The Seduction of an English Scoundrel (11 page)

“Not . . . not yet.”

“Not yet?” he asked, teasing her. “Does my prim little pigeon harbor passion somewhere deep inside? Show me, Jane. Share your secrets with me.”

He groaned and nudged her back against the wall, pinning her wrists to the wall with his forearms. Her mouth tasted sweetly of strawberries. Her skin burned with the sensual heat of a woman aroused, and he found himself wondering when, if ever, he had been forced to exert such restraint over the rake in him who plotted seduction, who craved release from the sexual tension that tightened his body into a coil. He was amazed at the painful ache she stirred in him.

This was embarrassing. Here he was trying to rescue her reputation while stealing kisses from her on the sly. Some hero he was turning out to be. But . . .

But she did something to him. He hadn't decided quite what it was. She wrapped his senses up in knots. He couldn't help himself.

“I want to devour you,” he whispered.

“Do you, Sedgecroft?” she murmured, pressing her shoulders to the wall to steady herself against the sensation of falling into a black, heated void.

“I am lost,” he said against her mouth. “Save me, Jane.”

“Save you?” she whispered.

Shimmering arcs of color danced behind her eyes. She sighed as his breath raised warm shivers along her collarbone, skimmed the creamy rise of her cleavage until the pink tips of her breasts strained against the thin gauze gown. She stared down at his head. He looked up slowly into her desire-clouded eyes. “I am the one who needs to be saved,” she said with a sigh. “I feel—”

“Better than anything I have ever touched. Dear Jane, never doubt for a moment that you are desirable.”

She studied his beautiful face, the face of her downfall, in fascination. Those blue eyes studied her back in blatant sensuality. Blue the color of a midnight sky, the color of sin.

“Close your eyes,” he murmured in amusement, rubbing his forefinger across her wet lower lip.

She did, and his mouth returned to hers, greedily absorbing her gasp of excitement, his tongue seducing the very breath from her body. Heat and sensual awareness washed over her in shivery waves. Her knees bent, trapped by the iron-hard support of his thighs. She fought the urge to press herself against his body. Her back bowed slightly.

Grayson could not help responding even though he sensed that Jane was in over her head. He thrust, the movement instinctive. In his mind he was already inside her. He felt the involuntary shudder that crept down her spine. Her breasts rose and fell against his hard chest. He drew his hands down the enticing curves of her body, tracing her ribs, sculpting the ripe flesh that tempted him beyond mercy. He wanted to tear that gown off with his teeth.

He couldn't think of too many young ladies who would turn a stolen kiss into a crisis of self-control. Actually, he couldn't name a single one. Not that other ladies never engaged in pleasures behind closed doors. But Jane brought an appealing freshness to the forbidden.

“Sedgecroft,” she said, taking a deep breath.

He drew back slightly, releasing a sigh of unadulterated longing into her hair. “Yes?”

“What are we doing?” she asked, her voice shaky.

The original point, he reminded himself, had been to make her feel as if she were a desirable female, to prove to her that Nigel's rejection had not rendered her unappealing to a man.

He had succeeded to a humiliating degree. His own body burned, the blood in his veins simmering with a lust he had never known. Was it possible, he wondered wistfully, that the lady did harbor a little naughtiness beneath that shell of propriety? No. He dismissed that provocative consideration. Darker motives belonged to men like him and their earthy mistresses, not to roses-and-cream-complexioned young women of impeccable breeding. Too bad for them both.

Her subdued whisper broke the spell. “I think I hear voices above us. Listen.”

He angled his head to the side, his brows drawing into a frown of self-disgust. God above. In his fit of lust for Jane, he had forgotten all about Chloe. “I think you're right, and one of those voices sounds like my sister.”

Jane smoothed down her disarrayed gown, feeling flushed all over. She was hardly composed enough to appear before anyone yet. Never in her life had she felt such a storm of unsettling sensations. She needed time to recover.

“Hurry up,” he said, catching her hand, back to his usual arrogance. “This is a crucial moment.”

“I do not hear her calling for help,” she whispered in annoyance.

“That is why it is crucial,” he said, dragging her down the passageway toward a small torch-lit stairwell. “Silence implies submission.”

“I shall remember that in future.”

He glanced back at her flushed oval face. He doubted she had a clue how badly he had wanted to take her. “It was not a criticism of
your
behavior. We both know you're sensible enough to say when to stop.”

“Am I?” she muttered as they emerged at the top of the stone steps into a cozy towered chamber, so tiny that it held only a Grecian chaise and—

—a man wearing a blue military jacket and Hessian boots, and a familiar raven-haired figure sitting with her head against his shoulder.

“Excuse me,” Grayson said in a low controlled voice that vibrated in the silence. “Are we interrupting something?”

The officer leaped to his feet, his face dark with fear as he surveyed the tall powerful figure that towered over him. “My lord, please, let me explain.”

“I think I understand perfectly well what is happening,” Grayson replied, brushing the terrified young lieutenant away with one hand as if he were a fly. His blue eyes were blazing. “I was talking to my hellion sister.”

Chloe came gracefully to her feet, a slow blush spreading across her face as she noticed Jane hiding behind her brother. “What are you doing here, Grayson?”

“What are
you
doing here?”

“May we discuss this later?” she asked quietly, her voice both repentant and rebellious.

The officer tried to step between brother and sister. Chloe motioned him covertly back to the chaise a second before Grayson swung toward him. “Let me handle this, William.”

“I do not wish you to be punished,” he said awkwardly, swallowing at the step Grayson took in his direction.

Jane slipped around Grayson's tall rigid figure and sat down beside the other man. “Do not say another word to him,” she whispered. This side of Sedgecroft was so different from what she'd seen of him. Oh, what a temper.

“But I wish to marry her,” the officer said, twisting his hat in his hands. “I want to ask his permission.”

Jane couldn't help smiling at this romantic courage. The poor fool didn't stand a chance in the face of Grayson's outrage. “How long have you known each other?” she asked in an undertone.

“A few days.” He was gazing at Chloe with painful adoration. “I've never felt so deeply about anyone in my life. Do you understand what I mean?”

“Well . . .” Jane's gaze strayed to the marquess, her body still warm from the imprint of his well-muscled form against hers. Did she understand? she wondered, her breath hitching in her throat. Could one lose one's heart without even realizing it? Did a person have any control, or did it simply happen?

Grayson and Chloe were engaged in a bitter argument now, their emotions running rampant. Grayson was threatening to send Chloe to her aunt and uncle in the country if she did not control her behavior. Chloe retorted, “You might as well. I have no life to speak of with you breathing down my neck night and day.”

Jane could not decide whom to defend, or if she dare interfere at all. Grayson was really quite effective in his protective fury, pacing around his sister as he lectured her.

Chloe was either very brave or very foolish to stand up to him. He looked capable of carrying through his threat. She leaned close to the young lieutenant, whispering, “If I were you, I would sneak out of here while I had the chance. He seems terribly upset.”

The young man, studying Grayson's broad-shouldered frame and darkly furious face, was apparently having second thoughts about the situation himself.

“Do you think Chloe would understand?”

In Jane's estimation the rebellious Chloe was probably too confused to know her own mind. “I think she can handle this better by herself,” she said gently. “I also think she would not wish to see you dead over . . . an unwise moment.”

The man stood, gauging the safest way around the two arguing siblings. “I shall take your advice then.” He glanced down at her as if truly seeing her for the first time. “How rare it is to find a woman such as you who is both beautiful and sensible. Dare I hope you will convey my apologies to Lady Chloe?”

“Go,” Jane said softly. “The marquess is twice your size.” And ten times as impressive.

He vanished down the stairs without further prompting. And not a second too soon. Grayson had concluded his angry tirade; Chloe stood facing the wall, her pale arms crossed over her chest, her blue eyes glittering with unshed tears of humiliation.

That the young officer had fallen in love so impulsively with the raven-haired Chloe did not surprise Jane at all. The entire Boscastle family appeared to live every moment of life with passion, and evidently inspired those who crossed their paths to do the same.

A very passionate family indeed, she thought as she glanced up appraisingly at Grayson. His angry gaze met hers, and she felt her heart jump at the raw emotion in his eyes. She didn't dare say a word for fear he might explode.

Well, she could fault him for many things, but she would have to commend him for trying to protect his sister, even if he had gone a little overboard. She supposed that his passion for life probably spilled over into every aspect of his character.

Which certainly made being close to him a challenge.

“Where did our Lothario go?” he demanded, glancing at the empty space beside Jane on the chaise. He looked disappointed that he didn't have anyone to murder.

“He remembered a previous appointment,” she answered calmly.

“Well, it's a damned good thing for him, or his next appointment would be with the undertaker,” he said in a thunderous tone.

Jane cleared her throat. “Calm yourself, my lord. He is gone.”

Chloe whirled around, her tearful gaze suddenly focused on Jane. “What is
she
doing here anyway after yesterday? Oh, Grayson, don't tell me you have chosen her as your next victim. That is so typical of you that I can't stand it.”

Jane rose, certain her face had turned several unbecoming shades of red. “There is a perfectly logical explanation.”

“Which we are not about to give her,” Grayson said, his tone clipped. “The fact is that you disobeyed me, Chloe, and displayed a total lack of judgment in your behavior both last night and today. No decent woman would be caught in the pavilion with a man.”

Jane's mouth opened in astonishment. Had she misheard the big scoundrel?

“Find a footman and have the carriage brought around, Chloe,” he said sternly, his hands planted on his lean hips. “You have had your misadventure for the month.”

Chloe stepped around him, throwing Jane a sympathetic look. “I would run from him and not look back, were I you.”

“The lady is here only to protect your virtue,” he said in a stony voice. “Do not ever insult her again.”

“Well, it's true, Grayson,” Chloe rushed on, her shoulders lifting. “Jane is a decent young lady, and she has no idea what will become of her once you decide—”

“That will be enough, Chloe.” His blue eyes burned like coals.

“It's true,” she said stubbornly.

Jane shook her head, sorry for them both, and stared down at the floor. “Please stop this, the pair of you. You're too angry to talk in a reasonable manner.”

“Run from him, Jane,” Chloe whispered, wiping the back of her gloved hand across her cheek.

His face darkened. Jane had the feeling he was just as upset as his sister, but had no idea what to do. A pair of Titan tempers. “You have really pushed me to the limit this time,” he muttered.

“I am sorry, Jane,” Chloe said, touching Jane's hand. “Sorry that I insulted you and even more so that somehow you have fallen into my brother's clutches.”

“Chloe!” he roared.

She darted around him and plunged down the narrow flight of steps, her footsteps echoing against the stone walls of the pavilion, Grayson staring after her in such bewilderment Jane would have felt sorry for him had he handled the situation better.

Chapter 9

Grayson raked his hand through his fair hair, looking a little sheepish in the aftermath of the confrontation. “Well, what a scene that was,” he said in a weak attempt at a joke. “Do you young women realize what an effort it is to keep you out of trouble?”

“As easy as it is for men like you to lead us there?”

He frowned. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing. Nothing at all.”

His eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Are you actually defending the hellion?”

“I don't know.” She bit her lip, aching to tell him what a bully he had been.

“You are,” he said, utterly astonished. “Aren't you?”

“All right,” Jane said, frowning back at him. “I suppose I am.”

He looked genuinely baffled. “Why?”

She swept past him to the stairs. She was flattered that he actually cared what she thought, although she was the worst person in the world to ask for an honest opinion.

“You were rather hard on Chloe, don't you think?” she said over her shoulder. “All that nonsense about my being here only to protect her virtue, and you with your threats to banish her. You scared the wits out of all three of us.”

He stepped toward her, his large frame warm and pleasantly intimidating in the shadows. He was angry at her now, too, only this anger was controlled. “Forgive me, Jane,” he said coolly, “for trying to protect my own sister from bringing disgrace upon herself.”

“I still think you could have handled the matter with a trifle more tact,” she said. She was determined to hold her ground, as shaky as that ground appeared to be. Then she hesitated, the lost look in his eyes touching her heart. How could one fault a man trying to be both mother and father to his siblings and failing miserably at the task?

“I'm worried about her, Jane,” he admitted. “I was so close to her before our father died, and ever since then, I feel as if I don't even know who she is.”

“Perhaps she feels the same way,” Jane said.

“What do you mean?”

“Perhaps she does not understand herself either, Grayson. Perhaps you should allow her a little more freedom.”

A frown shadowed his angular features. “Jane, I think it's you who doesn't understand.” He took her chin in his hand and tilted her face back to his, his thumb stroking the underside of her jaw. “Would you have been caught on a couch kissing a man you barely knew?”

His touch sent another sparkling tremor all the way down to her toes. She inhaled slowly. “Until yesterday, I would have been able to answer that question quite convincingly. Sedgecroft, you are such a hypocrite.”

He blinked, totally taken aback. “I am?”

“You are!”

He sounded embarrassed and amused at the same time. “I am not.”

“You are. What do you think
we
were doing a few minutes ago? Or is such imprudent behavior so standard for you that you are not even aware of it?”

He lowered his handsome face to hers. “Of course I haven't forgotten. I don't think you have either. It was something, wasn't it?”

“Will you kindly not stray from the subject? It is a critical rule of polite conversation.”

The corners of his mouth quirked in the heart-stopping grin that had brought stronger gentlewomen than Jane to their knees. “Isn't the subject kissing?”

He removed his fingers from her chin, but his sensual mouth hovered only a breath from hers. His magnetism was distracting. “This is a diversionary tactic on your part to lure me from the true topic.”

“Oh? And how am I luring you, may I ask?” he said.

“The true topic,” she said forcefully, praying for the strength to resist the pleasures of his enticing mouth, “is that you and I were guilty of the same sin for which you berated Chloe and her officer.”

There. She had done it, made her point and resisted him at the same time, an effort that left her quite exhausted. Let him refute that logic.

“That was different,” he said airily.

Her lips parted on a gasp. “How do you come to that startling conclusion?”

He was infuriatingly cool. “For one thing, my motives were not in question. I take full responsibility for my sins. Contrary to popular belief, I am not in the habit of seducing every woman I meet.”

“Are you a celibate scoundrel?”

“A selective one,” he replied. “I have no idea why my few indiscretions are of such interest to everyone.”

“You brought two of your past mistresses to my wedding!”

“But did anyone actually see me in the arms of these women?”

“Of course not. It was a chapel, after all.”

“Well, then. No one has really come forth with any evidence that I am a reprobate.”

“The fact that the civilized world is afraid to confront you with your sins does not in any way absolve you of them.”

“The proof, Jane?” His deep chuckle sent a shiver down her back. “The witnesses?”

“The point, Sedgecroft,” she retorted, fully aware he had diverted her. “The topic of conversation. If you want Chloe to conduct herself in a seemly fashion, then it is not enough to lecture and threaten her. You must set an example.”

He blinked his gorgeous blue eyes. “That is why I am making amends to you, Jane. That is why I am helping to straighten out the scandal my cousin made of your life. To show my family how a Boscastle must behave.”

“And kissing me in the pavilion demonstrates this in what way?”

“All right. I admit it. That was a slight detour on the road of my decent intentions. Did it hurt anything?”

“Well.”

He smiled. He meant to help her, to heal her. She was an unusual woman, possibly too much of a personality for Nigel to manage. Perhaps being betrayed had altered her perception. She had felt defenseless and delicate in his arms. But her mind was not defenseless. Oh, no. She had hidden weapons that assaulted a male before he could raise a shield. It would take a long time for her to trust again. Could she trust him? Grayson was not sure.

“I could have kissed you for days,” he murmured ruefully. Shaking his head, he traced the prominent curve of her cheekbone with his thumb. “You wouldn't mind, would you?”

Sensation penetrated deep into her muscles, a pleasant shakiness that spread throughout her limbs. “For days? Isn't that a bit of an exaggeration?”

He laughed softly. His fingers slid down the pale arch of her throat to the cusp of her creamy shoulder. “Months even. Years.”

Her breath caught as the buttons of his coat brushed across the aching buds of her breasts. His fingers moved over her shoulder in taunting spirals and slow touches designed to devastate, to liquefy a woman's body, and Jane discovered that when it came to resisting the Boscastle passion for life, she really was no stronger than the rest of the world.

“Soft skin,” he murmured. “I do believe I have never felt such temptation before. From the moment I saw you at the altar, I have not quite been myself. Outside of my usual role, I find I've become awkward, uncertain of my lines, the expectations placed on me. I'm not even certain you should trust me, Jane.”

His mouth was almost touching hers. She felt the rise and fall of his warm breath on her lips, the latent power of his lean torso against hers. Desire stirred in the secret places of her body. How easily she could be misled, she thought. How seductive it was of him to share his feelings. And awkward? Not for a heartbeat.

She swallowed. “Is this what you mean by setting an example?”

“Yes.” He took a breath, his firm mouth curving at the corners.

“Excuse me?”

“If we were Chloe and her officer,” he said quietly, staring into her eyes, “we would still be on that couch. You would not be questioning me. We would quite possibly be on the verge of making love.”

She lowered her eyes, wondering if he actually believed this nonsense. Her body apparently did, judging by the rapid thundering of her heart. “I don't think—”

“No. I doubt you would be thinking at all, Jane. Or even talking. You would be too busy allowing me to please you.”

She glanced up and gazed into his hard, angular face. Where amusement had before lent his features a look of satirical beauty, a darker mask of desire now gazed back at her. She had no idea if he was serious or merely repeating the lines from one of his famous seductions. She knew that she wanted him to kiss her so badly that every vein in her body throbbed with undercurrents of need. Her lips softened. Her breasts swelled, the pliant contours lightly pressed to the strong musculature of his chest.

“No,” she said, sounding like a proper young lady desperate to retain her good sense. “You are wrong.”

His nostrils flared, a male scenting female desire. “Am I?” he asked quietly.

He brought his mouth to hers, a shock of sensation that she must have experienced as intensely as he did. He felt her soften against him as her knees folded beneath her. He swore under his breath and caught her by her forearms. In the obscure part of his brain that was not aroused by her, he realized he was deviating from his purpose. And would have to stop before he did more harm than good. Yes, that was where the fault lay in his thinking. He had not foreseen that the best intentions could cause greater problems than they intended to solve.

Reluctantly he drew away from her, his voice rueful. “And therein lies the difference.”

 

Jane struggled to achieve a semblance of normality. She felt like a ripe fruit that had been plucked from a tree and dropped. Had she wished for him to continue? No. Yes.
Yes.
“The difference?” she said in confusion. “Ah, I see. You mean between Chloe, her officer, and us?”

Her voice was uneven. Could he hear it? Her body was shaking. Could he tell? Of course he could. He had caused this embarrassing disequilibrium, and look at him standing there, as detached as a tethering post.

“The difference between us and them,” he continued, sounding a little pompous, “is character.”

Jane eased around him to descend the rest of the stairs, groping against the wall to steady herself in the dark. How he could talk of character when they had been moments from acting on their most basic impulses escaped her. The very stones of this pavilion must have been imbued with some passion potion. She hoped to heaven that being outside would clear her head.

“We are discreet,” he added as he followed her. “Chloe disobeyed me and deceived me in order to meet that man today. I cannot imagine
you,
Jane, ever going to such lengths. I cannot imagine you involved in deception. Can you?”

She rattled off him some evasive answer and hurried from the pavilion before she could catch his response. Her ears had gone deaf to his voice. All she could hear were the bells of her own doom tolling in the future.

He could not imagine her involved in deception.

She could never let him learn the truth.

 

Grayson was not as unaffected by their encounter as he appeared to be. He escorted Jane from the pavilion into the afternoon warmth, studying her in guarded silence.

Well, well, who would have thought it? The respectable Lady Jane rattling him to the core. He wondered what she made of it, if she had any idea of how she had disarmed him, of how intriguing he found the situation. She had to be one of Society's best-kept secrets. What other surprises did she have in store? Certainly he had never been aroused and reprimanded so soundly all in the space of an afternoon. He shook his head, squinting at the light, keeping her pink-sheathed figure in his peripheral vision.

He thought of how sweet her lips had tasted, how soft and yielding her curving body had felt against his. To look at her now, all prim reserve and aloof dignity, one certainly would not guess she would respond like that. He was dying to know what else he might have found if he'd prodded a little deeper. What an appalling time to learn he still had a conscience.

He glanced around, satisfied to see Simon and Damaris standing at the end of the walkway, waiting for them. This lent enough of an air of respectability to their brief disappearance that he and Jane could not be accused of a dalliance. Chloe was another matter.

He halted at the end of the path to talk to Jane. Hypocrite, was he? That stung a bit, probably because it was true. “Will you be all right for a few minutes if I leave you alone?” he asked anxiously. “I want to make sure Chloe is indeed on her way home.”

Her gaze met his, and he felt another bolt of heat travel through the deepest reaches of his body. Her cheeks were stained a becoming rose, and she didn't look quite as reserved or dignified as he'd imagined. “Jane,” he asked again, “are you all right?”

“Of course I'm all right. Why shouldn't I be?”

He smiled at her crisp reply. Despite her effort to appear composed, he knew he had given her something to think about. For all her intelligence, she had little knowledge of sensual affairs. What had she and Nigel been doing together all these years, for God's sake? Apparently not kissing. Absurdly enough, the thought buoyed his spirits, but really, he would have to watch himself with her in future.