After the Abduction (11 page)

“I didn’t say that. I merely said I don’t want you to court me. There’s a vast difference between the two—you could still be near me without courting me.”

He lifted his glass and sipped, feeling less than gentlemanly as he pondered that idea. His gaze drifted to her rosy lips. “Indeed, I could.”

“And it’s not what you’re thinking, either,” she protested hotly.

“You don’t know what I’m thinking.”

“I have a fairly accurate idea.”

He didn’t even pretend to misunderstand. “I thought I was much too ‘respectable’ for those sorts of thoughts.”

That flustered her. “Well…er…that’s true. But you are still a man, after all, and even the most gentlemanly of your sex is predictable in that respect.”

He chuckled. When had the uncertain, shy Juliet blossomed into this impertinent minx? “Is that so? Well, don’t leave me any longer in suspense if you don’t want me leaping to”—he allowed his gaze to sweep her sweet form—“interesting conclusions.”

Although she noticeably stiffened, he didn’t garner any more of her pretty blushes. She tossed her head back. “I wish you to be my tutor.”

That stymied him. He could think of a thousand things he’d like to teach her, but she’d most certainly disapprove of them all. Calmly he lifted his glass to his lips. “Oh? And what is it I’m to teach you?”

“How to recognize scoundrels.”

He nearly choked in the middle of sipping his brandy. Coughing, he set the glass firmly on the desk. “Excuse me?”

“No doubt one of my meddling relations has told you of the difficulties I’ve had choosing a husband.”

“They did imply something of the sort.”

“It occurred to me this morning that my problem all along has been an inability to distinguish true gentlemen
from rogues masquerading as gentlemen. Ever since I mistook Morgan Pryce for a gentleman, I’ve been unable to trust my instincts regarding men.”

“I see,” he said tightly.

“It makes it very difficult to choose a husband,” she went on, “especially in society where everybody already masks their true nature. No matter how acceptable a man seems, I always find him suspect.”

Apparently, her sister had been right in this one respect—she had indeed become skittish. “So you want me to teach you how to separate the wheat from the chaff?”

“Exactly.”

He swallowed more brandy. “And what makes you think a ‘respectable gentleman’ like myself is qualified for such a task?”

“Your father was one such scoundrel, wasn’t he?”

Skittish
and
forthright. “Yes, a thorough scoundrel, most especially when it came to women. But I didn’t share in his activities.” He set down his glass and added sarcastically, “I’m much too proper for that, remember?”

“Still, I’m sure you had opportunities to observe how he worked. To see him practice empty flatteries on a woman or lie convincingly or persuade her that he cared for her when he really didn’t.”

Deuce take her, this was moving a bit too close for comfort. He’d often regretted having to play the smooth seducer two years ago when he’d first wooed her. “The occasional opportunity, yes,” he gritted out.

“Well then, you should have no trouble teaching me how to recognize such ploys. Despite my experiences with your brother and in society, I’m still woefully inept at recognizing scoundrels myself. So to be safe I tar everybody with the same brush. But if I keep it up, I’ll remain unmarried all my life. I don’t wish to become a spinster, my lord. You could be quite useful in ensuring that I do not.”

He could indeed. But not the way she thought. “You
mentioned a proposition. Propositions generally have two parts. I do you a favor; you do me a favor. What will you do for me?”

The hazel eyes hardened into green-gray steel. “I’ll refrain from convincing my brother-in-law to drag your family’s name through the mud for what your brother did to me and my family.”

“Ah.” So she
was
bent on revenge.

She adopted a casual stance, calmly straightening her gloves as she continued. “Of course, if you’re afraid that being in my company might expose more of your dark family secrets, do feel free to refuse. I wouldn’t wish to make you uncomfortable.”

He nearly laughed aloud. The impudent chit was daring him to spend time with her. Not that he would say no. He could keep his “dark family secrets” well enough—he’d proved that last night. And this was precisely the opening he needed to court her.

But he mustn’t look too eager, or she’d suspect him. “I’m perfectly willing to agree to your proposition, madam. I’m merely concerned about your family’s reaction. Your brother-in-law made it clear that he wanted me to stay away from you.”

She flashed him a kittenish smile. “Then we’ll simply have to keep our lessons secret, shan’t we? It’ll only be a day or two, after all.”

He sucked in a breath. A day or two of private encounters with Juliet. A day or two of watching his every word, wooing her without telling her the truth. A day or two of her innocent, devastating flirtations. He must be out of his mind.

So it was with some surprise he heard himself say, “As you wish. I’ll do what I can to help.”

“When can we begin?”

“Cook is preparing a light luncheon for two o’clock. Why don’t we begin after that?” It would take him that
long to brace himself for an afternoon of “lessons” with his lovely nemesis.

“Excellent. I’m eager to learn, my lord.” She started toward the door, then paused, though she didn’t look at him. “One more thing. Under no circumstances will these lessons include any…er…intimacies.”

A laugh escaped him before he could prevent it. “You’ll have to be more specific. What kind of ‘intimacies’ do you mean—the kind you claim to have shared with my brother? Or the kind we shared last night?”

Darting an annoyed look at him, she snapped, “I mean kissing, sir. There will be no kissing.”

How very interesting. “I don’t see why not. If my kisses move you so little, they shouldn’t annoy you. And how else can I teach you to distinguish between the kisses of a scoundrel and those of a respectable gentleman?”

She colored from her dainty hairline down to the soft swell of bosom peeping above her bodice. “That’s one part of the lesson I’ve already learned sufficiently.”

“Are you sure?” With a lazy smile, he leaned back and let his gaze drift over her trim form all rigged out in a fetching pink gown. “Because you didn’t give me a fair chance to demonstrate the full range of ‘adequate’ gentlemanly kissing last night. There are infinite variations, and I’d be delighted to demonstrate every single one.”

Alarm filled her face. “If you even so much as attempt it—” she burst out, then caught herself. “I see what you’re about. You’re toying with me. But I am in earnest, sir.”

“So am I.” He cast her a wolfish smile that made her swallow hard and glance away. He found himself feeling decidedly more optimistic about his chances with her.

Wanting to test the waters, he threw her challenge back at her. “Of course, if you’re afraid that my kissing might improve upon practice and thus tempt you to behave improperly, do feel free to retract your proposition.”

“Not at all, my lord.” Her sudden smile was honey driz
zled over steel. “If you insist upon kissing me, then by all means go to it. I should like nothing better than an excuse to slap you for your impertinence.”

Turning on her heel, she flounced toward the door.

“Juliet?”

She stopped. “Yes, Lord Templemore?”

“I’ll risk a little pain to get what I want.”

She cast him a taunting look over her shoulder. “What makes you think it’ll only be a ‘little’ pain?”

With that she sailed out the door. And for long moments after she left, he sat there laughing.

Chapter 6

Revenge is a dish best served cold.

English proverb written on a list once mounted on the Templemore schoolroom wall

D
rat it all, she’d made an enormous tactical error. When Juliet had proposed spending time alone with Lord Templemore for the silly reason she’d given him, she’d thought it a good method for unmasking him. Though she didn’t like playing such games, she saw no way around it when he was so infernally stubborn. What she hadn’t considered was how he’d regard the matter.

He’d clarified that in the study. He regarded it as any good sportsman would. As open season. On her.

So now as she sat at luncheon with him and her family two hours later, she couldn’t help fretting over what was to come. This was far beyond her experience with men, to be sure. Oh, why had she thought criticizing his ability to kiss would help her cause? Why had she laid
down a gauntlet he seemed more than eager to take up?

If he did, she was in deep trouble. Because if Lord Templemore set out to prove himself any better at kissing than he already was, they’d have to scrape her off the floor when he was done with her.

She shot a furtive look to where he presided over the table in the overbearingly magnificent dining room. Officious and formal, he hid well his rakish character. Gone was the sensual smile caressing her from tip to toe. Gone the challenging gaze, black and secret as a cave promising treasures beyond imagining.

As they ate from a light spread of sausages, bread, and a local cheese, he offered her the same remote courtesy he offered Rosalind and Griff. But she knew it for a farce, even if nobody else did. It contrasted too sharply with his teasing comments in the study and last night’s kisses.

She groaned. She refused to think of his hot, hard mouth doing the most unnatural, intriguing things to hers. Bad enough that she’d lain awake half the night remembering his silky, masterful kisses, his hands anchoring her possessively against him—

Enough of that!
she reprimanded her too acute memory.
Remember the plan. Don’t let him distract you.

That was all that his sly flirtations were—distractions meant to disarm her. When she’d prayed for such attentions two years ago, all she’d received was a nearly ruined reputation and one insolent kiss. So this time she knew better than to let his attentions sway her. If he thought she’d melt into a puddle at his feet, he was sorely mistaken.

“Where is your uncle today, Lord Templemore?” she asked when conversation dragged. His lofty lordship had probably warned the man off to prevent his speaking frankly. “I thought Mr. Pryce spent much of his time here.”

“Rest assured, madam, if not for the snow, he’d be here. Once the lads have shoveled the walks and beaten down the paths, he’ll be in our pockets all the time. Especially at meals. He prefers my cook, you see.”

“With good reason,” her sister put in. Rosalind looked blissful as she bit into an apple tart, her favorite. “Griff, we must get his lordship’s cook to write down the recipe for this. The cook at Knighton House makes ours too sour.”

Griff glowered down the table at his lordship, as if it was all Lord Templemore’s fault that his cook made superior tarts. “I’ll make a note of it, darling.” He settled back in his chair and eyed his apple tart rival with the intensity of a man searching for flaws.

Juliet couldn’t blame Griff for being envious. Charnwood would rival any estate with its amenities and obviously competent management. How odd that a man who’d recklessly involve himself with smugglers would also be a formidable estate manager. Why, she hadn’t found a single corner left undusted. The water in her washbasin was always fresh, the chamber pots always emptied. The maids even polished the undersides of the silver bowls, and nobody ever thought to look
there.
Except Juliet, of course.

He must pay his servants very well. Either that, or terrify them into working like demons. From what Rosalind’s maid Polly had related, all the maids jumped when he spoke to them.

But if he thought
she
would do the same, he was in for a shock.

“Templemore, I’m curious about one matter regarding your uncle,” Griff said.

“Yes?” His lordship ate his dessert with admirable calm, given the blistering looks Griff lobbed in his direction at regular intervals.

Griff hadn’t touched his own apple tart. “Is Mr. Pryce
married? He seems to spend a great deal of time at your house.”

“Ah.” Lord Templemore flashed Griff a pained glance. “He’s widowed. My aunt died five years ago of a wasting sickness, and he sometimes grows lonely. But he isn’t often in Shropshire, so he doesn’t spend as much time here as it seems. He generally prefers to loll about at the townhouse in Bath.”

“He has a house in Bath, does he?” Rosalind said.

Lord Templemore smiled ruefully. “No,
I
do.”

Rosalind straightened to attention. “It’s very generous of you to let your uncle use your house.” She darted a knowing glance at Juliet, obviously calculating how quickly she could yoke her sister to this wealthy paragon of generosity.

Juliet ignored her sister and concentrated on dicing her own apple tart into bits.

“Doesn’t sound so much generous as foolhardy,” Griff grumbled. “Let your relations take advantage of you, Templemore, and you’ll soon have no money left.”

“Or they’ll drag you about the countryside on fool’s errands,” Juliet quipped, a little stung by Griff’s comment.

“He didn’t mean you, dearest.” Rosalind shot Griff a warning look.

“Of course I didn’t.” Griff stiffened. “And this was no fool’s errand. We found out some of what we needed to know.”

Some of?
Could Griff be as suspicious as she was? No, not given how he’d dismissed her arguments as frivolous. He simply couldn’t believe that a man of Lord Templemore’s stature could do something so heinous. Griff might not like his lordship, but he was impressed by the man’s apparent efforts to reverse the fortunes of a foolish father. Griff wouldn’t easily be persuaded of the man’s treachery.

But she was not impressed, not in the least. Nothing
was ever as it seemed with her nemesis. Just because he ran an efficient estate and was nice to his uncle and made her skin tingle didn’t mean he wasn’t every bit the scoundrel underneath. She merely had to figure out how to unmask his true character.