The Tempestuous Debutante: Book 4 in the Cotillion Ball Series (Crimson Romance) (9 page)

Jasmine plucked at her gray wool skirt and traced its subtle pattern with her finger. “That’s a lovely sentiment, Papa, but it’s not realistic in today’s world. Women want to wear beautiful clothes, and Colleen and I can give it to them! Here, take a look at my drawings.” She opened her sketchpad for him to observe.

George studied each drawing with care. “These are quite good, Jasmine. Are you saying you’ve reworked a dress already?”

Jasmine nodded excitedly. “Yes, several. The one I wore the night we had Alistair and Parr to dinner was a restructured gown that we worked on.”

“Well, it was quite lovely, to be sure.”

“And my riding boots! Parr helped me get the function I needed in a boot, but I designed them. And after Philippe made my pair, he made others, using my pattern. He stole my design from me, Papa, and is passing it off as his own.”

George’s eyes came up from the sketchbook. “The boots must have some merit, then. That man has done enough harm to you, Jasmine, without stealing your design, too. He should be held accountable for his misdeeds. What is it you’re proposing?”

“Oh, Papa, I went to see Blake Morgan. You and he talked last year about how he wants to expand his shop, and begin to carry ladies’ clothing, too. I showed him my sketches and told him what Philippe had done, and he agreed to become my partner, and let me sell my creations from his store. That is, if your bank will provide the necessary funds to get me started.”

“Hmmm. Blake’s a good man, but a bit of a prig when it comes to women. What did you do to convince him to partner with you?”

“I showed him my other boot designs. He obviously thinks footwear is what we should focus on first.”

“Let me see your boot designs, then.”

Jasmine opened the sketchbook to her various boot creations. George flipped the pages slowly, and then turned his attention to her. “These are quite good, Jasmine. But gently bred women do not become shopkeepers. Not in this day and time. Besides, you know nothing about a balance sheet, or anything about how to formulate a business plan. It’s not a feasible idea, at least not right now. The economy is shaky enough as it is, making this a poor time to launch a fledgling business. And you do have your season coming up, which will take all your time and effort from April on.”

Jasmine’s face fell.

“Beggin’ your pardon, Mr. Fitzpatrick,” Colleen interjected. “Miss Jasmine has been single-minded in her focus since she realized she had a talent to share with the world. Her achievements are no different from those of Ginger or Heather. I think ’twould be a pity to deny her dream.”

George shook his head. “Colleen, you know my girls as well as I do. This is merely something Jasmine is doing to pass the time until the season begins.” He glanced at his daughter, who was fighting back tears. “I’m sorry, my darling child, but it’s true. I love you very much, but you’ve not been able to keep your mind on two things at once ever since you were born. If you find a beau and begin to spend time together, when would you have time for a business?”

Jasmine took Colleen’s hand, silently pleading with her. She noticed Colleen’s agitation, and caught her hard swallow.

“Mr. Fitzpatrick, I’m sorry if I’m speaking out of turn, and you may see fit to fire me, but you don’t give your own daughter enough credit. Young Parr O’Shaughnessy can see the potential she has, and he believes in her, but you, her own father, cannot. She’s extremely talented, and she could single-handedly send Monsieur Louboutin back to France, if she’s a mind to. And did it not occur to you that I might want to do something more with me own life than to be a lady’s maid? I’m sorry, sir, for me outburst, but you should give your daughter more of her due. I consider her me own child, and I’m not happy at all with the way you’re treating her.”

Jasmine and George both stared at Colleen as she jumped from her chair and left the room, slamming the door behind her.

They locked stares, but neither spoke for a long minute.

Her father’s face broke into a smile as he rubbed his hand on his chin. “Her brogue is much stronger when she’s angry, don’t you think?”

Jasmine smoothed her hair, and folded her hands in her lap. “You know, she’s right, Papa. Since before we could even talk, Heather was tagged as the quiet, bashful one, and I was outgoing and shallow. It was unfair of you and Mother to give us those labels, but what’s done is done, and we both did our best to fulfill the roles you gave us. But this is my time and this is what I want to do with my life, even if I do find a beau. It was all right with you to let Ginger work in the bank, even though she’s a ‘gently-bred’ woman. And Heather decided to open a school and that was fine with you. Why should you deny me, when I’ve finally found my calling in life?”

She stood up, placed her hands on the edge of his desk, and leaned over to look him in the eye. “If you don’t want to fund my partnership with Mr. Morgan, I’m sure I can find the resources necessary at any of the other banks in town. However it happens, I will do this. For both myself and for Colleen.”

George smiled at her then. “Well, we can’t have you taking your business elsewhere, can we? I’m pleased that you are thinking not only of your own welfare, but of Colleen’s as well. You’ve grown up quite a bit in the past few months. Why don’t you sit back down and lay out your plans for me? Maybe we can involve Halwyn in the business side of the venture, at least to get you ladies started.”

It had been an exceedingly long thirty-six hours, and Parr was exhausted. The mare had not had an easy delivery. The colt was breech and needed to be turned while in the mare’s belly. Parr was covered with blood by the time the colt emerged. Ah, but what a beauty! He couldn’t wait to work with the latest addition to the stable.

He rolled his shoulders as he washed the last of the blood off his hands, changed his shirt, and splashed some fresh water on his face. He needed sleep desperately, and a shave, but he couldn’t tear himself away from the colt. Not yet. ’Twas a miracle, to be sure, for the babe to be walking around the stall already. Parr noticed the long legs and the intelligent face as he got on his haunches to put himself at eye level with the little animal. “Ah, ’twill be a pleasure to work with you, my handsome lad.” He ran his hand down the colt’s flank and envisioned riding him to the finish line.

The sound of footsteps broke into Parr’s consciousness. He tore his attention from the colt to find Jasmine standing just outside the stall.

“Ooh, a baby! How delicious.”

“Just born an hour ago,” Parr replied as he stood up. “Come on in, take a closer look.”

Jasmine let herself into the stall so she could stand alongside him.

“He’s a mite wobbly yet, but he’s up on all four legs. And, Lordy, what great legs they be.”

“I love the white blaze down the middle of his face, in all that black hide. He’s beautiful, Parr.”

“What are you doing here, my bonny cailín, instead of being up at the house with Alistair?”

“I thought you’d be joining us for dinner, too, but when I found out what was keeping you in the barn, I wanted to see for myself what was going on before we sat down for the meal.”

“He is a beauty, isn’t he?” Parr could not keep his eyes off the colt.

“May I pet him?”

“Best not to. The mother’s a mite dodgy yet. In a few days, you can.”

“Have you given him a name already?”

“It’s Alistair’s horse, so he’ll get that honor. If you have a name in mind, share it with him tonight.”

“Well, enough of horses for the moment. I have something for you.” She brought a bag out from behind her back and handed it to him. “I thought of you when I came across this, and wanted to give it to you.”

Parr opened the bag and pulled out a fine, gray tweed cap. He ran his hands over it, aware of its sumptuousness. It was much finer than anything he had ever before had. He got a lump in his throat, and swallowed hard before he answered.

“’Tis lovely, Miss Fitzpatrick, but I canna accept such a generous gift.”

“Yes, you can, and you will. I owe you much more than that. You were able to get me past my fear of horses. Look at me now, standing here next to them. Not to mention the whole boot idea. I have much to thank you for. Here, let me put it on you, so I can see how it looks.”

She took the cap from his hands, and reached up to brush his hair back from his forehead. Parr’s stomach jumped at the contact, as did other body parts. She smiled at him and ran a hand through his hair as she took another step forward. Placing the cap on his head, she then tugged on it gently to get the right angle. Their gazes locked for a long moment. Parr noticed desire in her eyes, and it mirrored the flash of fire in his. Feelings that had been too long denied. He took a step back.

“Shouldn’t you get a move on back to your dinner party, and to Alistair? He told me that Lydia Smith is visiting her sister in Virginia for a few weeks, so the way is now clear for you.”

Jasmine dropped her head. “I suppose it is.”

“Well, you don’t sound all that happy about it, cailín. That is what you want, isn’t it?”

Her eyes came back up and searched his face. “Yes, of course it is.” Her eyes flashed as she held his bold stare. He followed the movement in her delicate throat as she swallowed. And nearly groaned as her pink tongue darted out to moisten her lips.

He reached up and removed the cap, carefully setting it on an overturned bucket. Then he moved back to her side. They were a hair’s breadth apart. His eyes focused on her lush lower lip and he lost control.

“I don’t think Alistair is what you want at all. I think this is.” He backed her up to the stall fence and captured that full lower lip between his teeth in a kiss that had been too long in coming. His tongue entered her mouth and his stomach jumped when she moaned in delight.

Finally emerging from this dream, he blinked his eyes and backed away. For the love of God, what had he done?

Jasmine was breathing as hard as he was, as she stood by the wall, looking well kissed but furious. Her hand slashed through the space between them and connected with his cheek.

“How dare you kiss me!” Her eyes sparkled with fury as she stared at him. She reached out for him again, but this time she put her hands on either side of his head and pulled him to her, kissing him with a passion he wasn’t aware existed in her.

He wrapped his arms around her and she held his face as they deepened the kiss. They ricocheted around the small available space in the stall, bumping into the gate, the mare, and the wall as their tongues continued to collide with one another. She tasted of mint, and her lavender water rose from her skin to wrap them in a sensual bliss. Parr let his hand drift down her back until he cupped her bottom. His boldness was rewarded with a groan from her. He backed her up against the wall again, and placed his leg between hers as he pressed into her. His moan matched hers as they continued the kiss. Out of breath, they finally broke apart.

Jasmine took several steps back from him, her eyes filling with tears, and her hand on her mouth. “What have you done, Parr?”

“I think there were two tongues involved here, cailín, not just mine. And you didn’t gag, as you did with the cobbler’s.”

She turned from him as her tears spilled over onto her cheeks. She moved quickly to the stall door, then stopped suddenly and turned her attention to the floor. The hem of her dress was trailing through a pile of fresh horse manure.

“Oh, no. Now my dress is ruined.”

“’Tis not ruined. You merely have to wash it.”

“But I’m about to have dinner with Alistair! I can’t sit down to dine with him smelling of horse dung! You’ve ruined everything, Parr O’Shaughnessy. I hate you!”

“I’m sorry, cailin. Not for the kiss. No, never for that. But I overstepped, and for that, I’m sorry.”

Jasmine wiped the tears from her face as she let herself out of the stall, and out of Parr’s life.

• • •

Jasmine stopped her headlong flight just outside the stable, and leaned up against the wall. She needed to pull herself together before she returned to the house. What had just happened? She bent over as her stomach roiled, and her tears continued. Parr was merely a friend, someone to possibly flirt with, filling the same role Philippe had done the previous year. Why had he kissed her? And why, after giving him a slap on the cheek for his outrageous liberty, had she taken his face in her hands and insisted — no,
demanded
— he continue? Their kisses had been scorchingly hot, and all the stolen kisses she’d had in years past paled in comparison to this.

My God, Parr was not who she wanted. She put a hand on the side of her head to stop her thoughts from spinning. Alistair was the man she needed in her life, if she wanted to continue in the indulgent lifestyle her parents had provided for her thus far. And she’d best remember that. She now had her moment of opportunity with him. The woman who’d turned Alistair’s head initially — her rival, Lydia Smith — would be returning from visiting her sister in time for the season’s commencement. Which meant Jasmine had a mere handful of weeks to convince Alistair that she was indeed a worthy replacement.

She may not have Lydia’s flaming red hair, or her knowledge of what was involved when it came to lovemaking, but she could match Lydia with intelligence any day of the week. So far, Alistair thought of her only as a piece of confection, adding to the conversation if they were talking about social events and the upcoming high season. If she wanted to fulfill her ambition to be engaged to Alistair by the time the events started in earnest, she had to redouble her efforts, and quit dawdling with the help. Stable boys were for young women, to test their abilities at things such as flirting and kissing. But they were not to be taken seriously. Alistair was the only one worthy of her company.

She straightened herself, and wiped the last of the tears away. If anyone noticed and asked her about them, she’d simply say she was overwhelmed by seeing a newborn colt. Yes, that would do. And if she could come up with a clever name for the horse, Alistair just might see that she was more than a pretty face. If he bestowed her chosen name on the horse, she would be convinced she was making headway. Now, if only something could be done for the dung on her hem. She bent over to make a closer inspection of the damage.