Tarnished Amongst the Ton. Louise Allen
Stimulation to the senses, indeed.
‘To find the treasures here one needs curiosity,’ she finished, her voice suddenly breathless. Her accent had slipped a trifle.
‘You may be sure you have stimulated mine,’ Ashe murmured. ‘All of them. I will return, with or without my… sister.’
Her hand tensed in his and as suddenly relaxed. Oh, yes, she was as aware of him as he was of her and the news that he was unmarried had struck home.
‘I must wrap the pendant, monsieur.’ She gave a little tug and he released her. There was no wedding ring on those long slender fingers with their neat oval nails. The hunting instinct stirred again and with it certain parts of his body that were better kept under control when he was supposed to be escorting his sister on a blameless shopping expedition.
Ashe slipped the flat box into his breast pocket, resumed his gloves and waited for Sara to gather up her reticule and parasol. ‘You open your shop every day?’
‘Non. I open as the whim takes me, monsieur,’ the lady of curiosities said, a little tart now and very French again. He had flustered her and she did not forgive that easily, it seemed. ‘I am often away buying stock.’
‘Down by the Pool of London, perhaps?’
She shrugged, an elegant gesture that made him wonder if she was, indeed, French. But her accent when they first met had been completely English, he recalled and she had slipped up just now. ‘Anywhere that I can find treasures for my clients, monsieur. Good day, monsieur, mademoiselle.’
‘Au revoir,’ Ashe returned and was amused to see her purse her lips. She suspected, quite correctly, that he was teasing her.
Phyllida shot the bolt on the door and retreated into the back room. Him. Here. As though she had not had enough trouble trying, and failing, to get him out of her head. She spread out her right hand, the one he had captured in his own big brown fist. She had felt overpowered, an unexpected sensation. What was most unsettling was that it was not unwelcome. A strong, decisive man after Gregory’s lazy indecision was… stimulating. And dangerous. She reminded herself that for all the charm he was a man and one who probably had no hesitation in seizing what he wanted if charm alone did not work. Men had no hesitation in using their superior strength to take advantage of a woman.
He had been without his devil-bird, but with a charming sister who was, it seemed, as bright as she was pretty. The wretch, after that kiss, to let her think he was with his wife! It did not mean he did not have one at home, of course. Not that she cared in the slightest.
But who was he? He had paid in cash, which must mean he was not one of the ton. If he had been, he would have simply handed her his card and expected her to send him an account. Besides, she had never seen him before yesterday and she knew everyone who was anyone, by sight at least. Whoever he was, he was wealthy. His clothes were, again, superb, with that hint of foreign styling. His sister, too, was dressed impeccably and the simple pearls at her neck and ears were of high quality.
A wealthy trader? If he was with the East India Company it might explain his presence at the docks. A ship owner, perhaps.
Phyllida realised she was twisting the chain of her chatelaine into a knot and released it with an impatient flick of her wrist. He was the first person who had connected any of the elements of her complicated life. But provided he was not in a position to link Mrs Drummond, the dealer who scoured the East End and the docks for treasures for the stock of Madame Deaucourt, owner of the Cabinet of Curiosity, with Phyllida Hurst, the somewhat shady sister of the Earl of Fransham, he was no danger, surely?
Except for your foolish fantasies, she scolded herself. She had never enjoyed being kissed before and that caress by the Customs House had been skilled, casually delivered as it had been. The man was a flirt of the worst kind, Phyllida told herself as she jammed the tinted spectacles back on her nose and went to open up the shop again.
And he must flirt with everything and anything in skirts, she decided, catching sight of herself in a mirror. He could hardly make the excuse that he had been so stunned by her beauty he had not known what he was doing. When properly dressed and coiffed she was, she flattered herself, not exactly an eyesore. But yesterday, in a plain stuff gown with her hair scraped back and hidden in that net, she should never have merited a second glance. Which was, of course, her intention. And it had taken him a while, even with those watchful green eyes, to recognise her in today’s outfit.
The problem was that she found herself wishing with a positively reckless abandon that her nameless man would spare her a second glance. And that kind of foolishness threatened the entire plan of campaign she had set in motion at the age of seventeen and which had cost her so dear. Idiot, she lectured herself. If he looks at you seriously it will be as a mistress, a possession, not a wife. And marriage was only a dream, not a possibility, for her.
‘Bonjour, madame.’ She opened the door and dipped a respectful curtsy to Lady Harington, who swept in with a brisk nod. She was a regular customer who obviously had no idea that she had spent quite fifteen minutes in conversation with Phyllida in her respectable guise only two evenings previously at a musicale.
‘I have received a small consignment of the most elegant fans from the Orient, madame.’ She lifted them from their silk wrappings and laid them out on the counter. ‘Each is unique and quite exclusive to myself. I am showing them only to clients of discernment.’ And they are very, very expensive, she decided, seeing the avid glint in her ladyship’s eyes. Earning the money to drag them back from the edge of ruin and to bring Gregory into complete respectability was everything. Nothing must be allowed to threaten that.
‘Thank you for my present, Ashe.’ Sara slid her hand under his elbow as they made their way from St James’s Square and turned right into Pall Mall. ‘Why did you let the shopkeeper believe we were married?’
‘I corrected her soon enough. It is no concern of hers.’ She was interested, though.
‘You were flirting with her.’
‘And what do you know of flirting, might I ask? You are not out yet.’ One of the problems with being male, single and all that implied was that Ashe was only too aware of the thoughts, desires and proclivities of the other single males who were going to come into contact with his beautiful, friendly, innocent sister. It was enough to make him want to lock her up and hide the key for at least another five years.
‘I was out in Calcutta. I went to parties and picnics and dances. Everything, in fact.’ She tilted her head and sent him a twinkling smile that filled him with foreboding. ‘It is just that you were in Kalatwah and didn’t know what I was up to.’
‘That is different. It is all much more formal here. All those rules and scandal lurking if we trip up on as much as one of them. Especially for you, which is unfair, but—’
‘I know. Young ladies must be beyond reproach, as innocent as babies.’ Sara sighed theatrically. ‘Such a pity I am not an innocent.’
‘What?’ Ashe slammed to a halt, realised where he was and carried on walking. If he had to take ship back to India to dismember whoever had got his hands on his little sister, he would. ‘Sarisa Melissa Herriard, who is he?’ he ground out.
‘No one, silly. I meant it theoretically. You don’t think Mata is like those idiotic women who don’t tell their daughters anything and expect them to work it all out on their wedding night, do you? Or leave them to get into trouble because they don’t understand what men want.’
Ashe moaned faintly. No, of course their mother, raised as an Indian princess, and presumably schooled in all the theory of the ancient erotic texts, would have passed that wisdom on to her daughter as she reached marriageable age. He just did not want to think about it.
He had been away from home too long and his baby sister had grown up too fast. On board ship he hadn’t realised. She had been her old enthusiastic, curious self and there had been no young men to flirt with except