The Seduction of an English Scoundrel Page 6

  Jane sank down onto the bed, emotionally exhausted. “It was a plot, all right, and it might have come off perfectly if not for that scoundrel Sedgecroft suffering a moral sea change and deciding to set an example for his family.”

  Caroline stared at her in concern, apparently quite willing to be part of the conspiracy. “What are you going to do?”

  “What can I do? I can’t tell him the truth. He’d be livid. I could never show my face again.”

  “I suppose the only thing is to play along until he believes his point has been made. It can’t last forever. Rumor has it he is going to make a certain Frenchwoman named Helene Renard his next conquest.”

  “He probably has a collection of conquests,” Jane said, shaking her head in chagrin. “I shall not survive.”

  “Come on, Jane. He isn’t that bad.”

  “No. He’s that good. As a scoundrel, I mean.”

  “You have the strongest will of any woman I know, except perhaps next to me,” Caroline said, her forehead wrinkled in a frown. “I have never known you to submit to temptation, not since after the time you rode Papa’s stallion.”

  “Temptation has never, well, it has never tempted me before.”

  Caroline blinked, finally looking shocked at this revelation. “Does Sedgecroft tempt you?”

  “Of course not,” she answered quickly, too quickly to convince either one of them. “It wouldn’t matter if he did. I have sacrificed my reputation to gain my freedom. I am not about to toss it away for a rogue’s kisses.” Even if his kisses were unspeakably erotic and would haunt her for the rest of her life.

  “He kissed you?”

  “Of course he kissed me. He can’t help himself.”

  “What about you?”

  “I couldn’t help myself either,” Jane admitted in misery, covering her face with her hands as if she could erase the memory from her mind.

  “Oh, dear. I don’t suppose you liked it.”

  “Yes, I liked it.” Jane lowered her hands and released a sigh.

  “Well,” Caroline said after a long silence. “I suppose you’re right. Sedgecroft does not seem the sort to stay interested in a woman forever. I mean, not in a woman who doesn’t—”

  “Yes, I’m afraid I know what you mean,” Jane said. “I am not the sort to hold his interest.”

  “That doesn’t mean that you couldn’t become such a woman,” Caroline said, striving to be helpful.

  “Becoming such a woman was hardly what I had in mind when I plotted this mess,” Jane said with another sigh.

  “What would Nigel think of all this?” Caroline wondered aloud. “Sedgecroft is his cousin.”

  Jane’s voice was dry. “I doubt Nigel is doing much thinking at this moment. He’s happily off on honeymoon.”

  “On honeymoon?” Caroline gasped in shock.

  “With Esther Chasteberry.”

  “Nigel’s governess?” Caroline’s voice rose. “The robust, chaste, and chastising Miss Chasteberry? The mean one with the rod?”

  “Robust she still is, according to Nigel. Chaste she apparently is no longer.”

  “Well,” Caroline exclaimed, collapsing beside Jane on the bed. “Who would have imagined?”

  “They love each other,” Jane said with a smile. “It is quite touching, actually, to hear him talk of her.”

  “Well, that’s all very well and good for Nigel, but what about you?” Caroline asked loyally, her eyes brimming with concern. “How will you handle yourself in Society?”

  “Never mind Society,” Jane said feelingly. “How will I handle Sedgecroft? Did you hear what he said? He promised to be a demanding escort. Do you have any idea what that means?”

  Caroline blinked in fascination. “All sorts of indecent ideas are running through my head. What are you going to do with him?”

  Jane fell back upon the bed, her face troubled as she whispered, “I haven’t plotted that part out yet.”

  Chapter 6

  When Sedgecroft did not call the following morning, Jane dared allow herself to hope that he had reconsidered his rash offer. Perhaps he had forgotten about her, swept back into his own affairs. After all, by his own admission he engaged in impulsive behavior. A night’s sleep might have put some sense back into the arrogant man’s head.

  A good night’s sleep might have helped her, too, if she had not been awakened by a vivid dream. In that dream she had been languishing on the gallery couch when one of the statues had come to life, and bent over her, stark naked from head to toe.

  Sedgecroft.

  “Wear something daring for me,” he’d whispered, his firm mouth a breath away from hers.

  She struggled to sit up, her face aflame with indignation and curiosity. “You might try wearing something yourself! You’re naked!”

  “Am I? It’s nice of you to notice. . . .”

  She had no idea what he said then because she had thrown her arms around his neck and pulled his naked body down on top of her, absorbing his warmth and weight into every fiber of her flesh.

  Of course she hadn’t gotten another wink of sleep after that. Every time she closed her eyes she saw a bare scoundrel bending over her, his blue eyes seductive, his chest and lower torso corded with muscle. A shadow rogue who taunted her dreams.

  She shook off the disturbing image and rose, not bothering to call her maid. After making a leisurely toilette, she took stock of the dresses in her wardrobe, opting for a demure gray silk with onxy-buttoned sleeves and a ruffled bodice. She ought to appear brokenhearted for at least a few weeks. Suddenly a flirty gossamer pink gauze with thin ribbons under the waist caught her attention. She reached for it, then froze, heat flooding her cheeks.

  A lean face with chiseled features and beguiling blue eyes flashed across her mind. Not again, she thought in panic. His white teeth gleamed in a wolfish smile. She stared into the closet, half expecting His Nakedness to pop out at her.

  Wear something daring for me.

  She shook herself and reached for the drab gray silk, suddenly realizing that the house was as quiet as a grave. This would never do.

  She dressed and strode down the stairs, smiling brightly at the servants gathered in the marble-tiled hall below until she was reminded by their mournful sighs and pitying looks that a jilted fiancée would not be bouncing about the house like a firecracker.

  She slowed her pace, bowed her head, and thought of the dog she had lost, attempting to look bereaved.

  “Where is everyone, Bates?” she asked the tall gaunt-faced butler who stood supervising the polishing of the hall’s brass fixtures.

  “Your lady sisters are taking their lessons in the summerhouse,” he said gravely. “His lordship had a meeting on St. James’s street. Lady Belshire is puttering about in the garden, as is her pleasure.”

  “Thank you, Bates,” she said, spinning on the heel of her slipper.

  “On behalf of the staff, Lady Jane,” he intoned to her back as if he were delivering a eulogy, “I would like to express my deepest sympathy for your loss.”

  She hesitated, ignoring the prickle of guilt that ran down her back. “That is kind of you, Bates.” Unnecessary, but kind nonetheless.

  “The same goes for me, too, Lady Jane,” added the gray-haired figure at the other end of the hall.

  Jane turned stiffly and smiled at the diminutive housekeeper, who was dabbing at her tearful eye with her apron string. Oh, Lord, this was an unforeseen bit of embarrassment. “Chin up, Mrs. Bee. We are the Belshires.”

  “We are indeed, my lady,” Mrs. Bee sniffed.

  Her good mood a trifle diminished, Jane wended her way outside to the lushly overgrown garden to find her mother, in a straw bonnet and bright aquamarine day gown, attacking the weeds between the wall of lupines with a pair of sewing scissors. There was something comforting about the familiar domestic scene. Life in a garden tended to go on despite the complications of the outside world.

  “Hello, my poor darling.” Lady Belshire scanned her daughter
’s face for evidence of a broken heart. “Did you manage to sleep at all? I warned everyone to be as quiet as possible.”

  “I slept. . . .” Jane paused, remembering the dream that had awakened her. To her private dismay, the lifelike image of the naked marquess had begun to grow blurry—she certainly would never be able to admire a Roman statue again. But if she couldn’t recall the unclad Sedgecroft, she couldn’t titillate herself at the odd interval either.

  “Dearest, are you all right?”

  Jane blinked, aware her mother was waving a lupine stalk back and forth before her. “I’m fine. Did—did Sedgecroft send word by any chance? I mean, not that I want him to. . . .”

  Lady Belshire heaved a sigh. “He could not manage to call this morning, Jane. I hope this is not another disappointment, although after yesterday I imagine there is not much that can damage your aching heart. Sedgecroft was detained on some family matter. He sent a message that—”

  “It’s all right, Mama. I really didn’t expect him to keep his word. He probably already regrets making his offer, and I certainly won’t hold him to it.” Jane darted around the stone bench, giddy with relief. A reprieve. A chance to recover her equilibrium. Of course Sedgecroft wasn’t coming. What would he want with dull jilted Lady Jane? Although for a few minutes, he had made her feel more desirable then she had dreamed possible. Well, it only proved she had been right about him all along.

  “Are my sisters still with Madame Dumas?” she asked as she backed away.

  “Yes, but—” Lady Belshire stared at her fleeing daughter in consternation. “Jane, my goodness, I haven’t even finished delivering his message.”

  Jane restrained herself from racing into the summerhouse to deliver the welcome news to Caroline. She and Miranda were reading Molière’s Tartuffe aloud in their dreadful French accents while Madame Dumas listened, her skinny fingers pinched to her nose as if in pain.

  “May I interrupt?” Jane asked in amusement.

  Madame Dumas shuddered, slamming the book shut. “By all means, please do. Your sisters are slaughtering my mother tongue.”

  Miranda slid to her feet and embraced Jane in a fervent hug. “Caroline told me everything,” she said in an undertone. “I am bursting with admiration. And terror,” she added as an afterthought. “Oh, Jane, what have you done?”

  “So much for keeping a secret,” Jane said, dragging both sisters down the steps into the sun. “I forbid you to tell anyone else.”

  “Not another soul,” the two of them vowed somberly.

  “And I hope you did not discuss me in front of Madame Dumas. She already thinks I’m a lost cause because I preferred studying Italian over French in protest for all the friends who’ve died in the war.”

  Caroline coaxed a butterfly away from her heavy mahogany-gold hair. “I heard Dumas telling Mrs. Bee you might have to marry a Frenchman, as it’s unlikely any English aristocrat will have you.”

  Before Jane could react to that remark, Lady Belshire interrupted them, breathless from hurrying across the garden.

  “He’s here!” With uncharacteristic aggression she wrested Jane away from her sisters. “And you’re not even properly dressed.”

  “Properly . . . for what?” Jane glanced around the garden in confusion. Aside from the two gardeners pruning the poplars, there was not a male in sight, and certainly no reason for her mother to go all fluttery. Which gave her another one of those dreadful feelings of doom.

  “Who is here, Mama?”

  “Sedgecroft. Who else?” Lady Belshire put her hand to her heart at her daughter’s stricken expression. “Oh, sweeting, you thought I meant Nigel, didn’t you? How careless of me. How utterly stupid. Of course you are still hoping the scapegrace will appear with some perfectly understandable explanation for his appalling cruelty.”

  Jane stared at her mother, controlling a childish urge to yank off her beribboned straw bonnet and stomp it into the ground. “You know Sedgecroft’s reputation, Mama. Aren’t you the least bit concerned that he will taint me?”

  Lady Belshire paused to pluck a weed from between the flagstones. “Don’t be silly. All of my daughters are above temptation. Your brother is another thing entirely. I tried to tell you a few moments ago that Sedgecroft could not call this morning because he was detained on a family matter. He said he would be here this afternoon.”

  “This afternoon?”

  “Now, Jane,” her mother said in exasperation. “That was his carriage in the street.”

  “What carriage?”

  “It doesn’t matter now,” her mother whispered urgently, turning Jane by the shoulders toward the house. “He’s here, and, oh, look at the dress you’re wearing.”

  Jane stared at the huge figure striding across the lawn, sunlight illuminating his hard-planed face. The expensive cut of his dark blue morning coat and buff breeches enhanced his elegant masculinity. Not that he needed enhancement in that respect. He might have been stark naked and he would still—oh, no. Not that image again. Not when she had to look him in the face.

  He slowed and sent her a sensual smile that set off tiny shocks of panic through her system. All that virility—in broad daylight! It took a woman by storm. After she began to recover, her first reaction was to cower behind the boxwood hedge. Being well bred, however, she bravely stood her ground as he resumed his confident stride.

  “There you are,” he said warmly, taking her hands without the slightest hesitation. “I was afraid you had gone into hiding. We couldn’t have that.”

  That was precisely what she had hoped to do.

  Her fingertips began to tingle under the pressure of his insistent grasp. She made several subtle attempts to tug away. He took no notice. She glanced around in embarrassment at her mother and sisters, who were unconvincingly pretending not to be observing his every unrestrained move.

  “Listen to me, Sedgecroft,” she said in an undertone, determined to get her point into his thick head.

  “Of course.”

  Oh, his eyes were so intense, so alive, so . . . inviting. Who cared if he was the most arrogant man on earth? His merriment was catching. “I have thought over your generous offer to use you as my ticket, as it were, back to social acceptance.”

  He grinned, giving her the impression she ought to be flattered by his involvement. “Good,” he said with a gracious nod of his head as if that were the end of that.

  “And I’ve decided—”

  Her thoughts scattered as he slid his large hand up to her wrist to steer her toward the old wooden gate concealed in the brick wall. She felt the delicious stone-hard support of his body behind hers.

  “I think we can reach the street this way, can’t we?” he asked, not giving her a chance to answer. “My carriage is parked there. What a tangle of traffic I fought to get here, cows and costermongers.”

  She raised her voice, a sense of panic overcoming her. “I believe I shall have to decline.”

  He marched her through the poplars, glancing up at the two gardeners, their shears suddenly frozen in midair. His mild frown set them instantly back into motion. He was a man others instinctively obeyed. “We can discuss this on the way. In private.”

  She stared up at him in grudging awe, wondering how a human being could plow through the world with such unfailing arrogance. “Sedgecroft, I am not ready for public exposure.”

  “Nonsense.” He paused to examine her in detail. “You look good enough to—to take out for the afternoon, although I have to admit . . .” His deep voice faltered.

  “Admit what?”

  “Never mind.” He glanced back thoughtfully at the three women who had trailed them at a polite distance. “I suppose it doesn’t matter,” he murmured, giving a small shrug. “We’re too late to do anything about it now.”

  She dug in the heels of her silk pumps. The handsome beast had piqued her female vanity with his implication that there was something wrong with the way she looked. She ought to tell him how he had looked in the dream last n
ight.

  “It does matter,” she said in a firm voice. “At least I’m sure it would if you’d kindly explain what in my appearance displeases you.”

  He tapped the side of his cleft chin in contemplation. His gaze met hers for a moment. “It’s just—no, I don’t want to offend you. Not after yesterday.”

  Her brows lifted over her narrowed green eyes. “Offend me.”

  “Well.” He dropped his voice, sounding a little embarrassed on her behalf. “Is that your idea of daring dress?”

  Oooh. “What is wrong with my dress?” she asked, wishing she did not care what he thought.

  “Nothing shows. Nothing except ruffles and . . . gray. All those gray ruffles on your front.” He made a face. Then to her horror, he puffed out his chest to pantomime her. “It puts one in mind of a pigeon. An attractive pigeon,” he added hastily at the look she gave him.

  She ground her teeth. “Nothing is meant to show, Sedgecroft.”

  “Why not?” the devil asked.

  She folded her arms across her ruffled breasts. “I am not one of your demireps.”

  He cleared his throat, obviously enjoying this. “You most assuredly are not.”

  Jane wondered why that remark felt like an insult. A proper young lady would have been proud of her . . . pigeon appearance. “This happens to be my favorite dress.”

  “My grandmother had a pair of parlor curtains exactly the same color.”

  “Did she remind you of a pigeon, too?”

  “Not exactly, but I am not going to enjoy our afternoon if every time I look at you I think of my grandmother.”

  “This is a modest dress, Sedgecroft. A fashionable one.”

  “Perhaps if you’re in your eighties. Hmm.” He beckoned to the figure hovering behind them. “Lady Belshire, what is your candid opinion of this dress?”

  Jane rolled her eyes. The wretch, to ask her mother for a candid opinion. One might as well ask a reformer to deliver a speech before Parliament.

  “It’s all right, Mama,” she said with ice in her voice. “We really don’t need to bother you.”