A Taste of Seduction (An Unlikely Husband) (15 page)

“Perhaps,” the earl agreed. “But the right person could gain his trust and make him believe again.”

Francie listened but said nothing.

“I think you might be that person, child.”

Her father’s words hit her like a blast of frigid air on a frosty night, stealing her breath, making her heart skip a beat. “I…I don’t think so.” Alexander
trust
her? Look to her as something more than a nuisance he had no choice but to tolerate?

Memories of last evening darted before her, leaving her hot and cold all over. They’d been stealing into her thoughts, robbing her of sleep at night and common sense during the day. She couldn’t get him out of her mind.
Alexander’s silver eyes burning into her, his strong, capable hands moving over her body, his lips searing hers in possession.

What had happened?
They’d kissed. No, they’d done much more than kiss. Heat rose to her cheeks as she recalled the feel of his hands on her body, touching, exploring, pleasuring. And his mouth. She shivered. His mouth had stolen every sensible thought from her already addled brain every time his tongue dipped between her lips. And when he touched her breast, well, a whole new wealth of sensation started low in her belly and spread to the most private part of her body.

What would it be like to share those sensations with Alexander every night? To look into his silver eyes and see passion, desire, love. No, not love. He wasn’t capable of that emotion. Francie’s chest tightened. Love was a game of chance, a hope and dream at best
, and Alexander Bishop was not one to wager on anything less than certainty.

What did it matter? Why should she care? The better question was why did she care? She didn’t know, but the horrible, undeniable truth was she did.

“I hear you’ve a guest at Drakemoor,” Edgar Ashcroft said, stroking his beard. Alexander felt the earl’s beady little eyes studying him. He’d been doing it all evening, making bland, seemingly insignificant comments and then leaning back, one hand stroking his beard, waiting to see how Alexander responded. It was a game with Belmont, a test of wills requiring two people to participate.

Alexander refused to engage in the old man’s cheap form of entertainment.

“Father,” Claire Ashcroft whispered, a note of censure in her voice, “I’m sure Mr. Bishop does not care to speak of it.” She turned to Alexander and bestowed another of her dazzling smiles on him, the third in as many minutes.

He studied the woman beside him. Claire Ashcroft was indeed beautiful, her rich black curls gathered atop her head with a blue satin ribbon, save a few stray tendrils escaping in random disarray. The effect was stunning, the errant curls accentuating the long, slender column of her neck and trailing to the swell of her full, creamy breasts. She played with a black curl, her fingers brushing her breast in a slow, even rhythm, so casual
that had he been a less experienced man, he might have thought it all quite innocent.

There was nothing innocent about Claire Ashcroft. The look in her deep blue eyes as she murmured in soft, demure tones, spoke of passion and lust, just as her painted red lips did each time she ran her tongue along them. She might be beautiful and titled, a lady by all accounts, but Claire Ashcroft couldn’t touch the bottoms of Francie’s serviceable brown shoes.

Thank God he’d spared Francie this scene. He could hear her getting on her high horse, telling him the woman possessed no scruples and less honor than a pickpocket.

And for once, he’d have to agree.

“Well?” Belmont repeated, a note of impatience in his voice. “Are you going to tell us about the girl or not?”

Belmont was not a man to be kept waiting and from the sour look on his face, he wasn’t pleased Alexander hadn’t yet answered him.

“Her name is Francie Jordan,” he said, toying with the curried rabbit on his plate. Today was Monday. Curried rabbit was always on the menu at Drakemoor. He didn’t doubt Claire Ashcroft took special care to investigate his preferences.

Why had they invited him here? He’d been certain Belmont wanted to discuss the stock market or
, at the very least, inquire about a partnership in one of Alexander’s many enterprises. That would have been understood, even expected, as Alexander’s opinion was much sought after and well respected among the ton.

But two clarets and a bowl of turtle soup later, Belmont still hadn’t broached the subject of business. Rather, he’d sat back, stroked his beard with one hand, sipped his drink with the other, and let his daughter carry the conversation. They’d touched on all of the proper niceties and Alexander tolerated Claire’s coquettish remarks and sultry laughs, all the while waiting to glean the real reason for the invitation.

He had not expected Francie to be a subject of conversation, yet Belmont seemed determined to speak of her. Alexander cleared his throat and said in a guarded voice, “Miss Jordan will be staying on at Drakemoor, indefinitely.”

That comment drew a laugh from the earl. “I should say. After all, she is Montrose’s by-blow, is she not?”

“Father!” Claire Ashcroft chided. “How horribly indelicate.”

“It’s the truth. Everybody knows it, Claire. Bishop does, too. Whether he wants to admit it or not, he knows everybody’s talking about Montrose’s bastard daughter.” The earl leaned forward on his elbows, his icy blue eyes filled with curiosity. “Tell us about her, Bishop.”

“There’s really not much to tell,” Alexander hedged. “She came to Drakemoor a few weeks ago.”

And I kicked her out.

“And?” The old man raised a black eyebrow.

“And she’s brightened Philip’s days.”
And I don’t know what she’s done to me, but I can’t think straight when I’m around her.
“He’s thrilled to have his daughter with him.”

“Father,” Claire Ashcroft interrupted, “this is all very nice, but I really don’t think we need to be discussing Lord Montrose’s illegitimate daughter.”

“But you see, my dear, I find this all very interesting,” the earl said, sitting back in his chair. “Very interesting, indeed.” He smiled at Alexander, a small twist of the lips that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I knew the girl’s mother. Quite well, in fact.”

“I see.”
He knew about Philip and Catherine?
How? And if he did, why the smug look? Alexander wanted to end the conversation now before he reached across the table and grabbed the old man by his neckcloth.

Belmont took a healthy swallow of claret and pointed a finger at Alexander. “I’ll tell you all about her mother. Eleanor was her name.”

Eleanor?

“Father! Enough!”

His daughter’s warning had the desired effect, because Edgar Ashcroft scowled and downed the rest of his drink without another word.

So old Belmont thought he had it all figured out, did he? Thought Francie’s Aunt Eleanor was her mother? Well, Alexander knew Philip’s one and only love had a different name. Catherine.
Belmont’s dead wife. He’d sooner rip out his tongue than tell either one of these gossip-seeking vultures.

“Is she as beautiful as they say?” Belmont pried.

“How would Mr. Bishop know?” Claire asked her father and then shot Alexander yet another dazzling smile, more brilliant than all the others. “After all, they’re practically brother and sister. Isn’t that right, Mr. Bishop?”

He and Francie?
Brother and sister?
He had not one brotherly bone in his body where Francie was concerned.

“Mr. Bishop?” She arched a black brow just so and he wondered if she practiced that look in the mirror.

“Ah...yes...brother and sister.” The words almost choked him.

“See,
Father? I told you, Mr. Bishop would have no knowledge of such things. Brothers never do.” She lowered her lashes and gazed in Alexander’s direction.

It was becoming damnably hot in this room. Alexander reached up to loosen his cravat a little. He wanted to get out of this blasted place. Now. Far away from this arrogant man and his lusty daughter. But he’d come with a purpose and he wasn’t leaving until he knew the relationship between Crayton and Belmont, and Belmont’s daughter, of course, though he had a feeling their association might well be of a more intimate nature.

“I think Lady Claire would prefer we change the topic of conversation,” Alexander said, meeting the earl’s icy gaze. “I’m curious about a young man who, word has it, is tormenting the village of Amberden, taking advantage of young girls, and leaving them with child.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Alexander saw Claire Ashcroft straighten.

“Who is the lucky gent?” the earl asked, chuckling.

Bastard
. “I believe he’s an acquaintance of yours.” He cocked a brow in the old man’s direction. “Lord Jared Crayton.”

“Jared?” Claire Ashcroft breathed.

“Young Crayton?” Belmont asked, a hint of a smile peeking out from under his beard.

“The Duke of Worthington’s second son,” Alexander said.

“I know him,” the earl said. “Of course, I know him. He’s a good friend of Claire’s and I’m friends with his father. So he’s getting girls with child?” Belmont asked.

Alexander nodded.

“A randy one, is he?” The old man shrugged. “They probably can’t lift their skirts fast enough for him.” He lifted his shoulders again. “Better some village girl than one of our young maidens.”

“The girls are still being compromised,” Alexander said. “Ruined, whether peasant or noble.”

“It’s not the same, and you know it, Bishop. I’ll wager those village girls are swooning all around, hoping he’ll marry one of them.”

“And I’ll wager he’s promising every last one of them he’ll do just that.” Alexander didn’t try to disguise the anger in his voice.

Belmont flicked a hand in the air. “So he tells a little untruth.”

“A lie,” Alexander corrected.

The earl shrugged again and smiled. “A lie, then. So, he tells a little lie. What of it? A woman of quality would never put herself in that position, would she, Claire?”

A dainty blush crept up his daughter’s creamy cheeks. No doubt, she’d practiced that as well. “Oh, no, Father,” she uttered, her blue eyes wide with shock. “Think of the disgrace.”

“The disgrace?” Alexander echoed, not believing what he’d just heard. “Do you think a commoner is not subjected to disgrace?” Francie was right. A good deal of the ton consisted of liars, cheats, and faithless husbands and wives, who cared not for dignity or morality. For themselves or anyone else.

“Well... ”
she hesitated, toying with a long, black tendril. “Of course, most of them would feel a certain amount of disgrace, but in our society, a girl would be ruined.” She drew in a deep breath. “She’d never be able to hold her head up in polite circles again.” A shudder ran over her near-bare shoulders as she murmured, “It would be devastating.”

“Claire’s right,” the earl added. “Admit it, Bishop. You’ve been on both sides of the marker, first as a stable boy and now as near a nobleman as one can get without the parentage.” His beady gaze narrowed on Alexander. “If Crayton’s got wild oats to sow, better he sow them with a village girl than a young lady of the ton.”

Belmont’s words filled Alexander with a mix of bile and disgust. This was the type of attitude he’d held in high esteem, hoping to emulate? The ton cared for no one but themselves and those who traveled in their circles. He’d known that, had even supported their actions, but hearing it applied in such callous terms to Francie and her village sickened him. He’d spent years wanting nothing more than to fit in, embraced by the ton, respected and well-liked. He’d achieved that status and more, yet now the association embarrassed him.

“Of course, he agrees with you, Father,” Claire Ashcroft purred and rested her small hand on Alexander’s coat sleeve. “He’s just too much the gentleman to say anything that would imply his new sister fit into the lesser category.” She smiled that brilliant smile of hers and said, “How noble of you, Alexander.” Her voice dipped an octave as her fingers crept up to stroke the back of his hand. “How utterly noble.”

***

Francie peeked through half-closed lids at the man on the opposite seat of the carriage. Alexander Bishop’s eyes were closed, his dark brows pulled into a straight line, his full lips turned down at the corners. He might look like he was sleeping but Francie guessed it was just a ploy to ignore her.
Again
.

She’d been the one who planned to ignore him, at least until she’d had time to sort out her feelings. But one couldn’t ignore what one couldn’t see, and Alexander had been absent or unavailable for the past seven days. Francie had tried to keep track of his whereabouts, but her heart sank every time she heard Lady Printon’s name whispered with his. After the second day, she resigned herself to the fact that he was spending the evening and early morning hours with his lady love and given not the least thought to Francie and the kiss they’d shared.

She wanted to hurl angry words at him for abandoning her like a stale loaf of bread after awakening feelings she didn’t know existed. But she couldn’t. Somewhere beneath his cold exterior was a little, orphaned stable boy who’d slept in the straw for weeks, covered in filth, fearful of being discovered and booted out. She ached at the sight of the pale gray scar running down his cheek. A remembrance of his childhood days as well?