Dance of Seduction
SABRINA JEFFRIES
Dance of Seduction
To my parents, my brothers, and my sister,
who have all, in your own ways,
dedicated your lives to making
the world a better place.
Clara and I salute you
.
Contents
Lady Clara Stanbourne was descended from a long line of…
Vainly trying to smother her distress, Clara vaulted the rest…
Captain Morgan Pryce, known in other circles as the Honorable…
Clara fumbled through the compasses, barometers, pipes, and assorted other…
Morgan wanted to stop, but he couldn’t. Bon Dieu, she…
The children are as restless as I am, Clara thought…
The tap-tapping of the hammer in Morgan’s dream crescendoed to…
Aunt Verity’s dogs were performing precisely as Clara wished. Fiddle…
Morgan cursed under his breath as Clara hurried across the…
Clara had come to the busy Lambeth Street Office before,…
This might very well be a mistake, Clara decided as…
The longer Morgan kissed her, the more Clara yielded. How…
Morgan waited in the library a few minutes after Clara…
Morgan couldn’t believe it—Clara and Ravenswood coming in together from…
Morgan could tell from the way she blinked that he’d…
Clara listened as Morgan related the whole story from start…
Sated and relaxed, Morgan lay beside Clara, one arm about…
Clara slipped into the back room and eased the inner…
Morgan watched her go with a sickening lurch in the…
Three days. Morgan couldn’t believe he and Clara had been…
Morgan knew in an instant what had made Clara so…
Much later that day, long after night had fallen and…
“What do you mean, Clara’s not here?” Morgan demanded of…
Morgan hadn’t known true terror until he stepped into Fitch’s…
Clara couldn’t have asked for a more perfect day for…
Other Romantic Treasures by Sabrina Jeffries
London
May 1819
In Books or Work, or healthful Play
Let my first Years be past,
That I may give for every Day
Some good Account at last.
“
Against Idleness and Mischief,” Isaac Watts
,
Divine Songs attempted in Easy Language
for the Use of Children
L
ady Clara Stanbourne was descended from a long line of reformers and rogues. Her late father’s side had produced Quakers and Whigs whose passion to effect change was surpassed only by their respectable station. Her late mother’s side, the Doggetts, boasted a broad assortment of feckless scoundrels who’d gloried in gambling, delighted in debauchery, and wallowed in wild living. The Doggetts possessed no respectability at all except through
their tenuous connection to the Stanbournes through marriage.
Fortunately for England, the Doggetts had virtually died out. Only Clara’s uncle Cecil, the card cheat, carried on the family tradition of wreaking havoc upon the unsuspecting and the virtuous. But he did it in America now, having fled England eight years earlier, when his cheating had landed him on the wrong end of a very large pistol.
Thus Lady Clara was surprised when she came downstairs on a bright spring Monday to learn that her uncle’s American solicitor, a Mr. Gaither, had just arrived at Stanbourne Hall from Virginia. She didn’t even know her uncle possessed something so lofty as a solicitor. Yet Samuel, her new footman, insisted that such a creature awaited her in the front parlor.
With a sigh, she glanced at the clock. “They’re expecting me at the Home any minute. After my being away in the country for two weeks, they’ll worry if I’m late. I suppose you’ll have to send a boy round with a note.”
“Yes, m’lady,” Samuel said nervously, looking very smart in his new footman’s uniform. Samuel was her most recent success from the Stanbourne Home for the Reformation of Pickpockets. Though he was a bit short for a proper footman, he performed his duties well enough, which was all that mattered.
An eruption of barking from the front parlor warned that her aunt, Verity Stanbourne, had reached the parlor first. Clara hastened to the doorway, groaning to find her aunt’s three beribboned miniature poodles dancing around the American. Poor Mr. Gaither teetered on rickety legs atop a footstool, crying, “Shoo! Go on, you beasts! Get away!”
Aunt Verity flapped her hands fruitlessly at the capering, yapping dogs. “Now, Fiddle, you mustn’t—Oh, come away, Faddle! And Foodle, if you don’t stop this—” She cast Mr. Gaither a helpless look. “See how you’ve upset my lassies?
They’re all much annoyed, I tell you.” A sharp woof preceded the entrance of an old spaniel bitch. “Lord have mercy, here comes Empress—stay put, Mr. Gaither! If she doesn’t approve of you, she’s liable to bite you!”
Clara crossed the room and threw herself into the midst of the dogs. “Down, all of you, this minute! No one’s biting anyone.” She glared at the poodles until the barking turned to whimpers and three curly heads drooped in shameless obeisance.
When Empress kept woofing at poor Mr. Gaither’s feet, Clara added sharply, “That’s enough, Empress,” and the aging spaniel retreated to Aunt Verity’s side.
Unfortunately, Clara could do nothing about the low growl the dog continued to emit. Empress had taken a distinct dislike to their guest, which boded ill for Mr. Gaither. The dog had an uncanny ability to judge people accurately. Whomever she growled or barked at was eventually shown to possess serious character flaws. Empress was so adept that Aunt Verity used her to sift out good applicants from bad when interviewing new servants. As a result, Stanbourne Hall’s staff was the envy of all Aunt Verity’s friends.
Judging from Mr. Gaither’s scowl, his character flaw was a hatred of dogs.
Clara held out her hand to help him down from the stool. “I’m so sorry, sir. I’m Lady Clara Stanbourne, and I see you’ve already met my aunt. Please forgive us for our chaotic ways. I fear we aren’t much used to visitors.”
“I can see why,” he grumbled as he climbed down. Bestowing glares all round, he brushed at his frock coat to eliminate any remaining essence of canine.
“It’s your own fault, sir.” Aunt Verity sat down on the settee and arranged her skirts as carefully as any coquette. “You wouldn’t let them sniff you, and they don’t like that.” One of the poodles jumped into her lap, and she clutched him close.
“You tried to kick Faddle, and she’s very sensitive about these things.”
“Sensitive! She’s a blasted dog! And furthermore, I don’t think—”
“Won’t you sit down, Mr. Gaither?” Clara put in. “Perhaps you’d like some tea?”
That brought him up short. He glowered at her. “No, madam. I’d just as soon attend to business and be done with this.” Fixing his gaze on the still growling Empress, who’d plopped down on Aunt Verity’s feet, the solicitor took a seat as far away from the dogs as possible. “Letting beasts run wild…setting them on strangers…I swear, the whole country is mad.”
Ignoring his complaints, Aunt Verity patted the settee, and Fiddle and Foodle leaped to cram their little bodies into the coveted space next to her. With a sigh, Clara sat on her aunt’s other side. Good Lord, what a day. And it wasn’t even noon yet.
Still keeping a wary eye on the dogs, Mr. Gaither opened his satchel to rummage through some papers. “I’m here to inform you, my lady, that Cecil Doggett is deceased.”
He made his statement so baldly that Clara was sure she’d misheard. “What? Uncle Cecil? Are you sure?”
“Do you think I’d come all this way and endure these…these creatures if I weren’t?” He drew out an official-looking document and handed it to her. “Here is the death certificate.”
“Oh.” She took it from him, her heart sinking as she scanned the paper. The facts were stated clearly enough.
A lump lodged in her throat. Uncle Cecil might have been a scoundrel, but she’d always harbored a certain fondness for him. He’d humored her hobby of collecting books for children. He’d never called her interest “frivolous” as Papa had been wont to do, or “nonsense” as Mama had. He’d simply
given her what she’d craved—sweet little chapbooks of fairy tales and fables and stories of derring-do.
She read the certificate through tear-filled eyes. “It…it says here that he died of heart failure.”
Having regained his composure, Mr. Gaither nodded with grave solemnity.
“I don’t believe it.” Aunt Verity took the paper from her and looked it over. “How very uncharacteristic of Cecil.” She glanced up at the solicitor. “Are you quite sure it wasn’t poison? Or something equally sinister?”
Oh dear, as usual Aunt Verity was living up to her name.
When Mr. Gaither looked taken aback, Clara figured she ought to explain. “The Doggett men are…
were
…adventurous sorts, you see, and all died badly. My eldest uncle was shot in a duel, and the youngest was hanged in Madrid for forgery.”
“So death by heart failure isn’t what one expects of a Doggett,” Aunt Verity added.
“I assure you that if I hadn’t been certain of the circumstances of his death, I wouldn’t have left America to come here,” the solicitor said loftily. “And I certainly wouldn’t be passing on his bequest to her ladyship.”
Clara regarded him blankly, but Aunt Verity pounced on his comment. “What bequest? The man never had more than two shillings to rub together.”
“When Mr. Doggett died, he possessed fifteen thousand pounds. He left ten thousand of that fortune to Lady Clara. If she agrees to accept it.”
Clara’s mouth fell open. “Ten thousand pounds!” She tried to assimilate the astonishing news. This was straight out of a fairy tale by Charles Perrault. And like all fairy tales, it seemed much too good to be true. “Did my uncle happen to say how he came by such a fortune? When he left London, he was nearly penniless.”
“I was told he won a plantation in a card game. The owner’s brother, a wealthy man, offered him money in lieu of the property, and Mr. Doggett accepted. Said he wouldn’t much like the life of a planter. But alas, he didn’t live long enough to enjoy his newfound fortune.”
A weight settled onto her chest at the thought of Uncle Cecil dying all alone in a strange country.
“And…umm…Cecil won the game honestly?” her aunt asked.
Clara groaned. She hadn’t even thought of that.
“Of course!” the solicitor exclaimed. “I assure you I would never take part in any illegal endeavor.”
Clara flashed him a weak smile. If Uncle Cecil’s companions hadn’t caught him cheating at the time, there was no point to explaining his proclivities now. And for all she knew, he hadn’t cheated.
