An Accidental Seduction (12 page)

“W
hy London?” Sean asked, but kept his gaze steady on the winding road ahead. Daisy was a fine steed, but had a tendency to hit every possible pothole if left unattended, and he had no desire to see his passengers dumped into the ditch. Even though Clarette Tilmont was obviously as mad as a spring hare.

She had insisted that Mrs. Edwards accompany them yet again. Thus the three of them were squashed onto a seat built for two. Their chaperone, bulky and lax, should have been an effective buffer between them, especially considering the baroness’s obvious derangement. Yet he could feel her effects on him as clearly as if he was touching her skin, kissing her lips. And how bloody stupid was that? He was
not
attracted to this woman. Well, not beyond the mere physicality of it, at any rate. Oh yes, he still intended to seduce her, but not because he wanted to. Well, he
wanted
to, but…fook it, he was as daft as
she
was. And why the devil were they going to London?
Was she meeting a lover there? And if so, why the hell wasn’t
he
that lover?

“My lady?” Giving their snoozing chaperone a nudge to keep her upright, Sean kept his tone even, though God knew he wanted to shake the haughty baroness until her teeth rattled. Especially when she turned toward him as if he were of no more significance than a bothersome gnat.

“What is it, Lowlywick?”

He gave her a smile. He knew it might have been a little tight. Perhaps he’d been a bit frustrated since…meeting her. “I asked why we are traveling to London.”

She raised her brows slightly. “Might that be your concern in some unimaginable way?”

Damn right it was. She was driving him mad. He smiled again. “I but hope you are not in some sort of trouble.”

As if shocked by his words, she leaned away a little. Any farther and she might well tumble over the low side. He was ashamed to find the thought entertaining. Maybe.

“Whyever would a lady such as myself be in trouble?” she asked, and steadied their chaperone with one gloved hand.

Why? Because she
was
trouble. Damn her, he couldn’t even think when she was near. And when she
wasn‘t
near…Why the devil had she chased him so abruptly from
her chambers the previous night? She had wanted him as much as he’d wanted her. Hadn’t she? Or was it all an act? A devious ploy to drive him from his—

He stopped himself, calmed his thoughts. “So all is well?” he asked.

“Of course.”

They rattled along for a few more seconds. He willed himself to be silent. After all, he was the driver, and little more. But the words came out unbidden.

“Is it a man?”

She turned back toward him with a snap and jerked her gaze to the widow, but the old woman was as limp as a cabbage leaf, her head bouncing loosely with every beat of the chestnut’s staccato trot.

“Must I remind you, yet again, that I’m a married woman?” Clarette’s voice was hushed but audible.

“Perhaps you should remind yourself,” Sean said. He felt petty and itchy.

“I’ve done nothing to break my husband’s trust,” she hissed.

He raised his brows.

She rushed her gaze back to Mrs. Edwards, but that one’s mouth had fallen open. Clarette pursed hers. The sight of those succulent lips did something ridiculous to his…everything. He pushed his gaze back to her eyes with an effort, but couldn’t forget how her mouth had
felt as it enclosed him. His body tightened traitorously at the memory.

“You’ve a curious definition of nothing, lass,” he said, and though he tried, he couldn’t seem to keep his attention from the fullness of her lips.

“Quit that!” she ordered.

“What?”

“Looking at me like that.” She snapped her gaze back to the old woman who now snored between them. “She may be deaf, but she’s not blind.”

“Tell me why we go to London.”

For a moment he thought she’d refuse to answer, but finally she spoke. “I have a bit of business there,” she said, and reaching out, returned Mrs. Edwards’s flopping right hand onto her plump lap.

“Business?”

“Yes.”

“What kind of business?”

“Am I mistaken, or are you yet in my employ?”

“I can assure you I’m doing me best to service you.” He hadn’t exactly meant to make that sound suggestive, but damn it, it was impossible to think in any other terms where she was concerned. Now, however, she merely stared at him, scowling a bit, as if she didn’t understand the reference. Which was damned strange for a courtesan. “But you ejected me from your room.”

“Will you hush your mouth.” Her words were barely audible, but it hardly mattered. He could have guessed her sentiment just by seeing the outrage on her face, and for some reason that brightened his mood.

“I will if you tell me the reason for this journey.”

She glared at him for several seconds, lowered her attention to the old woman again, then sighed. “Very well, but you must swear secrecy.”

He refrained from holding his breath, but his attention was so intense on her that for a moment he forgot entirely about the mare. The tilbury bumped unceremoniously through a pothole.

Awakening suddenly, Mrs. Edwards squawked in terror. As for Clarette, she grabbed the mounting handle and braced her hip against the old woman to keep them both upright.

“Watch what you’re about, lad!” their chaperone scolded.

“Me apologies,” he said, and in a matter of moments Mrs. Edwards was snoring again.

“I believe you were about to divulge your reasons for this journey,” Sean said, and kept his attention on the road disappearing between the mare’s chestnut ears.

“And you swear not to tell another?”

“You’ve me word as a…blacksmith,” he said, and gave her his best smile. There was no reason to allow her to know that she was driving him out of his mind.

“Very well, then,” she said. “I plan to buy my husband a gift.”

He wasn’t sure what he had expected, but this wasn’t it. “A gift.”

“Yes.”

“And why is that?”

“Because he is my husband.”

“Then perhaps he should not have left you alone at—” he began, but she held up her hand. It was gloved, but he couldn’t forget how her velvety fingers had felt against his chest, his belly, his…

She cleared her throat, doing the same with his lurid thoughts, then scowled at Mrs. Edwards, whose head was lolling around like a walnut on a thread of yarn. “Sometimes I can be a bit…impatient.”

He stared at her. “What?”

She glanced away as if peeved. “Perhaps you have not noticed, you being a…” she waved a hand at him dismissively and shook her head once. “Whatever the hell you are. But at times I can be rather…”

“Mad?” he guessed.

“No.”

“Shrewish, annoying, petty?”

“Superior,” she said, face deadpan.

“Are you saying you
are
superior or that you
act
superior?”

For one wild moment he almost thought she would laugh,
for her eyes lit like magic and her mouth quirked, but finally her impassive expression was firmly back in place.

“Both,” she said.

“So you’re apologizing for acting superior even though you
are
superior.”

“Some believe the nobility are supposed to be…” She sighed, looking put upon. “…accommodating to the little people.”

“Little people. Such as gnomes?”

“Such as blacksmiths.”

He wouldn’t kill her. That would be wrong. But he had no compunctions about embarrassing her. “A woman of your experience must know better than to think me little, lass,” he said.

She raised a brow at him.

“After last night,” he explained.

“Good God, have you no shame?” she hissed, and though her expression became increasingly haughty, her cheeks reddened in concert.

He couldn’t quite stop his chuckle, for her outrage made him near ecstatic. “Not about that, surely.”

“How is it that you’ve not been flayed within an inch of your life by some lady’s irate husband?”

“Generally the ladies in question have sense enough not to announce our affair,” he said, and failed to miss a bump in the road. Mrs. Edwards’s eyes flickered open.

“Truffles!” She all but shouted the word.

Clarette jumped, Daisy jerked in her traces, and Sean lowered his attention to the old woman’s eyes.

“What say you, Mrs. Edwards?”

“Chocolate éclairs,” she muttered, and nodded back into oblivion.

“We’re not having an ‘affair,’” hissed the baroness, and nudged the big woman’s bulk toward Sean.

“What’s that?” he asked, though he had heard her perfectly well.

“We are
not
having an affair.”

“What would you call it then, lass?”

“A mistake!”

He narrowed his eyes at her and kept the lines steady. “Is that what you always call it when you put your mouth around a man’s—”

“Shut up!” she hissed, and he laughed.

“Where are we going?”

“What?” she looked as flustered as a scolded child. Her expression made him want to kiss her…or shake her. Maybe both.

“To get this gift for your lauded husband. What is our destination?”

“
We
are not going anywhere. You’ll wait outside.”

“Very well,” he said, “unless it’s a bordello. You’re not buying him a prostitute, are you?”

“Of course not. What is wrong with you?” she gasped, and he laughed.

“For a courtesan, you seem strangely prudish.” He reconsidered that for an instant. “Sometimes,” he added, and she blushed again.

He watched the color dawn on her cheeks, then continued. “If not a prostitute, what?”

She looked annoyed. “He’s quite fond of cuff links.”

“So you’re going to a jeweler?” Hope surged in his chest. He knew a little shop that would be perfect for the occasion.

“If that’s acceptable to you.”

He smiled. “Far be it from me to overstep my boundaries and give an opinion regarding my lady’s plans. Which shop do you intend to visit?”

She paused for a moment. “You’re a metalsmith. Which do you recommend?”

“Please, me lady…” he said, exaggerating his brogue. “I am naught but a humble blacksmith.”

She scowled at him. “I doubt you’re a humble anything. Have you a shop to recommend?”

He pricked his ears at her tone. It almost seemed edged with uncertainty. “But surely there is a store you favor.”

She shrugged and glanced at the country that rolled past them like a verdant panorama. “Naturally, but I can hardly visit one my husband frequents. It might well ruin the surprise,” she said.

He longed to question her further, for she still seemed
tense, but he dare not lose this opportunity. “There’s a shop on Oxford Street that some find pleasing.”

“Some who?”

He stared at her.

Her scowl darkened. “Some women?”

It actually took a moment for him to recognize the jealousy in her voice, but when he did, he smiled. “Dare I hope that you would care?”

“No, you may not,” she snapped, and he laughed.

“I assume there have been one or two of the fair sex who must have approved of Smith’s Ornaments,” he said. “But just now I cannot think of a single name.”

She caught his steady stare for a second, then turned away, almost flustered. “Take me to this shop, Wickenminor.”

“As you wish,” he said, smiling at her pique. “If you’ll tell me who you truly are.”

“Whatever are you talking about?” Something flashed in her eyes. If he hadn’t known better, he would have almost thought it was fear, but he had seen her moments after tumbling from the high-strung gelding’s back. Fear wasn’t something this woman would comprehend.

“Are you the woman who lies on her belly in the mud of the wild fields to deliver lambkins or are you the one who refers to the laboring class with ringing disdain?”

“Both,” she said. “If the lambs are my own and the laborers in question are…” She shrugged. “…disdainful.”

Anger coursed through him. It wasn’t an emotion he was oft familiar with. Not unless it concerned his family, at any rate. But then, she
did
concern his family, didn’t she? “Well, it’s good to know you found nothing disdainful about me last night.”

She glanced at her chaperone again, but when she raised her eyes, they were level and, yes, disdainful. “If that were true, do you think I would have tossed you from my chambers?”

“Give me another chance,” he said, “and you’ll beg me to stay.”

“Right now I’m begging you to keep your mouth shut.”

He lowered his gaze to her mouth. “I’d never do the same to you,” he said, and watched those gorgeous lips part, watched her expressive eyes dilate.

“Do you never give up?” Her words were no more than a whisper.

“Not until I hear you sing for joy,” he said.

“I believe I told you earlier that I am not the singing sort.”

“Then you’ve been with the wrong men. And that I’m willing to prove.”

“If you’ll but shut up, I’ll recite the Hallelujah Chorus.”

“Next time we’re alone I’ll be as quiet as an Irish rose,” he said.

“There won’t be a next time.”

“Your husband had best return home soon, then, lass, for a woman like you can’t wait too long,” he said, and turned his attention from her steaming eyes to her puckered lips. But just then they struck a bump and Mrs. Edwards slumped to the floor of the tilbury like an overstuffed pillow.

W
as she insane? Gallagher probably thought so. And maybe he was right, Savaana thought as she glided toward the jeweler’s shop.

She’d received a missive from her grandfather just that morning. It had been short and suitably guarded in case others intercepted it, but she was now sure beyond a shadow of a doubt that he was safe and well. Thus she had been allowed to consider other things. To travel to London, in fact. But that hardly meant she had the right to act like an impetuous strumpet. Which she had. Or rather
Lady Tilmont
had.

Blushing at her potent memories, Savaana wondered dismally if perhaps she had allowed her part as the baroness to go too far. Or maybe…maybe she had simply wanted to touch the Irishman and used her current identity as an excuse to do so. After all, despite his host of irritating qualities, his sexual appeal was undeniable. Kissing him had been intoxicating. Touching his chest
had been exciting. Stroking his—But no, she wouldn’t think of that.

Indeed, she would think of nothing but the task at hand.

The stones in her beaded reticule seemed inordinately heavy. She glanced behind her as she strode purposefully down the foot pavement. Smith’s Ornaments was just around the corner, or so Gallagher had said. But Daisy had picked up a stone in her forefoot just short of there, and the Irishman insisted that they stop a block or so from their destination, which suited her fine. She was more than happy to have him occupied so she could see to her business alone.

Before rounding the corner to Oxford Street, however, she chanced upon another shop. Gallagher’s gaze met hers as she glanced back, sparking a thousand lurid memories, but the squeak of the jeweler’s door put a merciful end to her roiling thoughts.

A scrawny man stood behind the counter helping a young buck in a dark tailcoat examine cuff links. The spectacles perched on the proprietor’s hooked nose made him look narrow-eyed and peevish, regardless of his stylish jacket and starched cravat.

Savaana waited, perusing hat pins and feigning patience as they discussed the merits of the various pieces. Her heart pounded in anticipation against her over-tight ribs. But finally the customer left. The tall jeweler
stashed the links away and turned toward her with elegant lethargy. “Can I help you, madam?” His accent was French. Maybe. What the hell did she know of French accents? For all she knew it may have been Mesopotamian. After all, it wasn’t as if she had studied in Paris. Or anywhere.

“I do hope so,” she said, and permeated her tone with an accent of her own. It, too, might have been French. “I have a…a bauble I would very much like you to examine.”

He nodded, saying nothing.

Faking a bored mien of her own, Savaana drew the necklace out of her reticule and set it carefully on the glass. It lay between them, half a dozen thumb-sized stones pierced by a simple leather thong.

He stared at them a moment, but didn’t touch, as though he had no wish to soil his hands. “And what is this, madam?”

“It’s…” She felt foolish suddenly, like the Rom she was, trespassing where her betters trod. But Gallagher’s words about polished stones had awakened a suspicion in her mind; she had set off at the first possible moment to investigate. “Just a little something I received from an admirer,” she said. “I thought perhaps you could advise me as to its value.”

Lifting the necklace finally, he fingered the stones. “Well, madam, I fear the only advice I can give is to find yourself a better grade of admirer.”

Her stomach dropped. She’d been so sure that she had underestimated them, just as Lady Tilmont had. “So they’re—”

“Nothing but pebbles, madam.”

“Oh.” She swallowed her disappointment, straightened her shoulders. “Well, thank you,” she said, and grasping the necklace, prepared to leave, but he touched her arm.

“Still, they are…” He sighed as if loath to waste his time on such paltry rocks. “They are interesting stones. If you’d like, I could take them off your hands.”

Her breath froze in her throat. She canted her head a little, as casual as he, though her veins thrummed with hope. Since her earliest memory she’d performed in carnivals and markets and festivals. And from those experiences a litany of the same sort of words sang through her mind.
You’re stealing me blind, luv, but…I shouldn’t do this, but for a ’andsome bloke like you…Me ’usband’ll kill me dead if’n ’e finds out I done this, but…

Savaana drew a careful breath and reminded herself to exhale. “How very kind of you,” she said, and felt herself tremble just a little. “What could you give for them?”

He shrugged. The movement was outwardly relaxed, but there was something in his eyes, a shining avarice she’d seen more times than she could count. Shame on her for forgetting her upbringing.

“I saw you admiring the hat pins near the door,” he
said. “Perhaps you’d like to trade this little trifle for one of them.”

She glanced toward the pins as if debating, but her mind was spinning with questions, with ideas. “They
were
quite lovely.”

“Indeed, and well crafted,” he said, and now his voice almost warbled. It was like the howl of a wolf about to pounce.

She scowled and caught her lower lip between her teeth with girlish dismay. “But come to that, my admirer is rather special. Perhaps I’ll keep the necklace after all,” she said, and plucked at the piece.

The proprietor’s bony fingers tightened on the stones. “Two then,” he said. There was a desperate note to his voice now, and his face looked pinched above his snowy cravat. She could have named a dozen country fishwives who would have played this game better.

“I beg your pardon?” she said.

“Perhaps I could part with
two
hat pins. Though you’re robbing me blind.”

“No,” she said firmly, and pulled the necklace from his hands. “But I appreciate your time more than I can say.” That much was the absolute truth.

He watched her go. She could feel his attention on her back as she stepped from the store. Her breath was coming hard, as if she’d just completed the performance of her lifetime. And maybe she had. She glanced toward
the carriage in a haze and saw that Gallagher was busy adjusting the mare’s overcheck. She looked to the right, longing for another opinion. Perhaps Smith’s would be just the place.

The Irishman was positioned on the far side of the animal and wouldn’t see her if she slipped down the paved walkway to the next store. The less he knew of her affairs, the better, she thought, and making a speedy decision, hurried around the corner and down the street to Smith’s.

A little bell tingled merrily as she stepped through the door. A middle-aged woman wearing a starched apron over a powder blue gown greeted her. She was dusting a display of snuff cans and silver cups that graced an elegant, ivory tabletop. Introducing herself as Mrs. Fellowhurst, she proclaimed that their store offered unique ornaments of all sorts: jewelry, tableware, even locks and etched door handles.

“Indeed? How interesting,” Savaana said, though it was all but impossible to keep her tone casual. “And what type of gemstones do your craftsmen work with for their creations?”

“All sorts. Rubies, brilliants, sapphires. Whatever you wish.”

“So you’re familiar with most of them.”

“Certainly.”

“Perhaps you can tell me something of these, then,” she said, and pulled the necklace into view.

They looked dismal and dull against the ivory tabletop. But the woman behind it drew in a sharp breath.

“Put them away!” she ordered.

Savaana raised her brows, but Mrs. Fellowhurst was pushing them toward her. “Away,” she repeated.

Glancing nervously toward the door, Savaana dropped the stones back into her reticule. “What is it?” she asked. “What’s wrong?”

The woman pulled in a heavy breath, clasped her hands in front of her apron and looked toward the street as if expecting to be mobbed at any given moment. “An interesting piece,” she said finally, relaxing a little. “Might I inquire where you obtained it?”

“They were given to me,” Savaana said, mind roiling. “Why? What do you know of them? Have you seen them before?”

“No,” the woman said, and shifted her gaze to the reticule where they rested. “Nor have I seen their like, I think.”

“What can you tell me of them?”

“Maybe I’m wrong.” She shook her head as if she were dreaming. “’Tis impossible to say for sure without a closer look. Perhaps…” She glanced up, her eyes shining with a bit of the same light that had glimmered in the old man’s just moments before. “Perhaps you’d like to leave them with me for a time so I can examine them more closer.”

Savaana stared at her, point-blank. “I think not,” she said, and the other grinned sheepishly.

“You cannot blame me for trying.”

“I would have done the same myself,” Savaana said. Perhaps she was admitting more than she should, but haggling brought out the earthy Gypsy in her soul. “What are they?”

Again the proprietress glanced toward the street. Then she motioned toward the back and turned away. Savaana followed. Once out of sight from the window, Mrs. Fellowhurst pulled out a glass and examined the stones. An imaginary clock ticked inside Savaana’s head, but finally the other woman looked up. Her face was pale.

“Tell me,” Savaana ordered.

“I believe they’re…” She cleared her throat. “It’s impossible to say for certain without further examination.”

“But—”

“I believe they may be paragons.”

Savaana shook her head.

“Brilliants. Diamonds.” Her voice had dropped even further. “Of exceptional quality.”

“All of them?”

“That’s my guess from a cursory inspection.”

For a moment Savaana was tempted to inquire about their value, but it hardly mattered. By the paleness of Mrs. Fellowhurst’s face, she could deduce that they were indeed rare. By the same token, she could guess
that Clarette had no idea of their value, for she had left them behind. But of course that meant little. Certainly it was no sure indication that the baroness had obtained them from her mother. No reason to assume she hadn’t gotten them from an admirer, just as she herself had claimed when speaking to the old man. But what kind of gentleman would give such a gift and not indicate its true worth?

“How likely is it that someone will recognize them for what they are?” Savaana asked.

“Unless the person in question is trained…quite unlikely.”

“So they could have been worn openly without risk.”

“Yes.”

Savaana nodded. Lifting the stones, she opened her reticule.

“Don’t keep them there.” The woman’s voice was hushed and gruff, her gaze caught on the dangling rocks.

Savaana glanced up. “Am I at risk because of them?”

“I’d rob you myself if there were no repercussions,” she said, and finally found an uncertain smile.

Savaana nodded. “My thanks,” she said. “You’ve been more than helpful.”

“Don’t be too grateful,” said the other. “I may yet decide to take the risk.”

Savaana almost smiled, then with a quickness her
sedentary life had not yet robbed from her, she slipped the necklace into her bodice and turned. Stepping outside, she pulled the drawstring reticule closed as she did so.

But she had not taken a dozen strides before she was approached.

“My lady,” said a voice from behind.

Anticipation trembled through her, but surely she was only being paranoid. Raising her chin, she clutched her reticule close to her abdomen and turned.

The man behind her was short, neatly dressed, and smiling. His mustache was trimmed close, his top hat just so upon his graying head, which he bobbed in a quick bow. “I was wondering if I might have a word with you, madam.”

“A word?” She raised one brow and gave him a regal stare, though her heart was beating overtime. “Regarding what exactly?”

“Just a…” He shrugged, looking benign. “A business matter.”

Something deep inside her made her long to clutch her necklace to her chest, but she remained exactly as she was. “What sort of business do you have in mind, sir?” she asked.

“One of some import,” he said, and suddenly she realized they were alone on the street. Gallagher was well out of sight around the corner, and she was carrying the most valuable item she had ever imagined.

“I’m certain your offer is quite generous, but I’m a bit rushed at this time,” she said, and turned away.

A giant of a man loomed behind her. The sight of his scarred face spurred a dozen ragged memories through her agitated system, and it was in the fraction of a moment before she passed out that she realized it might not have been a bad idea to let the Irishman accompany her.