To Seduce an Earl (5 page)

He was smiling, his amber eyes laughing at her much like those brilliant blue eyes had laughed earlier. Was she forever to be at the tail end of some ridiculous jest she never quite understood? She bit back her sharp reply and instead forced her lips upward into a demure smile.

“I’m…I’m so sorry, I thought…” Oh hell, there was no way of getting out of this. “Siblings.” She shrugged, as if to say, what can you do?

He leaned with an elegant ease against the walnut mantel, his dark suit molding perfectly to his tall body. Slowly, his gaze slid down her form and up again, looking at her in a completely thorough way, a way he’d never looked at her before.

“I understand.” He lifted a drink to his lips, watching her…merely watching her when he’d barely paid her a glance in the past.

The heat inside her intensified. Rodrick was paying attention to her and all because she’d come barreling into the room like a cutthroat looking for a fight. Just bleedin’ wonderful.

“Yes. They’re quite dreadful at times.” Suddenly aware of the exalted position of their guest, she studied the room from the corner of her eye. Mama’s embroidered pillows with messages of love and hope were tossed haphazardly about the worn settee. Green curtains so old, one could see the streetlamps through the fabric, hung on dingy windows.

And Patience, bless her younger sister, had left some sort of concoction in the middle of the floor. What was it? Metal pieces, wood, and…walnuts? Even though at sixteen Patience was much too old for play, she was still making messes. And John, the idiot, had left his jacket and boots near their only fine wingback chair so that she’d have to clear the spot for Rodrick to sit, therefore drawing attention to the mess.
 

Gads, it was like she lived with a houseful of children. And,
what,
pray tell, was
that
? She inched closer to the chair.
Lawd!
Was that a garter? Yes, most assuredly. She resisted the urge to groan. Miss Kitty had been playing with the laundry again. Grace pasted a stiff smile upon her face, attempting to draw Rodrick’s gaze upward.
 

“Lovely evening,” she muttered, using her foot to nudge the garter under the chair.

Rodrick set his glass upon the mantel and started toward her. His stroll was slow, unhurried, confident. And she could merely stand there in her wrinkled gown, with her hair a rat’s nest atop her head, not fit to polish his Wellingtons. A glance at that aristocratic face and one knew he was a man used to getting what he wanted. Her heart lurched and fingers curled into her gown. Why couldn’t he want her?

He paused a few feet away, his dark brows drawn together over pale brown eyes. “You look…is there something…”

She stiffened, sucking in a hopeful breath. “Yes?”

“Different. You look different.” He smiled. A darling smile. He didn’t have dimples, then again no one was perfect. But he was close, so bloody close.

“Yes, it’s your hair. Down about your shoulders.”

Self-consciously she reached toward the locks. It hadn’t been down, not until that…that…dear lord, she couldn’t even say the word…that infuriating man had pulled her hair loose in his mad fit of passion. But no, it hadn’t been passion, he’d been acting. Whores were paid to act. Weren’t they?

“Oh.” She started to tuck her hair into the few remaining pins.

His hand rested on her forearm, an intimate touch that sent heat swirling low in the pit of her belly. He’d helped her into carriages before, in an indifferent manner; as if merely being polite. But this…this touch seemed new…as if they’d never touched before.

“No, leave your hair down.”

And she did as he demanded because he was an earl and one wouldn’t dare ignore an earl. Slowly she lowered her arms. She’d never understood why a man like Rodrick would befriend her brother. Sympathy? Amusement? Not that John was a complete toad. She supposed some woman found his gangly body and narrow face attractive and he did have that silly little title of a baron. But her stepbrother wasn’t known for his kindness and intelligence. While Rodrick…Rodrick was everything John wasn’t. Tall, his body healthy, his suit never a wrinkle and those amber eyes…delicious and knowledgeable. Perhaps his beauty wouldn’t make the angels cry, but she’d never fancied overly attractive men.

He stepped closer, the scent of sandalwood following him. An overwhelming scent that tickled her senses and made her want to sneeze. She wiggled her nose and focused on something more pleasant…his lips.

What would it be like if he kissed her? Would it feel as heated and consuming as Alex’s kiss? The man’s face flashed to mind… those sparkling blue eyes, those dimples. She pushed the image aside just as quickly as it had come and refocused on the earl.

“I’m sorry, that was forward of me.” He turned and started toward the fireplace, leaving her trembling in his wake. “It’s just that I often forget myself in front of you.”

Her heart skipped a beat. They were perfect, meant to be together. Was he finally going to admit it?

“You, being like a sister and all.”

Her heart broke in two, crumbling into the pit of her hollow belly.
Sister?
She wanted to gag. To get sick all over the carpet like Miss Kitty coughing up a hairball.

“Grace. Rodrick.”

The very sound of the familiar voice had her spinning around, anger flaring to life once more. John stood in the doorway, his weary gaze flickering back and forth between her and his friend. He was wondering if she’d told the earl. The bastard was worried. He should be. Slowly, her fingers curled as she imagined walking up to her brother and hitting him…hard.

“You’re back already.” He gave them a strained smile. His cravat was gone, his dark brown jacket and tanned breeches wrinkled and his hair mussed, as if he’d been involved in fisticuffs.

“Yes,” the word came out like a hiss and even though she tried to keep her face blank of emotion, she knew her anger vibrated the very air around them.

His normally pale face flushed pink. “Well then, shall we go?” He glanced eagerly at Lord Rodrick, urging with frantic eyes for the man to move.

Catching the hint, he started forward. “Yes, yes, by all means.”

Unbelievable. How dare John try to sneak away just because they had company. “John, dear brother, I must speak with you in private.”

Holding his hands up as if to ward her off, her stepbrother backtracked toward the door. “Really don’t have time, you know. Very important events to attend.”

“I must insist,” she growled, resisting the urge to grab him by the collar and jerk him forward.

Rodrick had stilled in the middle of the room, his astute gaze moving between the two of them. He was obviously curious, but for once the man wasn’t going to get the answers he wanted. His lips quivered, his amusement apparent. “I’ll wait in the foyer.”

The moment the door shut, John burst across the room coattails flying. Instinctively, Grace swung her fist, but the bloody bastard ducked behind the wing back chair.

“Come on!” he whined, from his hiding place. “What did I do?”

“Oh give over, you know exactly what you did!” Grace jumped onto the chair and swung her arm over the back, but her stepbrother managed to roll to the side, once more evading her swinging fists.

“Please!” John surged upright and retreated toward the door. “Just give me a moment to explain.”

Forcing her feet to remain firmly planted, Grace took in a deep trembling breath. She’d gone mad! Completely and utterly mad! She spun around, and moved to the windows, needing distance to calm her nerves. Outside the streets were dark, her own reflection the only thing staring back. Empty, just like John’s soul. “How could you? Was it some sort of horrible jest?”

She could see his reflection as he moved to the sideboard and poured a drink. Leave it to her stepbrother; anytime things got complicated, he drank his problems into oblivion. “I don’t know what you’re referring to.”

She turned. “Just because you like to visit whores doesn’t mean I do!”

He gave her a sour glance. “Shhh!” Finally she’d gotten his attention. “I had to do it for your own good.”

She laughed, finding amusement for the first time since she’d arrived home. John wasn’t even going to try and deny it, and was, no doubt, going to spin some ridiculous tale. “For my sake?” She crossed her arms over her chest, tucking her fisted hands close to her body. “Well, what a wonderful birthday present.”

Her birthday had been two days ago. Twenty-four and most assuredly climbing that shelf. Not that John would know it was her birthday. Mother was too sick to remember. But at least dear Patience had attempted to make a cake, and had almost burnt the kitchen down in the process. But had John noticed anything amiss? Of course not.

When her mother had married John’s father, Grace had been thrilled. She’d always wanted a brother. Father had been too old to protect her from the harsh comments of village boys. And oh how they’d loved to taunt her for having an Irish father. But an older brother would protect her…or so she’d thought. She’d come to the quick conclusion that the only person one could trust, was oneself.

“You don’t understand. You see…” John raked his hands through his hair. “Lord Rodrick…” He paused, heaving a long, melodramatic sigh.
 

Really, he should have been on the stage. “Yes?” she prompted.

He spun around and stomped toward her, his face holding a frantic edge that frightened her more than she wanted to admit. Grace held her ground, refusing to flinch.

“You’re losing him!” he exclaimed.

She frowned, confused. “I’ve never had him.”

John grasped her shoulders. Besides occasionally knocking her to the ground, it was the only time he’d ever touched her. It felt odd…wrong. “But you want him, don’t you?”

She stiffened, more than weary over his sudden concern. “Perhaps.” Any woman would. It was no secret. He was handsome, intelligent, rich and most importantly, always kind.

A gleam of success lit his dark eyes. “Exactly! And Lord Rodrick likes his women experienced. It’s why he avoids virgins like they have the plague. If you could learn a few tricks, he’d be clay in your hands.”

Her mouth dropped open, her stomach falling to her toes. Was she imagining this conversation, because there was no possible way her stepbrother was telling her to seduce his best friend.
 

As if sensing her shock, he rushed on. “His mother was a cold prude, and he swore he’d never marry someone like her.”

“So he wants a whore instead?”

He stepped back, frowning. “What’s wrong with wanting a woman who is a little more experienced?” His lips lifted into a sneer. “You debutantes with your virginal sensibilities become rather annoying, you know.”

She couldn’t even find the words to respond to his ridiculous statement. “You want me to become a whore?”

He rolled his eyes heavenward, as if she was the one being ridiculous. “Not a whore, but at least someone who knows how to bloody kiss. Who doesn’t flush with embarrassment when she’s touched, or worse, flinch. The men at Lady Lavender’s can teach you things, things you’d never be able to learn elsewhere, without ruining your reputation.”

She must be dreaming, for this couldn’t be real. “A whorehouse, John, you want me to go to a brothel to learn to kiss?”

He flushed and tugged at his collar as he’d done as a young man when he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t. “Not a whorehouse. A house of… pleasure, a place where women can learn to kiss…amongst…other things.”

She wasn’t sure if she should laugh or slap him. Instead, she merely stood there staring at him.

He stiffened, as if offended by her silence. “It’s highly regarded you know. I made sure they took you through the back entrance. Not a person saw you. The place is known for its discretion.”

Grace finally found her voice. “You can’t be serious. You’re honestly going to say you’re doing this for me? This is a jest, isn’t it?”

He didn’t respond, merely paced toward the windows, a man lost in some sort of odd delusion. John was twenty-seven; it was time for him to grow up. To stop teasing her, stop playing cruel pranks. And this most assuredly had to be a jest.
 

She’d had enough. “John, damn it, for once just leave me alone!” Grace started toward the door, forcing her legs to keep moving even though her muscles quivered and she wanted to do nothing but sink onto the settee.

“We need the money.”

She froze. How she wished she’d misheard him, but she knew she hadn’t. Slowly, she turned. He wasn’t looking at her, but feigning interest in the carpet. Most likely attempting to deduce how much it would sell for.

Of course that was the problem.
Money
. She should have known. He was never home, she certainly knew that he wasn’t at church praying. He was gambling, drinking, using what little money their father’s had left them. She’d been too busy to see the truth, even though it had been directly in front of her eyes.
 

Knees finally too weak, Grace sank into the chair. “How bad is it?”

“We’re just hanging on by a thread. Three months from now…” He swallowed hard. “My creditors are insisting…” He let those dire words hang in the air, still refusing to meet her gaze. He looked tired. Exhausted. And for one brief moment she actually felt sorry for the man.