The Seduction of an English Scoundrel (7 page)

She ground her teeth. “Nothing is meant to show, Sedgecroft.”

“Why not?” the devil asked.

She folded her arms across her ruffled breasts. “I am not one of your demireps.”

He cleared his throat, obviously enjoying this. “You most assuredly are not.”

Jane wondered why that remark felt like an insult. A proper young lady would have been proud of her . . . pigeon appearance. “This happens to be my favorite dress.”

“My grandmother had a pair of parlor curtains exactly the same color.”

“Did she remind you of a pigeon, too?”

“Not exactly, but I am not going to enjoy our afternoon if every time I look at you I think of my grandmother.”

“This is a modest dress, Sedgecroft. A fashionable one.”

“Perhaps if you're in your eighties. Hmm.” He beckoned to the figure hovering behind them. “Lady Belshire, what is your candid opinion of this dress?”

Jane rolled her eyes. The wretch, to ask her mother for a candid opinion. One might as well ask a reformer to deliver a speech before Parliament.

“It's all right, Mama,” she said with ice in her voice. “We really don't need to bother you.”

“Darling, I don't mind.” Her mother looked flattered, eager to be included.

“Go back to your flowers, Mama,” Jane said under her breath. “The garden needs you.”

“The dress, Athena.” Grayson gestured her closer with a languid wave of his fingers. “What do you think? Give us the benefit of your wisdom.”

Her ladyship stepped forward to study her daughter in critical silence. “To be perfectly honest, I have never liked gray on the girls, except when the situation called for gravity, of course. Gray, unless in the palest hues, should be worn by governesses and housekeepers. Now, silver—”

Jane inserted herself between them. “Is this a conspiracy?”

“It is not.” Grayson paused, breaking into a helpless grin at Jane's indignant expression. “It does seem to be a consensus of opinion, though. I think you ought to change, considering there will be dancing at the affair we are attending.”

Jane shook her head in disbelief. She had the distinct feeling of being caught in a trap by a very clever, handsome hunter. Short of causing another unpleasant scene, there seemed to be little she could do. Not with her mother coaxing the devil on. Honestly, what a vexing man. What a muddle.

“Dancing?” Her lips thinned. “The day after I was—very well, Sedgecroft, I shall change. Would you like to select the size of my buttons? Inspect the inseams of my gloves? Do you have any particular color preference, barring the pigeon hues?”

Mischief danced in his eyes, alluring, irresistible. “I prefer pink, but of course the choice is yours.”

“No, it isn't,” she grumbled, pivoting toward the house, “because the plain fact is that I prefer gray.”

 

Grayson nearly regretted his suggestion that she change when she reappeared a full half hour later. Her diaphanous pink gauze draped a curvaceous body that tempted all his latent demons. He was perfectly aware that she had made him wait on purpose, although far be it from him to complain.

Not when the end result torched his senses. Not when it was all he could do simply to breathe and remind himself that he ought to feel guilty for desiring her. He knew full well she was susceptible to seduction after having been so cruelly abandoned by his cousin. He wouldn't take advantage of her, would he?

His eyes darkened in frank male approval as he indulged his instincts in a long, hungry look. The wait had been worth it. Jane's curves made his mouth water—her full, high breasts; those rounded hips; and her lithe, tapered legs. His throat tightened as he leaned casually against the brick wall and watched her approach, his gaze returning to her face. Sultry, sweet, but not cloyingly so. She should have made mincemeat out of Nigel, not the other way around.

He had already acknowledged privately that something more than noble intentions had inspired at least part of his plan to help her. Not that he could act on these baser Boscastle motives. But there was no point in deceiving himself either. He found Jane appealing, fascinating in ways he could not fathom. It made helping her easier. It even added an element of danger to their association.

“That is a vast improvement,” he said politely, no hint in his voice that he had just undressed and bedded her in his imagination. That for a moment she had cast a spell of helpless attraction over him, and he wasn't quite sure what to make of it.

“It is?”

Her annoyed frown did absolutely nothing to destroy the sexual images that paraded through his mind, the vision of their bodies joined in pleasure. His own reaction frightened him a little. Knocked him emotionally to his knees. Fortunately he had learned long ago to hide what he felt, or he might have frightened her to death.

“I never lie, Jane,” he said, offering her his arm.

She stared at him before reluctantly tucking her hand into his elbow. “You might not lie, but you certainly dominate.”

“That is also true,” he murmured, drawing her against him to open the gate hidden in the wall.

Their bodies touched again, and Jane barely managed not to sigh in pleasure. Instead, she breathed in his scent, wool and Castile soap, the warm tang of his skin, the sheer maleness that made her feel so protected and vulnerable at the same time. Part of her wanted to lean even closer and sate her senses. The other part wanted to retreat from the attack on her judgment. Just because she had committed one enormous sin didn't mean she was destined to descend into decadence, did it? She had to wonder.

In the core of her being she felt like candle wax held against a raw flame, burned up by the heat he exuded. She lifted her gaze. His eyes ensnared hers, sultry, sensuality unhidden, before he casually flicked up the latch and guided her onto the narrow flagstone footpath to the street. She huffed out a breath. Heaven only knew what he was thinking or why she was going along with whatever plan he had in mind.

She balked, realizing she had been so enrapt in him that she wasn't paying attention to their destination. “What is wrong with the front entrance? I thought we wanted to be seen.”

“We do.” He straightened his white neckcloth, giving her a conspiratorial grin. “But there happens to be a particularly vile reporter on your doorstep whom I will probably end up killing one day. You, my dear, are not about to be a baby lamb for the likes of him.”

“Oh.” She hadn't even thought to read the morning papers. “Is the news very ugly?” she asked in hesitation.

His hard face softened slightly. “Brutal.”

“Then I refuse to do this.”

He motioned with his free hand to the liveried footman waiting at the curb. His other hand firmly prevented her from pulling away. “Remount, Jane.”

“Re—what?” she said in exasperation, then, “Unhand me, Sedgecroft, or I shall . . . hit you.”

“I'm doing this for your own good,” he said, escorting her past the growing crowd of curious onlookers who had hoped to catch a glimpse of the jilted bride and her infamous escort.

She swatted at his shoulder, whispering, “Everyone is staring at us.”

“Then stop resisting me,” he whispered back with a lazy smile.

“Then let me go.”

“But, my little disgraced angel, what if you should fall?”

“Fall?”

“Into the street amid all those nasty cow droppings and custards.”

“I suppose that's a risk I shall have to take.”

“Not in my presence. I would never allow a woman I escort to come to harm.”

“Would you allow her to harm you?”

His eyes twinkled with enjoyment. “It depends. What did you have in mind?”

“Presumably not what you're thinking.”

He gave a low laugh and pulled her closer to him to murmur, “Smile at our audience, Jane. Remember that I have replaced Nigel in your heart. It won't do for us to be quarreling in the street the first day we are seen together.”

Despite the fact that she hadn't agreed to any of this, Jane could not help responding to his confidence. He sounded as if he did this sort of thing every day. He made it sound like a marvelous adventure.

“I cannot believe my mother is letting you take me off without a chaperone,” she grumbled.

“We have a chaperone.” He bore her toward the elegant black carriage that had pulled up behind them, looking pleased that she obeyed him. “Your brother is waiting for us in there.”

“Simon . . . a party to . . .”

He leaned into her, the playful mockery in his eyes darkening with sultry promise. She stared at his face, mesmerized, a blush burning its way up the back of her nape, her body softening in sinful anticipation.

“What are you doing?” she whispered.

“Don't look now, darling, but that press reporter is coming around the corner.”

“May I faint?”

“After I get you into the coach.” He brought his head to hers, speaking in a soothing voice that reminded Jane he was no stranger to scandal himself. “Ah, good, he's gone the other way. Let's just wait a moment to be sure.”

His breath teased the edge of her jaw, warm, a taunt to her senses. His broad shoulders blocked her from view. In a heartbeat she was consumed in heat, in confusion, in the heady presence of him. His left arm lifted as if to protect her. His mouth grazed her skin. It was a brief contact, a casual brush of his lips against the sensitive curve of her cheekbone. One watching may not have been sure whether he had merely whispered in her ear. But Jane felt the sensual power he wielded in every erratic beat of her heart.

Her body temperature rose as she stood there, tingling in sheer pleasure, in anticipation. She half expected him to kiss her again, right there in the street.

“Er, Jane,” he said, his deep voice startling her.

She blinked twice. “What is it?”

“Get into the carriage,” he instructed her with a laugh. “I believe you're drawing attention to yourself.”

“
I'm
drawing attention?”

He smiled into her eyes. “Yes. Perhaps you should get into the carriage.”

She shook her head, trying to break the spell. “The carriage.”

He looked amused. “Is something wrong?”

“Well, it's just for a moment I thought . . . I thought . . .”

He pretended to look shocked. “Don't tell me you thought I was going to
kiss
you right in front of your own house?”

She drew her breath, mortified at his perception. “I never once—”

He brushed his gloved finger under her chin. “You are a lady, Jane, and I am trying to restore your good name. If you really wish for me to kiss you, however, I shall be happy to oblige you inside the carriage.”

The fact that he was making fun of her in no way weakened the quiver of pleasure that his touch sent through her system. “I don't think that will be necessary.”

He made a sympathetic noise. “Shame.”

“Yes, you're the shame,” she retorted, finally regaining her composure. “Why are those people across the street staring at me like that?”

He crooked his finger at the footman. “I don't know. Perhaps they wish they could kiss you, too.”

She made a soft choking sound as she felt his large hand nudge her impertinently up the folding step. Too embarrassed to react, she glanced at the pair of footmen who flanked her like stone statues, apparently used to their master's evil ways.

“No one has ever kissed me in public before,” she whispered over her shoulder, determined to make the matter clear. “I did not wish for you to do so.”

“Well, if you change your mind . . .”

She fought a horrible urge to laugh. “If Simon hears this conversation, he will certainly take you to task.”

The glitter of deviltry in those blue eyes should have warned her. She climbed into the spacious carriage and stared in despair at the inert male body sprawled across the opposite seat. Some chaperone there. Her brother lay sleeping off the excesses of the evening. Utterly oblivious to her dilemma. Dead to the world except for the random snore that erupted from him like a wild boar.

“That's not a chaperone,” she exclaimed. “That's . . . a corpse.”

Grayson gave her a gentle shove onto the seat, his mouth quirking at the corners. “He serves his purpose.”

 

He watched in amusement as she attempted to position herself beside her brother's sprawled body, realized it was impossible, then finally gave up, sitting down next to Grayson in flustered resignation. He was beginning to feel rather off balance himself and couldn't figure out why.

He had enjoyed his fair share of comely women and had never felt this unsettled in their company. Perhaps he was unbalanced because the role of white knight seemed unfamiliar to him. Or perhaps it was because for the first time in his life he had to contemplate every step he took. Which brought him back to the matter of Jane herself. What was he supposed to do when he knew she found him appealing? Pretend he was not flattered? Squash all his familiar male instincts?

Yes, indeed, he would have to watch his step. Not merely for public opinion. God knew he had been the object of gossip often enough in the past. It would serve the scandalmongers right if he tricked them. Malicious talk had injured his family more than once. He would be damned if he'd let Jane suffer more indignity than she already had though.

Jane wriggled against him, and the sensation brought him immediately out of the mental realm into the physical. Conspiracy or not, he suspected his aspirations to chivalry could not last forever.

Walking the sunlit path of respectability did not come naturally. . . . Dancing in the darkness was another matter altogether.

Jane was right. He had wanted to kiss her in the street, but he doubted that even her imagination could dream how far beyond a kiss he would like to go.