Provocative in Pearls (31 page)

“I said nothing about mines, Castleford.”

“You spoke of iron. I heard it clearly.”

“I was not speaking to you at all. I was addressing Lady Hawkeswell.”

“Are you saying that you were trying to insult a lady instead of me? Really, Rawsley.”

Rawsley might have been blindfolded now, he was so confused. His young wife, however, was not. She sensed where this was going, and glared at her husband with some worry in her eyes. The very best might accept Castleford’s invitation to dine, but the smart ones avoided drawing too much of his attention while they did so.

Rawsley, unfortunately, was not smart. Nor was he aware of his wife’s growing ill ease.

“If a woman is the daughter of an ironmonger, there is no insult in mentioning that she is the daughter of an ironmonger,” Rawsley said in a haughty, sarcastic tone hardly intended to appease. “As for those mines of yours, congratulations. Your family fortune must have tripled during the war due to them, and you never had to dirty your hands yourself.”

Quite a bit of conversation ended then. Hawkeswell saw Castleford’s lids lower in a way he recognized. He caught Summerhays’s eye in warning. Verity, whose drills in etiquette did not include how to hide her surprise when the very best people misbehaved, gaped.

The Prince Regent called for more wine, then happily settled back to watch the show, apparently content that he had not erred in choosing this dinner party over the other invitations he received.

“Calling Lady Hawkeswell the daughter of an ironmonger was indeed no insult, since she proudly calls herself one, and for good cause. However, you insinuated that Hawkeswell is now engaged in trade, and a very dirty one at that. I doubt he cares for that,” Castleford said. “Do you, Hawkeswell?”

In unity, all the eyes on Castleford now turned to Hawkeswell. He cursed under his breath.

“In all fairness, Castleford, I would rather be called a tradesman than a war profiteer.”

“Yes,” Castleford said, his voice caressing the word slowly. “I was getting to that next.”

“Rawsley,” his wife hissed across the table.

Her husband wavered, but chose bravado instead of retreat. “Do you deny that you profited nicely from those mines during the war?”

Summerhays sighed. It was audible because absolutely no one was speaking now.

“I would have to ask my factors. I doubt that we brought the ore out at a loss. That would be stupid, not patriotic. Did you give away the grain grown on your lands or the wool from your sheep during the war, Rawsley?”

Rawsley tried to puzzle out how he could now have to justify his use of his land.

“You did not only indicate that I made a profit, but that I somehow profited excessively, because of the war,” Castleford said. “However, if you apologize to me, and to Hawkeswell and his good wife, we can continue our dinner without any challenges.”

Rawsley blanched at the allusion to duels. He sputtered and flushed and, since he was in his cups, sought to limit the defeat. “I did not insult the lady at all, as I said.”

“I am losing my patience,” Castleford said. Which he was, and woe unto Rawsley if he did. “You sought to embarrass her, and through her Hawkeswell, and I will not have one of my oldest friends taunted thus at my own table. You only failed because Lady Hawkeswell is not a slave to nonsense and cannot be embarrassed by a background that she has no reason to regret.”

Cornered now, every eye on him, the center of a scene that would be talked about for weeks, Rawsley twisted in the wind, fussing with consternation. Finally he muttered something that probably was an apology that blamed his misspeaking on the wine.

Castleford smiled, and turned to the Prince Regent with a question. Other conversations started buzzing. Hawkeswell assumed that everyone thought a better end to the drama would have been someone calling someone else out, but from the looks of things the company decided this had been an interesting entertainment equal to the duke’s reputation.

When the ladies left the gentlemen, Castleford offered Rawsley the first cigar to soothe his pride. Summerhays lit his own and sidled over to Hawkeswell.

“It appears that your wife has found favor with the duke after all. Rawsley was up to no good, and I think that entire spectacle was intended to draw his fire.”

“Perhaps it was. Although there is no reason for any favor. His call on her that day was very brief, and so mild and polite that I thought some friendly spirit had possessed him. He was sober too, so that made three days of abstinence in a row.” He gazed down the chamber at Castleford, who was enjoying a lot of ribald laughing with the Prince Regent. “Damnation, maybe he is becoming responsible on us.”

Summerhays laughed. “As falls Castleford, so falls the world?”

“It is enough to drive me to drink in his stead.”

“Too late. You are domesticated now. And if I may say it, you have appeared none the worse for it.”

“Marriage is easy enough for a man. The changes have all been hers.”

Summerhays found that very amusing. “Of course.”

“I am in no mood for your self-satisfied smugness. You will have to excuse me. I have a question for our host.”

He left Summerhays and repositioned himself in a chair near Castleford. Eventually another man claimed the Prince Regent’s attention, and Hawkeswell in turn claimed Castleford’s.

“That was quite a performance.”

Castleford puffed deeply on his cigar. “You can thank me anytime it is convenient.”

“I should thank you?”

“Had I not created a scene, you would be meeting poor Rawsley at dawn in some meadow. He was on his way to insulting you in his besotted sense of wit. Since your wife was being dragged into it, you would not have let it pass.”

No, he wouldn’t have. “Lady Rawsley appeared extremely grateful that you did not call him out yourself.”

“Lady Rawsley, I have found, is always extremely grateful. It is in her nature.”

“Well, now I know why you were so generous. No point in killing a man if you can cuckold him.”

“A duel could complicate things too.”

Hawkeswell could see how it might. Castleford would not want Lady Rawsley
too
grateful. “About those mines of yours. Do you have many?”

“During the war, only one. It came with the estate. However, I have been buying more.”

“Indeed? The demand for iron is much decreased the last two years. The value of my wife’s legacy is a shadow of its former self.”

“It is true that the demand has radically decreased. That is how I buy the mines so cheaply.”

“Are you expecting another war?”

“I am expecting the effects of war without a war. Hawkeswell, you are not a stupid man. Far from it. I think that you know that your family fortune was ruined by two things. One was your father’s uncanny consistency in losing when he gambled. The other was your family’s adherence to land alone as the source of income.”

Hawkeswell knew the limits of landholding better than most. He did not need anyone’s instruction on that.

Castleford bent his head closer. “Hold on to that ironworks, my friend. Keep it solvent even if you have to sell your soul. In ten years the demand for my mines’ ore and your mill’s furnaces will make our current fortunes appear small.”

He reached for the port, and called to another friend, dropping the subject as quickly as he had started it.

T
hinking back over the evening on the way home, Verity hoped the dinner party a success. While the very best people might disapprove of her as a countess, or pity Hawkeswell for having had to stoop so low, they could nevertheless be generous and gracious to one’s face at least, and keep the gossip for another time.

The night created a euphoria, which gave her confidence, which helped her to make a decision while her maid brushed out her hair.

She put on a new undressing gown that she had commissioned. Made of the thinnest lawn, so fine and soft that it flowed like silk, it depended on its exquisite white fabric rather than embellishments for its beauty. Colleen had thought it too plain, much as some people always think the flowers with single petals less beautiful than the fuller blooms.

She reached up to unclasp the pearls, but thought better of it. He liked when she wore them. He had commented on it this evening in the coach. He thought they enhanced her appearance. No, that was not what he had said at all. He had said that she enhanced the pearls’ beauty, which was an odd way to put it.

She dismissed her maid, and gently rapped on the door to Hawkeswell’s dressing room. Hawkeswell opened it, and through the door she saw Drummund departing the other way.

“I did not mean to intrude,” she said. “If you are still with your valet, I will—”

“Come in. I have only to wash, and we can talk about the dinner if you like.”

She sat in one of the chairs. He stripped off his shirt and turned to the basin that Drummund had already prepared. Using soap and rag, he began to wash.

The lamp’s glow flattered him, and she admired his strong back, and the way he moved in completing this simple chore. Arousal purred in her, while her gaze lingered on his shoulders and the lean sculpting of his arms and torso.

“I do want to talk to you, but not about the dinner.”

He reached for a towel and dried his face. He turned to her while he buffed the water off his chest and arms. “I am listening.”

“I have a favor to ask. I want something from you.”

“Somehow, from your expression, I do not think it is a new gown.”

“No. Nothing material.”

“Of course not. That would be too easy. I am not going to like this request, am I?”

What could she say? No, he would not. He already knew that. His question had not been necessary. His eyes had darkened the way they did when he was not pleased. His gaze had turned serious.

“I see that you are still wearing the pearls. That means I am really not going to like this.” He laughed a little.

She stood and walked over to him. A few beads of water still glistened on his chest. She dotted her finger on them, lifting them one by one. “You said that they make you forget yourself.”

“Actually, I said that the way they look above your naked breasts makes me forget myself.” He took her hand, and laid her palm flat on his skin. “If you intend to ask for something that I will not like, you had better use all your feminine wiles, Verity.”

“What if I do not have sufficient wiles?”

“You underestimate yourself.”

She was not sure that she had sufficient wiles, unfortunately. Even at her boldest, she was not very bold.

She kissed his chest, at the spots where those drops of water had been. Then she stepped back. Her fingers worked the buttons on her undressing gown. The lovely white fabric parted, showing skin from neck to stomach. The edges fluttered at the sides of her breasts.

He made no move to embrace her. She realized he expected her to do the rest, not him. Stirring deeply now, tightening from her own touch, she eased the white cloth off her shoulders and let it fall in a soft drop until it pooled at her feet.

He lightly stroked along the curve of pearls, then in a lower arc on her chest.

“You wanted me to do that myself,” she said.

“Yes. But leave the pearls on.”

“Are you going to tell me what else you want me to do, or must I ponder it out myself?”

“If I tell you, you may feel obligated, in order to get what you want.”

“I will do nothing under obligation. That is not my nature.”

He smiled in agreement, while his fingertips skimmed lower, lower. “Then I will tell you and show you and you can choose which favor you will grant. And I will see if I can convince you to grant them all.”

Her ultimate request had already faded in importance. The erotic expectations occupied her mind now, and the way he gazed at her body and those pearls, and that skimming touch, so luring and exciting.

She did not require any instruction in a few things. She could continue taking the initiative at the beginning at least. She moved closer and laid her hands high on his chest. She kissed the skin in front of her, then his neck, then his lips.

His hands cupped her bottom and pulled her close, hard against him so her breasts pressed his chest and his erection prodded her stomach while he claimed her mouth in a hard, thrilling kiss. Furious and hot, he tasted with mouth and tongue, then moved to her neck and pulse, her chest and breast, all the while holding her harder, his hands grasping her bottom, even as they caressed, his hardness hot against her until in her spinning excitement she wanted to feel him and release her hunger the same way he did.

She caressed down his back, and around the top of his trousers to the front. Finding the buttons, she worked at them until the fabric sagged. Impatient now, she pushed it down, then his small clothes, to free his nakedness too. She dropped to her knees and pushed lower yet, uncovering his legs.

He looked down at her, his expression severe and his eyes burning. His whole body was taut and so was hers. Taut and alive and sensitive. Already anticipation created a compelling, delicious pleasure of desire.

She helped get the trousers off his feet.

“You look so beautiful there. So erotic,” he said, watching her. “Pale. Bejewelled. Ready.”

Yes, ready. She stood, with some difficulty. Her body was interested in other things besides holding her upright.

His fingertips circled her neck from nape to throat, toying with pearls and skin. They followed the drop of the largest, central pearl to the top of her breasts, then teased in paths around the swells, closer and closer to her two hard nipples. The chant of urges and begs began in her head like it always did when she was ready. She had always been weak against the cravings he could make her feel.