Seduce Me (28 page)

“Do you ever see him?” Fielding asked, unsure if he actually wanted to hear the answer.

“No.” Her voice was soft, barely more than a whisper. “I went and saw him after your father died, when you started working
for him. But that was the last time.” She grabbed Fielding’s hand. “And that was only because of you. It’s all been for you.”

Fielding slid his hand out from beneath hers. She slumped against the back of her chair, folded her hands in her lap. “I’ll
be here if you have any more questions.”

He made no move to stand, to leave. But there was nothing else he wanted to ask.

“Jensen tells me you’ve met your match with Miss Worthington,” his mother said.

“You’re right, Jensen does talk too much.”

A part of him
had
thought he’d met his match with Esme. Hell, he’d been ready to marry her. But now, with all of this, he was more certain
than ever that Esme deserved so much more than he was: a bastard masquerading as a viscount.

E
sme wasn’t accustomed to bathing in the morning, but she had gone to bed so late last night, lying awake waiting for Fielding
to come home, that she’d fallen asleep on the window seat in all of her clothes. This morning she’d awoken to find herself
quite chilled and sore. When Annette had suggested a warm soak, Esme hadn’t been able to say no.

With a sigh, Esme settled into the soothing warm water, relishing the scent of lilac that stirred around her.

Thea had warned her not to walk away from love.
Love
.

But she did not love Fielding, did she? Admittedly, he was handsome. She would, no doubt, have thought that regardless of
the bracelet. She respected him. Perhaps admired him. She certainly found him most agreeable. And though it had only been
one evening, she’d missed him terribly last night.

One by one, memories flashed through her mind: Fielding rescuing her from the dungeon, traipsing all over London looking for
a way to remove her curse, finding Thea’s lost love, even his visit to Elena and Raymond to let them know she was safe, touching
her, making love to her… He’d been more than her rescuer.

Her hand flew to her mouth.

Oh, no!

She sank under the water. She
had
fallen in love with him.

She came out of the water sputtering.

What was she supposed to do now?

A knock sounded from her bedchamber door. Annette was eager to please, which was very sweet, but annoying when one needed
private time. Like now, when Esme was currently having a bit of a crisis.

A knock again, then the door opened.

“Annette, I don’t need—” Her words died in her throat as she saw Fielding standing there.

His eyes darkened as they took in her naked body half immersed in water. “I didn’t mean to interrupt your bath.” He turned
as if he meant to leave, but he made no further movement. Standing there, Esme watched some sort of battle play across Fielding’s
features.

“Fielding?” she asked.

He met her glance, and again she could see pain shrouding his eyes. Without a word, he shut the door, then locked it.

Her heart sped, beating so loudly she couldn’t think clearly.

“I should get out,” she said, leaning over the tub to reach for the waiting towel.

He stilled her arm. “Lean forward.” He knelt beside the tub, paying no mind to the water droplets that would dampen his pants.
After pushing up both sleeves, he reached in behind her and grabbed the sponge. “Close your eyes.”

She did as he bade. Thick currents of warm water slid down her back. Again and again he squeezed the sponge over her skin.
He lathered the sponge, then gently slid the suds across her back. Ever so slowly, he moved over her shoulders, down her arms.
Esme felt the tension ooze from her body. In its place settled intimate awareness, and with every pass of his hand her flesh
craved more.

“What has your maid said of your tattoos?” he asked. His finger trailed across the words imprinted on her lower back.

“She has not seen them. I won’t allow her to assist dressing me until I have my shift on. And I haven’t worn my hair up since.”

His soft chuckle whispered across her skin like a caress.

“Lean back,” he urged.

She rested her neck against the tub’s copper edge, all the while keeping her eyes closed.

He picked up her right leg and ran the sponge down the length, stopping short of her mid-thigh. The left leg received the
same treatment. Esme’s pulse quickened and desire coiled through her, warming her and melting her blood.

The sponge slid between her breasts, leaving a trail of sudsy water across her skin. A droplet slid across her left nipple
and it hardened instantly. The next touch came from his hand instead of the sponge.

Esme opened her eyes, but he was not looking at her face. Instead he was intently focused on her body. She knew it couldn’t
be true, but in that moment what she saw etched in Fielding’s features was not desire. His glance was much softer as he stroked
his soaped hands across her abdomen.

He swallowed, then licked his lips.

Was it possible that Fielding loved her too? Without thought, she reached up and cupped his face. Smoldering brown eyes met
hers, and then he leaned in for a kiss. A second later she was dripping water across the floor as he carried her to the bed.

Since girlhood she’d believed her bookish ways would be unappealing to any man. She believed she lacked some basic element
of femininity. But with Fielding, a lifetime of doubts simply dissolved.

No woman could have felt more beautiful or more desired than Esme did in that moment. Gently he placed her on the bed, covering
her with his own body.

“I want you.” His hot breath teased her ear.

“I want you too,” she said.

His arousal strained against his trousers, pressing into her stomach. She tugged on his shirt, and in answer he stood to remove
his clothing. Once before she’d seen Fielding’s body, but this morning she took a moment to fully appreciate him.

Broad shoulders with clearly visible muscles that flexed as his arms moved. Dark hair sprinkled over his chest, then tapered
to a thin line that trailed down the center of his abdomen and ended in the curls surrounding his erection. Long, strong legs
slipped the rest of the way out of his trousers.

“You’re staring,” he said.

“Perhaps. You’re worth such close inspection.”

He crawled into the bed next to her, the warmth of his skin covering hers.

She pulled his head down for another passionate kiss. She could drink from him for hours. Their mouths mated, increasing the
arousal within her. Her body sang with sensitivity as he trailed his fingers down her waist to her hip.

His kiss moved from her mouth, down her shoulder to her breast. He laved the swollen tip until she arched with need. Still
he did not stop his sweet torture. His wet, seductive tongue made quick work of her stomach, dipping once into her navel,
before licking down to her waist. She clamped her hands onto the bed, grabbing fistfuls of the sheets as he nipped over her
waist and across her hip until he hovered over her center.

With his fingers, he parted the curls at the juncture of her thighs and thumbed the sensitive nub hidden there. She cried
out.

“Shhhh,” he whispered.

Even with the light streaming in through the windows, she’d forgotten that it was morning and that people were awake and moving
about in the house.

Again he flicked a touch over her aching center. Before she could respond, his mouth was on her. Hot, wet, and so sinfully
delicious she forgot her name. Her mouth fell open as she pressed her head into the pillow beneath her. He suckled her, then
slid one finger inside. Pleasure surged through her.

The rhythm of his mouth and hand were lost to her as she stopped paying attention to what he was doing and focused on how
his touch made her body feel. Tension climbed inside her, and every part of her tightened as if she was bracing for a strike.
Then the pleasure boiled over, starting in her center and shooting through her body.

Before the waves had ceased he was inside her. She was slick with desire and felt none of the pinch or discomfort she had
experienced the last time they made love. Her body still shook with release as he built her up again, stroking and pulsing
inside her.

The cords in his neck tightened. Low, guttural sounds came from his throat. One more thrust and his eyes squeezed shut. His
release pushed her right over the edge again, and together they rocked with pleasure.

“I love you, Fielding,” she whispered.

He stilled and rolled off her. Instantly, air wafted across her naked body, cooling her skin. But it was his words that chilled
her to the bone.

“No,” he muttered. “You can’t love me.”

Her eyes flared with anger. She sat and held the pillow to her chest. “What do you mean, I
can’t
love you? I’m a grown woman; I should think I can do what I choose.”

Fielding stood and pulled on his trousers. He was the worst sort of ass. He’d come here to tell her about the reversal of
the curse, but he’d taken one look at her in that bathtub and lost his mind. Suddenly all he could think about was what his
mother had told him. He was David’s son.
The Raven’s
son. And he’d needed to forget, needed to lose himself in Esme’s light.

Now Esme fancied herself in love with him. In love with a man he could never be. He was no better than the Raven. They were
cut from the same cloth; the Raven’s blood ran through his veins.

She looked so small huddled in the large bed, clutching a pillow to her chest. Her still-damp hair lay in soft curls around
her head. God, she was so beautiful, so fragile. But he knew that no matter how much he tried, he could never be the man she
wanted him to be.

He’d wanted to believe he could, but his mother’s revelation had confirmed otherwise. How could he settle down and be a good
husband, when neither the man who’d sired him nor the one who’d raised him had been able to make his mother happy? He had
to end this now, before he did more than break Esme’s heart.

“I don’t love you,” he said. Though as he said the words, his heart seized in his chest.

She forced herself to swallow the tears forming in her eyes. “Why did you come here this morning?” Her voice was brittle.

He cleared his throat in hopes that he could dissolve the emotion clinging there. “The diary is wrong. About the bracelets
and their curse.” That’s not what he wanted to say. He longed to tell her the truth about who he was. But he was too afraid
of her reaction. He was revolted by the idea himself. Esme, with her scholarly ethics, would be repulsed by the knowledge
that he was the Raven’s son—that she had just made love with the spawn of the devil himself.

Her expression pinched as she looked down at the bracelet. “I’m wearing this thing, and you can attest to the fact that I
can’t remove it.”

“Yes. That isn’t the part I was referring to,” he said.

She pulled the heavy coverlet up around her, creating more of a boundary between them. “Please say what you came to say, then
leave me with the only shred of dignity I have left.”

He started to take a step forward, but he stopped himself. “I found Waters last night.”

“Is he here?” she asked.

“No.” He shook his head. “But I noticed something. Something perhaps we should have considered before.” He rubbed his forehead.
“Everyone in the pub was ill. Then the moment Waters walked in, their illnesses became even worse. Visibly so.”

Her frown deepened.

“Even the serving girl, Minnie, said something about business being slow. The crowd had thinned considerably from the last
time we were there. When I asked her where everyone was, she said they were all sick. She looked rather ill as well.” He shook
his head, trying to rid his mind of the memory of what he’d seen.

“I don’t understand.” She shook her head. “Fielding, what are you trying to say?”

“The bracelets don’t curse the wearer, they curse those around them.” When she said nothing, he sat on the edge of the bed.
“Waters must be wearing the band of disease.”

“That can’t be,” she whispered. Her eyes had widened with shock, her skin gone impossibly pale.

“Do you know what this means?” he asked.

“I do,” she said quietly. She did not move, simply sat there staring down at her own bracelet as if looking for an explanation
or confirmation. “It means that all the while I was losing my heart to you, all the times you let me touch you, that you touched
me in return…” Her voice hitched. “When you made love to me, you only did so because you were under some sort of spell.” She
looked up at him, her eyes filled with tears and sorrow, but when she spoke her voice was steely with resolve. “Get out.”

He hadn’t even denied it. Esme flung herself back on her bed and stared up at the painted ceiling. Fielding didn’t want her,
at least he wouldn’t want her once she took off the bracelet. And she’d professed her love to him. Her cheeks flamed with
humiliation.