Leslie Lafoy (17 page)

“You’re welcome.”

Her chin came up. “I cannot accept them, Carden.”

“Why not?”

“I have absolutely no use for them whatsoever,” she replied, her accent thickening. “I have nowhere to go where they would be appropriate attire. And as expensive as they no doubt are, it would be criminal to leave them to rot on their hangers in the armoire. I simply cannot in good conscience accept them.”

“Melanie Stanbridge’s dinner party is Saturday night,” he countered. “I was hoping you’d wear the red gown.”

Sera’s heart skipped a beat. God help her, she didn’t want to assume, to read more into his words than he intended, but … Hadn’t he—more or less—asked her to attend a social affair with him? Memories flooded her. The palatial houses of Jamaica, the candlelight and music drifting out the doors and into the gardens where a little girl sat in the shadows, watching and dreaming. It had seemed such a glorious way to spend the evening then. And even now the small part of her that was still a child thrilled to the prospect of being invited inside to dine and dance in splendor. The part of her that wasn’t a child, however, clearly saw the potential for social disaster and cringed. Better, Sera decided, that she hold tight the sweetness of the dreams than let them be destroyed in trying to make them real.

She gathered herself, determined to preserve her dignity. “You’ve said nothing of this to me.”

“I know,” he admitted with a casual shrug and halfheartedly apologetic smile. “It would have rather spoiled the surprise, don’t you think?”

“I don’t like surprises.”

“So I gather.” He tilted his head to the side in his boyish way. “Why?”

“Because,” she replied, her resolve faltering, “it generally puts one on very shaky ground and not all that certain as to where and how to step to avoid a catastrophe.”

“Melanie Stanbridge is the consummate hostess,” Carden assured her, knowing that this wasn’t Sera’s concern at all. Seraphina Treadwell had the grace and balance of a cat. “You won’t have to worry about making a misstep. She won’t let you.”

“I … I can’t.” She squared her shoulders. “I’m sorry.”

If she thought a simple refusal was going to undo his plans … “It’s too late to beg off. It would utterly destroy Mrs. Stanbridge’s seating arrangements.” He smiled and tsked. “I’m afraid you’ll just have to sail through it at my side. And in your new red dinner dress.”

She swallowed, took a deep breath, and squared her shoulders. “Peers do not escort governesses to social functions. I might well be from the backwater of the empire, but I know that it’s just not done, Carden.”

Ah, now they were to what really bothered her. “This is a dinner party among friends,” he assured her. “It’s not high society.”

“I am not a friend, Carden,” she said firmly. “I am your employee.”

And to what most needed to be clarified between them. He set aside his brandy glass and stood. Meeting her gaze, he quietly gave her the absolute truth. “You are the most exotically beautiful woman in all of London. And I want to be seen with you on my arm.”

Her breasts rose and fell and his heart twisted at the disbelief that clouded the fire in her eyes. It was a long moment before she took a half-step back and declared, “You simply want to use me as a shield. You want to keep the mamas at bay.”

“Not true, Seraphina,” he replied, letting her put the space she needed between them. “The mamas won’t be the least bit deterred. They’ll just have their daughters affect an accent and sit out in the sun trying to brown their skin to the luscious hue of yours. Only they won’t brown, they’ll burn. And they won’t have delightful accents, either. All they’ll manage to do is lisp and spit. Try as they might, they will never be able to hold a candle to you.”

She was lost, not knowing what to say, what to think; he could see it in her eyes. It bothered him that she didn’t know how to respond to sincere compliments, that no one had ever treated her as the marvelous, rare jewel she was. He was going to change that.

“I’ve decided to take your advice, Seraphina,” he said, easing back down on the corner of the table. “If I’m going to be a peer—and mind you, I haven’t publicly acknowledged so much as the possibility yet—then I’m going to be a peer who goes my own way. If I want to escort my nieces’ governess out for an evening, then I will.”

“And what will people say about me?” she asked, trying to sound self-assured.

“That you’re stunningly beautiful, naturally gracious, and incredibly intelligent,” he supplied gently, ignoring the point she was obliquely trying to make.

Her chin came up. “No, they’ll think that I’m the mistress of Carden Reeves.”

There had never been a mistress in his life, but he knew that confiding that fact wouldn’t reassure her the least little bit. “One dinner, in the home of friends, is not going to be the destruction of your reputation, Sera. I promise.”

“One dinner?” she parroted, her hands going back to her waist. “Then why, I must ask, do I have five ball gowns upstairs and—according to Mr. Gauthier—three more yet to be finished and delivered?”

“Barrett and Aiden receive social invitations, too, you know. You wouldn’t want to wear the same dress out time and time again. People
would
talk about that.”

Sera stared at him in disbelief. And, she had to admit, with an embarrassingly deep sense of disappointment. What a fool she’d been, even if for a few private moments, to think that Carden Reeves considered her special enough to keep for himself. The power of flattery, the girlish hopes of a woman who had always wanted to be more than she was. Anger flickered and she seized it as armor.

“You’ve ordered gowns for me on the presumption that they … that they…” Good Lord, her experience was so removed from this world that she didn’t even know the proper words to use.

“Yes. They’re not blind. And they certainly aren’t monks.”

“And you’ve
presumed
that I would accept their invitations?”

Carden’s stomach curiously clenched at the possibility. “Actually, I hope you don’t, but I’m willing to try to be gracious about it if you do.”

“I am here as your nieces’ governess,” she declared, her accent again deepening, the fire in her eyes sparkling in the most alluring way. “I did not come to London to dance and dine and live the life of a princess.”

“Well, I’m sorry, Sera,” he countered, crossing his arms over his chest, “but you’re in for another surprise or two. Beautiful women are noticed everywhere and especially in London during the season. You are going to be invited out. And before everyone decamps to their country homes, a good dozen besotted men will have fallen to their knees and begged you to marry them.”

The anger was gone, again replaced by the confusion that wrenched him to the center of his soul. “Honestly, Sera. God’s truth. You’ll have your choice of London.”

A spark returned to her eyes and color flooded her cheeks. “How utterly ridiculous,” she said, turning away.

He came off the table to gently catch her arm and stay her. She looked over her shoulder at him, her brow arched in silent question. “Sera,” he said softly, “there’s nothing wrong with being treated like a princess. Put on your pretty dresses and enjoy life. It will do you good.”

“And what will it do for you, Carden?”

Free me from guilt.
Stunned and troubled by the unexpected intrusion of his conscience, Carden released his hold and summoned his most roguish smile. “As a lady, you probably don’t want to know.”

Any other woman would have gasped or huffed at the innuendo and fled. But not Seraphina Treadwell. No, not Sera. She slowly turned to stand squarely in front of him, so close that her hems covered his feet and she had to tilt her head back to meet his gaze. “You’re right, I probably don’t want to know, but I should anyway. What will you gain from my playing the princess, Carden Reeves? Why are you willing to spend outrageous sums of money on lavish gowns for me?”

It was a stunningly direct question; the answer to which should have been very clear and simple. Only it wasn’t. Yes, he wanted to bed her; he’d wanted that from the moment he’d opened the door and found her on his doorstep. He’d selected her gowns with seduction in mind, with the notion that if she felt beautiful she’d also feel desirous and he would reap the heady reward. He’d played the game a thousand times before. It was an uncomplicated matter of give-and-take.

And yet as he looked down into her searching blue eyes he couldn’t deny that he felt more than pure desire. Another—edgy and undefinable—kind of want was worming its way into him. He could vaguely sense a substance to it, knew that it made him feel restless and harassed. Knowing what would satisfy the hunger, however, eluded him.

What he did know, he silently growled, angry with himself and his indecisiveness, was that dwelling on it complicated the hell out of being with her. Unnecessarily so. Sera was no sheltered virgin; she was a widow and knew about the natural desires of men and women. And because of that he had absolutely no reason to feel even the slightest twinge of guilt for encouraging her to act on instincts as old as time. She’d asked a blunt question, very deliberately putting them at a crossroads. He wasn’t inclined to back away from making a choice of paths, but he was gentleman enough to allow her the chance to do so. Only a cad found satisfaction in seducing an unwilling or unwitting woman.

“My motives,” he drawled, “aren’t terribly complex. The question, Seraphina, is how honest you want me to be about them.”

He’d handed her Pandora’s box and dared her to open the lid. She knew what would happen if she surrendered to temptation, just as she knew what would happen if she clung to propriety. The fear of uncertainty begged her to choose the familiar comfort and safety offered in the latter. All she had to do was declare his intentions disgustingly clear and retire to the schoolroom with regal disdain. And then spend the rest of her life wondering what treasures she might have found had she been brave enough to accept his challenge.

“I think it would be best,” she replied over the frantic pounding of her heart, “if you were to be completely, brutally honest.”

His pulse shot like lightning through his veins even as the air froze painfully deep in his lungs. “Never brutal, Seraphina. Never,” he whispered, gently placing his hands on her shoulders and lowering his head to brush his lips over hers. She trembled at the prelude but didn’t back away and so he slipped his arms around her, drawing her closer, possessing her more fully.

She had never been kissed like this, so slowly, lingeringly, and with a kind of reverence that made her ache, body and soul, with wanting. Her hands went to his waist to steady herself, and when he trailed the tip of his tongue over her lips, she parted them, moaning with pleasure as he laid slow, tender claim to the whole of her mouth. Reveling in the smoky sweet taste of him, she leaned into his strength and warmth, surrendering to the temptation to touch her own tongue to his.

He groaned and tightened his arms around her even as he slowly drew back and broke their kiss. “Sera,” he whispered, feathering quick, breathless kisses to the corners of her mouth. “I want you, Sera.” He caught her lower lip between his and languidly stroked it with the tip of his tongue.

And she wanted him. With every thrumming fiber of her being and as she’d never thought it possible to want a man. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think beyond the pulsing heat that was consuming her.

“Oh, God,” he murmured, his breathing just as ragged as her own as he released her lip and straightened. She opened her eyes to meet his gaze and silently plead for more.

His sigh was regretful as he eased his hold on her and set her squarely on her feet. Smiling painfully, he said, “The girls are coming down the stairs. You’d best be getting dressed for our outing. We don’t want to keep them waiting.”

Reality crept back into her awareness by lethargic degrees. He had the softest, most inviting eyes. She could get lost in them so easily. And his voice was like the most expensive velvet; soft and rich and caressingly warm. The girls … She started, suddenly fully aware of where she was, what she’d been doing, and that if she didn’t move she was going to be caught in a most compromising situation. The girls were far too young to understand any explanation either one of them could give.

Her pulse skittering, she stepped back and instinctively reached to check her hairpins.

“I’ll remove those for you later, Sera.”

The image was instant and full, moonlit and erotic. Unable to breathe again and hearing the girls in the hall, she did the only thing she could. She gathered her skirts in hand, turned her back on temptation incarnate, and fled.

Carden expelled a long, hard breath as she disappeared around the corner and then reached for his brandy glass. He drained it and waited for the heat to burn away the blinding haze of desire, desperately hoping that it would be under control by the time his nieces bounded into the room. Especially Amanda. She was old enough to be aware of tensions that her sisters would miss completely. And still too young to know not to ask embarrassing questions about them.

To his dismay, the girls came into the room before the proof of his desire had completely subsided. There was nothing else to do but stuff his hands in his trouser pockets, pretend a great interest in the new books on the library shelves, and wonder what time they retired for the night.

*   *   *

Sera smoothed the front of her new walking dress and considered her reflection in the mirror with a heavy sigh. She’d always known that she was pretty; she would have had to have been blind not to notice the looks men had always given her in passing. But passing was all it had ever been. Her parents hadn’t considered her appearance to be of any positive consequence whatsoever. Talent and intelligence, they’d always said, would serve her better and longer in life than a perky nose and creamy skin. Beauty did not make for a fulfilling life or make a noteworthy contribution to the welfare or knowledge of mankind.

In that belief, they’d seen to it that she was too busy to be courted by what they considered to be shallow men in search of nothing more than a conquest or a social adornment. They had protected her as they thought best. And in the end, they had approved of Gerald Treadwell largely because he approved of her work and believed it to be valuable.