The Seduction of an English Scoundrel Read online

  “Do I really need to know this?” Jane asked, taking a deep sip of her brandy.

  “Would you want a rocket to explode in your hands before you have guided it home?” Audrey demanded.

  Chloe turned halfway to the door. “It isn’t fair. I brought her here, Audrey. I should be allowed to hear what is said.”

  “Your turn will come,” Audrey replied, waving her away to reveal another illustration in her portfolio. “Now, Jane, study this if you will.”

  Jane leaned forward, her lips parting on a gasp. “Good heavens! That is a physical impossibility.”

  “It is not only possible,” Audrey retorted, “it is highly pleasurable to the male.”

  Chloe popped her head around the door. “Where did the rocket go?”

  Jane closed her eyes, her voice quivering in amusement. “You do not want to know.”

  Chapter 22

  Jane and Chloe arrived back at the villa late that same afternoon. For all appearances they were two well-bred young ladies who had spent a few benign hours at the library. Fortified with brandy and a treasure trove of sensual knowledge that had shaken her aristocratic sensibilities, Jane lingered in the entrance hall. From abovestairs drifted the sound of male voices. One of them belonged to the man she was going to seduce. Right down to his socks.

  “What do I do now?” she whispered in a low voice.

  Chloe removed her bonnet. “Implement while that brandy is still in your bloodstream.”

  “I can’t do this.”

  Chloe gave her a push toward the staircase. “Take charge, Belshire.”

  Drawing a breath, Jane unfastened the frogs of her pelisse, handed it to Chloe, and proceeded toward the stairs. A few moments later she found Grayson emerging from his room, with Heath and Drake engaged in conversation at the other end of the hallway.

  That conversation stopped at her appearance, and she felt a frisson of uncertainty at experimenting with Audrey’s ideas. Perhaps every woman secretly wondered how she would fare as a courtesan if given the chance; beneath her anxiety she was aware that it was rather a challenge to seduce the man who had made an art of seduction.

  “Jane.” He gave her a rather stern frown. “There you are. I was getting worried. Uncle Giles and Simon have gone out to look for you. I searched the library twice. Where did you go?”

  “Oh. Just here and there.” She glided toward him, taking the slow undulating steps that Audrey had demonstrated, which at first made her feel rather silly, then gratified when she noticed Grayson’s eyes widen.

  “Did you hurt your foot, Jane?” he demanded.

  She stood on tiptoe to wind her hands around his neck. “How sweet of you to ask. No kiss hello for your lover?”

  He peeled her hands off his neck and smiled in embarrassment over her shoulder. “Heath and Drake are watching.”

  “Are they? Well, good for them.”

  “It isn’t good,” he said in a puzzled undertone.

  She walked her fingers down the muscular wall of his chest. “But it was good at breakfast.”

  “Yes, but—did you just touch me where I think you touched me?”

  “It is my function as a mistress, isn’t it?”

  “Not in front of my family, darling,” he answered, a deep flush mounting on his cheekbones. “Jane, are you certain you are feeling well? Perhaps I did not take that fever seriously enough. Perhaps I overexerted you last night.”

  “What a fusspot you are.” She nudged him back into the drawing room he had just exited, giving the door a kick shut with her foot. “Now we are alone. Lie down on the sofa.”

  “I think you are the one who needs to lie down. Do they serve brandy in that library, Jane?”

  “I have been reconsidering your offer.”

  “Have you?”

  She led him toward the curved-back sofa in the corner. “Perhaps it is not such a bad idea after all.”

  “Well—”

  She pulled him down beside her by the lapels of his long-tailed coat. “I will need practice, mind you.”

  “Practice?” He raised his brow, looking intrigued. “In—”

  She began to unbutton his coat, then the black embroidered vest beneath. “In pleasing you.”

  “You please me well enough.”

  She ran her hand over his chest. “But one can always do better.”

  He caught her hand in his, a muscle ticking in his cheek. “You do better than anyone I’ve ever known. What is this about?”

  “Desire.”

  “Desire?”

  “Lust, Grayson. Passion. Setting off rockets.”

  He cleared his throat. “This is all very arousing and unexpected. But—” He raised his thighs to draw her against him only to freeze at Drake’s voice outside the door.

  “Are you coming downstairs or is our meeting canceled?”

  “What meeting?” Jane asked, grateful for the interruption. She was more uncertain by the moment that she could actually put Audrey’s plan to work without giving herself away. She was not dealing with a nincompoop but with a hot-blooded, sneaky opponent.

  “The meeting about my family’s future.” He sighed, giving her a long, deep kiss before he released her. “My brothers and I are hoping to find a suitable husband for Chloe before she ruins herself completely.”

  “How good of you, Grayson, to make such a decision for her. Heaven knows we women are incapable of choosing even a pair of shoes for ourselves.”

  He came to his feet, studying her with a strange smile. “I never said anything like that. Start to dress for the evening, won’t you? I mean to show you off.”

  “As your latest mistress?”

  He hesitated, his hands on the buttons of his vest, his voice neutral. “Of course, darling. What else?”

  They arrived late to the race ball, the coachman parking in the crush of carriages lining the hilly lane. Drake had begged off at the last moment, presumably to call on a certain young lady who had just arrived from London. Simon and Heath set off with Uncle Giles for the card room, where bets were being laid on tomorrow’s race. Grayson herded Jane and his sister toward the candlelit ballroom of Viscount Lawson’s house.

  He had been mulling over Heath’s warning and decided that perhaps his brother’s intuition should be heeded. The time had come for revelations. And Jane was definitely up to something.

  Again.

  He thought of the two Janes he had learned to love. One was the pragmatic, sensible young lady he had been squiring about London supposedly to heal her broken heart. He adored this side of her. Her respectable image dovetailed perfectly with the sort of woman his parents would have chosen for him. This Jane was the ideal bride for a marquess.

  Polite, refined, a jewel in the crown of the aristocracy.

  But the other Jane. Ah, yes. The mysterious beauty in a wedding veil standing at an empty altar. That enigmatic woman and her shadowy motives beckoned to his darker side. The side of him that scorned convention. The side of him that would strip off her final veil and behold her bare soul in all its sinful glory.

  Which Jane did he prefer?

  Not one over the over. It was the merging of these two incongruent beings that held him in thrall. It was the woman in her conflicting entirety that he loved and wanted to outwit at the same time.

  It was almost the midnight of their masquerade.

  As they separated outside the cloakroom, Grayson touched Jane’s face with the back of his gloved hand. “Look how flushed you are, all bundled up in your wrap. No one would ever guess what a temptress you have become. I cannot wait to see what you have in store for me later in the evening.”

  She lowered her eyes demurely, answering in amused silence: Just wait, my arrogant darling. Do I have another surprise for you. “It really is rather overwhelming, Grayson—this public exposure as your mistress.”

  He stared at her. “Nonsense,” he said, glancing past her to Chloe, whose dark head was suspiciously downbent. “You shall cause a sensation.”
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  I certainly intend to.

  He frowned. “Did you say something, Jane? I cannot hear for the harpist playing in the gallery.”

  “I didn’t say a thing.”

  He glanced back toward her, his eyes narrowing. “Take off your wrap before you faint. We are packed in here like pickled herrings.”

  “As you wish, Grayson. I exist only to please you.” Jane’s voice sounded cool, but her heart had begun to thump. Was she about to let the lion out of his cage? How would she handle him then?

  He swung around. “What did you say?”

  “That I hope never to displease you,” she answered meekly.

  Chloe nudged him away. “Meet us outside the cloakroom after we beautify ourselves, Gray. We didn’t come here to chatter the evening away in the hall.”

  A few moments later Jane shed her silk-lined pelisse in the cloakroom, whispering, “I can’t go out there in front of all those people, those strangers, looking like a . . . an East End strumpet.”

  “You look positively gorgeous,” Chloe whispered back as she examined the high-waisted sheer peach gauze evening gown that she had lent Jane from her private unworn wardrobe. “I think we ought to dampen it again once more for good measure. Do you want more rouge for your—”

  “No!” Jane’s mortified shriek caught the attention of the young maid at the door. “I’m showing enough of my pinker parts as it is. I may as well be wearing a lace doily.”

  Chloe smothered a giggle of amusement. “You have a body that a goddess would envy.”

  “Envy, Chloe. Not luridly expose.”

  “I would not miss the look on Grayson’s face when he sees you for anything.”

  “He’ll be beside himself,” Jane muttered.

  “Isn’t that the point?”

  It took Jane a minute or so to pick out the tall golden-haired figure in the throng of guests that encircled him. Stylishly dressed ladies who hoped to renew his acquaintance, aristocrats from old families who moved in the same exclusive social circles. Grayson looked so at ease, so comfortable in this world of wealth and elegance, that Jane wondered if it was even possible to unsettle him. Her cheeks burned as she moved toward him, the young men around her falling completely silent in deference to this new star in their glittering galaxy.

  One of them gave a low appreciative whistle. A second slipped a bank note to the master of ceremonies to learn her identity. Another clapped his hand over his heart and professed his undying love. Grayson half turned, in the middle of conversation, his expression amused until he recognized who had caused this consternation. His gaze met hers, then traveled in frosty disbelief down her alluringly revealed body before returning to her face. The furious shock in his eyes, controlled but eloquent, almost undid her.

  In the dampened peach gauze, she felt . . . like a naked peach, flesh-colored with only the sheerest layer of cloth to shield her uncorseted body from prurient eyes. Her breasts pressed upward against the flimsy bodice so precariously it seemed a risk to breathe.

  “Jane.” His smile did not reveal his displeasure, but the crushing grip of his fingers around hers did. “That was not one of the gowns I selected. Where did it come from?”

  “I borrowed it from a friend, Grayson. Do you like it?”

  “Every male in the room does,” he said in a clipped undertone. “Do not do this again in public.”

  “Do what?” she asked in a cool voice.

  “Share what is mine alone.”

  “I really thought this dress was appropriate for my debut as a courtesan-in-training.”

  He glowered at her. “Did you indeed?”

  “Well, darling, a mistress can’t afford to look like . . . a mouse.”

  He pulled her away from the circle of guests, throwing his host an apologetic look over his shoulder. “Perhaps we ought to dance,” he said curtly.

  “As you desire, darling.”

  “I wish you would stop talking like that,” he snapped.

  She pretended to look hurt. “I can stop talking altogether if you prefer. Except for the matter of my allowance. I do think we should discuss that before we proceed.”

  “With our dance?” he said darkly.

  “Shall we publish our negotiations in the paper?” she asked at the edge of the dance floor.

  “I hardly think that’s necessary.”

  She bit her lip, wondering just how far she could tease him before his temper broke. Now that she had started, she couldn’t seem to stop. “But if I’m to carve a name in Society . . .” She hesitated as he took his position on the floor. “I don’t suppose you brought a pen and paper?”

  “Pen and paper?” He looked incredulous. “To use during a dance?”

  “No, silly. For my memoirs. It is highly unlikely that you will be my only protector, Grayson. I shall need another source of income in the future. A woman must be practical.”

  “Excuse me,” a hesitant male voice said behind them. “Might I interrupt this conversation to ask the lovely lady for a dance?”

  “Might I interrupt your face with my fist if you do?” Grayson retorted, his expression fierce.

  “My face . . .” The young man blinked, then backed up in horror several steps before disappearing into the crowd.

  Grayson and Jane assumed their positions on the dance floor. The orchestra struck up a quadrille. He bowed; she curtsied. But neither of them had their minds on the movements of the dance. Grayson was preoccupied with glaring into oblivion all the male guests who dared to ogle her. Jane attempted to appear graceful while covering her body with her arms until Chloe, moving past her whispered, “I have never seen a woman who looked more like a windmill than you. Hold out your skirts, for heaven’s sake.”

  “I can’t,” Jane whispered back.

  “Why not?”

  “Because you can see right through them.”

  Grayson walked around the floor with wooden strides, his gaze black and menacing. Then, as the dance ended, he guided her with chilling determination into the darkest corner of the room where the elderly guests congregated in chairs.

  “Why are we standing here like a pair of wallflowers?” she inquired in an innocent voice. “Shouldn’t we be more sociable?”

  “I am not in a sociable mood,” he bit out.

  “Well, no one can see us standing here.”

  “Which was my objective, Jane.” His face darkened as he glanced down at her. “There is a little too much of you to be seen tonight.”

  “Perhaps you would like to play cards,” she suggested.

  “Perhaps I would,” he drawled. “If I were not busy guarding you from all the lascivious aristocrats in Brighton.”

  She peered around him, refusing to meet his angry stare. “Oh, look. Isn’t that your old friend, Mrs. Watson?”

  “So it is.”

  “Would it not be polite to acknowledge her?”

  “I am not in the mood for that either,” he said, clenching his teeth.

  “Well, what are you in the mood for?”

  He refused to reply, but the answer was infuriatingly simple: her. Along with most of the eligible men in the room, he was imagining her without the dress, Jane on the altar of their lust with her luscious body and honey-gold hair spilling loose over her soft white shoulders. Like an unattainable goddess, she had challenged the mortals around her to prove themselves worthy of her attention. Well, Heath had warned him. The dark Jane was having her day.

  On impulse he took her by the elbow and led her toward the side door. “Is this the way to the refreshment room?” she asked, an edge of panic in her voice.

  “No.” He gave her a meaningful look. “We’re going home.”

  “Why?”

  “To have that discussion you mentioned.”

  “What about Chloe and Simon? And Uncle Giles? We cannot just leave them here.”

  “I’ll send the carriage back for them later.”

  She glanced back into the crowded, candlelit ballroom. Audrey gave her a tiny n
od of approval; their objective had been to disarm a certain scoundrel, but suddenly Jane had her doubts—doubts that escalated as she found herself captured against a steel chest in an unlit corridor, Grayson’s firm mouth inches from hers.

  “Are you trying to drive me insane?” he asked quietly. “If so, it has worked.”

  Held in his muscular arms, she could easily forget that the man had arranged her entire future without asking her consent. Or that she would have to deal with this sort of behavior for the rest of her life. She knew only that she already belonged to him, her fate sealed by a single look across a crowded wedding chapel a short time ago. On the day she had been meant to pledge herself to another. And Sedgecroft had appeared in his place, proving himself to be the best ally and worst threat a woman could ever face.

  “What has happened?” Chloe demanded behind them.

  “Jane is feeling rather”—Grayson’s gaze swept her willowy form—“chilled.”

  Chloe’s blue eyes danced with devilish amusement as she approached Jane. “Oh, dear. Then you will have to take her home, Grayson. Audrey shall keep me in her guard.”

  If the remark seemed strange to Grayson, he was too distracted by the events of the evening to question it. Jane, of course, knew exactly what Chloe meant, and she did not appreciate the reminder—that the second part of her plan had to be implemented as soon as possible.

  She could still hear Audrey’s voice in her mind. Take him off guard, darling. A man is never more vulnerable than in the boudoir.

  But was a woman any less vulnerable? Jane wondered suddenly, wishing she could bring Audrey along to give her moment-to-moment advice. It was one thing to discuss seducing a marquess in the safety of a drawing room. It was quite another to put proposed seduction into action when facing that marquess in the flesh. When exposing his flesh. When breaking past his anger to arouse him.

  Yes, Audrey was an expert in such matters, having revealed to her student techniques that would have made a brothel master blush. But Grayson was an expert, too. And Jane was not.

  She looked at him, feeling the floor tilting beneath her. Would it be possible for anyone to render such a man helpless?