Seduction Wears Sapphires

by Renee Bernard

  She won’t send a word to “Grandfather Walker”! And I’ll just have to see to it that the next news he gets makes anything she might say irrelevant.

  Ever since his childhood, Ashe Blackwell had seemed to lead a charmed life just out of Winston’s reach. Every grim twist of his own path had been mirrored by a happier bend in Ashe’s. He’d learned to hate the golden-haired boy who never behaved but never got caught, while Winston’s every transgression had earned him soul-scarring punishments and cemented the rivalry between them. He’d shadowed Ashe for years, and when Blackwell had set out for India, Winston had prayed that some tropical fever would take him or he’d be a jungle cat’s dinner. The Sepoy uprising had appeared to be a miracle and Ashe’s subsequent disappearance had been a cause for rejoicing, but the celebration had been far too short. After only two years, Ashe Blackwell had risen from the grave without a word of explanation or apology.

  A decent man would have died in some heroic battle against the natives, but my cousin has the nerve to vanish and get a man’s hopes up—only to saunter back onto the London streets and then make light of his good fortune by offering to toss it away on a bet!

  Fate had been a cruel teacher, but at last, the chance to seize Ashe’s life and future for his own had fallen into his lap.

  Weak men gambled, in Winston’s opinion, and he had no intentions of letting chance play any part of his future. He would sabotage and undermine his nemesis in any way possible and without apology.

  He didn’t believe for a moment that Ashe would touch a cheerless chit like Caroline Townsend, but he’d been so sure that at the first hint of a threat of a rumor to that effect, she would see the error of her ways. And if not, there had been a vague chance that she’d have even been flattered by the idea of playing the femme fatale and helped him frame Ashe. But she’d turned the tables on him before he could finish making his case.

  Has Ashe already managed to seduce her? Is that what has brightened her cheeks and eyes?

  Winston chuckled at the ridiculous notion. He had seen too many of the exotic birds his cousin favored in the past to let the idea set. It would be too tawdry and cliché a choice for his adventurous relative and too easy—exactly the reason he’d tossed it out so carelessly as a threat to goad his chaperone into cooperating rather than truly considering it in his grand scheme.

  The only whispers around Town about Blackwell’s eccentric ward hinted at an admiration for the American’s talents for drawing her guardian out into respectable company and the delightful surprise at seeing Ashe behave around this spirited young woman.

  Exactly what Winston feared most.

  He wanted to kill her, but that wasn’t entirely practical.

  “The blue! Let me see the blue coat again!” he barked at the tailor loud enough to almost set him on his backside. It pleased him to vent his frustration on the tradesman. When I’m the master at Bellewood and a known man of means, I’ll have every tailor in London jumping to do my bidding. And I will be the master because, unlike my dear cousin, I deserve to be.

  And once again, Winston’s confidence in his plans returned. All he had to do was silence Miss Townsend’s defense of the worthless Ashe by demonstrating just how immoral the man was. Then nothing she said to the elder Blackwell would make a difference. He would set up a trap too tempting for Ashe to ignore and then see to it that there was press and there would be nowhere for Ashe to turn. The scandal would be irrefutable and take on a life of its own. Then the American could sputter all she wanted, all the way home!

  Winston shrugged off his coat to exchange it for the blue silk he’d requested, and a new idea began to form in his mind.

  My great-uncle said he’d employed her as a spy and chaperone to keep Ashe in check and that it served Ashe right to finally meet a woman who wouldn’t fall in love with him. But if I know my cousin, then her opinion of him is becoming far more important than anyone else’s because he loves a challenge.

  When I bring him down, I’ll make sure that Miss Townsend is at his elbow to see it. It will be a small touch of additional salt in the wound and he’ll have no one to blame but himself. Pride goeth before the fall, but oh, cousin! I want you to fall so far that you can’t remember what your life was like before you handed it over to me.

  And with that thought, Winston Yardley began to laugh.

  Caroline’s head was swimming with excitement at the turns in her life. It was hard to catch her breath in the few days since she’d landed in Ashe’s bed. Except for her turbulent meeting with Yardley, the hours had been filled with one scorching encounter after another—made all the more tantalizing by his efforts to honor her sensibilities and keep things discreet between them. So far, she’d seen no sign that the servants suspected anything and she’d taken comfort from it.

  So long as there’s no scandal . . . then this will be my sin to keep safe.

  Their social calendar had gone unchanged, adding to the clandestine heat between them. This evening’s trip to the theatre had been a unique thrill as she sat with him so publicly in their box with the scent of him still on her skin from an afternoon in his library. It was hard to deny that she was falling more and more in love with him, but she was also more and more aware of what she had sacrificed to have him for so short a time.

  There’d been no romantic declarations of any kind, but she didn’t expect any. He was Ashe, after all, and even if she desired it, Caroline knew that she was in no position to offer him a match. She couldn’t think of the future without pain and so forced herself not to let it cloud the strange lightness of her present situation.

  “Are you enjoying the performance, Miss Townsend?” Ashe asked, the polite inquiry belying the heat in his eyes.

  She nodded. “It’s very . . . lively.”

  “Well, there’s a bit of unreserved praise!” He laughed. “Are all Americans so difficult to impress?”

  “I’m not difficult to impress, Mr. Blackwell.”

  “No?” he teased. “Are you certain?”

  “Wasn’t Mr. Thorne meeting us tonight for the show?” she tried to change the subject.

  Ashe sobered immediately. “I received a note before we left the house with his apologies. Apparently something has come up.”

  “Is everything all right? Is he unwell?” she asked.

  Ashe’s demeanor became difficult to decipher. “He’s fine. But I’ll be sure to convey your keen interest in his well-being when I see him next.”

  Caroline’s jaw dropped in astonishment. “You’re jealous!”

  “Impossible!”

  But his guilty expression deflated the denial and Caroline marveled at the strange twist. “One would think so, considering I have had one singular dance and conversation with the man . . . but nonetheless, there you are.”

  “Only an idiot would be jealous under such a circumstance, Miss Townsend, and if you value my pride, you’ll not argue the obvious.” Ashe crossed his arms defensively.

  She did her best not to smile as her mind circled back despite his charming distraction. “What detained him?”

  “He didn’t say.” He didn’t look at her as he spoke and Caroline recognized the lie.

  “Was it some business with the Jaded?”

  “Who said Darius was a member of the Jaded?”

  “You did when you said he would carve a saying over everyone’s doorsteps. It stands to reason the man would know whose houses he was defacing by being one of them!” she said, striving not to laugh.

  “Damn it, woman! Is there nothing that escapes you?”

  “Language!” she chided without any real bite. His cursing had become almost an endearing habit. “It escapes me why you’re brooding over there like a wounded lion.”

  “Let’s credit my irrational mood to that annoying soprano onstage and see about getting you home, shall we?”

  Caroline set down her opera glasses with a flourish. “How fortuitous! Just when I was going to complain of a headache and beg you to take me home.
How lucky!”

  He stood and offered her his arm. “You are a difficult woman, Miss Townsend.”

  “If you say so, Mr. Blackwell.” Caroline struggled not to smile. “If you say so.”

  On the carriage ride home, it was easy to pretend that there was nothing beyond the fog outside. “There is simply something about the confines of a carriage. It is . . . liberating,” she ventured boldly, taking in the long, lean lines of his body as he sat across from her. In his black evening clothes, he was a dashing figure, and more than one woman had sighed in his wake as they’d left the performance. Her eyes lingered on his hands and long, lean thighs, and Caroline’s breath quickened as she realized that his body was responding to her study—the unmistakable outline of his swollen member against his trousers changing the landscape. She felt a surge of triumphant power that she could simply look at him and make his blood run hot.

  “How liberating?” he asked, his voice blue velvet in the shadows.

  This is power. To know that he wants me. Me, of all the women in the world. For tonight, for this moment, I am what he desires.

  “Extremely liberating, Mr. Blackwell. Perhaps it is the knowledge that the entire world is separated from us by only an inch or two of wood and cloth, and yet . . . here we are.”

  Ashe’s look became a study in open desire and Caroline had to steady herself on the cushions. He wouldn’t!

  As if he’d read her mind and interpreted it as a challenge, Ashe wordlessly eased off the seat across from her and knelt in the narrow space between them to gently pull her knees forward until she was balanced on the edge of the velvet upholstery, then he began lifting her skirts to reveal her sex to him.

  “Ashe!”

  “Lean back, Caroline.” It was a quiet command and one she could have easily ignored, but for the roar of her own blood in her ears and the certain knowledge that she wanted whatever lesson he was about to give.

  Chapter

  16

  Outside the steps of the jewelers, Ashe turned up his coat collar against the damp afternoon rain. The rebellious act of arranging for something special for Caroline warmed him as he imagined her reaction to the gift. He’d never wanted to see the stones again after they’d escaped India, but now, he longed to see them on his delectable chaperone.

  Not that Rutherford would appreciate the irony, but life is all too brief not to—

  “Out shopping, cousin?”

  Ashe almost groaned aloud before turning around to reluctantly touch the brim of his hat in greeting. “Winston, what a dreadful coincidence meeting you here.”

  “Buying some extravagant trinket for one of your whores?”

  “Cuff links for my grandfather’s birthday,” Ashe amended, then rewarded poor Mr. Yardley with an arch look of surprise. “You didn’t forget the day, did you, cousin? Especially since you hold the man in such high regard, I cannot imagine such an oversight!”

  “I-I naturally didn’t!” he sputtered, and Ashe forced himself not to smile in relief as Yardley was diverted.

  “No, how could you?” Ashe moved toward his carriage, forcing Winston to follow or end the conversation. “Inheritances at stake, and all that.”

  “You have no one to blame but yourself, Ashe, for my great-uncle’s doubts in your fitness and character,” he said smugly. “As for this wager, no one forced you to try it.”

  “True,” Ashe said, waving off his coachman from climbing down to open the carriage door. “But I never could resist a challenge.”

  “Or a temptation,” Winston scoffed. “Careful, cousin! I heard you were seen outside Regent’s Park well after dark last week! One simple misstep, one wrong whisper after you’ve forgotten to refasten your pants, and your challenge will come to its inevitable end.”

  Ashe said nothing at the blatant lie. Only a fool risked the parks after dark, and the common streetwalkers that plied their trade on the greens had never been to his taste—and never in this cold weather! But he was reminded of how much he hated his toad of a relative for the clumsy attempt at inciting a reaction. Ashe climbed into the carriage and shut the door. “Thank you for the warning, Mr. Yardley. Good day.”

  He rapped on the front wall, and his coachman pulled away, sparing Ashe from any more parting remarks from his rival.

  Unfortunately, it also meant he couldn’t see if Yardley had doubled back to go into the jeweler’s to make inquiries of his own about Ashe’s order.

  When he returned to the house, Ashe found Caroline at her desk, penning notes, the very picture of study and grace. She was such a serious creature with her books and papers that he found it fascinating. There was no sign of the nymph that danced and laughed for him behind closed doors. Here was the no-nonsense American he’d come to respect who had turned his household on its side. He smiled at the realization that she’d caused him to learn the names of every single servant in the house and spend more time in his own home without complaint than he could have ever imagined.

  He walked up behind her, intending to surprise her with a kiss on the pale column of her neck, but he caught sight of several line drawings and sketches spread out on the desktop. They looked like architectural designs for some grand project to his untrained eyes.

  “What are these?”

  “Oh!” She turned in her chair, startled at his sudden appearance. “They’re nothing,” she said, pushing them into a pile as if to hide them, as if she were guilty in some way.

  “They are hardly nothing. I like the look of this one. Are you designing libraries since you’ve exhausted mine?”

  “It’s . . . foolish.” Caroline tried to seize the paper from his hand, a lovely dark pink tinting her cheeks. “They’re just . . .”

  “Tell me.” He held out the parchment, a peace offering in exchange for her confidences. “Is it something from home? Are you feeling nostalgic? Or have you some aspirations to be a feminine Christopher Wren?”

  “No.” She barely managed a smile, retrieving her stolen sketch. “No such ambitions, Ashe.” Caroline turned the papers over, determined not to risk looking maudlin in front of him by dwelling on the loss. “They are daydreams. I have long envisioned a college for women equal to any for men.”

  “I take it you are imagining something more formal than a finishing school?”

  She stood from the desk to face him, aware that he was deliberately drawing her into a debate—and enjoying it. “There will be no classes on embroidery or painting teacups.”

  “I’d forgotten you were a reformer.” He gave her a wary look. “You realize Lady Fitzgerald will keel over in her salon if she catches a word of her American Quaker preaching of impractical education for young ladies.”

  “I already shared my ideas with her and she remained steady enough on her feet. And why does the word impractical come up when we are discussing a woman’s higher education but not when we speak of a man’s?”

  He shrugged his shoulders. “I couldn’t say. Is it because an educated man would have a practical application for that knowledge whereas a woman wouldn’t have that opportunity? It’s a cruel waste, Caroline.”

  “Perhaps women aren’t given more opportunities for want of education, Ashe. An education is never wasted.”

  “And where will this feminine utopia of your dreams be built?”

  Caroline winced at the innocent question. “Do you think Boston far enough?”

  “Not for the dragons of morality and social order.” He sighed, openly teasing her. “But I suspect Mars would not be far enough for their kind.”

  “It won’t be for them.”

  Ashe feared he’d hurt her feelings somehow, but part of him was reluctant to hear more of this fancy that drew her mind homeward and away from England and from him. Here was the future she’d alluded to, and it was far more potent than any single man. Her college was a rival he wasn’t sure how to address. “I think it a fine dream, Caroline. And any venture born from that keen mind of yours is bound to astonish the world.”

 
He drew closer to kiss her, and Caroline inhaled the masculine scent of cloves and sandalwood before he enveloped all her senses with the touch of his lips to hers. She opened her mouth quickly to suckle his tongue and savor the gentle friction that pushed all her fears away. She was instantly hungry for more as Ashe lifted her against him, cupping her bottom in his hands to slowly draw her onto his lap.

  I am a wanton woman and a shameless creature. The thought was bittersweet, and Caroline ignored the faint echoes of pain as the papers on the desk were pushed aside to make room for their embrace. Hurry, Ashe! Make love to me before I begin to cry over castles in the air and childish fancies!

  Footsteps outside the door abruptly ended the kiss, and Ashe released her instantly. Caroline struggled not to gasp for air as she held on to the desk for balance, fighting to regain control while Ashe walked stiffly to the windows to put some distance between them.

  At the inevitable knock on the door, Caroline closed her eyes briefly. “Yes?”

  Daisy came through the door with an afternoon tea tray, dropping a bobble of a curtsy when she spotted Ashe in the room. “I thought you might wish a bit of nourishment, miss.”

  “Thank you, Daisy. That’s very kind,” Caroline said, praying her face wasn’t as red as it felt.

  Ashe marched past them both, making an obvious and necessary escape, mumbling an inaudible apology.

  Daisy watched him go but said nothing. Instead she cheerfully set down the tray and began to prepare a small plate and cup. “I didn’t mean to interrupt, Miss Townsend. But I’m pleased to see you getting on a bit better.”

  “Pardon?”

  “Not that I ever eavesdrop, but it seems to have quieted down a bit—I mean, from your first days here.” She smiled sweetly as she poured the hot water. “Mrs. Clark said this morning that she was praying for a truce for you so that you could enjoy your visit.”