A Lady's Lesson in Seduction (7 page)

‘I give up,’ he said.

* * *

He threw up his hands. ‘No matter what I do, I can’t live up to the motto. Well, to hell with it.’ He slumped, naked and exposed and not giving a damn. Not that she was looking at him anyway. ‘I don’t suppose I can do any more harm than I’ve already done. I called on you after Timothy died because I wanted to explain to you what really happened that day.’

She had already reached the door in her haste to get away from him. She put her hand on the latch.

‘I thought I was doing it because of a burning need for justice and truth,’ he said, ‘but the justice was for me as much as for you. More so, because telling you about it would have meant also telling you what Timothy told me, which would have made you feel even worse.’

She turned partway. Was that a tear glistening on her cheek? God, what a mull he’d made of it. ‘So I stopped pestering and watched you instead, hoping perhaps time would heal your wounds…and then, after your year of mourning was over, you let it be known you would never remarry. I couldn’t leave it at that. I thought if I could just show you how perfect and passionate you are, all would be well again.’

Her hand still rested on the latch. ‘What do you mean, justice for you? I’d already said I didn’t blame you.’

‘Because of what people were saying,’ he said. ‘That Timothy and I were fighting over some doxy. It wasn’t true.’

She squeezed her eyes shut and shuddered on a sigh. Why did it still hurt that Timothy had turned to prostitutes so soon after their wedding? ‘Why should it matter to me what you were fighting about?’

‘Because whatever you believed of Timothy, I couldn’t bear that you would believe the same of me.’ Last chance. ‘Frances, we were fighting about you.’

* * *

She dropped her hand from the latch and turned. He stood naked before her, face drawn and shoulders slumped, and she wanted to take him into her arms, hug and hold and comfort him…but she mustn’t. She twisted her hands together. She would want to stay there forever.

‘I was so angry,’ Cam said. ‘You were innocent and lovely when you married—I remember thinking what a lucky fellow Timothy was—and a fortnight later you had become pale and listless and so very sad. I asked him if you were ill. He’d hardly noticed, damn him, and he didn’t even care. But that got him talking, and then drinking, and gradually it all came out. In two short weeks he’d destroyed you. I told him what I thought of him, and I didn’t hold back. I said he didn’t know a thing about women. I told him he should be horsewhipped for what he’d done to you, ordered him to mend his ways, and proceeded to give him advice on how to woo you gently and patiently to pleasure.’

‘Oh, dear.’ Frances hiccupped on something approaching a laugh. ‘Timothy had a temper and a lot of pride.’

‘We both did,’ Cam said. ‘Words became blows, and Timothy demanded whether I fancied I drove better than he did, too. He knew I didn’t. I suppose he wanted to salvage his pride by beating me in a curricle race. When we met an hour later, ready to start, he’d been drinking even more. I should have insisted on racing some other day when he was sober, but at that point I didn’t care. I don’t think I’ve ever been so angry in my life. I even said, “If you want to break your neck, it’s fine with me.”’

‘And then he did.’ She set the candle down. ‘Oh, poor Cam.’ Nobody had told her about that; they’d probably been trying to protect her from the worst. ‘If I’d known, I wouldn’t have refused to see you.’ To hell with the consequences to her own heart. She crossed the room and his arms came around her; he let out a long, shuddering breath.

‘You didn’t mean him to die.’ She caressed his hair and softly kissed his cheek. She loved him so very much.

‘No, but it’s no wonder people blamed me,’ Cam said.

‘I don’t, and I wouldn’t have even if I’d known.’ She should pull away again, but she couldn’t make herself let go. Not yet. ‘It’s over, Cam. You did your best to make amends, and you’ve helped me so very much. Everything’s all right now.’

‘Not unless I’ve succeeded in my goal,’ he said, ‘of convincing you to marry again.’

* * *

She tried to twist away, but he tightened his arms. ‘Don’t go, Frances. This needs to be discussed.’

‘Why?’ She pushed at him, but he didn’t budge. ‘It’s none of your business whether I remarry.’

‘I beg to differ. What if you choose wrong again? I can’t make a habit of accidentally killing your unsatisfactory husbands.’

She huffed. There was nothing amusing about this. ‘Since I don’t plan to marry again, that won’t be a problem.’

‘Ah, but you’re awakened to passion now. You don’t want to live the rest of your life without it.’ He kissed her hair. ‘Do you?’

‘No,’ she said into his banyan, softening briefly, then struggling again. ‘But if I must, I shall.’

He didn’t loosen his hold. His cock was already reacting to her again. With luck this would be a long, lovely night. ‘I don’t suppose you’re willing to try your suitors out in bed to make sure they’re both considerate and reasonably competent before marrying them.’

‘Definitely not.’ None of them would hold a candle to him anyway, and he knew it. She shoved, and he let her go.

‘Then there’s only one way out of this fix,’ he said. ‘You’ll have to marry me.’

* * *

‘Marry you?’ Her words came out as a squeak.

‘You’ve already tried me out.’ His lips curled ever so slightly. ‘We can do it again, if you want to make sure.’

Between hope and fury, she barely managed to control her voice. ‘This isn’t a jesting matter.’

‘I’m completely serious,’ he said. ‘I should have thought of it long ago.’

‘Why? There’s no reason for you to marry me.’

‘Yes, there is. I love you, Frances. I’ve been in love with you for ages. I was envious of Timothy when he married you. I accidentally killed him because I was so enraged at what he did to you. I’ve spent a whole year thinking about how to heal the wounds he’d made. If that’s not love, what is? It just took me a while to figure it out.’

He loved her? More likely, he was being stubborn—he’d shown ample evidence of that—and fooling himself. ‘What about—what about your motto? What about making amends and doing no harm?’

‘It was far more than that. If Timothy had married and been unkind to some other woman, I would have chided him, but it wouldn’t have come to blows. I wouldn’t have raced him while he was so drunk. And God knows I wouldn’t have lost interest in other women and thought only about his widow for a whole year.’

He’d lost interest in other women? Maybe that explained all the laments she’d heard. She couldn’t help the dawning of a smile.

‘I try to make my actions conform to my motto, but it’s just a way to ensure I mean well, and it doesn’t always work.’ He shivered. ‘Come back to bed, sweetheart. We can discuss it whilst warm and cozy under the covers. Even I get chilly standing about in the nude.’ He smiled at her and pointed up. ‘You may not have noticed, but there’s a sprig of mistletoe hanging from the ceiling, and several others are hidden above the canopy. We have dozens of kisses to get through before Christmas is over.’

She rolled her eyes but went to him. He stripped her nightdress over her head and they crawled into bed again. They wrapped themselves around each other, hot, smooth skin and long, warm kisses.

‘Well, my very own Frances, whom I love with all my heart,’ he said, between one kiss and another. ‘Will you marry me?’

She let out a breath of utter joy. ‘I will.’

‘You’ll have to fall in love with me, too. Do you think you can?’

‘I’ll do my best,’ she said on a laugh. She wasn’t about to tell him she already had. He was conceited enough as it was.

Besides, he probably already knew.

* * * * *

About the Author

Barbara Monajem grew up in western Canada. She wrote her first story, a fantasy about apple tree gnomes, when she was eight years old, and dabbled in neighbourhood musicals at the age of ten. At twelve, she spent a year in Oxford, England, soaking up culture and history, grubbing around at an archaeological dig, playing twosy-ball against the school wall, and spending her pocket money on adventure novels. Thanks to her mother, she became addicted to Regency romances as well. Back in Canada, she wrote some dreadful teen melodrama, survived high school, and studied English literature at the University of British Columbia. She spent several years in Montreal and published a middle grade fantasy when her children were young. Now her kids are adults, and she writes historical and paranormal romance for grownups. She lives in Georgia, USA, with an ever-shifting population of relatives, friends, and feline strays.

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ISBN: 978-14592-4799-4

A Lady’s Lesson in Seduction

Copyright © 2012 by Barbara Monajem

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