My Unfair Lady (39 page)

   Summer soaked in a bath until her skin wrinkled, washed her hair twice with rose-scented soap, used all the tricks that Lady Windolm had taught her, and stood in front of her wardrobe for hours, pondering her choices. The red silk would be too obvious, and the gold made her eyes look like amber but had a million tiny buttons. But the rose-printed tea gown would match her perfume, and best of all, she wouldn't need to wear a corset with it.

   Having decided on the print, Summer pondered her underthings. She picked up the knee-length drawers that Byron had bought for her in Paris, the ones with the slit in the crotch that made going to the water closet much easier, but provided such a draft that Summer had never worn them. Now, however, they seemed the perfect attire for what she had in mind.

   She slipped the sheer silk over her legs and felt her face burn. She hadn't realized how difficult it would be to purposely seduce a man. Whenever she and Byron had come together it had just happened, as naturally as taking the next breath.

   Summer stood before the full-length mirror and watched her face color again. No proper lady would invite a man to her hotel suite, dressed in an informal tea gown, with slits in her drawers. She grinned at her reflection.

   It took a considerable amount of time to disengage Moo-moo's claws from the sitting room curtains and establish the cat a new perch on her bedroom ones. Thank goodness she had thought to have the hotel's walker take the dogs out; they should be fine for hours. Lefty had already fallen asleep on her pillow, his pink belly exposed, all three paws in the air. Sweetie had hidden under the bed as soon as he heard running water, afraid the bath might be for him, the big baby. Summer let out a nervous giggle at the sight of Sweetie's back end sticking out from under the bed. Too big to fit under it, he thought that as long as he hid his head, Summer couldn't see him.

   She went into the sitting room and waited. And thought about how she might go about seducing a duke. And waited some more.

BYRON PACED THE FLOOR OF HIS HOTEL ROOM, glancing up at the ceiling every few minutes. Summer Wine Lee lived somewhere above him in one of the posher suites. His smaller room on the ground floor lacked a sitting room, so he continually bumped into the bed where Lionel sat reading.

   "Father," said the boy in frustration. "I keep losing my place every time you jog the bed."

   "Sorry."

   "You should have let me deliver the note to Summer. Then she would have sent for you by now."

   Byron swept the hair off his face. Lionel might be right; the boy he'd hired to deliver the message had looked scornfully at the few coins the duke had placed in his hands for payment, so how could he be sure his message had been delivered?

   Bloody hell, how could he be sure of anything he'd done? He should have burned the papers his prince had given him, not handed them over to Mrs. Tarkington. And then, to compound his stupidity, he'd gone to that Monte fellow and told him as well. The eager suitor had practically fled from the room to meet his "affianced family," as he called them.

   The duke smacked his shin into the bed frame this time and suppressed a curse at the look on his son's face. He sat down hard and rubbed angrily at the bump. What had he been thinking? So what if the girl didn't realize what a wonderful treasure she was… Was that such a bad thing? Since when did his concern for someone else get in the way of what he wanted?

   He should've married her first and then worried about her self-esteem. He should've controlled his anger about her stubborn insistence to change herself and told her that he had no intention of marrying Lady Banfour. Instead he'd let her leave Cliffs Castle without trying to stop her, trying to punish her for not seeing herself as he did.

   And he'd handed Monte to her on a silver platter, without knowing if she'd realize that the man would never be good enough for her. The enormity of the risk he'd taken had finally occurred to him and shattered his resolve to let Summer find her way back to him. In a fit of panic he'd written a note asking to see her.

   And then paced this room, considering several ways he could get her to commit to him. But he still couldn't decide what to do.

   He glanced over at his son's bowed head. "You still think we should just kidnap her?"

   Lionel nodded. "She loves us. She'll let us do it."

   "What am I thinking?" Byron glared at the ceiling again. How could he even consider listening to a ten year-old's suggestion? It stood testament to his rattled state of mind. Perhaps it hadn't been a good idea to stay in the same hotel that Summer did, because he'd almost bumped into her several times, and the sight of her weakened his resolve to let her come to him.

   And then he'd seen her this morning, walking with that unusual grace of hers through the hotel lobby, on the way to her father's funeral. Her usually tan face had looked so pale in her black mourning clothes.

   He'd had to physically stop himself from going to her.

   Byron came to a decision. He'd always liked his first option, that of seducing her. If he were honest with her and told her how wonderful she was, she wouldn't believe him, unless she'd already come to that conclusion herself. And after all that he'd done so she could discover that, there was no guarantee that she had. And it was time he took what he wanted.

   "Lionel," he announced. "I'm going to stick to my own plan."

   His son looked up at him in disgust. "I don't think a bunch of kissing's going to solve anything."

   Byron grinned. That was as close as he'd been able to get when explaining his plan to the boy. Actually, he'd been grateful that Lionel hadn't understood the full meaning of the word "seduction." He'd like to resolve his own women problems before facing any his son might have.

   A rapid knock sounded at the door, and they both froze for a moment, then lunged at the handle.

   Byron managed to grab the note out of the hotel messenger's hand only because he stood a bit taller. He tipped the uniformed lad and closed the door, his back flat against it, holding the note as if it carried the weight of the world upon it.

   Which it did. His world, anyway.

   "Father."

   Byron shrugged and tore open the seal. He breathed a sigh of relief. She wanted to see him… and her room number was written next to the top of the hotel's letterhead.

   "Er, this might take a while."

   Lionel picked up his book. "I'll be fine… and don't worry, Father. She can't live without us."

   Byron wished he felt half as confident as his son did while he took the lift up to Summer's room. But by the time he reached her door, he felt some of his old self-assurance returning. After all, he was exceptionally good at seducing women. Hadn't he lived on his charm for years? Didn't the finest homes in London open their doors and beg for a visit from him?

   He pounded on her door.

   Summer jumped a foot and clutched at her heart when she heard the knock. Tarnation, she looked just like Cook! She threw her hand down. He was here! He'd come, after hours of waiting… and she still didn't feel ready. She tiptoed to the door and grasped the brass doorknob, and then a cold wave of realization washed over her. She spun and looked wildly around the room. There was no place for them to… dadburn it! Why hadn't she thought of this earlier? Could she let the critters out of her room while she brought him to her bed? Oh, that would spoil his mood entirely, and her seduction would be a failure.

   She studied her carved desk and its hardback chair, the tiny tea table with its cushioned seats, the small love seat with its upholstery buttons. She couldn't even imagine the possibility. She glanced at the fireplace, with its hearth of polished stone and its absence of a bear fur. Her eyes finally came to rest on the armless chaise near the window. Although very narrow, she thought it might be the only possible option she could imagine. They were likely to tumble off and break their necks.

   Summer choked on a hysterical giggle.

   Byron stood outside the door and unashamedly pressed his ear against the gilded surface. What was taking her so long? He swept the hair off his face and happened to glance down, noticing a white sliver of paper under her door. He snatched it up, realizing that it was his message to her, and it hadn't been opened. So, her note to him hadn't been in response to his. Now he couldn't be sure of why he was here. What did she want with him? How had she even known where to reach him, if she hadn't read his note?

   His self-confidence started to quiver again, and he snapped his spine rigid. It didn't matter why she sent for him, whether to thank him for finding her family or to curse him for it. It didn't change his intentions for this meeting whatsoever.

   He lifted his hand to pound the door again, when it opened.

   It had been too long since her golden eyes had looked into his own; he felt the force of her gaze like a blow to his gut, and he could only stand there and stare at her like some love-struck ninny. Where had the charming seducer gone to? He tried to take control of the situation. "Aren't you going to invite me in?"

   As soon as Summer saw him, she remembered the rock by the pond. Now, if they could make love on a rock, somehow they'd surely manage it on that narrow chaise, wouldn't they? She had to suppress another giggle. Tarnation, had he said something to her? Surely she'd seen his lips move.

   "Won't you come in?" Her voice had a breathless quality that Lady Banfour would've been proud of.

   She stepped to the side, and he brushed the front of her gown as he passed her, almost as if he'd done it on purpose. Her nipples tingled and she swallowed. How was she going to seduce him if she couldn't maintain her own composure? If she started falling all over him, how would she know when he fell on her? She knew she wanted him, but the point was to find out if he still wanted her.

   Summer took a deep breath and closed the door firmly.

   Byron's arm still tingled from where he'd brushed against her. He'd done it on purpose, of course, but his reaction to that brief contact unsettled him. Since when had the mere touch of a woman made him half-hard? He'd have to show more restraint. After all, his plan was to seduce her, and then once he had her in the palm of his hand, tell her that they would be married, and that she had no say in the matter. If he couldn't keep himself in control, he'd have her on that little chaise in seconds, and she'd be the one dictating to him.

   Byron leaned a casual arm over the mantel, shook back his hair, and gave her his most disarming smile. Unfortunately, she smiled right back at him, lights sparkling in her eyes, that elfin nose upturned in such a look of mischief that he dropped his arm and took an involuntary step toward her.

   "I, uh," said Summer, trying to recover from that smile he'd given her. "Ordered up tea… It's probably cold. But. Do you want some?" She wished her mind hadn't followed the feelings in her legs and turned to jelly. But, tarnation, that smile he'd given her could melt an iceberg.

   "Yes. It doesn't matter." Byron ran his fingers through his hair in frustration. What had happened to the man who had the reputation for wielding his tongue like a sword? He could barely get two words out. "That it's cold, I mean." He strode over and slammed himself into a chair.

   Summer blinked. Why would he be angry with her? This wasn't going as well as she'd hoped. It was time to be more direct. She flowed over to the table and picked up the porcelain teapot and leaned over to pour cold tea into his cup. She leaned very far over, farther than necessary. Far enough that the loose neckline of her tea gown dropped open, and if he would only glance up at her, he could see clear to China.

   "You're much better at that," he murmured, his eyes never leaving the pot.

   Summer's hand trembled. His voice had that husky quality to it, the same tone he used when he'd ask her if she wanted more… Yes. Oh yes. "Better at what?" she said aloud.

   "The art of pouring tea," he replied. Byron had felt her reaction to his voice with a sense of triumph but made the mistake of looking up. Bloody hell. Her gown gaped open wide enough to reveal each rounded breast and, could it be? Yes, the rosy hue of taut nipples teased his eyes as well. Made his mouth water.

   He jumped to his feet and held the back of her chair. "Forgive my bad manners, won't you sit down?"

   Summer scowled and plopped down into the chair, letting him push it in for her. She'd thought he surely couldn't resist the temptation she'd hung right out in front of him. Maybe she needed to be more sensual? She reached up and patted at the strands of her hair bun. "Well," she breathed. "I may have improved at pouring tea, but my hair still won't stay up properly. I might as well let it down." She undid a few hairpins, knowing that ladies never let their hair down unless going to bed. The idiot man knew that—why, he's the one who'd taught it to her!

   She felt the brown mass of her hair tumble down, caressing the sides of her face and pooling in the curve of her shoulders. She just wished the feel of it didn't remind her of the whisper of
his
hair across her face when he lay above her.