Starling Page 9

  “And I don’t doubt you’re making a fortune out of my idea.”

  “I’m doing well because you proved to me more than once that women are more enthusiastic shoppers than men.” He grinned and chucked his sister under the chin. “Much more enthusiastic.”

  “And I may well prove the same thing again today.” Mary gathered Starling’s arm. “No doubt you know he employs women to sell the goods women purchase, like hats and gowns, as well as fabrics?”

  Starling nodded. “I know he has nine women among his staff here. His ideas are considered progressive. That is why I wanted to work...um, for him.”

  “Perhaps you would like to inspect the fabric section here? I would be interested to know if it’s as extensive as the one at Ballarat.”

  Starling glanced at Alasdair, who happened at that moment to be patting the hand Lavender had rested on his arm. “I don’t think it would be fair to compare the two.”

  Alasdair focused on Mary, his eyes narrowed. “I didn’t know Starling told you she worked for me.”

  “We interrogated her about everything the night you rescued Tammy. We know everything.”

  “Everything?” He raised his eyebrows at Starling.

  “We still have a few little secrets,” she said, but she couldn’t tell by his expression whether he was relieved or disappointed. “I would like to inspect the ground floor, though.”

  “Pots and pans?” said Mary. “Why on earth?” Nevertheless, she traveled the length and the width of the lower floor with Starling, interested in the goods and furniture, discussing with her the merchandising ideas Alasdair had begun in his first business. “Like a trader born. Which, of course, he was.”

  Lavender stayed with the men, a good idea as speculation would center on the beautiful blonde and leave Starling a chance to learn about the various aspects of buying and selling from Mary.

  “Breaking up the place into men’s and women’s areas is a moneymaker,” Mary said happily. “He ought to pay me for that idea. No, no. He has, many times over. He never ceases to thank me and he has never discounted any idea of mine. His respect means more to me than any amount of money.”

  “Do you think he understands that?”

  Mary shook her head. “He values money. He worked hard for it, though fortunately never as a manual laborer. I don’t think Mama could have borne that. I doubt he has dwelt too long on thoughts of respect because as a man, he’s never been denied it.”

  “Even when he had no money?”

  “The more money, the more respect. That’s how it is with men,” Mary said regretfully. “Female employees are as responsible as males and work as hard, but men prefer not to buy from them, and many women won’t because they accept men as cleverer. I see a time in the future when people are accepted for the job they do, not their gender.”

  “A time when women will be paid as much as men?”

  “If they do the same job.”

  “It won’t work. Men have to support their families.”

  “I know it won’t work. It’s a utopian ideal. We have it easy, letting men support us.”

  Starling didn’t answer. She couldn’t see a time in her life when a man had supported her or a time in her life when a man would. This day had shown her much about shops, and she could learn more. Alasdair’s library held more than she could scan in a lifetime. These two weeks he had given her were proving a Godsend. When her time ended, better dressed and with the confidence she had begun to acquire by associating with people who accepted her as she was, she could certainly better herself. Fate had intervened to help her in her aim to buy and run a business.

  “Time to leave, ladies.” Alasdair, decorated with Lavender, stood behind them. Paul winked at Mary.

  “I must say, you’re a generous wife,” Mary muttered. “I keep Paul close by when Lavender is around. She doesn’t appear to understand the boundaries when left with other people’s husbands.”

  “Seymour, what a timely meeting,” a hearty male voice interrupted. “I want to talk to you about a piece of land I have in Port Adelaide. A perfect place to site a new business.”

  Without waiting to be introduced to a man who was obviously not an employee, Starling spun Mary around and headed for the front entrance of the shop. “Let’s go to the carriage while they talk business. That ought to bore Lavender’s boots off.”

  “I don’t think she’s worn boots in her life,” Mary said, shaking her head. “Speaking of which, I think you ought to buy evening slippers. I don’t see any need for you to wait for your things to arrive from Ballarat. Shoes never go astray, and if anyone can afford to buy shoes for his wife, it’s Alasdair.”

  “More shopping?” Paul groaned as he maneuvered between them. “Come. If you’re quick about it, I’ll give you the benefit of my advice. Shoes, fortunately, are over here.”

  Starling took a steadying breath. Ellen had cleaned her boots to a high polished sheen and had replaced the laces. They’d pass without comment as old boots she’d traveled in. She would have preferred not to spend more of her promised forty pounds but Mary, she’d discovered, was as determined as Alasdair when challenged.

  The shoes Mary finally convinced her she had to have cost two pounds. Because Mary assumed that Alasdair would pay, Starling couldn’t see how she could insist on a cheaper pair, so she took them. Although one half of her was delighted to own a pair of black silk shoes with elevated heels, the other half mourned spending money on luxuries when she needed the essentials so much more.

  Alasdair and Lavender finally caught up with them and, grouped, they found Alasdair’s carriage, driven to the privileged position outside Seymour’s.

  “Ugh, that frog,” Lavender said with distaste as Alasdair handed her into the carriage. “How could you talk to him for such a long time? He must be the ugliest man in the world. Hamilton Fredericks? Freddy Frog. That name suits him down to the ground, or perhaps I should say to the pond.” She tittered.

  “That frog, as you call him, is one of the most successful businessmen in Adelaide.” Alasdair lifted Lavender’s skirts out of the way so that he could sit between her and Starling. “He’s also connected to the governor, a second cousin, I believe.”

  “Neither of which excuses the fact that he resembles a frog.” Lavender shuddered. “Men with money and influence ought to be good-looking. Did you see how he looked at me? As if I were a morsel he wanted to shoot out with his tongue and grab.”

  Alasdair smiled. “Surely that only makes him human.”

  “I’ve often thought how well people suit their names. Dare Seymour. Courageous and all seeing. Lavender Frost. Well, it’s for someone else to judge whether my name suits me,” Lavender said, looking satisfied.

  Mary leaned forward and, under the guise of pointing at something outside the window, whispered to Starling, “A beautiful perfume and color but cold and shallow. Yes, it suits her.”

  “Pale hair and violet eyes.” Alasdair gazed too long into the latter. “But you were born Mayberry not Frost and you told me you weren’t christened Lavender.”

  “My parents called me Lavender because I looked so well in the color.”

  “You would look pretty in orange,” Starling said. “But it would be strange to call you Orange.”

  Paul laughed. “What about my name? Where do I fit into this hypothesis?”

  “Some people don’t fit. They just have names,” Lavender said, shooting an annoyed glance at Starling.

  Starling stared at her gloved hands. She didn’t just have a name. She had an all-time description. Starling Smith, brown and anonymous, completely ordinary. “Starling Seymour. I don’t think we can do much with that either.”

  “Oh, I don’t know. We bought some rather beautiful shoes with that name.” Mary smiled at Alasdair, who was frowning. “Only one pair, Alasdair. If I were your wife, I would have bought at least three. And an embroidered reticule.”

  “But I didn’t make a barga
in with you. I made one with Starling.”

  “True. And I remember every word of it,” Starling said, like the meek and obedient wife she had promised to be. Recalling that he wanted her to give Lavender a reason to be jealous, she slipped her hand under his arm, leaned against him, and gave an mm of enjoyment exactly the way she had seen the blonde do.

  A mistake because he relaxed and smiled, crinkling his eyes and widening his mouth, showing his good white teeth. Her insides dropped and swirled, taking away her breath.

  She hoped he hadn’t put her in the position of playing with fire.

  * * * *

  Starling again wore the gray refurbished gown to dinner, but she added her glamorous new shoes. Fortunately, anagrams weren’t suggested as an after-dinner entertainment again, for Starling was so out of charity with Lavender that she might have forgotten her noncompetitive stance and won. Instead, Mary played the piano and everyone sang—except Lavender, who wandered around the sitting room, again upturning the ornaments and scanning their undersides.

  “You don’t like music?” Paul asked Lavender while Mary tried to find some newer music sheets.

  “Orchestras. String quartets. Music that improves the mind, yes. Ladies—oh, what are you doing?” Lavender stood, her face aghast, glancing at the spilled coffee dripping from her décolletage to the waist of her lilac evening gown.

  Ellen righted the cup she had been offering to Paul on a tray. “I’m sorry, ma’am. You moved suddenly. Let me wipe—”

  “Don’t bother.” Lavender pulled a lace handkerchief from her sleeve and dabbed crossly at the coffee stain. “Really, Dare. This maid is incredibly clumsy. Why don’t you keep her in the kitchen where she can’t do so much damage?”

  Alasdair’s gaze sought and found Starling’s. “It was an accident.”

  “If you’d had as much experience with servants as I have, you’d know you shouldn’t let them get away with their mistakes.” Lavender’s eyes changed to slits and her mouth looked tight and mean.

  “I think I can, Lavender. I think everyone deserves a chance in life.” When Alasdair patted Lavender’s hand, Starling’s chest hurt.

  Lavender made a face of glorious contrition. Her mouth drooped and her eyes filled with unshed tears. “Don’t judge me harshly, Dare. I’m spoilt and I know it, but I’ve never had to practice tolerance. I want to be nice. I just don’t know how to be.”

  Starling didn’t know if Lavender was being clever or sincere, but as Alasdair devoted most of his attention to her after that, her intention didn’t matter.

  Because he also showed Starling that same understanding while she undressed for bed, she couldn’t complain. As he had the night before, he eased the constrictions of her stays by massaging her rib cage. His wrists brushed her breasts once. Knowing his touch to be unintentional, she didn’t react outwardly. But inside she relived the tingle of his touch until she shut her eyes for sleep.

  Chapter 9

  Starling poured a measure of hot water into the basin and unbuttoned the neck of her nightgown. Outside, she could hear the magpies begin their morning choir. She thought Alasdair still slept. She didn’t expect him to come up behind her while she washed. When he lightly touched her back, she almost leaped out of her skin. Heart thudding, she dropped her flannel into the warm water and began to turn.

  He stopped her with a kiss on the nape of her neck. His mouth tickled pleasurably. Without thinking, she smiled and rested her cheek back against his crisp, dark hair.

  He moved her to face him, his expression indulgent. “This is more like it. If you can relax around me in private, you’ll learn to do the same in public.”

  “I thought I did yesterday.” Suddenly embarrassed, she focused on his dark stubbly chin, waiting to be shaved, then she moved her gaze to his sculpted torso. His palms flattened over her spine, not to keep her in place but simply to hold her. Lowering her head, she stared at the smooth skin of his chest and covered each of his nipples with a palm. His nipples hardened. Like hers.

  As if she had always known what to do, she raised her lips. He slid his hand to her shoulders, lifted her, and bent his head. Her breath halted completely as his mouth took hers in a warm, soft kiss. Her heart began pounding in her chest.

  His hand settled on the base of her spine, urging her closer to him. She liked his confidence. She liked the clean taste of his mouth and the warm linen scent of his skin. She trusted him. He would neither hurt her nor force her. During their last three nights in bed, he had proven he wouldn’t break his unwritten rules. Although he apparently could kiss a woman into mindless idiocy, he would not take advantage of her.

  His hands eased down farther until they cupped her buttocks, the warmth of his palms noticeable through the fabric of her nightgown. She found herself pressed against the entire masculine length of his body and she forgot to breathe.

  His mouth angled and his kisses grew deeper and longer. Her own urges kept her clasped in his arms. Aching inside, she clung around his neck. Her breasts flattened against his wide chest, and she wanted to be even closer. Her body melted into his and she knew no one alive could resist this sort of giving and sharing. She arched desperately against him, experiencing an unknown need.

  And then she understood why.

  His hard pecker urged at the juncture between her legs and she had lifted to her toes, pressing against the exciting shape. Perhaps this sluttish behavior had been bred in the bone. Perhaps her mother had been the same, a loose female who had let a man land her with an unwanted baby. At the same moment as she realized she wouldn’t follow in her mother’s footsteps, he lifted his mouth from hers.

  “Push me away,” he murmured. “I’m acting like a man.”

  Flushed with shame at her behavior, she dropped her stranglehold on him and moved a step back. Nothing in the world could have prevented her from glancing below his waistband.

  “You do kiss with your trousers unbuttoned,” she said, cheeks tingling.

  “I made a concession by putting them on. As you should know by now, I don’t dress before I wash or shave. I’m covered. You have no reason to be offended.”

  Nor was she. No female in her right mind could be insulted by the flagrant bulge in his trousers. Such obvious proof of desire would flatter any sane woman.

  She watched him button his flap. “I’m not offended,” she said, finally. “You haven’t tried to take advantage of me.”

  He gave a wry smile that hid his thoughts. “We shouldn’t be sharing this bedroom, but if you move out, it’ll cause more talk than I’m ready to handle. I’ll kiss you with my trousers buttoned if that’s what you want, but I can tell you now it won’t make any difference. Naked or dressed, I won’t be doing anything else.”

  “If you were in love with Lavender, you wouldn’t want to kiss me.”

  He shrugged. “It would have been easy enough for you to discourage me, but you leaned against me and smiled. I happen to like half-dressed women with soft, cinnamon-colored curls who like me and kiss me back.” His hands reached out and bracketed her face. He stared directly into her eyes. “And you do like me, Starling.”

  She liked men in fully buttoned trousers with fresh-smelling dark hair. She liked men who rescued children, employed needy servants, and had a kind and clever sister. She appreciated men who held her without force, who showed her that she could be attracted and excited by them. No doubt about it, she never had met and never would meet a man like him again.

  He had predicted she would know pleasure within the next two weeks and she had found excitement within two days.

  However, a woman like her couldn’t afford desires that would cause her nothing but grief. He liked her and she liked him, certainly, but neither had a commitment to the other. Squeezing her eyes shut she pushed on his shoulders, trying to deny the hot pulsing between her legs.

  He dropped his hands from her face and said, with what she could only hear as disgruntlement, “And you kissed me,
too.”

  She turned back to the bowl, fully conscious of the fact that he stood where he was for the whole thirty seconds she took to complete her wash. She could feel his gaze on her back. When she finished, she didn’t look at him.

  Shaking inside, she dressed while he washed.

  “What do you want to do today?” he asked as she fought with her stays.

  “What do you want me to do?”

  The silence grew. Finally he said, “I thought I might take Paul to the club and leave you women to fend for yourselves. If you stick by Mary you can’t get into too much trouble.”

  “Which makes me wonder just how much contact you’ve had with Mary. She talks to me and she asks me questions, almost none of which I can answer. I don’t know anything about running a house, and I don’t know anything about you. Our conversations are filled with me trying to avoid lying and her trying to encourage me to relax. I wish I didn’t like her.”

  “I’m glad you do.” He reached for his towel.

  “Tell me when you’ve finished dressing and I’ll call for Ellen. I can’t do a thing with these blasted stays.”

  “I’m an expert. I’ll help.”

  “An expert with stays? Are you bragging about your experience with women?”

  “My common sense,” he answered, coming out from behind the screen buttoning a white starched collar. “When we added merchandizing to importing, I had stays made in bulk. I saw plenty and I know how they work.” He turned her around, put a knee into her back, and pulled at her laces. “Too tight? Tell me when they feel comfortable.”

  “They never feel comfortable.”

  “Then don’t wear them. You certainly don’t need to.”

  “You want me to look like your wife, don’t you?”

  He untied the laces, unthreaded them, and removed her stays. While she watched he threw the laced torture against the fireplace. “I’m paying you to pretend we are married and that’s all I want from you.”