Tempting Mr. Weatherstone: A Wallflower Wedding Novella (Originally Appeared in the E-Book Anthology FIVE GOLDEN RINGS) (4 page)

She averted her face to hide her blush.

“Perhaps she would prefer a beautiful brooch?” The shopkeeper eagerly reached into the next case and produced a jade tortoise accented with cabochon garnets. “This came from the farthest reaches of the Orient.”

“No doubt,” Ethan said convincingly, as if equally certain. Yet she knew him better than that and wondered what game he was playing. “And perhaps all manner of reptiles make for fashionable jewelry in the farthest reaches of the Orient, as well. What say you, Miss Rutledge,” he asked without turning away from the shopkeeper. “Do you prefer one reptile over another? Snakes, perhaps?”

She pressed her lips together in an effort to hide her smile. “I cannot say I’m overly fond of any type of reptile, Mr. Weatherstone.”

“Miss Rutledge does not care for tortoises,” Ethan said, matter-of-fact, causing the shopkeeper to snatch away the brooch.

“Yes, of course,” he stammered apologetically, as he found yet another brooch, this one even larger than the tortoise. “Perhaps a young woman of her refined taste would prefer something more like this bird of paradise.”

The bird was truly hideous. Nearly the size of her hand, the brooch was a garish conglomeration of multicolored gemstones, so bright it nearly hurt her eyes to look at it. In an effort to save her vision, she looked up to study Ethan’s profile.

“One of a kind?” he asked.

“Yes, of course,” the shopkeeper stated proudly. “It comes from the farthest reaches of Africa.”

He tapped his index finger against his lip as if truly considering it. She was about to balk, but then noticed the faintest smile curve the corner of his mouth. “Do you have anything that doesn’t reach quite so far?”

A laugh escaped her, the sound coming out like a strangled hiccup. She pressed her fingertips to her mouth to stifle any more sudden bursts of joviality. Neither of the gentlemen regarded her, but she was certain that Ethan was also fighting to control his amusement in the way he scrubbed his hand over his mouth as if smoothing his nonexistent mustachios.

The shopkeeper put the enormous bird brooch back in the case. “Perhaps if I knew her favorite gemstone, I might be of greater assistance.”

“Miss Rutledge prefers sapphires.”

Her gaze turned sharply to his. “I do?”

Smug as ever, he grinned, practically daring her to deny it. Of course, the smile was most likely left over from a moment ago. After all, how could he know such a thing? She was sure they’d never spoken of gemstones before.

“I have just the thing,” the shopkeeper announced with excitement, as if this were a scavenger hunt, and he was determined to win the parlor game. “Wait a moment. I keep my most prized possessions in the safe.”

In the next instant, he disappeared behind a curtained doorway.

Penelope studied Ethan. She was used to his teasing, but this . . . this was something different. Truthfully, she didn’t know what to make of it. “I do believe that all you had to do to get your mother’s jewelry cleaned was to buy the emerald earbobs.”

“I know.” He chuckled and reached his hand up as if to touch her face but then lowered it instead and shrugged. “I wanted to give you an adventure. You are having fun, are you not?”

She blinked in wide-eyed awe. “This diversion is for me?”

He looked away as if embarrassed by the admission. “A small morning adventure.”

It was probably the sweetest thing he’d ever done. If she hadn’t always loved him, she would definitely have fallen in love with him in this moment.

Oh, how she hated him for surprising her and making her love him all over again. It made being close to him all the more confusing.

“Ethan, I—” She was about to tell him that this didn’t change anything, that especially now she needed to put some distance between them, but at that precise moment the shopkeeper came back in, holding a small, blue velvet box.

“Now this is truly unique. Very special,” he announced with a flourish as he set the box down and opened the lid.

This time he did not exaggerate. The ring was like nothing she’d ever seen. She gasped, because that was what one did when confronted with such brilliance and beauty. The ring was a masterpiece of artistry with a single center diamond surrounded by six dark blue sapphires the color of midnight.

“See how they catch the light?”

She nodded. It was impossible that stones so dark could give off such radiance, but they did.

“And the filigree work in gold. See how the artist filled the swirls with blue enamel?”

Penelope couldn’t speak. She could only stare. It was the most beautiful piece of jewelry she’d ever seen.

“Surely, it was crafted for royalty.” Even Ethan sounded awestruck.

“You have a discerning eye, sir.” He carefully adjusted his glove before he picked the ring from the box, enticing them by turning it in the light. “Yes, indeed, it was a betrothal present for an Egyptian princess. Her young man commissioned this ring to be made for their wedding, but when word reached him that her father was not going to approve the match, the young man took matters into his own hands. He stole away with the princess in the middle of the night. Fearing capture if they returned, the ring stayed at the jeweler’s for decades until finally it ended up here.”

Ethan had the strength to look away, apparently not as captivated by the ring and its history as she. “With a story like that, you’ll be sure to sell this ring in no time. And to think, the earbobs took no story at all for the sale.”

The shopkeeper smiled pleasantly, taking the news without argument. He set the ring back inside the box and closed the lid without warning. She watched the velvet box disappear behind the counter as Ethan drew the pouch of his mother’s jewelry from his inner coat pocket.

The men completed their transaction with few words, and, before she knew it, she and Ethan were climbing into his carriage.

Ethan settled himself across from her, eyeing her with curiosity as the driver returned them to Danbury Lane.

Since he’d tried so hard to give her an adventure, even a small one of silliness, she didn’t want him to think her silence was because she was displeased. “I feel sad for the ring.”

He chuckled. “Whatever for?”

“Because it was left behind,” she said simply. “It’s been sitting in a box all this time, just waiting for something monumental to happen.”

In an instant, Ethan’s gaze turned from amusement to disapproval. “You’re still talking about adventures, I see.”

Hurt that his mood could alter so quickly, she frowned. For one moment, Penelope thought he understood, but now she realized that his
small morning adventure
was only a diversion to placate her. “I suppose so,” she said, her defenses up.

“And what did your father say when you asked him for the money to hire a coach and traveling companion to take you to the Continent?”

“I have money of my own.” Her father would not approve, she knew. One of the reasons she’d yet to commit herself fully to this new adventure was because she knew leaving him, even for a short time, would hurt him. If Ethan knew her better, he would realize this was not an easy decision for her.

He glared at her, his thick brows casting dark shadows over his eyes so that she could no longer see their color, only their hardness. “Surely, you’re not thinking of going alone, without his consent?”

She drew in a breath to calm her rising temper. “I am five-and-twenty, not fifteen. Surely, a woman of my age can enjoy a few freedoms. Even if you don’t understand, I’m thankful my father does.”
Or will,
she hoped.

Ethan was quiet, studying her as if he’d never seen her before. As if she’d sprouted from the ground, and he was the first to discover this strange creature.

Then, after a moment, his features settled into a look of calm understanding. He offered her a friendly smile that didn’t quite remove the hardness from his eyes. “You’re obviously restless and needing something to occupy your ever-fidgeting hands. We leave for the country by week’s end. You’ll have plenty to do once you are home, I’m sure, running your father’s house, planning menus, writing letters—”

“Don’t forget my needlework,” she added, not bothering to keep the bitterness from her tone. “And if I’m still restless and want to occupy my time with other things, I’m sure I can take my sister up on her offer to become governess to
her
children.”

He blinked. “You would go to live with Eugenia?”

Until this moment, her answer would have been a resolute “No.” But now, she didn’t know if she could continue like this any longer. For years, she thought it was better to resign herself to a life of eternal friendship simply to be near him. Now, she knew she couldn’t bear it. “I feel that if I don’t break free of the sameness of each day, I will go mad,” she admitted quietly. “I need this, Ethan. Can’t you see how important it is to me?”

They stared at each other like two strangers seeing each other for the first time, neither of them entirely happy with the introduction. Gradually, the carriage slowed to a stop, signaling their arrival.

“Can’t you see how I’m required to save you from yourself? To save you from ruin . . . or worse?”

Penelope felt tears sting the corners of her eyes. He didn’t understand. She’d hoped that, of all people, Ethan could. But he was only one more obstacle. “Then allow me to release you from any imagined obligation you might have.”

Chapter Four

E
THAN REACHED FOR
Penelope. He had to make her see reason.

Yet he stopped, his hand hovering in the space between them. At this precise moment, he knew he could say nothing to convince her. Their tempers were too close to the surface, and he was likely to say something he would later regret. Instead, he watched as she left the carriage. Watched as she didn’t require his assistance. Watched as she made it safely to the ground, without any help from him.

She wanted to leave.
No, she was
determined
to leave. And for what, an adventure?

Why did she do this to him? He felt as if his blood were boiling, not in anger but in desperation so keen he didn’t know the source of it. All he knew was that he had to make her see reason.

He growled as the carriage moved a few doors to Number 3. But he could not go inside in the temper he was in.

Instead, he instructed his driver to take him to the fencing salon. Perhaps an hour or two, or three or four, would help him clear his head before dinner this evening.

A
S
E
THAN AND
his mother walked through the door of Number 7, he was reminded again that this was to be the last dinner before they set off on their journey in two days’ time. Knowing Penelope the way he did, he knew this might very well be the last chance he had to make her see reason.

At least, with the dinner at her father’s home, he hadn’t been plagued with the notion she would not be here. Because of that, the first knot of his cravat looked precisely as it should this evening. Also, he chose to wear his charcoal coat and silver-embroidered waistcoat she’d remarked on with favor on three separate occasions.

Handing off his overcoat and hat with thanks to Vernon, their head butler, Ethan prepared to escort his mother into the parlor, where James Rutledge stood preparing drinks at the sideboard. However, out of the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of Penelope descending the stairs.

Ethan hesitated, allowing his mother to precede him while he waited for Pen. He turned to the stairway and looked up, expecting to gauge her mood.

Instead, the sight before him arrested all thought. Pen was a vision of exquisite loveliness in a shimmering champagne gown. His gaze traveled up from the ruffled hem to the long skirt that seemed to accentuate the length of her legs. Not only that, but it was fashioned in a way that drew his keen notice to the curve of her hips and the slenderness of her waist. His palm tingled with the memory of holding that waist.

He tried to blink, to turn away, but all he could do was watch her slowly descend into his field of vision. But no—she
was
his field of vision. He saw nothing except for her and how the bodice fit her to perfection. The champagne color of the gown made the enticing swells of her flesh look like sweet cream, or perhaps it wasn’t the color at all but the fact that she was usually covered with a fichu.

Ethan swallowed, wondering how he was going to get through the night without making a complete fool of himself. He couldn’t think. He knew he should utter a word of greeting, but he was sure he’d trip over his tongue.

By the time her face was level with his, he was angry at her for being so damned beautiful. “Pen,” he managed.

She smiled up at him coyly, like a woman who knew the direction of his thoughts. Thankfully for him, he knew her better than that.

“Did you skip luncheon again?” she asked, her gaze drifting down to his mouth. When he didn’t answer, she continued. “You look very fine in your eveningwear, Mr. Weatherstone.”

He inclined his head and offered the expected response. “As do you, Miss Rutledge.”

She beamed up at him. “I wanted to try something
n
—special for this evening.”

He caught her slip and knew she was about to say that she wanted to try something
new.
However, in the end, she decided not to go down that road with him again, and he was grateful for it.

“Minnie tried something different with my hair, as well. Do you like it?”

When she turned, affording him a glance of the back, he caught a hint of her fragrance and nearly groaned. Her usual elaborate configuration of braids was gone in favor of a simpler twist, gathered by a pearl-encrusted comb. In the light of the sconces on the wall, her hair looked like rich, spun gold. And her shoulders were enticingly bare. Far too much of a distraction.

“While I should love nothing more than to flatter you until you swoon with delight, I would much rather know why this night, of all nights, is such a special occasion.”

She tucked her slender arm into the crook of his, her long white evening glove a brilliant white against his dark coat as she gave him a pat. “This is our last dinner . . . in town . . . together. I simply wanted to make it memorable.”

He gazed down at her, not liking the deception he saw in her eyes. He knew her too well to believe her this time. But he did not call her on it. Instead, he answered her softly. “Then you have already succeeded.”

Without another word, they walked into the parlor together, joining his mother and her father in an aperitif. Soon after Pen soaked up more compliments from his mother, they went into the dining room and sat in their usual places. However, the Rutledge dining room was grand, indeed. With the two pairs of them sitting at opposite ends of the long, polished, walnut table, it made for difficult conversation with the entire party unless one chose to raise one’s voice.

Strange, he’d never noticed the intimacy of their arrangement before now.

Ethan glanced over at Pen, his gaze again arrested by her beauty. He forced himself to turn away and did his best to clear his head. Thankfully, he had food to distract him.

The soup course was a velvety mushroom, a particular favorite of his. He wondered if Pen knew this, or if it was a coincidence.

He regarded her, noting her sly smile at his nearly empty bowl.
Ah,
then he had his answer. Perhaps this was a peace offering, and their conversation from earlier today was at last forgotten. Perhaps she was ready to leave this silliness behind, as she’d done before. “This is a pleasant dinner. Wouldn’t you agree?”

She dabbed her napkin to the corner of her mouth, her smile fading. “Our dinners are always pleasant.”

Or perhaps it was just wishful thinking on his part. “
Pleasant
. . . hmm.”

“It is the same adjective you used.”

His mood darkened, and her statement from earlier came back to haunt him. She’d made a point of mentioning that this was their
last
dinner. “Yes, but I sense it has a mundane meaning for you now.”

“Please, let us not start this again.” She sighed and reached for her glass. After a sip of white wine, a tentative smile curved her lips. “You already know how highly I regard these dinners . . . and the company.”

“Do I?”
This is our last dinner . . . together,
that was what her eyes were telling him.

The slightest blush colored her cheeks. “After all these years, how can you not have a full understanding of my high regard for”—she broke off, searching his gaze—“these dinners?”

He held his breath for a moment. “Then I do not understand why you want to leave . . . these dinners.”

“I don’t want to leave these dinners behind. I simply want—No, not
simply
, for it is anything but simple.” She shook her head as if to clear it. “I want to alter the menu. I want my plate to be filled with . . .”

“Adventure,” he supplied.

“Your contempt for that particular word is palpable. Tell me, Ethan, after years and years of soup first, haven’t you ever wanted to start with dessert?”

Start with dessert?
His mouth went dry at the thought.

Had he thought of it? Had he thought of abandoning his carefully crafted order? Had he thought of risking their friendship, which gave him the greatest happiness of his life? Had he imagined every possible scenario of what could happen if he lost control and gave in to his craving for one taste of her lips?

Only a million times.

He could prove it easily enough. The impulses were always directly beneath the surface, threatening to break through. Lately, more often than not.

She vexed him to no end. She drove him mad with each of her smiles. She tempted him beyond the limits of his sanity, where he could easily forget how acting on his impulses could risk everything he held dear.

Start with dessert?
The words suggested that he would be able to stop once he started. But he knew there would be no going back if he did. There would be no way to regain what might be lost in the process. It was far too much of a risk to take.

“No, of course not,” he lied. “Dessert first is too far out of the realm of possibility.”