A Taste of Seduction (An Unlikely Husband) (17 page)

Alexander pulled at his cravat. It was blasted hot outside and even hotter in here. “I’m well aware of that fact.” He turned to look out the window. She was there, right in his line of vision, with her damnable rabbit, Miss Penelope. She was talking to the silly animal, making all sorts of gestures. And laughing. Did she know how ridiculous she looked out there, without a hat
; his gaze shot to her feet, without shoes? Without a brain was more like it.

Did she know the sun illuminated her red hair, weaving a golden highlight through the tumble of curls? And her hands...the way she moved them, fingers spread wide over Miss Penelope, soft and stroking...her hands would make any man wish he were a rabbit? And her body...

“What’s going on out there, Alex?” Philip called. “What’s got you so engrossed?”

Alexander spun around so fast his whiskey sloshed to the rim of his glass. “Nothing,” he said and moved to block the window. “I was just thinking.”

Francie’s sweet voice trickled through the window. “Thinking, eh?” the old man said, tilting his head to peek around Alexander.

“Yes,” Alexander snapped. “Thinking. I was just thinking about taking a little trip, perhaps to the West Indies. I never did get to see our sugarcane crops and they’re bringing in quite a nice profit.”

“A trip,” the earl repeated, taking another sip of sherry.

“Yes, I think I’ll begin making preparations at once.” Alexander stepped away from the window and moved toward his desk, trying to ignore Francie’s melodic tune drumming in his ears, seducing his senses. He pulled out a piece of paper and jotted a few notes to himself. “I should be able to leave within the week. The only pressing matter is a meeting with the Duke of Worthington. Once I am assured Jared Crayton poses no threat to Francie or Amberden, my services will no longer be required and I will depart.”

“A trip,” Philip said again, rolling the word around on his tongue as though it left a bitter aftertaste.

“Hmmmm.” Francie’s laughter swept over Alexander. His groin tightened and he wondered if there was any way he might leave tomorrow.

“Too bad you won’t be here for the ball,” Philip said.

“Yes, quite a pity.” Alexander kept his eyes trained on the piece of paper in front of him.
I’d never survive the ball
.

“Francie will be very disappointed.”

Alexander refused to meet the challenge in Philip’s voice. He shrugged. “We all suffer disappointments in one form or another. She’ll recover.”

The earl coughed, a harsh, hacking sound that filled the room.

Alexander rushed to him. “Are you all right?” The coughing of late had grown more frequent and harsher.

Philip raised his hand, but another cough wracked his body, followed by five more, until he lay back in his chair, red-faced and huffing.

“Don’t know...what came over me,” he gasped. “It’s usually not...that bad.”

“I’ll fetch you a glass of water.” Alexander rushed to the sideboard and poured a tall glass from a crystal decanter. He returned to stand beside the earl. “Drink this. Don’t talk.”

The earl followed his command and when he’d finished half the glass, he leaned back against the cushions and closed his eyes, his breath falling out in short little puffs.

“That... gave me a scare,” Philip said, his eyes still closed.

“Not half as much as me.”

“About your trip...” The earl coughed twice more.

“The trip can wait.”

“Are you,” Philip puffed, “certain?”

“I won’t leave until I know you’re all right.” If something happened to the old man while Alexander was gone, he’d never forgive himself.

The earl gave him a little half-smile, his eyes still closed. “Thank you, my boy.”

***

“You’re going straight to the devil, Philip. You know that don’t you?”

Philip opened one eye. He’d been ordered to bed, first by Alexander and then by Francie when she found out about his little coughing episode. “I really did have a coughing spell.”

Bernard raised a bushy brow but said nothing. “Oh, all right,” Philip muttered. “I made it sound worse than it was. But I couldn’t let Alex take off to some godforsaken land right before the ball. We’re close, Bernard. I can feel it.” He grinned. “You should’ve heard old Alex talking about Madame Druillard’s. Didn’t want her wearing this gown. Too revealing. Didn’t want her wearing that gown. Too revealing.” He chuckled. “I think he’d prefer to have her wearing a sack to hide her shape.”

“You’re meddling, Philip. If either one of them catches wind of this, there’s going to be a lot of trouble.”

Philip turned on his side, both eyes open now. “They’re made for each other. When they’re in the same room, you can almost see the sparks flying.” His eyes misted. “They belong together. I’m just helping them along a little.”

“You’re interfering,” Bernard corrected.

“Bah! Once they’re married, it won’t matter how they got together.”

“If either one finds out, there won’t be a wedding. And it will be our fault.”

“How would they possibly find out? Relax, Bernard.” Philip leaned back against his pillow and smiled. “All will be well.”

“I’m here to see His Grace.” Alexander stood at the entrance of Strotham, the Duke of Worthington’s residence. It took some negotiation to obtain an audience, but persistence paid off. Soon, he’d be face to face with Jared Crayton’s father.

“Come in,” the butler said. He was a tall, thin man with a shiny forehead and very large ears.

Alexander stepped over the threshold and into one of the most majestic dwellings he’d ever seen. Gold covered every surface. There was gold inlay on the ceiling, gold dripping from the chandeliers like raindrops, gold designs on vases, gold patterns woven into the wall coverings. A bit much for Alexander’s taste, but it left no doubt as to the duke’s financial situation. To identify him as simply “rich” would be a gross understatement. The duke belonged several leagues beyond rich.

“This way, sir.” The butler gestured down a long hall illuminated by another gold chandelier. Alexander followed, eyeing a row of portraits hanging along the hall. Crayton ancestors, no doubt, framed in heavy gold, staring back at him with double chins hiked up a notch or two and smug little smiles on their round faces. It was hard to discern the males from the females. All wore wigs, all were plump, and all had the air of superiority stamped across their fleshy faces.

The butler stopped before a large mahogany door and rapped twice. Alexander heard someone giggle, a woman from the sound of the high note, followed by scuffling and a few more giggles. Then a man’s hearty laugh filtered through the door. The butler cleared his throat, turned five shades of red, and knocked again.

The giggling and laughter turned to whispers. “Who is it?” a deep, gruff voice bellowed.

“Jones, Your Grace. A Mr. Alexander Bishop to see you.”

Alexander heard the man curse. “Give me a moment.” There were a few more giggles and a long, low growl. If he weren’t so anxious to see the matter of Jared Crayton laid to rest, he’d have turned and walked out. But the safety of Francie and Amberden lay at the hands of the man behind the mahogany door. For that reason, Alexander stayed and tried to ignore the disgusting grunting and groaning seeping through the door.

After what seemed longer than eternity, the door burst open and a short, buxom woman dressed in servant’s clothes stood before them. When she spotted Alexander, her full pink lips parted into a slow smile.

“Bishop? Come in,” a male voice commanded. The woman slipped past Alexander, brushing against his coat sleeve as she headed down the hall.

Alexander entered the huge room decorated in burgundy velvet, cream brocade, and, of course, gold. A very large man sat in an overstuffed burgundy chair, fastening the last button on his bright blue breeches. His face was red, his gray eyes puffy, with a rheumy look about them. He had a small, round nose and the same double chin as the ancestors in the portraits hanging in the hall. There were more bare spots than gray hairs on his head, though he’d pulled the stragglers back into a pathetic-looking queue. The man possessed no neck. His body went from a double chin to shoulders with nothing in between. The white cravat made the duke look like a flower ready to blossom. Diamond and ruby rings covered his pudgy fingers.

This was the Duke of Worthington, a man reputed to sit at the right hand of the king. And he resembled a
flower
.

“Thank you for granting me an audience, Your Grace,” Alexander said. A rose? Not with that pink jacket.
A geranium, perhaps? No, geraniums had necks.

“State your business, Bishop,” the duke said, eyeing him with a watery gaze.

Alexander cleared his throat. He would do this for Francie. “I’ve come to speak with you about a matter regarding your younger son.”

“Jared?” The duke smiled, revealing a set of crooked, gray teeth. “Handsome boy, isn’t he? Has all the girls after him.” He chuckled. “Though he gives them a fair chase himself.”

“Indeed. That’s what I’ve come to speak with you about.”

The duke pointed a fat finger at the chair next to him. “Sit.”

The old man’s insolence grated on Alexander like a day-old beard against a woman’s skin. He almost turned on his heel and left. Duke or no, the man had the manners of a pig. His promise to Francie won out and he settled himself into the oversized chair next to the duke.

“Speak.”

The old man enjoyed his power. Sit. Speak. Next he’d tell him to jump and roll over. That’s when Alexander
would
walk out and hunt down Jared Crayton himself. Even though he didn’t like to admit it, and certainly never acknowledged it, there was enough stable boy left in him to resort to his fists when necessary. And if this old piece of overcooked ham sitting in front of him dressed like a flower didn’t stop issuing commands soon, he’d do just that.

Alexander tried for diplomacy. “Your son is indeed quite a nice
-looking young man. But my reasons for seeking your assistance have nothing to do with his looks.”

The duke raised a wiry, gray brow. “Insolence, Bishop?” One watery eye narrowed. “Speak.”

At that moment, Alexander felt a kinship to George. Did the old man treat everyone as though they were animals and he their master? Or did he reserve that behavior for stable boys dressed in fine jackets and trousers?

Before he could respond, there was a soft rap on the door.

“Enter,” the duke said.

It was the maid Alexander had seen earlier, laden with a tray of refreshments and a sultry smile. She set the gold-edged tray on the table in front of them and proceeded to fix the duke’s tea. The old man’s eyes centered on the jiggling mounds of flesh trapped in the confines of her bodice. His thick tongue darted out to lick his lips. Alexander looked away, but not fast enough to miss the old lecher’s hand patting the maid’s round bottom as she walked away.

When the door closed behind her, the duke turned to him, his mouth full of blueberry tart and said, “Nothing like pounding a bit of young flesh to keep a man young.”

Alexander swallowed, gulping more tea than he intended. It scalded his throat.
Damn
.

“What do you think?” the duke asked.

“Your Grace?”

The old man chuckled and tore another piece of tart with his teeth. His double chin wobbled as he nodded toward the door. “Of Maude.”

Alexander nodded, not certain what kind of response the duke expected. “She seems very nice.”

“Hah! You should see how nice she is when she’s got her lips wrapped around you. She’s nice, all right.” He stopped chewing. “You want to pound her yourself, don’t you?” He laughed, his fat hand rubbing his stomach. “I could tell by the way you were looking at her. You’d like a go at her.”

“No. No, I wouldn’t.”

“No?” He sounded insulted.

“No, thank you, Your Grace,” Alexander responded. The old man looked offended by his refusal. “She’s quite beautiful.”
If you liked over-painted and over-used types
. “And it’s quite obvious she’s very much taken with you.”

He smiled a huge, smug smile. “Right you are.” He leaned closer to Alexander and murmured, “I just have to flick my finger, and I’ve got her wet and panting.” He grinned and let out a loud belch.

“Indeed.”
I have got to find a way out of this conversation
.

“She loves my touch.” He made sucking sounds as he licked blueberry off of his fat fingers.

She loves your money and your power
, Alexander amended.

“Pass me another tart,” the duke commanded. “The cherry one.”

Alexander picked up a silver utensil and placed a plump cherry tart on a white and gold plate. He passed it to the duke who plucked the pastry off the plate and sank his teeth into it. Red oozed down the sides of his mouth, trickling to his chin. He wiped his mouth with his fingers, then proceeded to lick each one.

“Well, Bishop, did you come for a reason or just to eat my food?” the duke asked, sucking on his little finger.