An Invitation to Seduction (16 page)

Men were beasts. It was a woman’s place to keep them in line, to give them no opportunity for misbehavior.

And yet for all her contradictory actions with regard to him, he seemed to hold no ill will toward her. He was gifting her with his yacht, for pity’s sake. She hardly knew what to make of him or his generosity.

She certainly couldn’t understand why Lady Priscilla didn’t consider Weddington handsome. Ruggedly so. Strong-jawed. Bronzed by the sun. He could appear at
home in the fanciest parlor or on the stormiest sea. Kitty couldn’t determine why she found him so incredibly attractive. Yet if she were honest with herself, she had to admit that something about him did draw her to him, did force her gaze to wander over to him.

He’d removed his jacket and cravat, loosened the buttons at his throat, rolled up his sleeves. The wind billowed his shirt, revealing glimpses of his chest—as bronzed as his face, and she wondered if he would dispense with his shirt or perhaps even his clothes entirely if no ladies were presently on board. She thought he possessed a bit of barbarism. As though he’d reluctantly donned the mantle of civilization because he’d realized it would serve him better than running wild.

She recognized that she should make her way to the bow so she could be nearer to Farthingham, and yet, here she was casting sly glances at Weddington, grateful Lady Priscilla and Lady Anne were too busy gossiping and occasionally lapsing into silence with a bit of a green tinge to their faces whenever they hit rougher waters. Drinking a good deal of wine the night before a venture on the sea was not a wise course of action.

But then she was beginning to wonder if she’d recognize a wise course if she happened upon it. She’d always considered herself smart for latching on to Farthingham, and yet doubts were suddenly beginning to plague her. Not because she didn’t love him, but because she was beginning to fear that she might not love him enough. She’d always felt safe because he didn’t tempt her, but she’d never truly given any thought to crawling into bed with him, couldn’t imagine him touching her as Weddington had. And yet, she wanted his touch, would welcome it. She’d kiss the dew from his flesh. With her lips, she’d capture the droplets as they slowly rolled—

“Miss Robertson?”

She jerked her gaze from Weddington’s throat, glistening with moisture, to his gaze, intense, speculative, and challenging, not certain when the fantasy in her mind had shifted away from Farthingham and on to Weddington.

“I was wondering if I might bother you for a moment and have you hold the wheel,” he said.

“Richard, women don’t sail ships,” Lady Anne said.

“I believe Miss Robertson is fully capable of handling it for a short time.”

Kitty nodded. “Yes, certainly I can do that.”

She rose to her feet, a little unsteadily after sitting for so long, grabbed the railing, reestablished her sea legs, and made her way to where he stood. He moved his right hand away from the wheel, while still holding it steady with his left, the muscles on his forearm bunching and tightening with the additional strain.

“If you’ll grab that spoke,” he ordered.

She wrapped her hand around the wood, surprised that it seemed as though she could feel the soul of the ship tingling through her fingers. He took a step back, and she moved in so she was trapped between him and the wheel.

“Place your other hand on the spoke near mine,” he ordered. “I won’t release it until I know you have control.”

Nodding, swallowing hard, she placed her hand near his. What a contrast. His large, dark hand beside her pale, fragile-looking one. The muscles bulging in his thick wrist, his dark coarse hair stirred by the breeze. While her delicate wrist was covered with the long sleeve of her dress.

“Are you ready for me to release my hold?” he asked quietly.

“You won’t go far will you?”

“I shan’t go anywhere at all.”

She glanced over her shoulder. “Why did you need me to take the wheel then?”

His mouth shifted into a slow, easy grin. “I don’t recall implying that I was in need of anything…but if that’s how my request was interpreted, I am not bothered in the least.”

His eyes held a kindness, and she wondered why she’d failed to notice it before. He possessed a generosity, somehow always managing to ensure that those around them had their needs, wants, desires satisfied.

“Perhaps you shouldn’t release your final hold,” she said.

“I can reestablish it quickly enough,” he assured her. “Gaze ahead, concentrate on the sea, on where you wish to take the ship, feel the wind billowing her sails…”

His voice was as mesmerizing as all that surrounded her. She lost herself in his commands, lost herself in the ship, in its motions, in the feel of it beneath her feet. Always before she’d been a passenger, an observer…but from this vantage point she was beginning to feel an entirely different appreciation for all that was involved in taking people out on to the sea.

She’d traveled extensively with her father, but he had a captain, a pilot, a navigator, a crew that saw to all their comforts, all their safety…and she suddenly realized with startling clarity that a man who was terrified of the sea would not leave the command of it in someone else’s hands. He no doubt inspected the ship, knew every inch of her, knew her strengths, corrected her weaknesses…he’d never put at risk himself or others.

Even as the thought took root and held, she quickly glanced down at her left hand, only to find it alone on the spoke of the wheel. She didn’t know when he’d relinquished absolute control into her keeping. Her heart pounding with a sense of accomplishment she’d never before experienced, she looked back out to sea.

“Well done, Miss Robertson,” he said quietly behind her. “Well done.”

And in that moment, for the first time since she’d met him, she felt unexplainably, remarkably safe.

K
itty couldn’t sleep. She’d lain in bed, staring at the shadows, trying to make sense of her feelings. She’d never been more confused in her entire life. She’d always been so certain of the road she traveled, of what she wanted in life, what she expected of herself and others, what her behavior should consist of—and the thoughts rumbling through her mind were contrary to everything she’d ever hoped to attain.

She’d called for her maid and gotten dressed simply because she couldn’t stand to be isolated in her room any longer. She needed to roam, and she certainly hadn’t wanted to be caught by anyone in her nightclothes. For some reason, she thought they would be a large sign proclaiming her wanton thoughts.

She’d chosen a simple dress that required no corset or bindings. If fate were kind, she wouldn’t cross paths with anyone except servants. Surely this time of night—a little past midnight—no one would be up and about. Since Lady Anne had not come for her, she was fairly certain
they had no plans for any excursions to the bathhouse that night. She was halfway tempted to go there by herself, but she decided that action would be the height of rudeness—to ask the servants to prepare the building for her personal indulgence.

Instead she wandered through the shadow-filled hallways, the gaslights low and flickering. She was passing one dark corridor when she glanced down it and saw light creeping out along the floor—no doubt seeping out from beneath a closed door.

She’d only taken two steps toward it, when the door suddenly clicked open, the light from the room illuminating the footman standing nearby, a man she hadn’t noticed as she stood some distance away.

“Oh, no, I hadn’t wanted—”
to go in.
With frustration, she didn’t complete her thought aloud, because she’d realized that since he’d opened the door he’d committed her to going through it whether she’d wished to or not. She could only hope that the lights had been burning by mistake, that no one was actually inside the room, although she thought it highly unlikely that she’d find the place deserted. Why else would the footman be standing within reach of the door so attentively?

“Thank you.” She forced herself to smile as she strolled casually by him and into the room—a study, an office. Weddington’s office. She had no doubt it was his because he was sitting behind a massive mahogany desk, while a gentleman sat in a chair before him. Immediately both men came to their feet.

“Miss Robertson,” the duke said.

“Please, forgive me. I couldn’t sleep. When I looked in the hallway, the footman mistook my destination—”

“Where was your destination?” Weddington asked. “Perhaps I can help you locate it.”

She shook her head. “I didn’t really have one.”

“Then please sit for a few moments, and I shall accompany you on your journey. I would hate for you to get lost in this rambling structure. Allow me to introduce Mr. Alexander. He oversees a good part of the estate here. We’re about to finish up, then you shall have my undivided attention.”

She didn’t want his attention—undivided or otherwise—but she couldn’t very well reject his offer with one of his employees standing in the room. She was well aware that a man of his rank had to maintain certain appearances. “Thank you, Your Grace.”

She selected a chair off to the side that would not require she look at him. She heard, more than saw, both gentlemen take their seats, heard the low rumble of their voices as they continued with whatever matter of business they’d been discussing before she’d interrupted.

This room was a man’s domain, and she could well imagine every duke before the present one conducting his business here. Plotting, planning, conquering, controlling. It had a strong presence, a commanding presence, and she wondered if the room seeped into its owner or if the owner seeped into the room.

Slowly she slid her gaze toward the desk and decided the owner seeped his way into the room. He left no doubt that he was the one in charge. Even when Mr. Alexander was speaking and Weddington was listening, it was evident who was master. Shifting in the chair, she found herself mesmerized by the way Weddington gave Mr. Alexander his absolute attention.

She and her family had spent some time at Farthingham’s estate, but she’d never seen him address any managers or workers. He’d gone about his business of
entertaining her as though the estate managed itself. While she knew that was not the case, she’d never really given any thought to exactly how much work was involved in overseeing the family’s properties.

Weddington and Mr. Alexander came to their feet. “Thank you, Mr. Alexander. I appreciate your agreeing to meet with me at such a late hour.”

“I serve at your pleasure, Your Grace.” The man turned toward her. “Good night, Miss Robertson.”

“Good night, Mr. Alexander.”

The man left the room, and Kitty came to her feet. “An odd time to hold a meeting,” she said.

“Business must be managed, Miss Robertson. I had to choose between giving up my time with my guests this afternoon or sacrificing a few hours’ sleep. I chose the latter.”

She nodded. “My father does that as well. He says the day doesn’t contain enough hours. He’s always put his family first.”

“A commendable trait.” He walked around his desk, his hands behind his back. “Shall we continue on with your late-night excursion?”

Only she didn’t want to be in the shadowy hallways where she couldn’t clearly see his face. “Farthingham said you’re giving us
The Fair Lady
as a wedding gift.”

“I am.”

“Why?”

“Because I was led to believe that you enjoyed yachting, and after watching you on the sea this afternoon, I know that assessment to be true.”

“But you offered it to him before this afternoon.”

“An offer would signify an opportunity for refusal. It was not an offer, but a gift.”

“Given before you saw me on the yacht.”

He shrugged. “I’ve known Farthingham for many years. I trust his ability to judge accurately the truth of a situation.”

“I don’t understand why you gave it to us.”

He shook his head. “I fail to understand what it is that you don’t understand.”

“What do you think you gain by giving us your yacht?”

He angled his head as though truly baffled. “It is a gift, Miss Robertson. It comes with no strings attached, no expectations on my part.”

“It’s too grand a gift.”

“But it pleases me to give it to you.”

“But it belongs to you.”

“And now it is yours.”

She didn’t know how to explain the sense she’d had on the ship that it was as much a part of him as he was of it. “I simply had the impression that you cared a great deal for the ship.”

“I care more about your happiness. Farthingham is unlikely to invest in a yacht when he has more pressing expenditures to address.”

“I can live without a yacht.”

“You could, but you don’t have to.” He tilted his head toward the door. “Shall we begin the walk before you determine that you are angry at me for my generosity?”

“Too late. I’m already angry at you.”

He smiled slightly. “I know. That is something else about you that I fail to comprehend—how it is that I can never do anything that doesn’t make you angry.”

She spun on her heel and walked to the door. He barely beat her to it, opened it for her, and followed her through. The hallway echoed the clicking of their passing footsteps. He walked beside her, his hands still clasped
behind his back, and she thought of the time in the garden when he’d confessed that he’d take her in his arms if he released his hold on his hands.

“It would make me happy if you wouldn’t give us the yacht as a gift.”

He had the audacity to laugh, the deep rumble echoing off the walls and circling around her. “You’re very clever,” he finally said when his laughter stopped. “Now I must weigh your happiness and determine which action will make you the happiest despite your protests to the contrary.”

“I don’t want Farthingham beholden to you.”

“He’s already beholden to me.”

His response came quickly, darkly, as though something sinister was hidden behind the words.

“Are you referring to the forfeit that you won because of the tennis match?”

“Yes.”

But the answer sounded hollow, unconvincing. She couldn’t quite determine why she felt as she did. “Is he in your debt for something besides the forfeit?”

“No.”

That answer rang more true. What a strange conversation—as though questions and answers weren’t truly related. “He thinks very highly of you,” she said.

“And I think highly of him.”

“You claim to be good friends, and yet before this Season, he’d never introduced me to you.”

“Perhaps he feared you’d cast him aside in favor of me.”

About the time she began to like him, he revealed his arrogant streak. “I hardly think that is the case since I’ve never given him the slightest cause to doubt my affection.”

“Then perhaps we’ve never been introduced because while Farthingham plays, I see to the management of my estates.”

She was beginning to realize that was probably more likely to be the case. “And yet this Season, I can hardly take a step without running into you.”

“I see no great mystery there. I have been forthright regarding my intentions toward you. You should not be surprised that I have rearranged my daily schedule, my entire life so that I might spend a few moments in your company.”

Abruptly she stopped walking and turned on him. “I love Farthingham.”

“I know you do.”

“I will be a good and faithful wife.”

“I doubt that not for a second. I am a great believer in loyalty. Ironically, it is an aspect of your character that I greatly admire and that makes me care for you much more than I should.” He cradled her face with one hand and slowly stroked her cheek with his thumb, his eyes holding hers. “Is there any chance at all that you would reconsider marrying Farthingham if I were to tell you that I have fallen madly in love with you?”

Her heart slammed against her ribs, and she began to tremble. He hadn’t said he loved her, only that he would tell her he did. She stepped back, beyond his touch, beyond his warmth, beyond his reach. He was a man who didn’t enjoy losing, and he had yet to understand that he had no hope of winning her.

“I beg you, please, give up your quest of obtaining me.”

“I can’t.”

She was totally unprepared for the speed with which he moved, clamping his arms around her, drawing her into his embrace, blanketing her mouth with his.

His kiss was demanding, insistent, so reminiscent of the one he’d bestowed upon her in the garden that she feared the journey he might again be leading her toward even as her body urged her to follow.

She once again felt as though she were on the deck of his yacht, swaying with the tide of emotions over which she had no control. He had the power to take her under as easily as he could lift her above the swells. Even as she longed to reach the heights to which he could carry her, she feared the depths to which she must plunge.

To hear his taunting reminder that Farthingham would never make her body respond in this manner, would never bring her pleasure of this magnitude. She was torn between weeping and rejoicing. Weeping for the loss of what only Weddington could give her. Rejoicing because she would never have to fight temptation again once she was beyond his reach.

Filled with sorrow for the exact reason. She would never again experience these incredible sensations. Because she knew in her heart that Weddington was correct. Farthingham would never heat her body to this magnitude, his mouth would never threaten to devour her, his body would never press hers as close, as firm, as hard against his.

She’d never responded to Farthingham’s nearness as she did to Weddington’s. With Weddington, she was caught in the midst of the storm, sensations swirling around her and through her over which she had no control. Her resolve to resist the tempest was weakening with each sweep of his tongue, each caress of his hands.

Drowning, she was drowning. And God help her, she wasn’t certain she wished to be rescued.

Pushing against his chest, she broke free of his kiss and staggered back. His eyes held a desperation that she feared mirrored hers.

“I would do anything for you,” he rasped.

With a tiny whimper, she tore down the hallway, never looking back, because she knew what she would see.

A man standing in the shadowy hallway who made her ear herself.