A Taste of Seduction (An Unlikely Husband) (7 page)

“And just how will you explain your wedding night?” he bit out through clenched teeth. “No virgin’s blood?”

She threw back her head and laughed. “Men have always been so gullible. A little chicken blood hidden under the bed will take care of that.”

He groaned again and grabbed her hips, pulling her atop him. Claire reached out and braced herself against his chest, working her body along his thick hardness.

“Bishop’s no fool.” He lifted her and impaled her on his shaft.

“Neither am I,” she whispered on a moan of pleasure. She rode him, slow and easy, teasing and tempting him with the feel of her.

Jared bucked hard and fast, almost dislodging her. “Enough,” he growled, flipping her over and burying himself in her heat. He pounded into her like a wild man. Just the way she liked it.

Alexander Bishop would be like this. And more.
So much more.

He was different from the men she knew, the ones who granted her every wish, doted on her excessively, and told her no less than three times a day how utterly beautiful she was. Alexander Bishop appeared immune to her many charms, which made him all the more desirable.

He’d rescued her twice. The first time, she’d fallen from her horse and sprained her ankle after a silly attempt to ride bareback. Alexander emerged from the early morning mist on horseback like a gallant knight in search of his maiden. He dismounted and knelt over her, smelling of man and fresh air, the scar on his cheek, stark, the silver bright in his eyes. Claire’s belly twisted and shivered when his strong fingers touched her ankle. But he remained ever the gentleman, and though she hated to admit it, he appeared quite indifferent to her beauty and curves as he lifted her to his horse and returned her home.

The second rescue was not a rescue at all, though Alexander believed it to be and Claire encouraged the misconception. She’d been trysting with the stable boy in the far fields of the estate when Alexander once again appeared on horseback. Upon seeing her state of dishabille, he assumed the boy had been about to press himself upon her. Poor boy. Alexander punched him square in the face and then twice in the stomach. But again, Alexander himself
remained immune to her, even when she permitted him an ample view of cleavage and calf. That’s when Claire vowed she would have him.

And she would.
Soon
.

“Claire.” Jared’s moan filled the room. Seconds later, both exploded in a heated frenzy of slick sweat and sensual fantasy.

“What about
your
girl?” Claire asked when she had the breath to speak again. “Have you caught
her
yet?”

“No. But I will. Even if I have to pursue her day and night, I will.”

Jared was not the most discriminating lover. How well she knew that. Their first tryst had been in a carriage scant hours after they’d been introduced. She shivered at the thought. There was something to be said for spontaneity.

“She’s just a girl. Can’t you settle on another?”

Jared smiled and traced the tip of her breast. “Oh, but she’s not just a girl. Not Francie Jordan.”

“Are you saying she’s more beautiful than I am?”

Claire had known of her beauty since the age of three when her father filled her with tales of her boundless beauty and the advantages it would provide. He promised her she’d have everything her heart desired. Men loved her long, black hair, curling well past her shoulders. Some even wrote poems about her, saying she possessed the “face of an angel with eyes the color of a morning sky, skin as soft as rose petals and a smile to rival the sun.” Oh, yes, she’d heard it all.

And that was years before any of them glimpsed her naked body.

“No, not more beautiful,” Jared answered, deep in thought. “Just different. There’s something about her, something wild and innocent that makes me hard just thinking about her.”

“She’s a commoner,” Claire
huffed, annoyed he would compare another woman’s beauty to hers. He could sleep with as many women as he wanted, as long as he knew she was the most beautiful.

Jared turned to her, running a finger from her breast to her woman’s heat. “You’ll go after Bishop and I’ll find Francie,” he said. “But in the meantime,” he whispered, stroking her, “let’s just enjoy each other.”

Claire moaned. “I’ll miss this, Jared. You play me like a finely tuned instrument.”

He threw her a cocky half-smile. “Who says you have to miss anything? Maybe we’ll make it a foursome?”

***

Francie wanted to strangle Alexander Bishop with her bare hands. It was an odd wish coming from someone who protected field mice and had never squashed so much as a centipede in her life. They were all miracles of God, deserving compassion and respect.

All except Alexander Bishop. He must have come from the other end of God’s rainbow—the dark side, where rude arrogance snuffed out good deeds and kindness.

Francie still seethed over the conversation she’d had with him earlier. She’d just returned from her walk, calmed by the fresh air and gentle rain. Unfortunately, the first person she encountered as she entered Drakemoor was the very person who’d necessitated the walk in the first place. Alexander Bishop pounced on her like a sleek cat, informing her he’d just spoken to the earl about a Lord Jared Crayton, Francie’s would-be abductor
, and now he had a few questions of his own.

She’d followed him into the same room she’d vacated an hour earlier, sat in the same rose-colored chair, pulled off her gloves, and waited. It didn’t take long for him to make his point.

“The earl relayed your story to me about Crayton.” He paced the room, shoulders straight, hands clasped behind his back. When he reached the fireplace, he turned and headed toward her, his muscular legs moving in slow, even strides. He stopped two feet from the hem of her gown.

Francie kept her eyes trained on the wallpaper behind his left ear. It was a floral pattern. Pink roses dusted with gold. Soothing. Peaceful. She took a deep breath and waited.

“I’ve met the man,” he said. “Actually, he’s not much more than a boy, but a very wealthy boy,” he added and continued pacing. “From one of the wealthiest families in the area.”

“What are you insinuating?”

“I think Jared Crayton’s only harm is being the son of a duke.”

Francie gasped and bound out of her chair. “You think,” she tried to keep her voice from shaking, “those young girls
asked
to be seduced?”

The odious man shrugged. “I’m not saying they asked him.”

Her shoulders slumped forward a bit and she let out a breath. At least they agreed upon that.

“But I’m not saying they objected either.”

“They did not welcome his advances,” she bit out. “He took advantage of them. Preyed on their innocence. Stalked their naiveté. Threatened their family’s livelihoods.”

“Did he
force
any of them?” Alexander asked, shoving his hands in his pockets.

“Force them? Well...no, not in that manner of speaking. But he twisted—”

“My point,” he replied. “Crayton took advantage of a
situation
, not a person. He didn’t force any of those girls. If they believed he’d marry them, then they were foolish.”

“Foolish? And me? What am I?” Francie’s voice rose as she threw out the questions. “Am I foolish for believing his threat to ruin my aunt’s livelihood? Am I foolish for running when he chased me through the woods and fields, stalking me?” She trembled. “Am I foolish to believe one of these days when he realizes his sweet words and ready smile won’t win me over, he’ll try something else?” She tried to control the near
-hysteria in her voice, but the reality of her words gripped her, threatening to suffocate her with fear.

He stared at her a long while, saying nothing. When he finally spoke, his voice was low and soft. “No, Miss Jordan, I don’t think you’re foolish.
Not at all. As a matter of fact, I think you’re very smart.” He stepped closer. “Very smart, indeed. You’ve got the earl fooled with your stories. He believes you.” He leaned in close enough for Francie to see flecks of gold in his silver eyes. “But I don’t,” he whispered. “Not one word.”

“I
am
his daughter!”

“Perhaps,” he replied in a bland voice. “I concede
, it would appear you may well be the earl’s offspring. But the rest?” He shook his head and frowned. “What better way to obtain your father’s affection and his sympathy than by placing yourself in danger? And at the hands of a duke’s son?” He let out a short laugh. “It’s nothing short of brilliant, actually.”

“It’s the truth!”

The beast of a man ignored her outrage. “If I were interested in bettering my position and found I was the daughter of an earl, I might well fabricate such a story myself. The earl, being the kind of man he is, would protect you and see that you’d want for nothing. You could travel in society dressed as a lady in the finest of silk. And perhaps, with the earl’s power and wealth behind you, make a very fine match.” His lips curved upward but bore not even the slightest resemblance to a smile. “But that’s what you’re anticipating, isn’t it, Miss Jordan?”

“Of course not!”
The nerve of the man
. “I care nothing for such things. I do care about the girls of Amberden. That’s why I came.” Her voice dipped, faltered. “And...I wanted to meet my father.”

“Ah, yes, of course. There is that. And not just any father, but one equipped to elevate a simple village girl to a position of true importance. A lady. And a little story about the Duke of Worthington’s son would
ensure the earl’s sympathies.”

“You’re wrong!” Francie spat out. “I did no such thing.”

“Did anyone see Lord Jared
stalking
you?”

“Of course not. He made certain I was alone.”

“I see.”

“No, Mr. Bishop, you don’t see. You don’t see at all,” she said, pointing her finger at him. “You’ve got your mind made up I’m trying to trick my father and nothing I say or do will change that. I’m not even going to try.”

“Good, because I won’t fall victim to your antics.” He folded his arms over his broad chest, staring down at her in all of his superior arrogance. “I don’t like when a woman uses her charm and beauty and misguided circumstance to manipulate a man’s heart. It won’t work on me.”

“It couldn’t,” she shot back. “You don’t have a heart.”

“Touché.” He eyed her a moment longer. “I’ll tolerate you for Philip’s sake. Nothing more.”

Then he turned and walked out of the room as though they hadn’t just launched a private war against one another.

Francie didn’t see Bishop for the rest of the afternoon until a short while ago, when he entered the dining room and she cast the object of her ire a quick, sideways glance. He sat at the end of the table, lifting his fork with methodical precision to his mouth. She bet if she counted the peas on his fork they would number the same each time.

Of course, her father placed her right next to him. Just close enough to catch a whiff of his spicy cologne and see the faint puckering of skin on the jagged scar running down his cheek. Just close enough to make her very aware of his presence.

“Alex, my boy, I’d like you to escort Francie and Bernard back to Amberden in the morning to collect her things,” the earl said, stabbing a piece of pork. Two pink spots colored his cheeks. He’d made it through most of dinner without one of the coughing episodes she’d witnessed earlier.

Francie didn’t want to upset her father, but she neither needed nor wanted Alexander Bishop to accompany her and Uncle Bernard. And from the tight lines around his mouth,
Alex
felt the same. Alex. She wanted to laugh at the absurdity. That name was reserved for men with quick smiles and charming dispositions who laughed a lot and were well schooled in the art of flirtation. Alexander Bishop fit none of those qualifications.

Setting down her fork, she met her father’s blue-eyed gaze and smiled. “That won’t be necessary, Father. Uncle Bernard and I are quite capable of traveling to Amberden and packing up my belongings.” She didn’t want to feel beholden to Alexander Bishop for anything.

“I want Alex to go with you.”

“I’m sure Mr. Bishop has more important things to do.”
Like counting the number of peas he places on his fork
. “We can leave first thing in the morning and I’ll be back the next day.”

The earl shook his head. “Francie, I don’t—”

“I’m going.” Alexander Bishop’s words sliced through the air, slashing any further objections.

Francie shot a look at him. His thick, black brows were drawn together in a straight line, the corners of his full lips turned down into a frown, and the scar running along his cheekbone was white. But it was his eyes that made her breath stick in her throat. They were cold, like a freezing rain, driving into her, battering at her defenses. A shiver ran through her with a warning.
This man is dangerous. Beware.

She swallowed hard, pushing past her uneasiness. “That won’t be necessary, Mr.—”

“Ten o’clock,” he said, cutting through her words. He leveled one last cold look on her before setting his napkin aside and rising. “If you’ll excuse me,” he said, ignoring Francie and nodding to the earl and Uncle Bernard, “I have a previous commitment.”