Of course.” He smiled as if he’d paid her some great compliment. “London loves scandal, and Ashe has been starving them of late.”
“No one in London is starving for tales of Mr. Blackwell. You exaggerate his importance, Mr. Yardley, and flatter the man.” She stood beside the doorway. “It’s a common mistake.”
“Does he know you’re being paid to hold his coattails?” Yardley asked sharply.
Caroline gasped in shock and inadvertently gave the man his answer.
“And what would my dear cousin think of you if he were to find out?” he went on relentlessly. “I doubt he’d appreciate how you’ve come to his defense and instead set you and your baggage on the wrong side of his front door.”
“You should go, Mr. Yardley.”
He bowed and tugged at his cuffs to rearrange their embroidered edges. “You’ll help me whether you intend to or not. I was simply offering to compensate you for your troubles.”
He started to leave, but she grabbed his elbow. “Mr. Yardley, you’ve forgotten something. You’ll get nothing when these lies are traced directly back to you. And if you thought I wouldn’t send word to Grandfather Walker of this conversation, I’m astonished! You walk into this house, threaten and cajole and think I’ll just crumble into tears and beg you to protect my reputation?”
“I . . .” It was clear the man had never considered the elder Blackwell in his plans. “Grandfather Walker?”
“Look to your own reputation, sir. And think quickly, if you can, of the explanation you’ll give to defend yourself when asked about this morning’s visit—because it seems to me that you’ve guaranteed Ashe his inheritance by showing your stripes. Even if he pranced down Piccadilly in his birthday suit with thirty known courtesans, I think Grandfather will see him as the better man! But there will be no such scandal and you’ll get no satisfaction!” She pulled the door open even wider to hasten his departure. “Good day, Mr. Yardley!”
Ashe handed over his hat and coat, bone tired but anxious of the reception waiting for him upstairs. The morning had slipped away, and he could only imagine how tense Caroline may have become in the long hours while he was away.
“Is she in her room?” he asked.
“The music room, sir. She retreated there again after Mr. Yardley’s social call,” Mr. Godwin replied succinctly.
“Yardley?” The world ground to an unpleasant halt. “Yardley was here?”
“He was, indeed, and was handed his hat for his troubles after only a few minutes. Miss Townsend sent him packing, and may I say, sir, she was most vocal in doing so.”
Damn! I’d have loved to have heard that conversation!
“Thank you, Godwin. See that we aren’t disturbed.”
Godwin nodded and retreated without expression, reminding Ashe why he paid the man so well. Ashe took the stairs two at a time to race to the music salon on the first floor to find her sitting forlornly next to the harp, looking a bit like a lost angel in one of her new day dresses.
“Are you all right?”
She looked up, standing with the guilty speed of a child caught at something forbidden. “I’m fine.” She held her ground nervously, and Ashe had the new impression that she might bolt for the door if he made any sudden movements. She continued, “How did you find your friend? Mr. Rutherford, wasn’t it?”
“Ah, that business . . .” Ashe ran a hand throug
h his hair, wishing he’d sent Michael a ready excuse for his absence instead of disappointing Caroline. “He’s an old friend from India and—it doesn’t matter. I should have left a word for you before I rushed out. I’m sorry, Caroline.”
“No, don’t apologize. You’re no more tethered now than before, and I’m no harpy to extract explanations, Ashe.”
He drew closer, enjoying the change in her coloring as he approached her. “I never used the word harpy, did I?”
“No, not harpy,” she supplied, a smile teasing the corner of her lips.
“Did he come to warn you about your guardian’s true character?”
“Something like that.”
“Any revelations?”
“He knows about the wager, Ashe. Your grandfather must have told him, and now he is circling like a vulture waiting for you to fail. He has threatened to tell everyone . . .”
“Then you’ll be the toast of London as the darling novelty of a lamb set out to keep track of a wolf.”
“And you’ll be humiliated.”
He laughed. “Hardly. Though if you’d said as much at the beginning of this venture, I would have agreed with you. But now”—he drew close enough to reach out, sliding his fingertips up her sleeve to send a shiver of heat down her spine—“I cannot think of a reason to care.”
“You will care if he learns of us. If he were to—”
“Winston is an idiot, Caroline. I won’t waste a single breath on speculation where he’s concerned. Frankly, if a weasel like Yardley has the means to trouble me, then I have greater problems.”
She captured his fingers in hers, staying the seductive spell of his touch. “A giant can be felled by the smallest adversary, Ashe.” She shook her head with a sigh. “I didn’t aid your cause by angering the man and practically calling him an ass.”
“You called me one when we first met. Perhaps he also found it endearing.”
“Mr. Blackwell, perhaps we shouldn’t—”
“No retreat,” he said softly, lifting her fingers to his mouth to kiss each fingertip.
“Who is retreating?” she whispered.
“I wanted to make it up to you, Caroline. For losing my self-control so completely last night.”
“Did you?”
He nodded. “I was going to spend the day demonstrating restraint and ensure that I had your trust.”
Her cheeks flooded with a delectable peach color. “There is nothing to . . . I don’t want you to demonstrate restraint, Mr. Blackwell.”
“You don’t?”
She looked at him, her eyes mesmerizing as they conveyed without artifice her hunger. There was something vulnerable about her, and for a moment, it set him back on his heels. She wasn’t hiding anything from him or shielding her heart—but his own desire pushed the thought aside.
“Then I won’t, Miss Townsend.”
He stepped forward to cradle her face in his hands, kissing her like a starving man drawn to the feast. She tasted sweet against his mouth, her tongue darting out to meet his, and immediately the unsteady grip he’d had on his control began to slide. He explored the contours and textures of her lips and tongue, sampling and savoring the heady intimacy of the act. The release she’d given him last night had been so profound, he’d craved her ever since. No other woman, not even the girl he’d once tragically loved and lost, had ever evoked such a reaction.
How the impossible Miss Caroline Townsend had managed such a feat was a mystery he was determined to resolve.
Unfortunately, his silent vow to approach her less savagely in light of her freshly deflowered state was evaporating with each kiss, and when she nipped his lower lip between her teeth, it was forgotten.
Her hands slid upward to smooth over his chest, the long, cool blades of her fingers sending sparks over his skin. One hand continued up until she tangled her fingers into his hair, pressing him closer as his entire body warmed and pulsed in rhythm with her touch.
Hell, who needs restraint?
A molten weight at the base of his spine unfurled, and Ashe’s cock dutifully hardened until the pressure of his clothing against it was enough to make him want to roar in frustration.
Speech abandoned him. There was only the throbbing heaviness between his legs and an overwhelming urge to have her, to end his torment and take all that she would yield to him—quickly and without mercy.
She moaned softly, deep in her throat, and Ashe moved into action. His hands caressed the velvet of her day dress, his palms warming to the lush, firm curves of her body beneath the circumspect layers of her clothing. He had seen the vixen beneath her prim exterior, and the memory of her spread out beneath him made his hands shake.
She shifted her weight, and he reached down to catch one of her legs, lifting one thigh to pull her against his stiff cock, her wet, warm core bucking up to meet him.
Lust poured through him and he surrendered to it, his last coherent thought a prayer that his Quaker could forgive him if he overstepped.
He ended the kiss and turned her around to face away from him, sucking on her earlobe as he placed her palms down onto the surface of the piano. She moaned and tipped her head back to give him more access and Ashe almost crowed in triumph. He bent down and, with a sweep of his hands, caught the hem of her skirt and crinoline to draw it up, pulling up the heavy fabric to reveal her bare legs for his touch. She gasped at the swift maneuver, but before she could protest, he ran his hands up the backs of her thighs, his fingers spread wide to frame her delectable, ripe ass for his pleasure.
He cupped each firm, creamy curve with his splayed fingers, savoring the heat of her skin and the tantalizing scent of her arousal. As his hands moved, he had a fleeting fantasy of molding her flesh, like an artist rendering raw desire into the shape of a woman—as if the lust in his own body could flow through his fingertips and bring her to life.
An erotic Pygmalion.
The sight of her, partially bent over the piano, her skirts bunched up at her waist with that delicious derriere offered up like an exotic sacrifice, made his cock ache. She was so beautiful.
Her thighs had naturally parted for his touch, unknowingly treating him to the sweetest glimpse of her ripe, wet sex, pink and glistening, and Ashe worked the buttons of his pants free to release his rampant erection.
Without hesitation, he fisted his cockstand to press it against her clit, working it across the tight little pearl until she began to buck and shudder, coating him with the slick honey from her core.
“Ashe, please!” she begged, rocking her hips back onto him, teasing the swollen tip and guiding him up inside of her where she desired him.
Ashe could wait no longer. He notched himself at the succulent entrance of her core and pistoned into her in one fluid stroke, burying himself to the hilt, the tight inner muscles of her body sheathing him, clenching him in spasms of release that pushed him over the edge.
He slid his hands down her outer thighs, pressing her legs together to add to their pleasure. Now with each thrust of his hips, her body tightened around him and he reveled in the sensation, drawing out each movement so that he could pump into her with all his strength until her feet were literally being lifted from the floor.
“More! Please, more!” she cried out, and Ashe gave into all of it. Civilization fell away and there was nothing in existence but his need to empty himself inside of her and lose this burning hunger that raged inside.
He came in a rush, the sudden pressure of it making him grit his teeth as his release tore from his body and he sagged against her, attempting to be mindful of not crushing or injuring her.
A bit late to worry about the lady now, wouldn’t you say? he chided himself silently. Damn.
“Caroline,” he finally managed. “I’m . . . sure I meant to go slower. . . .”
Her breathing was as ragged as his, and her tone betraying that she was equally astonished by what had just happened between them. “I don’t know if I could survive going slowly, Mr. Blackwell.”
Chapter
15
Winston Yardley rapped the knuckles of the poor tailor attempting to pin his sleeve, his temper making him lash out with a random viciousness that was making the shopkeeper start to tremble. “Watch the seams! I’ll not have loose threads and a cobbler’s coat to show for my coin!”
The man ducked his head, wisely not arguing that he had yet to see too many of Winston’s coins as his credit line was stretched to its limits. But it wasn’t uncommon for a gentleman to string along his tradesmen, and Yardley had made it no secret that he expected to be flush beyond his dreams very soon.
Winston turned to see if the bright satin lining of his evening coat would show a bit when he wished and smiled at his reflection in the glass. His meeting with the American had flirted with disaster, but he wasn’t the sort of man who dwelt on the details.
He’d allowed his temper to get the better of him and tipped his hand. But the desire to hasten his rival’s quick disgrace had been too strong to dictate a delicate approach. No-nonsense American women no doubt respected straightforward conversation, and Winston had been confident that Miss Caroline Townsend would admire his arguments.
Hell! It’s not as if I couldn’t have done my worst without offering to include her in the reward! I was being generous, but I see the error of my ways now. Puritan or no, that American bitch has decided to turn a blind eye to Ashe’s vile nonsense and protect him.
But the plain woman he’d heard described from various sources had gained a bit of polish, and when he’d met her at Worthley’s, Winston had almost questioned his plans. And he now conceded that if she followed through on her threat and sent a letter to the elder Blackwell, then he was in a potentially precarious position. But it was difficult to believe that she would do such a thing—especially if she was to act as a disinterested third party in the wager. If she actively took Ashe’s side, wouldn’t his great-uncle see it as a sign that she’d stumbled from her pedestal?
Seduction Wears Sapphires Page 19