An Indecent Proposition (4 page)

Discretion was the order of the day.

Her palms were damp underneath her gloves as she sank into a chair, and the veil felt as if it was going to suffocate her. Caroline arrived early, for she had no intention of making a grand entrance with both men already there, and she tried to ignore some definite inner trembles.

Some sultry seductress you are
, she mocked herself, not at all certain, even if she’d come this far, she didn’t want to bolt out of the room. The blackened beams in the low ceiling seemed too close, and a raucous laugh from some drunken patron drifted in with jarring clarity. The odor of stale spilled ale hung like a pall.

No. She stiffened her spine and lifted her veil to take a quick sip from her glass. The life she’d lived so far was the stifling existence of a woman who never took a risk. She hadn’t had the opportunity to do so—until now. A wicked, scandalous chance to do something so daring and utterly out of character that she just couldn’t pass it by. An opportunity to change the damage done to her life, if things worked out as she hoped.

That is, unless the duke and the earl declined once they realized just who she was. She supposed it was possible, but quite frankly, she thought she was the perfect person to settle their absurd male dispute. Time and again she’d gone over it.

She was a widow, so it wasn’t like they’d be despoiling an innocent.

She wanted nothing from them except the sensual promise implied in the very nature of their wager, which she intended to make clear.

She was the last person society would guess would aid them, so surely that might intrigue them a little bit. Her icy reputation alone should make them curious about her and enhance their desire to prove their supercilious point about sexual competency. Shouldn’t it?

There. Those points would be her argument.

Would she even have to argue? With two such seasoned libertines, at a guess, her willingness was probably all they required. Their reputations were all but set in stone.

“My lady, you have a guest.” The obsequious innkeeper appeared in the uneven doorway and then scurried away, to be replaced by a tall dark figure, a man who paused for a second before strolling in with his usual predatory grace.

The legendary duke wore dark evening clothes, obviously intent on going somewhere much more elegant after this assignation, probably the same ball she was going to attend later. Nicholas Manning looked, as usual, urbane, sophisticated, and a touch arrogant. Glossy raven hair with just a hint of wave emphasized the sculpted handsomeness of his features: downy arched brows, a straight nose, the line of jaw and chin clean and just a little square. His mouth—infamous for that signature wicked smile—curved slightly at the sight of her veiled face. Dark eyes surveyed her attire in open assessment, and she could see the gleam of curiosity there.

He was as beautiful as ever, as imposing as everyone whispered, and the seductive lift of his mouth was just part of his celebrated persona. His gaze inspected her décolletage and the smile widened slowly.

Good, he was intrigued. As long as she didn’t lose her nerve and got the assurances she needed, this bargain would be sealed soon. Caroline said with cool deliberate intonation, “Good evening, Your Grace.”

Something flickered in his eyes, maybe a realization that he recognized her voice. He bowed politely, the movement fluid and practiced. When he straightened, it looked like his head was a just a foot or so below the sagging ceiling. “Good evening.”

“Shall we wait for Lord Manderville? I took the liberty of ordering some wine. Please help yourself. I requested we be left without a servant. It seemed . . . prudent.”

What an ironic word choice. Nothing about what she was doing was prudent.

“Of course. Whatever you wish.” He gave the small, plain room a cursory glance and chose a chair, settling into it in a smooth muscular movement and extending his long legs. “This is an excellent choice for our little meeting, to be sure. I don’t think anyone we know would stumble across us in this place. Please tell me you did not come here unescorted.”

He was perfectly right. The neighborhood was questionable, but her driver was a burly young man, pure Welsh, grateful to have escaped the fate of working in the mines like generations of his family, and therefore staunchly loyal. Huw had seen her safely inside, and would see her back home with the same care. She shook her head, the veil moving slightly, his solicitude for her safety a bit unexpected. “I am not foolish, Your Grace.”

“I would never imply such a thing. But I admit freely to being most curious about you. What prompted you to contact us, if I am permitted to ask?” The bottle of wine sat on the table along with glasses, and he reached for it casually to pour himself a drink, but she had a feeling he was intensely interested in her answer, despite the apparent nonchalance of his gesture.

What did he think? That she was a desperate, lonely woman so starved for male attention she’d lie with two men just to have a little affection? Well, it was probably logical, she supposed, but not the case. If she wanted male company, she could find it easily enough. Even with her reputation for standoffishness, she grew weary of fending off potential suitors. As for the loneliness, she most certainly preferred being a widow to being a wife, so everything came with a price.

She’d paid enough and it was why she was there. Was she dissatisfied? Yes, because there was something missing in her life, like a glaring part of an unfinished puzzle that ruined the picture. To find that piece and fit it neatly into a slot was important to her. It affected her whole future in every conceivable way.

Physical passion was an elusive mystery. She saw no way to stay respectable and solve it.

Except this one.

She’d been cheated by the inadequacy of a marriage she hadn’t wanted in the first place, and her husband’s insensitivity in the bedroom was only part of it. Now that he was gone, there was nothing she could do about his neglect in other ways, but she
could
find out if it had been her fault she didn’t enjoy conjugal relations, as Edward claimed.

It was a logical assumption that if she didn’t like it in the arms of London’s two most celebrated lovers, then it
was
her fault. Until she knew, she was unlikely to ever become involved with any man again. Being a bitter disappointment to a husband once was more than enough. She wasn’t sure she even wished an intimate relationship with any male again, but she did want the chance to make the choice without the stranglehold of her past intruding on her present.

“I suppose it is natural for you to wonder over my motivation in offering to give my opinion for your unconventional competition,” she said without inflection, gazing at the man across from her through the gauzy veil. “I think it is implied in my initial communication.”

Arched ebony brows lifted a fraction. “Ah yes, the implication that the lovers you have had so far have disappointed you. What a pity any woman should feel such a way.”

The caress of his rich voice was tangible, as if he’d really reached over and touched her. There was something in the way he held himself also. He couldn’t be unaware of how his looks affected women, but it wasn’t the weapon he used to win them over.

No wonder women fell for him as if tossing themselves off cliffs, she thought, gazing at him across the worn, chipped table. If he personified sin, it was of the most delicious kind. Somehow the framing of the tasteless surroundings showcased his potent power. Being superimposed on the display of grooved floors, stained walls, and a chair ill suited to his impressive height emphasized how male and aristocratic he was in every way.

“Lover,” she corrected. “There is no plural.” And what had happened in her marriage bed had certainly not seemed to have anything to do with love, so she wasn’t sure the term applied. His pity didn’t interest her. His assistance did.

“Only one man? I see.”

Only one.
Surely a foreign concept to a man like the rakish duke, who counted scores of lovers in his profligate past.

He continued with that same accomplished and devastating smile. “Don’t judge us all too harshly from the failures of a single example of our gender.”

“Shouldn’t I?” It would be nice if she could sound flirtatious, but she feared she didn’t quite pull it off.

“Indeed not.” His gaze once more drifted to the swell of pale flesh above her bodice. “Just as every woman is unique, I imagine we are also all different. By nature, I think, men are more selfish on the whole. I am sorry for your previous experience, but once again, not all of us are the same.”

She felt the tantalizing heat of that perusal as if he’d run a finger along her skin.

Then again, his charisma wasn’t in question. They were very unevenly matched, but she had no intention of letting him know it. With chill poise, she said, “Perhaps you will get a chance to prove your point, Your Grace.”

“I have the distinct feeling I will have no objection to doing so, my mysterious lady.”

Drinking her wine was impossible without lifting the veil, so she uncertainly fingered the stem of her glass instead, watching the man across the table with wary contemplation.

“Sorry, I am a bit late.” Lord Manderville’s arrival stopped her from having to say more. She didn’t want to give too many clues as to her identity until they both offered her their word as gentlemen they would never reveal it.

The earl came into the room and gave her much the same assessment as his friend had done, a sweeping glance that lingered just a moment on the neckline of her fashionable gown, then ended on the draping cloth that concealed her face. An impish smile revealed white straight teeth. “I see we are truly playing a game of intrigue here. It is a pleasure to meet you.”

“You have met me before,” Caroline said, as calmly as possible. Having them both in the room was a bit disconcerting, she found. For one thing, they were both very tall, and had that formidable air of male self-confidence that seemed to fill the small space. Derek Drake’s golden good looks had earned him the epithet “the Angel.” Rothay, in contrast, was christened in a tongue-in-cheek manner “the Devilish Duke.”

They made a potent—if disparate—pair, the Angel and the Devil, and she felt her stomach knot with nervous tension.

That would hardly do. Here she was, boldly offering them a sexual proposition. Women who traveled to obscure inns to meet with libertines of the order of the two men with her now should not succumb to an attack of nerves.

Her spine stiffened as resolve resurfaced.

“
Have
I met you?” Manderville accepted a glass of wine from the duke with a nod of thanks, his gaze still fastened on her face, and sat down in a rickety chair. It gave a protesting squeak.

“You both have.”

“Ah, I thought your voice seemed cultured and perhaps familiar. We can’t be close acquaintances, though, or I would have recognized it with more certainty. I have an ear for that sort of thing.” His smile was as angelic as the duke’s was wickedly enticing.

Whereas Nicholas Manning exuded an almost dangerous air of intensity, the earl was all lazy, insouciant male grace.

So different, yet the same in the offer of a supposed paradise in their arms.

Next came the tricky part. Caroline couldn’t blame them for wanting to know just who she was—and take a look at her—before they agreed, but neither was she going to remove the veil before she had their assurance of silence. If it wasn’t forthcoming, she was going to leave at once. Even the couriers she’d hired to deliver the notes back and forth had to go through a convoluted process to make sure there was no direct connection between her and them.

This was supposed to save her, not destroy her life.

They might have reputations for dalliance and departure, sleeping their way through bevies of society beauties, but she had never heard one word against their honor as far as anything else went, so she was prepared to accept their word. With his vast wealth, surely Rothay had to manage large financial holdings efficiently, and Manderville was also a rich man with the same responsibilities. They held seats in the House of Lords, and were active, if what she read in the paper was true. It was almost comical to see the efforts of all the scheming mothers trying to bring their eligible daughters to their attention, but both reputedly avoided unmarried young ladies as if they carried a dread disease.

In short, they were honorable in their own way, or she certainly hoped so. She was about to risk her reputation on that assumption. The veil had been insurance in case, for whatever reason, they refused.

Caroline said firmly, “Before we even discuss this unusual situation, I need your solemn word my name is never to be tied to this in any way. Even if we do not reach an agreement this evening, I want no one to know I ever even considered it.” Without thinking she quoted softly, “ ‘At every word a reputation dies.’ ”

“Alexander Pope, I believe,” the duke said, looking amused, those downy brows elevated. “I am too curious now to refuse. I will tell no one.”

“My word on it also.” Derek Drake nodded his blond head, his eyes narrowed just a fraction as he gazed at her shielded face. “Your secret is safe here.”

“Very well.” Caroline lifted off her hat and veil and set them aside, smoothing her hair with fingers that trembled only slightly. She was the amused one when she saw the shock on both their faces. The room was silent.

It was a testament to her reputation. She was supposed to be icily formal and unattainable, not a woman who arranged meetings in disreputable taverns.

How often, she wondered, was either of them at a loss for words?

Rarely, if she had to guess.

“Lady Wynn.” It was Rothay who recovered first, but still he stared at her, his wineglass dangling from long fingers. “I admit I am surprised.”