Seduction Wears Sapphires

by Renee Bernard

  The rest of her speech vanished at the sight of a very voluptuous woman wearing a peacock blue green dress approaching. Caroline recognized Miss Stillman instantly despite the pretense of disguise as Margot boldly stepped up to them as if they were all old friends. “Ah! I wondered what lucky creature would be the next to wear those sapphires!”

  “I beg your pardon?” Caroline covered her throat, instinctively trying to ward off an attack.

  “Those stones! I would know them anywhere. Ashe is so generous! And he has such a way with words, does he not? I wore them only on loan. I was hard-pressed to give them back, but when a man like that wishes to move on to his next conquest, it’s impossible to say no.” The woman lowered her feathered masque, giving Caroline an assessing look. “Better to leave the door open so that they can return, don’t you think?”

  Lady Winters snapped her fan closed with a furious grace. “Mind yourself!”

  Margot took a theatrical step back, but not without assuring herself more of an audience. “I apologize if I gave offense, Lady Winters. I have clearly overstepped. I’m sorry, Miss Townsend. I knew you were far more than his grandfather’s ward—for clearly, you enjoy a different sort of relationship with the delicious Mr. Blackwell. Granted you aren’t his usual taste, are you, but perhaps you know a trick or two you’d be willing to share?” There were a few gasps from nearby guests eavesdropping on the exchange, and Caroline was suddenly aware of her exposure in this place.

  Caroline’s throat constricted and she wasn’t sure what to say. Just like that afternoon in the museum, there was no mistaking the implication of her words. He’d lied. He’d made it seem as if he’d had the necklace made for her and her alone, but this woman . . . Apparently every whore who succumbed to him was rewarded at one time or another with a show of Indian sapphires.

  Lady Winters stepped forward as if to shield her new friend from the other woman’s claims. “I don’t remember being introduced, and frankly, I’m not interested in that honor. Please return to whatever idiot brought you to this party and let him know that it might be best if he took you home—now!”

  The woman curtsied, a wicked Cheshire cat grin on her lovely features, and disappeared into the crush of the crowd in the same direction that the men had gone.

  Caroline was frozen in place watching her colorful retreat.

  “Ignore her!” Haley touched her arm. “She’s just some jealous woman he set aside long before he met you!”

  Caroline slowly shook her head, despising the numb ice that was coating the inside of her stomach. “Is she?” Some jealous woman. Would Margot claw and spit this hard if she didn’t still harbor feelings for Ashe? Wasn’t it proof that she might have thought herself more than his last conquest?

  Will I feel the same rage if he sets me aside?

  “What a surprise to see you here, Miss Townsend!” Winston Yardley interrupted, his timing unsettling. All in black, he gave the impression of a raven standing out in a sea of tropical birds. “Lady Winters?” he asked, then bowed deeply. “I should have known you anywhere. Miss Townsend continues to be fortunate in her acquaintances!”

  An awkward silence followed before Caroline realized that it was her place to formalize an introduction, if only for Haley’s sake, but she wasn’t sure how to phrase it to disguise her dislike for the man. “Mr. Winston Yardley, may I introduce you to Lady Winters? Mr. Yardley is . . . a cousin of Mr. Blackwell.”

  “How do you do, Mr. Yardley?” Haley managed a curt nod, her expression betraying her distress at the interruption.

  “A distant relative of Ashe’s too humble to think of intruding on your lovely evening, Miss Townsend, but I must blame joyous shock alone for making me step forward.” He bowed again with a dramatic wave of his arm. “I’d understood you were already setting sail for home.”

  “W-what?”

  “I saw Ashe near Fitzroy Square and he remarked on it. Not that I am any trusted friend of yours, but I was so sure of my information! After all, why would he boast about seeing you off and enjoying his reward for a Season well lived?” Winston shrugged. “I’d assumed that everything was settled.”

  “What is he talking about?” Hayley asked.

  Caroline shook her head. “Nothing of consequence,” she whispered.

  “Victory goes to my cousin, Miss Townsend. I sent a letter of concession to his grandfather congratulating him on his heir’s achievements. Blackwell has proved too wily. For he’s had us all, and no one can cry foul. Least of all”—his eyes dropped to the sapphires encircling her throat—“you.”

  He bowed one last time and moved off, leaving Caroline breathless and pale as Haley gently gripped her elbow. “What was that about? Caroline, I beg you not to take all this to heart and—”

  Galen returned with a cup in hand. “I had to fend off dragons, but here is your cup of holiday cheer, my dear.” Some of the cheer drained from his face as he realized that something was amiss. “What has happened?”

  “Where is Blackwell?” Lady Winters asked.

  Galen spared a surprised glance over his shoulder. “Ashe was just behind me. I apologize, Miss Townsend, but he must have run into someone in the crowd. Is something wrong?”

  Caroline took a small step back, her masque dropping to her side. “No. If you’ll excuse me, I need to find Mr. Blackwell.”

  “No.” Lady Winters tried to stop her. “Let Galen fetch him for you!”

  Caroline didn’t answer but walked briskly past them both, ignoring all protests, and pushed into the milling wall of guests, heading in the direction that Ashe had gone. She was determined to find him and hear his voice soothe and explain and quiet the demons that were tearing her heart in pieces.

  It isn’t true. No matter what is said or insinuated, it won’t be true until Ashe looks into my eyes and says it is true.

  She forced herself to keep a slow, measured pace, fighting the urge to race around the room like a wild caricature of a jealous shrew. But there was no sign of Ashe or the malignant Miss Stillman.

  One I desperately want to see and the other I would do anything to avoid.

  She left the main room, and just when she was about to give up and return to Lord Winters and ask him to take her back to the brownstone, she heard a woman’s laugh from behind a doorway. That woman’s laugh!

  Caroline turned to open the door wide just in time to see Margot, her bodice pulled down, her beautiful breasts exposed, stepping away from Ashe in a secluded corner.

  Margot screeched in theatrical horror as her eyes met Caroline’s. “Oh, dear! Oh, Ashe! I’m ruined!”

  She stood frozen in the doorway for just a fleeting second and then realized after hearing gasps in the hallway that another pair of guests were behind her—also apparently taking in the view. Her humiliation was complete and public. Ashe had his scandal after all, and it wasn’t his ward’s seduction that had brought him down.

  It was his ward’s heartbreak.

  For the space of a single breath, she took it all in and knew that she was expected to play a very specific role in this penny drama and run away in tears, cementing the scene and providing Lord Crawley’s guests with an emotional entertainment they’d not soon forget.

  And so instead, Caroline Townsend of Boston, Massachusetts, walked into the room with her head held high as if she’d been invited for tea.

  Chapter

  20

  Ashe was in hell. He turned to give Margot a look of pure loathing. She’d approached him with a quiet threat that they must speak or she’d make a public scene—and like an idiot, he’d complied only to get the conversation over with. He’d come too far to risk a ridiculous row.

  What he hadn’t expected was Margot’s strange behavior.

  “You’re supposed to tell me how lovely I look, Ashe.”

  “I don’t have time to play, and you look like a painted chicken.”

  She’d simply laughed. “You are a wicked man! I look too beautiful for words and you simply can’t reca
ll the best bit of poetry to suit me.”

  Then she’d begun telling him how much she’d missed their rendezvous and how cruel he’d been to throw his poor friend into the mix.

  “That was weeks ago! Are you daft?”

  The hairs on the back of his neck had begun to stiffen in warning and she’d started babbling about how she regretted her actions at the museum and pouted something about wishing to make it up to him. “But after tonight, it won’t be possible, Ashe.”

  “Why? What has happened tonight?”

  And she’d smiled and, with surreal speed and grace, pulled down the front of her dress and stepped forward to press herself against him. There’d been no time to think. Ashe was stunned as a part of his mind coldly noted that there were footsteps approaching and voices from the gala muffled through the walls.

  He pushed her away as the door opened but also tried to shield her from view, awkwardly losing the battle only to realize that Caroline was standing there, illuminated by lamplight, the crushing agony in her eyes unmistakable—but then her look changed and she transformed before his very eyes into the prim and detached chaperone he’d met weeks ago in his grandfather’s library.

  “Oh, dear! Oh, Ashe! I’m ruined!”

  “Caroline!”

  Caroline raised her hand to gracefully silence him as she approached Margot with a smile and spoke loudly enough for the eavesdropping guests to hear each cheerful word. “You poor thing! It’s not ruined, though. It just looks as if the sleeve has come untied. Here, let me help you with that.” Caroline took charge of her as easily as a schoolteacher retying a child’s shoelaces, and Margot’s mouth fell open in shock. Before the courtesan could summon her next thought, she was dutifully lifting her arms to help Caroline repair her dress and cover her breasts.

  “Mr. Blackwell’s buttons are treacherous to snag on your dress like that! Aren’t these London fashions challenging?” Caroline shook her head with a gentle sigh of female commiseration. “Your seamstress should be scolded for not sewing on these feathers with more care!”

  “But, I . . .” Margot looked over her shoulder and must have realized that already her captive audience was now watching for an entirely different reason and her opportunity for infamy was fading. It was the amazing grace and calm of the American that was drawing a crowd now. “There’s no need . . .”

  “There, you’re restored! It’s a good thing I was close by or Mr. Blackwell would have been forced to send for smelling salts.”

  “S-smelling salts?” Margot asked in astonishment.

  Caroline reached out to catch one of Margot’s hands in hers. “Mr. Blackwell once told me that beautiful women of good breeding, such as yourself, were prone to fainting spells.”

  “Did he?” Margot actually blushed and Ashe knew he was watching a miracle unfold in front of him. But he didn’t trust his good fortune. Was it possible that Caroline could be so forgiving? No woman is this unflappable. Where is the screaming? Where are the tears?

  “Would you like some warm cider, Miss Stillman?” Caroline guided her to a seat on an ornate sofa and then perched merrily next to her as if they were the dearest of friends. “Mr. Blackwell was just going to fetch some for Lady Winters when he left us, but I’m sure he’d be happy to give you her cup. Wouldn’t you, Mr. Blackwell?”

  I’d like to fetch her a cup of arsenic. “Yes, yes, of course, if Miss Stillman requires a refreshment.”

  A flurry of movement at the door interrupted everything as a red-faced Winston Yardley made an expectant appearance. “Is there some tr—”

  His shocked disappointment at finding the two women sitting together as Ashe apparently served them cider was palpable. “I thought I heard . . . someone cry for help?” he offered lamely, and several guests nearby snickered.

  “Not at all,” Caroline answered, “but what an odd coincidence to run into you again, Mr. Yardley! But how rude of me. Should I introduce you to Miss Stillman?”

  “No! I mean . . .” Winston looked like a man who’d been offered a dead mouse for dessert. “Under the circumstances . . .”

  “I believe they are already acquainted, Miss Townsend.” Ashe did his best to swallow his own fury without choking on it. It was so obvious—all of it—and there was Yardley like an unhappy director as his farce reeled beyond his control.

  “Thank goodness!” Caroline answered, so unexpectedly that Ashe had to stare at her again. “I am wretched at introductions and never know when they are appropriate. I was about to offer my new friend a ride home, if she wishes. I can’t imagine how you’re feeling, Miss Stillman, with all of this fuss for nothing, but I’d come to find Mr. Blackwell to complain of a headache and leave the party myself; so if you’d like to join me . . .”

  Ashe froze at the surreal nightmare unfolding before him. There was no way to argue against it as several astonished onlookers took note with whispered exchanges about Blackwell’s American Quaker innocently befriending a known harlot and offering the doxie a ride home.

  All of their attention is on Caroline! She’s literally drawn them off and saved me and all I can do is stand here like an idiot and let her.

  Margot stood, and Caroline took her hand to tuck it into the crook of her elbow, a mother duck gathering a wayward duckling. “How generous of you, Miss Townsend,” Margot said softly, and then to Ashe so quietly that he alone could hear her, “I’m sorry, Ashe. I never realized . . . It was too good an offer to forego, and after all, it’s not as if you ever cared one way or the other.”

  He didn’t answer her, unwilling to waste a single second in debate. And then Caroline walked away with Miss Stillman, never once looking in his direction. The damage to his reputation was minimal, but Caroline was all he cared about.

  And this hell was all too familiar.

  This is what it feels like to lose the woman you love. My God . . . how could I be this blind?

  He began to go after her, but Winston stepped into his path, his eyes wild. “Y-you ruined that poor woman and now you’re just going to stroll out of here, untouched! How is that possible?”

  “Which woman are you referring to?” The words were like chalk in his mouth.

  “M-Miss Stillman . . .” Yardley answered too quickly, then realized the missed opportunity and his expression grew even more demonic. “Everyone saw it!”

  Ashe didn’t need to look about to gauge that their audience was still small but rapt. He didn’t care anymore who was listening or how the scene played out. He leaned in to seize the lapels of Winston’s jacket, lifting him off his feet until their noses almost touched. “What did you offer her? What could you possibly have to offer, Yardley? Did you promise to marry Margot after she helped you create this little scandal and you’d stepped into my shoes?”

  “I didn’t—I had nothing to do with any of this!”

  Ashe shook his head. He’d wanted to blame Margot. He’d wanted more than anything to yell every vile degrading insult he could think of to tear her to pieces and grasp at the illusion of righteousness. But he knew better now. He’d toyed with her like so many women and never considered for a moment that their lives were altered for it. He’d paid for the privilege of treating her badly and never thought of the consequences.

  And then came Caroline . . .

  “Of course you did. Don’t worry, Yardley. I hate you, but I hate myself a good deal more.”

  He released Yardley’s jacket and stepped back to allow his cousin to recover, although Winston’s nervous hands made a shabby mess of his clothes. “I couldn’t allow you to bilk my dear uncle out of his legacy. I couldn’t allow you to play at respectability only long enough to reassure him—not when you and I both know that the instant the ink had dried on his will, you’d have gone back to your vile and sinful ways!”

  Ashe gave him a chilling look. “You may want to stave off this lecture, Winston, while we’re in so public a place.”

  The irony was lost on Yardley and he reddened with fury. “I? I have nothing to hide
!”

  “You’ve conspired with her to try to set me up, and when Miss Townsend offered to introduce her, it was clear you knew who and what she was. So much for hiding the truth.”

  “The truth? The truth about what?”

  “About your arrangement with Margot and your penchant for enjoying my leftovers.”

  The color drained from Yardley’s face.

  “You see,” Ashe continued relentlessly, “I know Margot is only the latest in a long line of doves you cannot seem to keep your greasy hands off of. I credited it to a strange kind of rivalry. As if you thought to better me somehow—though all it did was make it a bit easier for me to cast them off since the idea of you poking around between their thighs instantly ended any attraction I had for the poor things.”

  “I never . . .” Winston’s protest faltered.

  “Your mistake was in attacking Caroline. She is, as you well know, not a soiled dove to clutch at coins and play along, and from what Godwin overheard, she nearly boxed your ears like some errant schoolboy.”

  “That bitch had no—”

  Winston’s feet had left the carpet before he could draw another breath, his back meeting the wall as Ashe drove him against it with brutal rib-breaking force. “You’re an imbecile! Destroy me, if you want to! Hell, I was never in hiding, was I? I’d have probably helped you pack me off to Hades if you’d been man enough to step up and buy the ticket! But you—you spineless piece of rotting flesh! You hurt Caroline, and for that, I’m afraid, all bets are off!”

  “You”—Yardley gasped to catch his breath as Ashe refused to lessen his hold and pressed the smaller-framed man to the wall—“you’re mad!”

  Ashe let go, grimly enjoying the sight of Winston cowering on the floor where he’d landed. “I’ll wager that you’re right. But you might have taken that into account before you started this business, Yardley, and went too far.”

  “You’re the one who goes too far! And for what? Some poverty-stricken schoolteacher?”

  “What?”

  Winston replied without leaving the illusion of safety the wall behind him provided. “I have a good friend in Boston who wrote to me about the Townsends when he heard that she was coming to visit my relatives. Apparently, her aunt made enough of a squall about the matter to draw his attention and he thought I’d enjoy the irony. I received his letter several days after your grandfather included me in on your wager and I was sure it was providence that gave me such timely news.”