Seducing the Beast (20 page)

“I’m sorry, my lord,” said Gregory. “But may I say, although of a diminutive size, the young lady is uncommon determined. At my time of life…”

Griff strode up and down before the great hearth, one hand rubbing his neck. “No sign of her accomplices yet, eh?”

“Accomplices, my lord?”

“Of course.” He turned on his heel again and started back in the other direction. “She’s not in this alone. Someone put her up to it. Now I’ve let her in, they’ll come crawling out of the woodwork to reveal their motives.”

“What if there are no accomplices?”

He glared at Gregory, fearing the good man’s mind unhinged. “Are you suggesting this woman threw herself at me because it was a dull day and she had naught else to do?” He straightened his shoulders, clasping his hands behind his back. “She’s in league with the Scarlet Widow, or that pirate Downing, perhaps both. She was paid to seduce me for their dark ambitions. Oh yes, Gregory, we must watch her every moment of the day. I wouldn’t be surprised to find they sent her here to do away with me.”

“No doubt you’re in the right, my lord,” Gregory hastened to agree.

“You surprise me Gregory. Am I ever not?”

“No, my lord. Of course. I’ve instructed young Jennet to stay close to her.”

“May as well leave a kitten to mind a lioness.” He paused, head tilted, listening for sounds of her voice, or her footsteps. He never liked it when she was this damned quiet. “Find the wretched woman at once. If you’re too afraid of her--as you plainly are--send someone else.”

“My lord,” Gregory ventured, “you might seek her out yourself.”

He puffed out his chest. “I certainly shall not…” he ran a fumbling hand over his black leather doublet, “… demean myself by hunting her down.” He looked around and strode across to the sideboard. “Perhaps you’re in the right, Gregory. Let her boil in her own juices. If she doesn’t wish to join me for supper, let her starve.”

“Very good my lord.”

Reaching for the wine jug, he paused. “On second thought…” He wouldn’t let her make her own rules. She’d come when he wanted her. “Send someone to find her. Tell her I insist.”

Gregory swallowed, eyes darting nervously from side to side. “She doesn’t take kindly to instructions and commands, my lord.”

“For pity’s sake! Must I find her and drag her down myself?” However, despite his bluster, he couldn’t bring himself to fetch her. Having only recently reconciled himself to the idea of keeping a woman, now he wondered again whether he had the patience for it. “Find her, Gregory. I care not who goes or how ’tis done. Lay mantraps if you must. Send in the hounds, or better yet, the witchfinder.”

There was no need, for at that moment she appeared, slowly descending the sweeping staircase to the great hall where he waited.

Negotiating each step cautiously in her new gown, she was half-way down before she looked up at him standing by the fire.

* * * *

Suddenly her feet had wings. She half ran, half fell down the remaining steps to throw her arms around his neck. He grunted in surprise and then she was submerged in his warmth, her senses inundated, her heart’s rhythm reckless, throat aching with gladness. He lifted her off her feet and kissed her.

There were no words exchanged for several minutes while she forgot the staff looking on.It was as if they were the only two people in the world. She slid down his body slowly, until her toes felt the floor and she came back to earth.

“Oh Griff!” she cried. “Is the earl with you?”

“Of course he’s with me. He’s always with me.” His eyes shone. He put his hands around her face. “Where else would he be, limpet?”

“Where else?” She inhaled a deep breath of the sun-warmed skin on his hands.

“I’m here, limpet.”

And then Gregory cleared his throat and said, “My lord, there are a few matters--.”

“Let it wait. Later you may have my attention, Gregory, but this lady demands it now, you see.” Griff looked down at her and smiled. “And I suspect she’s hungry. She usually is.”

The words she’d planned were suddenly erased. The world began to tilt. Losing her balance she tripped backward, away from him. When he held on to her, resisting gently, she felt anger, sharp and painful.

“I don’t know you, sir,” she breathed, trembling.

His head tipped to one side, brow quizzical. Determined, she fought him, until he gave up trying to hold her. When he glanced over at the others, she knew he only let her go to prevent a scene before them. She waited, conscious of the staff looking on, confused and wondering. But she was aware mostly of her heart being pulled apart. Surprisingly, despite the abuse, it was still beating. Perhaps it was not yet completely broken.

Even so, it was too fast, too wild, and she could not control it.

Peeled and Plucked

He brusquely dismissed the servants, sending them scattering, leaving them alone.

Her mind spun in circles, making truths out of lies and lies out of truths. “This is what you meant, when you said you wanted to keep me.” Attempting a laugh, she made only an odd chirp. “You wanted to
keep
me, as your mistress--a kept woman.”

“Was that not your plan when you seduced me?” His tone might have been casual, his eyes were not. They were angry, questioning, as if they had any right to be, when she was the one who should demand answers.

She thought of the things she’d said of him, before she’d known it
was
him. And the things he’d said to her, letting her feel sympathy for him, fooling her into believing he was a humble man, a good man. Making her believe they were equal, two people who’d found one another by some happy coincidence. As if she could help him, care for him, love him.

A thousand thoughts ran through her head, tangled up in a knotted mess, preventing anything sensible coming out of her mouth.

“You needn’t continue the act now,” he said, his voice low, carefully measured in the same controlled way he’d used before with her. “It was a charming performance, but has served its purpose.”

“You thought I knew? You thought I played a game?”

“Of course. No woman is so completely without guile.”

He didn’t know her any more than she knew him, even after all that had happened.

“It was a delightful, accomplished performance and I’m indebted to you for those days of pleasure. Come,” he said to her now, beckoning with his finger.

“You cannot command me.” It burst out of her in a rush.“I’m not your servant!”

“The game is over,” he said again, stepping toward her.

He must think, in some cold, hard part of his being, that she’d deliberately enticed him. In his mind, she was a despicable, lying, scheming whore. And he was a man with a wife already.

When her lips trembled, she lifted her chin, hoping he wouldn’t notice. “I don’t want those gowns.”

“You need them.”

“You thought I might be bought, like a brood mare?”

“Not a brood mare, my sweet,” he said. “I’ve no intention to breed you.” His deep voice resonated inside her.

“Please summon my maid. I need her to help me pack my things,” she said, although all she had was a leather bag full of shells.

“
Your
maid? I believe this is still my house and my staff. And you’ll stay here until I’m done with you.”

She looked away, anger coursing through her in waves as irregular as her pulse. “Have it your way.”

“I always do. I’m the Earl of Swafford, am I not?” He was showing off, showing he had the power and that her will, however stubborn, was nothing compared to his. How different was this man from the one she knew before, the one who’d lain on that fleece with her in their little cottage by the bay and gently brushed his fingers through her hair.

“I took a great deal of trouble over those clothes,” he muttered, gold-grained eyes sweeping her appearance with evident approval. “I never made this many decisions for one damnable woman in my entire life.” He was resentful, as if she’d made him do it, when she’d never wanted anything from him. Nothing, she thought miserably, he could give her now. But she banked her tears, determined not to show any weakness in front of him. Later, she would cry enough to flood his damned house.

Chin up, she demanded, “What if they didn’t fit?”

“They’d better,” he scoffed, suggesting should they not, the poor dressmakers responsible would lose their head.

“I suppose you could keep them for your next paramour, or your wife.” She wanted to make him discuss the countess, but he, she discovered quickly, would not.

He spoke sharply, eyes guarded. “Those clothes were made for you. What use would they be to any other woman? They were made to fit you, the way you,” he looked at her meaningfully, “were made to fit me.” His left brow lifted a fraction. “I believe you enjoyed the fitting as much as I did.”

Maddie wished she could block her ears, but his deep voice was a potent brew, slipping inside her, finding a route through her defenses, rendering her temporarily mute.

“I might,” he continued, coming closer, “if I were not a gentleman, recall that
you
seduced me. But…” He put his finger under her chin and lifted it, as he bent his head until her clenched lips were barely an inch from his. “…for now, as you’re in this fractious mood. I’m hungry and my dinner gets cold, we’ll say it was mutual.” She couldn’t get her breath back, was too enraged by his impudence. “Now, if you would join me for dinner, perhaps we might discuss this arrangement as two sensible adults, rather than rail at one another like foolish adolescents.” He gestured to a chair. “Will you sit?”

* * * *

Determined to remain in control and contain his anger, he held the chair out for her, feigning graciousness with a quick bow of his head. It was a duty he’d never before performed, and it showed. Once she was seated, he strode to his chair at the far end of the table and rang a bell for the servants.

After the food was served, the tension in the hall became palpable. The staff hovered nearby, evidently feeling the strain as much as the principles in this farce, so he sent them out again and as the door closed, announced, “Gregory informs me you’ve been busy today.”

She shrugged.

“Did you even read my instructions? I believe I told you to obey Gregory in my absence.”

Now she looked up, spearing him with those blue icicles. “Damn your instructions.”

Carefully he set down his knife. “You will not try my patience, or defy me in front of the servants again. Do I make myself clear?” Leaning back in his chair, palms flat on the table, he repeated, “Do I make myself clear?”

“I told you, I’m not your servant and I don’t follow your orders.” She faced him squarely down the length of his table, and he felt a stark jolt of appreciation for her bold, fighting spirit. He’d always appreciated a beautiful animal and she was a tempestuous, high-strung filly. Her eyes were over-bright with the fire burning inside her.

“My instructions will always be for your own good, madam.”

“I know what’s good for me.” Inferring he didn’t.

“Can you ever see the day when you might obey?”

“Can you ever see the day when you might learn to trust?”

He said nothing. Apparently she was out to push his temper this evening. How far would she dare go?

“What you said earlier,” she began, “about breeding…”

“What of it?”

Her eyes dimmed. The fire inside her was lower now, smoldering. “You don’t want children? Don’t you need an heir?”

Sitting back in his chair, he brushed down his doublet, hiding his expression. “No, I don’t want children. I have an heir already - Gabriel, of course.” He reached for his wine, snarling bitterly, “That’s why I’d hoped he might make a better choice of wife, for the sake of future earls.”

* * * *

Madolyn thought of her mother, who made many sacrifices to raise three surviving children--four including Nathaniel-- mostly alone with their father frequently away at sea. It was never easy. They had few luxuries and were, by most material standards, quite poor, living from harvest to harvest. Their father made a good living, but the cost of raising them, even the basic provision of clothes, shoes and medicines, took its toll. There were disappointments too: shipwrecks with lost cargo, bad harvests and diseased beasts that had to be slaughtered.

“What ails you now?” he demanded. “You look miles away.”

“I was thinking of my own mother and how I would like many--” What she wanted could hardly matter to a man like him. Suddenly she envisaged her old kite, diving too rapidly, head first into the roof of the pigsty, shattered in an instant.

He speared another slice of beef on his knife. “Tell me who sent you to seduce me? I should thank them. You performed the duty admirably.” He smiled stiffly, his eyes flinching as if it hurt. “I almost believed…but no. What more is there to come? A knife in my heart one night? Poison in my breakfast ale?”

It was incredible, but, of course, he was a man with a dark, suspicious nature. He almost wallowed in it.

“Was it Lady Shelton who paid for your virtue and sent you to distract me?”

She was silent, stunned by his rambling accusations.

“Did she pay you by the hour or by the lie? I’m curious to know which would cost more--the latter perhaps?”

“And you lied freely.”

“I told you no lies.” He hesitated. “You knew who I was.”

She shook her head slowly.

He fidgeted with his knife, picking it up and putting it down again. “Confess the truth, madam, or else I might be obliged to do away with you. And those gowns can’t be returned. I’d hate to waste my coin.”

This stiff attempt at humor fell on deaf ears, because she was thinking back to those glorious days by the bay and hating herself for being such a fool. She stared down at her plate, her eyes glassy with trapped tears. Only that morning she’d imagined herself in love with him. Now what? Love and marriage were not what he wanted from her. He had a wife already, a wife, who was never to be mentioned. It burned in her throat, like a splinter of bone stuck there, slowly suffocating her, starving her of sustenance.