Lori Brighton - [The Seduction 02] (5 page)

“Ashton.”

“Of course. Mrs. Ashton.” He started toward her like a cat on the prowl. And that’s what he was, an animal hunting prey…hunting women.

As if she finally sensed the danger, she shrank back a step and clasped her hands to her chest. Almost took a second, then paused, as if thinking better of it. Reluctantly he admired her courage, although it would do her no good in the end.

“A taste.” She flattened herself to the door. “No, no need. I prefer things within the privacy of a closed room.”

He quirked a brow. “The room is quite private.”

“But…I…”

“When a door is closed here, it stays closed.”
Most of the time.
“We will not be interrupted.”
Possibly not.

He stopped in front of her, so close he could smell lilacs. So close her breasts brushed against his chest with each shallow breath she took. He had her cornered, like a cat with a mouse. Would she break? Would he win? Just when he could almost smell the sweet scent of victory, her spine stiffened.

“Very well.” She tilted her chin high, her gaze locking on his through that netting. “Kiss me.”

It was a demand, and she kept her voice free of quiver. But there was something in her bearing…not an excitement, but a determination, that gave him pause. In the brief time he’d spent with this woman, he had been caught completely off guard. He wasn’t quite sure what to think about her. Wasn’t sure if he liked the feeling of not knowing what would happen next.

“Well?” she whispered, that husky voice urging him onward.

Never one to back down from a dare, Gideon inched so close his hard body pressed to her soft curves. She didn’t even flinch. Had her innocence been a ruse? Could it be that she frequented brothels so often, this was nothing to her? He’d find out soon enough. Slowly, he lifted the netting that covered her face. Green eyes. She had emerald-green eyes surrounded by thick, dark lashes. Eyes that sparkled like gems, sparkled with unease and something else…interest. For one long moment, the world no longer existed.

Unsettled, he tore his gaze from hers and lowered his attention to the lightest spattering of freckles across her nose. Freckles that
one had to be extremely close to notice. For some reason he found he liked those freckles. He liked her scent. He liked her milkmaid looks. Unable to hold back, he slipped his finger underneath her pointed chin, tilting her head. He breathed in her warm breath right before their lips met. Soft, velvety plump lips that molded deliciously to his mouth.

She froze underneath him, and he had a strange feeling that she’d never been kissed before. Slowly, seductively, he drew his tongue over her bottom lip. She quivered in his arms. A quick shiver. So, she wasn’t immune to his charms. Her lips parted and timidly her tongue met his. Heated lust dug down deep within his body, clawed at his gut with a primitive urge. A lust that surprised him, shocked him even. A lust that had him drawing back, startled. She glanced up at him, blinking rapidly as if she was just as surprised as he by his reaction.

“Well,” she said breathlessly. “There you have it. You’ll do well enough indeed.”

Before he could respond, she turned and pulled open the door. Her backside bumped into his hard groin as she hurried to escape him. He resisted the urge to curse and pull her back.

Lady Lavender stood in the hall, her eerie gaze on them, ever watchful. He had no doubt that the woman knew exactly what had taken place. In a quick flash, she took in their rumpled state and Mrs. Ashton’s flushed cheeks. Those lavender eyes narrowed as something worked its way across her face. Something he didn’t recognize. Anger…yet more…nervousness?

Mrs. Ashton jerked the netting down over her fine features. “Thank you, I shall return him within a fortnight.”

She didn’t wait for Lady Lavender’s response but started toward her Mr. Smith, who was waiting impatiently near the doors. So then, he was leaving after all. He wasn’t quite sure how to feel about the prospect of being free, albeit for a brief moment in time. For years he’d been planning an escape with little success…had his bad fortune finally taken a turn?

He felt the sudden touch of Lady Lavender’s fingers on his arm. “If you’re not back, you know what happens.”

It was a threat murmured for his ears only. He felt oddly pleased to see the flash of doubt that shadowed her features. Aye, he questioned his sudden good fortune, but he wouldn’t voice his objections now. “Why wouldn’t I return?”

“See that you do.” In a swirl of skirts, she vanished into her office, leaving him bemused. He had the oddest feeling that the power he’d coveted over Lady Lavender had just shifted to his side and all thanks to a woman who looked like a milkmaid but kissed like a practiced whore.

A small smile lifted the corners of his mouth. He glanced toward the doors where Mrs. Ashton waited for him. Strange, indeed. What hold did the little minx have over one of the most powerful women in England?

He didn’t know, but he sure as hell would find out.

Alone.

They were completely and utterly alone.

Elizabeth swallowed hard as the realization dawned. She was at his mercy. This man she didn’t know. This man who looked as if he could murder someone without a twinge of conscience. Sweat prickled her forehead, although she didn’t dare lift her netting to press a handkerchief to the sensitive skin, for then he would know she was nervous, and she had a feeling her weakness would urge him to pounce.

Upon entering the carriage, Gideon had merely leaned back against the rich leather seat and regarded her with barely concealed boredom. He hadn’t said a bloody word. If she hadn’t noticed the slightest rise and fall of his chest, the slow blink of his thick lashes every few moments, she might have thought he was dead.

But now the sun had faded, hovering tauntingly upon the horizon. The darkness brought her unease to a new pitch. The lack
of light and the small confines made their journey a bit too intimate for her liking. Then again, they could have been an ocean apart and she’d still feel too close to the man.

They had been in the carriage a good three hours and he’d done nothing but stare. He was like one of the automaton men she’d seen at the spring fair Mr. Ashton had taken them to last year. His gaze cold, his body hard. Was he even human? She had to resist the urge to scoot closer and poke him in the chest to find out.

Mr. Smith had left hours ago, headed to London, while Will had taken a hired coach to the estate, leaving her alone with Gideon, just as they’d planned. Even Mr. Smith had been uneasy in the man’s presence, pulling her aside when they’d reached his hotel to make sure she still wanted to go through with the insane plan, as he’d labeled it. But she had promised Mr. Ashton. She would see the promise through no matter what it took. So far everything had gone as well as could be expected.

She stole a quick glance from beneath her lashes. Of course she was nervous. The man was too large, too bloody handsome for his own good. Anyone would be nervous in his presence. Her gaze slid from his face to those broad shoulders. His white shirtsleeves, brilliant in the dim light, were like a beacon. The way that black silken waistcoat highlighted his broad chest, tapering to his waist. He’d left his jacket behind, but considering he was a whore, what did his state of undress matter?

For a brief moment she’d thought perhaps he might attempt to seduce her. But no. In fact, the only emotion she’d noticed was mild curiosity.

Ever so slowly, as if he were a wild animal she feared attracting, Elizabeth set her reticule aside. She’d brought with her a small novel of poetry, thinking to pass her time by reading. The absurdity almost made her laugh. As if she could read with the man staring at her so intensely. As if she could do anything but stare back. It was hard to believe this was the very man who had
kissed her so warmly in Lady Lavender’s parlor only hours ago. A man whose touch had been soft, gentle. Now there was something decidedly…savage about him.

She was being silly. He was merely a man. There was that all too human pulse beating at the side of his neck, the soft curl to his hair, a tiny nick near his chin. She took in a deep breath, torn between making small talk and ignoring him completely. It would be best to act as if she was sitting here with Mr. Smith.

But Mr. Smith did not make her uneasy. Mr. Smith did not make her breathless. She shifted, attempting to ease the ache in her back from hours of sitting, her skirts rustling with the movement. Her corset felt too blasted tight. It was as if someone had sucked all the air from the carriage. With a frustrated sigh, she jerked the pin from her hat and tossed it to the seat beside her.

“Much better,” she muttered, forcing a normality into her voice that surely shouldn’t be there.

No response. Someone that silent should have blended into the upholstery, but not him. No, the man would never blend in anywhere. Mr. Smith had been wrong…so utterly wrong. Gideon was not some witless man thinking of only his basic human needs. No, he was more, layer upon layer of mystery that clouded those steel eyes.

And so the minutes ticked by, the carriage bumping down the road, light fading as afternoon gave way to evening. And the entire time they merely sat there, staring at each other as if playing some sort of childish game of who would speak first. Well, let her be the loser, she bloody well couldn’t take the silence any longer.

“Tell me about yourself,” she blurted, her voice coming out rough and hurried, too breathless. Lord, she sounded like the women who used to sell themselves on the streets where she’d lived as a child, their voices husky with desire.

His handsome face showed no emotion and no interest, but he surprised her by answering. “There’s nothing to tell.”

Elizabeth lifted a brow. Hmm, it would be that way then? He’d responded, oh yes, but he wouldn’t give her anything personal. Well, she didn’t actually need his response anyway. Thanks to Mr. Smith’s research, she knew Gideon’s past quite well.

“He grew up right across the border in Scotland,”
Mr. Smith had told her only a few weeks ago.
“He lived in a tiny cottage that was more of a shack. The placed crumbled away some time ago.”

“You grew up in Scotland,” Elizabeth said, feeling awfully clever at startling him.

Much to her annoyance, he didn’t respond. Even if she hadn’t known his past, she knew the answer by the slight accent in his voice. “Near the borders, by the sound of your accent.”

She was right, but he didn’t acknowledge it, not even a flash of surprise in his cold eyes. She drummed her fingers upon her thigh and narrowed her gaze. He was no fun at all. So help her, she’d get him to break.

“He was wild, but kind. Even the butcher remembered him. God forbid anyone say a cross word to his sister, the boy would flay the person alive.”

“My bet is you were in quite a few scraps as a child.” She glanced pointedly at his fingers where the scars crisscrossed his knuckles. Knife fights and sparring matches.

No response.

“I tell you this not because I think he is still this honorable lad,”
Mr. Smith had warned.
“But because the anger, the fight, was already in him. He was a boy on the brink of becoming a nuisance or a gentleman. Which do you think he has chosen, after being a prostitute for well over a decade?”

But surely there was still hope for Gideon. Not that she would know by looking at him. Her irritation grew because she was exhausted, and she was nervous, but mostly because she worried that Mr. Smith had been right and she had been truly stupid to think this would work.

“Have you suddenly grown deaf?” she boldly demanded.

He smiled, but there was no warmth to it. No, that grin was more like a slap to her face. She had the awful feeling that he mocked. She despised when people laughed at her.

“You’re under the impression that you control me,” he stated. “What you don’t realize is that I decide my own fate.”

She shivered. Cutthroats had nothing on this man. He decided his own fate? What did that even mean? She gave him the slightest hint of a smile, unwilling to show anything but the same arrogance he gave her. She would not be intimidated. “You’re working for me.”

Still, there was no emotion in his hard gaze, not even anger. She swore his face could have been cut from granite. “I work for no one. I’m here because I choose to be.”

She frowned. Was he serious? Did he have more power over Lady Lavender than she’d thought? Had he truly chosen to sell his body instead of being manipulated or forced? She’d assumed, as Mr. Smith had, that at the very least he’d needed the money. Yes, she’d have to tiptoe around this one; be very careful indeed. She had the oddest feeling that he took delight in making her uneasy.

“You have no questions for me?” she asked. When he said nothing, she continued in a different manner. “Have you no thoughts on my expectations?”

“I told you, I do what I want, and believe me, you’ll enjoy it.”

She flushed, ignoring that sinful thrill of delight his comment produced. “No, do you have any thoughts upon where we’re going?”

“West, obviously.”

So, he wasn’t completely oblivious. Yet, he asked no more questions, and she was forced to admit that perhaps he really didn’t care what she did with him. Perhaps he only wanted the money. A taciturn, greedy whore. She couldn’t
wait
to spend the rest of her life with him. Ideal husband, indeed.

A low rumble of thunder shook the ground, the lanterns swaying back and forth, casting splashes of light across his hard
face. Happy to have something to think about other than the man before her, Elizabeth brushed aside the curtains and studied the evening countryside. Dark clouds tiptoed across the crescent moon, the landscape a velvet canvas of shadows.

“Rain, perhaps.” She bit back her smile. Perfect. Rain would mean their travel would slow. Rain would mean they’d have more time together and she could uncover the true Gideon. Perhaps Mr. Ashton was watching over her after all. She dared to glance at her traveling companion. “What ever shall we do?”

“Aye, you seem rather put out and weather is such a fascinating subject.” Sarcasm dripped from his tongue, but she didn’t mind. All that mattered was that he was actually making conversation, as biting as it was.