The Tempestuous Debutante: Book 4 in the Cotillion Ball Series (Crimson Romance) (12 page)

“Or find me that pot o’ gold at the end of the rainbow.”

They stood for a moment, each lost in their own thoughts as the colt strutted around the paddock. “’Tis a beauty, Parr. What’s the horse’s name?”

“Alistair came out this morning and declared him to be Blaze of Glory. We’ll call him Blaze.”

“’Tis a good name. Well, speaking of his lordship, I should get up to the house and deliver the message from Mr. Fitzpatrick.” She waved an envelope in the air.

“What’s that for?”

Colleen again pierced him a gaze that went right to his soul. “Mr. and Mrs. Fitzpatrick have agreed to accompany Mr. Wickersham and Jasmine to the theatre tomorrow evening.”

“Ach, so that’s how ’tis.”

“For now, laddie. For now.”

• • •

Jasmine struggled to keep from grinning as she took her seat in the box. She caught the collective gasp of incredulity from the crowd at the theatre when she walked in with Alistair, closely followed by her parents. But it wouldn’t do to show that their reaction registered with her, or to be so childish as to grin at the response. After all, she was in the company of the mature man she was destined to be with, the man every society mother with a marriageable daughter had set her cap for, and this evening, the best of New York society was being made aware of the fact that Alistair had already made his choice. The whole incident with Lydia Smith turning his head was merely a bump in the road. Obviously, Mrs. Smith had been toying with his affections, since she’d chosen to leave town at a critical juncture, allowing Jasmine to step in.

And Jasmine wasn’t going anywhere. Now that she had Alistair’s undivided attention, she needed to make the most of her moment. She smoothed the skirt of her refashioned emerald gown, and made certain the lace that adorned the cuffs of her sleeves was straight. She was a walking advertisement for her shop, since this dress would appear as a model of her work, beginning next week, when the shop opened.

But tonight, the dress was part of the total package that was Jasmine Fitzpatrick, soon to be the Viscountess of Foxborough. People may be oohing and aahing over the dress she was wearing, but they were also commenting on whom she was with and what it meant. She raised her fan in front of her face and leaned toward Alistair, causing even more low rumblings from the crowd as their heads nearly touched. She caught the scent of his sandalwood soap, and the cheroot he and her father had enjoyed before they left the house.

“You look quite handsome tonight, Mr. Wickersham.” She batted her eyelashes.

He let his eyes drift from her face down to her bodice, which was cut scandalously low, the corset she was wearing pushing her breasts up even higher. “And you look quite fetching as well, Miss Fitzpatrick. Tell me, is this one of your creations?” He flicked a hand in the air, indicating her dress.

“Yes, it is. Thank you for noticing. And it’s going into the shop first thing, to show the ladies what I’m capable of designing.”

“Judging from the reaction of the crowd tonight, I think the ladies will be beating down the door of the shop as soon as it opens to get their hands on one of your designs. Aren’t you a bit worried, though, about becoming a merchant? A member of the working class?”

“My father’s a member of the ‘working class’ as you call it, and has managed to provide a nice life for his family. So are you, as the owner of a soon-to-be wildly popular racetrack. My sister, Ginger, worked alongside my father at the bank for years, and my twin sister, Heather, is now a schoolteacher in Missouri. I think the rules of society are a bit more lax here in America than they are in Great Britain. Or at least they’re beginning to bend. Isn’t that part of the reason why you came to these shores?”

His eyes blinked as he regarded her. “You make a valid point. I think it’s admirable that you’re taking something you’re good at, and turning it into a business venture that will, hopefully, make you a lot of money. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“My sisters always wondered why, with so much injustice in the world, I couldn’t get involved. But their causes weren’t exciting to me. Fashion is where I fit. But enough of me, for the moment. Tell me, how’s the little colt?”

“Ah, he’s an absolute prize. Parr’s already getting him used to being handled, and his form is beautiful.”

“Have you chosen a name for him yet?”

“I have. And you came up with it. He is well suited to be called Blaze of Glory, since that’s how he will cross the finish line in a few years. In a blaze of glory. We’ll call him Blaze.”

Jasmine’s heart jumped and she wove her gloved hands together in excitement. Alistair had selected one of her names for the horse, and that could only mean he approved of her, and would welcome her as a potential partner in his life and in his bed.

“How exciting. I can’t wait now to see him blaze across the finish line.”

What Alistair said next made her heart jump again, for an entirely different reason.

He locked eyes with her, and said softly, “Perhaps we can find even more that excites you, in the next few weeks.” He dropped his gaze again to her swell of exposed bosom.

As Alistair turned to speak to her father, an outbreak of butterflies appeared in Jasmine’s stomach. But unlike the torrent of emotion she found herself in the middle of when Parr’s hot hands raked over her, these butterflies made her uneasy. She lowered her fan. What was wrong with her? She was exactly where she was supposed to be, rightfully beside the handsome, if somewhat older, Viscount of Foxborough. The way the theatregoers responded to seeing them together made her well aware what a coup this was. And he was expressing an unveiled interest in getting to know her better. More intimately. She glanced across the men to gauge her mother’s reaction. Charlotte was actually glowing, and couldn’t keep the smile from her face as she waved hello to friends and acquaintances.

As the house lights dimmed in preparation for the theatrical performance, Jasmine thought about Alistair’s hands on her bosom. Love would come, she was certain of it. All she had to do was get through the next few weeks, until he was totally besotted with her and would do anything for her. She’d let him paw at her to his heart’s content.

She’d probably even enjoy it. Lord knows, she had welcomed Philippe’s bold moves last year. They made her body hum in a way it never had before. And Parr’s kisses in the stable stall rocked her back on her heels. She had never experienced such emotion before. Just thinking about their torrid encounter caused her core to ache. She squirmed in her seat as she thought about becoming more familiar with Alistair. She’d welcome his advances, to a point. But she wouldn’t be so bold as Lydia Smith and invite Alistair to bed her. At least not until he proposed to her and placed a huge ring on her finger. Love would come. Wouldn’t it?

• • •

Alistair had to admit, he’d enjoyed himself this evening. He brushed his chin with a hand as he waited for the driver to open the door to his carriage, which had stopped in front of his house. The lights were on in the house, and, as the butler opened the door for him, he mentally began to tally the way this evening had gone to evenings he had shared with Lydia Smith. He dropped into a chair in the library, poured a brandy, and lit a cheroot. As he sniffed the amber liquid swirling in the glass, he compared the two women.

True enough, Lydia had provided him with heart-pumping sexual excitement from the moment they first met. And she lived up to the expectations she set, as she was superb in bed. Maybe the whisperings about her husband’s demise so soon after they married were true, and she had enticed him to the point where his heart gave out.
What a way to go
, Alistair thought. His cock swelled within his dress pants as he recalled the last evening he’d shared with Lydia, before she left to aid her sister in her late-stage pregnancy. The memory of that encounter would have to sustain him until she returned, in three weeks’ time. He ground his teeth as he counted the days. Alistair was certain he would not be ending his evenings with Jasmine in the same fashion, regardless of how often they got together.

First, she had to have a chaperone everywhere she went. Tonight it was her parents, so he couldn’t even hold her hand without having George raise an eyebrow at him. And two days hence, when she arrived here to go riding with him, he was certain she’d have her lady’s maid, Colleen, with her. And that one had the eyes of a hawk, so there’d be no sneaking off for a coupling, such as what he’d shared with Lydia last week. With a groan, he rubbed his hands over his eyes to banish thoughts of Lydia and her lush curves from his mind. For the time being, anyway.

Second, where Lydia used coquetry that made him wild with desire, mixing it with stimulating conversation that made him respect her mind as well, Jasmine could not. Lydia retained control of her late husband’s considerable fortune, and managed the various investments on her own, rather than employing a solicitor. Therefore, her knowledge of current events and businesses matched his own, a point he highly respected. On the other hand, Jasmine’s attempts at seduction were amusing at best. Only when she forgot she was trying to forge a union between them and talked about her vision for her fashion business did she become even remotely interesting.

She would probably be a very successful businessperson, as long as her brother took care of the books and left her to what she was good at — design and marketing. Her gown this evening had garnered many a compliment, and when she told the ladies they could buy one similar to it from her shop, she assured herself of having a successful opening. Plus, she had the added incentive of revenge working for her, since Philippe Louboutin had stolen her initial boot design and was passing it off as his own. Alistair smiled as he took a sip of brandy. Poor French bastard. He didn’t know the maelstrom that was coming his way.

Third, there was the not-so-small matter of her father and their business partnership. Alistair realized that he needed George Fitzpatrick as much as George needed him. Even though Alistair had now met some of the most influential families, and was invited on social excursions without the Fitzpatricks, he must not rely solely on his English title to get ahead here. His racetrack needed the backing of New York’s elite society, and George held the key to the club. If Alistair overstepped in his relationship with Jasmine, George would not look upon it lightly. The over-protective feeling that George had toward his daughters was a mantle he wore proudly. Alistair had best remember to tread lightly.

He was interrupted in his musings by Parr, who’d let himself into the house once he had taken care of the horses that had drawn the carriage. He knocked on the library door and entered the room.

“You’re up late, Parr. I thought you’d be long abed by now, and leave the horses to the driver to take care of.”

“No, I was waiting up to talk to you. Should have done it a couple days ago, but I kept chickening out.”

That got his attention. “What is it, Parr? Has one of the horses gone lame?”

“No, this has naught to do with horseflesh. It has to do with Miss Fitzpatrick.”

Alistair sat up straighter and lifted his brandy glass to his lips. He definitely hadn’t seen this conversation coming.

“Sit then, and tell me about Miss Fitzpatrick. Did she do or say something during your riding lessons with her?”

“No, sir, but she did buy me a new cap.” He removed the tweed cap as he sat down and placed it on Alistair’s desk.

“It’s a nice cap, Parr, and I’d say that was the least she could do to pay you back for your hard work. I know she couldn’t have been an easy student.”

Parr dropped his eyes to the cap and said nothing.

“Well, get on with it. What did she do?”

Parr rolled his shoulders. “It’s not what she did, sir. It’s what I did. I kissed her.”

That really got his attention. Jasmine was not one to dispense with kisses without reason. He rolled the cheroot in his fingers. “I see. And how did she react?”

Parr dropped his gaze. “Ah, she slapped me, as well she should have. It won’t ever happen agin, sir. I overstepped, and I’m sorry.”

“Are you interested in the woman?”

Parr shot him a quick glance. Just by the way Parr stared at him, Alistair answered his own question. The boy had it bad for Jasmine. He took another sip of his brandy.

“Why shouldn’t it happen again, if you’re interested in her, and court her appropriately? She’s a young, single woman, closer in age to you than to me.”

Parr stood up. “For many reasons. I’m but a simple stable boy to her, regardless of how many times she hears that we are partners. And you’re the one she wants, not me. She told me as much. I would never do anything that would get between us. As I said, I overstepped in the heat of the moment, and it won’t happen agin.”

Alistair stared at his brandy. There was heat between them? He had not yet seen that side of Jasmine. Interesting.

“All right then, Parr. Thank you for telling me. Miss Fitzpatrick hasn’t mentioned anything of the incident to me yet, but if she does, I now have the facts at my disposal. Get a move on now, and get to bed. We’re training Big Red in the morning to break from the starting line, so you need to be fresh.”

“Thank you, Alistair, for not sacking me because of what I’ve done.” Parr grabbed his cap and placed it back on his head before he scurried from the room.

Alistair now had even more to think about. True enough, he needed a temporary companion to fill the void left behind by Lydia. And, for the time being, it would be Jasmine, despite the lack of any heat between them. Perhaps he should try for a kiss, same as Parr, just to see if he responded the same as the lovesick lad he’d just seen before him. That provided another wrinkle in the equation.

No, she was a placeholder for Lydia, nothing more. If she thought there was more to the relationship than was there, that couldn’t possibly be held against him. After all, he’d had numerous young ladies try to replace his deceased wife before he left England, and, while they may have built up the relationships in their heads, he was still loyal to his wife, and the sacrifice she had made for him.