The Tempestuous Debutante: Book 4 in the Cotillion Ball Series (Crimson Romance) (15 page)

“Do feel free to tell me to mind my own business.” She batted her eyes at him in an exaggerated motion. He had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing.

“But?”

“But should you not be thinking of getting married instead of building a racetrack empire? Isn’t it the duty of the aristocracy to hand the lands and title down from male heir to male heir?”

He smiled at her. “I’m surprised that you are aware of even that much about the English and their peerage.”

She preened and ran her hands over her small breasts again. Alistair’s eyes followed the movement. If she meant to entice him, she’d have to do better than that. He had no physical reaction to her emphasis of her modest assets.

“I’ve been doing my homework, my lord,” she replied as she ran her hand down his arm again.

“Please, no titles. And the reason there are no children is because my wife died in childbirth, trying to give me the requisite son.”

Jasmine shifted on the blanket. “But surely you need to marry again soon and produce your heir.”

Alistair laughed. “There’s no real hurry. After all, my father is still alive and quite active. When he passes, I may take the obligation more seriously. But until then, I’m content to work on establishing our racing dynasty here in America. I’m not eager to place another woman in such a perilous position.”

He caught Jasmine’s frown. “But women have babies every day, and don’t die from it. Surely what happened to your wife was an exception.”

“I’m aware of that. But I loved my wife dearly, and to see her die while trying to present me with an heir broke my heart. I vowed then not to place another woman in that position until I absolutely have to.”

Jasmine ran her hand down Alistair’s arm. “I’m very sorry about what happened to your wife, and think it’s commendable of you not to want to place another woman in that circumstance. But to deny yourself from ever loving again is not right, either. You need a woman to take care of you.”

Colleen’s voice rose over the expanse of grass that she had put between herself and the pair. “Miss Jasmine, we should be heading back.” Jasmine threw a glance at her that Alistair could only interpret as annoyance. But Alistair silently thanked the lady’s maid for speaking up. Their conversation was skating very near the edge of propriety, and he wanted to get it back on solid ground.

As he assisted her up onto her horse, he decided to speak to Parr about the business arrangement he had just orchestrated for him with Jasmine. And he wanted to reinforce to Parr again the relationship between George Fitzpatrick and himself. Jasmine was truly a tempestuous woman, and he didn’t want a moment of indiscretion to be Parr’s demise. Or his.

• • •

Alistair breathed a shallow sigh as Jasmine and Colleen took their leave of the ranch. There was only so much talk of ribbons, seed pearls, bolts of silk, and qualities of boot leather he could take. He was aware that Jasmine’s decision to cut their ride short was a ploy to string him along, but he truly didn’t mind. When Lydia told him she was leaving town for a few weeks, the bottom had dropped out of his stomach. He yearned for her, even now, and was counting the days until she returned to New York.

So why was his reaction to Jasmine not one of agony over her departure but rather one of relief? He turned on his heel, grinding the gravel into the earth, as he headed toward the house. The lunch his cook had prepared for himself and Jasmine would be eaten by himself and Parr instead. No great loss.

As he waited for Parr to finish up with the horses they had used on their ride, he lit a cheroot and slid into one of his comfortable leather chairs in his library. He ran a hand over his face as he thought about Jasmine. How was he going to get out of the situation now? He could almost feel her mother’s teeth nipping at his heels, anxious for her daughter to become a titled member of the British aristocracy. He punched his hand into the seat of the chair. Damn it, this was why he’d left England! Lydia was the type of woman he wanted, not some young ingénue. Lydia excited him. Just thinking about her made him rock hard. Yet Jasmine had been in his physical presence for over an hour, and his body had no reaction. That should be enough of a reason to stop this madness now.

Except there was George. Yes, he could probably make his way through New York’s society structure without him, and gain admittance to the more private social clubs, but he truly enjoyed George’s company. And Charlotte, even though she could give the most predatory of English mothers a run for their money, was charming in her own way. So, until Lydia returned to his side, he’d continue to allow Jasmine to be his escort to all the social functions that were ahead in the next few weeks. By the time of Lydia’s return, he’d either have true feelings for Jasmine or he wouldn’t. But his relationship with George and Charlotte would be secure, regardless.

Jasmine was unsettled for the remainder of the day. She told herself it was the excitement of her shop’s opening day that caused her unease. She eagerly greeted the women who visited, in search of the latest designs she’d created. Together with Colleen, they selected bolts of silks and silk satins to use for the fashionable gowns about to be created. The worktable was awash in iridescent jewel tones and the palest pastels as one bolt after another was unfurled across its smooth surface. The ladies dashed excitedly from one swath of color to the next, running their fingers over the lush fabrics. The shop was filled with the competing scents from their perfumes and toilet waters.

“Land’s sakes, Jasmine,” cooed Amanda Phillips, best friend to both Jasmine and Heather. “The French designers shown in
Godey’s
must be quaking in their slippers right now. You are going to give Charles Frederick Worth indigestion. Your designs are so superior. New Yorkers won’t need to travel to France to obtain haute couture anymore. Who could have guessed you had this hidden talent all along?”

Parr figured it out.
The thought snaked through Jasmine’s mind before she could stop it. She smiled at Amanda’s compliment. Yes, things were going well.

“Let me find the right shade for you, Amanda. I came across some watered silk here just the other day that I thought would be spectacular on you.” She did a quick scan of the shop and the bolts of fabric that stood at odd angles in the room. “Mr. Morgan, where is that bolt of deep purple?”

Blake brought his attention up from the hat he was blocking and strode across the room. “Here it is, Miss Fitzpatrick. It was hidden behind my new shipment.” He held the requested fabric out to Jasmine, but Amanda grabbed it instead. She held it up against herself and ran her hands over its surface.

“Ooh, I love the color. Jasmine, you are right. It’s perfect. What do you think, Mr. Morgan?” She preened in front of Blake.

“It suits you, Miss Phillips. Although you do look lovely in your green dress, which matches your eyes. But the deep purple is unexpected, and highlights your porcelain skin.”

His comments brought a pale pink blush to Amanda’s cheeks. With a little edge of cattiness, Jasmine thought Amanda’s “porcelain” skin would look better with a dash of color. She glanced from Amanda to Blake. They had locked gazes with one another and it was as if Jasmine didn’t even exist.

With a small sigh, she moved from their side, leaving them to their moment. She had discussed Blake Morgan with both Amanda and Heather last year, since before he made his intentions known to Heather, he’d briefly courted both of them. Perhaps this year, he and Amanda would get together. It seemed that Amanda was keen on the idea at least. Jasmine’s thoughts catapulted to designing a wedding gown for her friend. Not in white, which would totally wash her out. Maybe a deep cream color … She wandered the bolts of fabric until she found the one she wanted.

Returning to the pair, who were still locked in eye contact with each other, Jasmine held up the bolt of cream in front of the purple. “Stunning. Just as I thought.”

Amanda and Blake broke their gaze finally, as both stared at the cream fabric.

“What are you doing, Jasmine? I thought we were in agreement on the purple.”

“For now, possibly, Amanda. But, Mr. Morgan, isn’t she a vision in this cream?”

Jasmine smiled in amusement as Blake Morgan’s Adam’s apple bobbed up and down.

“Yes, she is, Miss Fitzpatrick. I can almost see the gown.”

He took Amanda’s hand and brought it to his lips. “Perhaps you’ll let me escort you to the theatre when your purple gown is finished.”

“I’d welcome that very much, Mr. Morgan.”

He turned away and went back to his seat at the hat block. Amanda grabbed Jasmine’s hand and squeezed it tightly. Yes, Jasmine was fairly confident she’d be creating that wedding dress before the season was out. With a sigh, she wondered if she’d ever get to make her own.

• • •

As the first day came to a close, an exhausted yet elated Jasmine sat near her brother, Halwyn. She had only experienced this kind of excitement one other time in her life. Halwyn had stopped by to show her the bookkeeping system he had set up, and she turned over to him the results of her first day’s sales. She followed his movements as he tallied up the total amount and entered it into his books. Halwyn was a man of few words, but his lifted eyebrow gave her immense satisfaction.

Accompanied by Colleen, they began the short walk back to the family brownstone. As Colleen chattered away above the noise of the bustling street about their successful opening and how she was going to organize her work schedule for the following day, Jasmine let her mind wander to the only other time she had encountered this kind of excitement.

The memory of Parr’s kisses still punctuated her nightly dreams. And her waking moments. Now, as she walked down the street beside Colleen, she relived the sensation of his lips on hers. She brushed her hand over her mouth. And she remembered his hard shaft up against her midsection, making her ache with sensations that were foreign to her, and exciting. He pressed her up against the stall and her treacherous body groaned for more. Since that night in the stable, when Blaze was born, she hadn’t been able to put him out of her mind. But surely, between her successful shop and her continued success with Alistair, Parr would soon take a back seat in her mind. At least that was her plan.

• • •

Locked in her bedroom, Jasmine worked furiously with her sketchpad. Her head was full of ideas, and she scrambled to get them down on paper before she forgot them. Colleen had gone to the Bowery Theatre the previous evening, during her night off from the Fitzpatricks. The Bowery Theatre had opened its doors way back in the 1820s to a warm reception by New York society. After all, it did have the backing of John Jacob Astor. But by the present day, there were many choices for theatre in Manhattan, and the Bowery, being away from the newer, more upscale theatres, now catered mostly to the working classes. Those of Irish heritage especially enjoyed the bawdy entertainment found at the Bowery, both on and off the stage.

When Colleen arrived home, she woke Jasmine to tell her the headlining actress had seen Colleen’s dress and asked where she had found it. Colleen had handed Eliza Logan a card with the shop’s name and location, and she said she’d stop by the next day. Jasmine was so excited about dressing an actress, she stayed up the remainder of the night, working on different designs. She needed something grand, and, based on Colleen’s description of the actress, Jasmine came up with a few designs that would enhance the woman’s pale blonde coloring, and her petite frame.

She now had four different looks to show Miss Logan, along with several of her older designs. Surely, one of them would appeal to her. Jasmine’s mind raced through the bolts of deeply toned silks in the shop, mentally pulling a few that would complement the woman’s skin tone. She sorted through the various embellishments she could use to set the gown off. Fringe was an excellent choice, but an actress might prefer feathers and jewels. Jasmine could hardly wait to meet the woman, and get a sense of her style.

Finally putting down the pad and the charcoal, she returned to her bed. She needed a few hours of sleep at least before she and Colleen left for the shop. They were smart to not open the shop too early. After all, the socialites they were appealing to rarely rose before noon. Then they spent their afternoons shopping or riding in the park, followed by a formal dinner and entertainment in the evening, either the theatre or a dance.

Jasmine was starting week two of her three-week blitz for Alistair’s affections. She thought she’d made some progress. His eyes had raked over her body the last time they were together as she drew attention to her attributes, but he’d behaved as a true gentleman regardless. She’d have to try harder this evening, when he took her to a small gathering of people who were affiliated with the bank. It would undoubtedly be a boring evening of financial talk, but she was pleased that Alistair was willing to be seen in these intimate settings with her. Society talked, and she was certain the buzz tomorrow would be all about her and Alistair — the new couple. Wouldn’t Lydia Smith be in for a surprise when she returned from wherever she had wandered off to? Yes, things with Alistair were proceeding according to her plans, although she expected more heat from him. After all, she’d seen him with Lydia a time or two, and his response to her was that of a lovesick puppy. Ah, well, she still had time.

As she pulled the covers over her head and closed her eyes, Parr’s face crept into her mind. He would be so happy for her new success, especially if she managed to sell a dress to an Irish actress! With a groan, she opened her eyes and rolled onto her side.
Go away, Parr. I should be thinking instead about Alistair and what he will have to say about my accomplishment.

She closed her eyes again. Still, a vision of a head of black hair and eyes of ice-blue danced through her mind. Giving up trying to fight him off, she let herself remember the texture of his hair when she’d run her hand through it before she plopped his new cap on his head. So thick and luxurious. She wanted to bury her hands in his hair again and drag his mouth to hers, where it belonged, so he could ravish her with kisses and make her as weak and helpless as he had done that night. The pressure of his lips on hers, first hard and demanding, then soft as a feather, then urgent with need, had made her senses reel. She’d never been kissed in such a fashion before. She touched her lips at the memory of Parr’s onslaught and groaned again, this time not in frustration, but in need.