An Invitation to Seduction (3 page)

She sensed his watching her, and it was all she could do not to look at him, not to risk being ensnared by his gaze. He was dark and forbidden—which made him enticingly alluring.

“Why did you return here today?” he asked quietly.

Without the huskiness in his voice that had followed their kiss, he sounded cultured, refined. Nobility maybe. Or a servant in a wealthy household. No, she could not envision her sea king as answering to anyone other than himself. A businessman, perhaps. Like her father. An educated man. A man of wealth who had time for the leisurely pursuits of vacationing at the seaside.

Turning her head, she held his gaze and answered truthfully. “I don’t know.”

In the last remnants of dawn’s shadows, she saw a corner of his mouth curl up.

“You’re American,” he stated, as though the notion had been inconceivable to him only moments before and was now somehow humorous.

Or perhaps he was simply confounded by the fact that they’d shared a searing kiss, and yet he knew none of the little details of her life—or even the important aspects for that matter.

“Texas,” she offered softly with fond memories.

“I might have guessed. I detect a slight drawl.”

A drawl which the finest tutors, abundant traveling, and her vigilant practicing had managed to all but erase. The woman who’d given birth to her was the daughter of a saloon keeper. She spoke with a voice that mimicked that of many cowboys: smoky and drawn-out, the endings of words cut off as though the slow pattern of her speech forced her to make up for it somehow. Her manner of talking had stood her in good stead when dealing with drunken cowboys or when she’d boldly trailed cattle north. But as in all things, Kitty wanted to be associated with the woman who had raised her, not the one who had borne her.

Madeline Robertson was genteel in nature and in actions. She always spoke and acted as a lady should, and Kitty strived to attain her perfection.

Only now she more closely resembled a hoyden, not a woman who had spent countless hours with a book balanced on top of her head while walking, sitting, rising, bending, and bowing. She’d curtsied before royalty, waltzed with a prince. Twice a year she visited Paris so Charles Worth could design her latest wardrobe, each piece always an exquisite work of art designed exclu
sively for her delicate frame, which he’d called a work of art in itself. He would be appalled to see the dress that hung on her damp body, a servant’s castoff that Kitty had hoarded away and wore on occasions when she needed to escape from the demands of being a wealthy American’s daughter.

“I thought you were drowning,” he said. “I was coming to your rescue.”

How ironic. In the water, she’d not needed rescuing, and now she did. She felt as though she were wading into uncharted oceans, that at any moment she’d have to acknowledge that she was out of her depth, in danger of drowning.

“I’m a strong swimmer,” she said inanely. “I’ve swum the world over.”

“Indeed. Where exactly?”

She angled her head. “Wherever I wanted.”

“Alone and undetected?”

She smiled slightly. “Until today.”

“Then I am grateful for today.”

Holding her gaze, he lifted her hand and pressed a kiss to each of her knuckles, although
kiss
was too tame a word for his exploration. His lips enveloped, while his tongue stroked and tasted, sending dizzying sensations swirling through her. His gaze was as hot as his mouth.

“I shouldn’t be here,” she whispered, surprised by how breathless she sounded.

“Who are you?” he asked again.

Shaking her head, she averted her eyes, focusing on the horizon, stunned to see how much of the night the sun had pushed back.

Gently he angled her hand until her wrist was exposed, and he continued his subtle seduction. Her eyelids fluttered closed, and she imagined him taking this leisurely journey along the length of her entire body. Was this how
the woman who had given birth to her had been lured into a scoundrel’s arms: slowly, tenderly, with only a hint of passion revealed?

She drew her hand free of his hold and folded it up against her body, beneath her tingling breasts. He stirred to life sensations she’d never before felt.

Odd. When she’d danced with dozens of men, spoken with them, flirted with them, batted her eyelashes, and smiled becomingly. She’d done none of that with him, and yet there she was, drawn to him as the tide was drawn to the shore.

As he tucked strands of her hair behind her ear, a shiver shimmied through her, and she turned her attention back to him, realizing too late that he was closer than he’d been before, closer and more dangerous.

The sun had worked its magic, revealing him as one might an expensive gift, slowly, savoring the discovery. His eyes were darker than his hair, almost black, and she thought their shade had little to do with the remaining shadows. His lashes were long, spiked. On closer inspection, she saw tiny lines within his face, lines that marked him as a man who spent a great deal of time outdoors. She thought it unlikely he was an aristocrat. He was a laborer of some sort then. A fisherman perhaps. A sea captain. A man who was accustomed to taking women into his berth, then leaving them ashore.

That would explain his unanticipated kiss. As for her response—it rose from the uncivilized part of her that she fought daily to control. With him she was in danger of losing the battle.

And she cared not—which frightened her more. To have no regard for where this moment might lead was blatant folly, recklessness.

He touched his lips to hers, a tentative exploration this time, like a butterfly testing the welcome of a budding
flower. Yet there was nothing fragile or dainty about him or the desire she recognized smoldering within his eyes. He threaded his fingers through her hair, bracketing his palms on either side of her face, and pressed his luscious mouth against hers.

With his tongue, he stroked the outer edges of her lips, the seam that separated them, coaxing her mouth to open, bidding her to allow entry. Then he was exploring more deeply, more intimately, slowly, leisurely, as though the sun would cease to rise farther, as though the day would not give way to the night.

She knew nothing about him except that she shouldn’t be there with him. She’d worked her entire life to be good, to be above reproach, to be the perfect lady, and here she was casting it all aside because of a man who drew her to him with little more than his existence.

She returned his kiss, anxious to know the feel of his lips, the varying textures of his mouth, her tongue darting again and again, frightened by her boldness, disappointed in her cowardice.

With his deep, feral groan, the nature of the kiss changed: It deepened, demanding that doubts be cast aside, and that desire triumph. She lost herself in the searing kiss that seemed to encompass more than simply her mouth. It was as though her entire body participated, savoring each thrust of his tongue, feeling a tension build that cried out for release.

Her body felt as though it needed to be anchored to something, to him. Her hands were grappling, striving to find something substantial with which she could secure herself, while his hands stroked her back, her shoulders, her sides, her rounded backside.

She broke free of the kiss, suddenly realizing that she was straddling him like a wanton woman, her nerve endings humming, her skin sensitive to each whisper of the
wind. Her breaths coming in short panting gasps, she was intensely aware of the hardness of his body, of the press of his hips against the hollow of hers.

“Oh, dear God,” she whispered. She scrambled off him, ashamed and mortified. How close she’d come to devouring him, how close she’d come to giving in to the carnal creature living inside her.

She huddled away from him, her shoulders hunched, her chest aching, fighting for control. She heard his harsh breathing echoing around her. He laid a hand on her shoulder, and she jerked away. “Don’t. Please.”

“There is something between us,” he said quietly, his voice a deep and resonating timbre that touched the chords deep within her heart.

She shook her head forcefully. “There can be nothing between us.”

“At least tell me your name.”

Even as she rose to her feet to escape him, she heard her answer wafting on the breeze. “Kitty.”

“Where can I find you?”

“You can’t. I’m leaving for London today, for the Season.”

“I’ll go to London then. I want to see you.”

She looked back at him, to memorize quickly the sight of him on the rocks, to sever the bond between them that should have never existed. “You can’t see me. I’m soon to be married.”

Then she scrambled over the rocks, tears blurring her vision. She did not want to be with this man who called out to the wildness in her. She wanted Nicky. Safe, dependable Nicky.

Her haven from the storm of desire and lust. With him, she would be happy. With him, she could be the lady she’d worked so diligently to become.

Richard swam until the sun had cleared the horizon, until he saw its blinding rays glinting off the water—long, strong, sure strokes that carried him out to sea and returned him to shore. Again and again until his limbs grew heavy, until he collapsed on the ribbon of sand where she’d stood.

He was breathing as quickly and as heavily as he’d been while kissing her. Had he ever tasted anyone as sweet? He thought not. If he had, he had no memory of her or her taste.

His lady of the sea had erased all others from his mind, until she alone remained, taunting him with what she’d given him, teasing him with what she’d withheld.

With his cheek pressed against the sand, he reached out a tired arm and touched the edge of one of the footprints she’d left behind, evidence that she was indeed flesh and not mere fantasy.

I’m soon to be married.

The words seemed to be carried on the wind. He circled the outline of her footprint. He wanted her. He was not a man who denied himself the things he wanted.

He would have her. One way or another. He would go to London. He would find her. And he would do whatever it took to possess her.

G
azing through her bedroom window into the splendid garden of the London town house her parents had begun leasing four years earlier, Kitty tried to find comfort in the familiarity, sought to place herself back on an even keel. It had been three days since they’d arrived in London. Her gentleman by the sea should have become a distant memory, seldom thought about. Instead he haunted her every waking moment, frequented her nightly dreams.

She didn’t know how to purge her memories of him, and yet she knew she must. He wasn’t safe. He made her feel things she didn’t want to feel, caused her to experience sensations forbidden to a decent woman.

Kitty was certain that only lust had driven her actions by the sea. Hers and his. Entwining themselves around each other without conceivable thought, they’d imitated animals on the verge of mating, with their actions based on instinct, not true love or affection. Nearly bared bodies unable to resist temptation.

Their deplorable display of impropriety was the very reason people in a civilized society wore as much clothing as they did—to provide a shield against the body’s instinctual inclination to mate. Inherently disgusting behavior when not controlled. Thank goodness, she’d never again see her gentleman from the sea.

“Are you afraid to get married, Kitty?”

Turning away from the window, Kitty smiled softly at her ten-year-old sister, who was stretched on her stomach on the bed, raised on her elbows, her latest book spread out before her. She was a voracious reader. “No, of course not. Why ever would you think that?”

Emily furrowed her dark brow. “Because you look so worried.”

“I’m not worried. I have no patience when it comes to waiting. It’s worsened by the fact that I haven’t seen Lord Farthingham in weeks.”

“When do you think you’ll get married?” Emily asked.

“I’m not sure. Lord Farthingham and Papa are still working out the settlement. Until the lawyers and Papa are happy with everything, we won’t make an official announcement. Then I want to wait an entire year before we actually get married.” She intended to have a leisurely betrothal, to leave no doubt in anyone’s mind that she was chaste. She wanted no scandal associated with herself or her marriage.

“I wish Nicky would hurry up and get here,” Emily lamented.

Pursing her lips, Kitty gave Emily a hard stare. Emily simply rolled her eyes and her shoulders. “I know, I know. I’m supposed to call him Lord Farthingham.” She giggled. “But he’s so much fun. He seems more like a Nicky than a Lord Farthingham.”

Kitty laughed. “Yes, he is fun, isn’t he?”

“Why didn’t he meet us in Cornwall?”

“Because he had business he needed to attend to in London. A lot of responsibility comes with his title. Some people don’t realize that.”

“You’ll help him when you get married.”

“Of course.” She’d prepared her entire life to take on the role of the wife of a prominent man.

“You love him, don’t you, Kitty?”

“Very much so. He makes me feel safe.”

“So, he’s a hero of sorts.”

“He’s my hero,” she readily admitted. He had been since the first moment that they’d met.

She’d been sixteen. Her family had been in London visiting the Earl of Ravenleigh and his family. Longtime friends, her father and the earl had several mutual business ventures. Too young to attend balls, she’d been standing in the garden, looking in on the grandeur, when Lord Farthingham had passed by her, suddenly stopped, looked back at her, and smiled his devil-may-care smile.

She’d often suspected that he’d been on his way to meet with someone, but whoever it was had been forgotten. He’d danced with her then, there in the garden with her in her plain dress and he in his evening attire, but she’d never felt more beautiful. She’d only recently begun to show an interest in men, and he’d given her a sense of security that had made the strange yearnings fluttering around inside her seem not quite so frightening. With him beside her, she could tamp them down.

From that one fleeting encounter, a friendship had developed and love blossomed. He’d proposed to her this last April, she’d accepted, and then as tradition dictated, he’d approached her father to ask for his blessing and to discuss the settlement. She knew the settlement was a necessary and wise part of the betrothal process, but she thought it might be nice if people simply got married and trusted each other to do the right thing.

But the world wasn’t perfect, and men were known to be scoundrels. Her existence was living proof.

“I’m going to miss you, Kitty.” Emily’s sweet face was caught up in a frown. “You won’t be sailing with us anymore.”

“Sometimes I will. Farthingham likes yachting as well.”

“Remember when we were on the ocean, and late at night, we’d sneak up to the deck and watch the stars?” Emily asked.

The last time they’d done it had been not more than ten days earlier. “Of course, I remember.”

“Out on the ocean, the sky always seems so big, and I always feel so small. Who’ll lie on the deck of the ship and watch the stars with me after you get married?”

Kitty crossed the room and sat on the edge of the bed, wrapped her hand around Emily’s, and squeezed. “I will.”

“But you won’t be with me.”

“I won’t be beside you like I am now,” Kitty said softly, “but I’ll always be with you, Em. Every night, I’ll go into the garden and gaze at the stars and think of you.”

“But you can’t see the stars in London. There’s too much fog.”

“I’ll see them, Em, because I’ll be looking with my heart, not my eyes. And I’ll always see you, too.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

Leaning over, she pressed a kiss to her sister’s hair.

She did wish Farthingham would arrive. Without him to distract her, her thoughts kept returning to the man by the sea, how hard his body was, how hot. How dangerous it had felt to have his strong arms banded around her. She knew his scent, his taste, the softness of his lips, the roughness of his jaw.

Taking a deep breath, she wondered where he was at this moment, where he spent his nights. Did he sleep on board a yacht? Did he sleep with a tavern girl?

She almost laughed aloud. For all she knew, he was married, had ten children, and swam at dawn seeking peace from a hectic household.

Only she didn’t think he was married, didn’t think he had anyone. A loneliness she couldn’t explain had emanated from him—something that went deeper than solitary swims.

It was the way he stood on the shore—a defiance that had been born out of something she couldn’t identify.

A knock sounded, snatching her from her dangerous thoughts. “Come in.”

Her bedroom door opened slightly, and a young woman wearing a white cap, a dark dress, and a frilly white apron peered into the room with a smile. “Lord Farthingham is here.”

“Thank you, Nancy.”

Emily squealed and bounded off the bed.

Closing her eyes, Kitty breathed a sigh of relief, issued up a prayer of thanksgiving. Farthingham was exactly what she needed to set her world back on its axis. Because he’d not called since she’d arrived in London, she’d begun to worry that he’d somehow discovered that she’d been led astray, that her doubts had surfaced, and that she’d been harboring impure thoughts.

Following in Emily’s wake, she hurried out of her room to the stairs. The stairway’s landing was a balcony joining two sides of the house, meeting at its center to flow down into a sweeping marble staircase. While Kitty halted at the top to gaze down on her suitor, Emily continued on, rushing down the stairs, skidding across the floor, and coming to a halt in front of Farthingham.

“Lord Farthingham!” Her voice, riddled with excite
ment and joy, echoed up toward the frescoed domed ceiling.

“Hello, Moppet.” With a gloved hand, he tweaked her nose.

“Did you bring me a surprise?”

“Of course, I did. You’re my second-best girl, don’t you know?” He held out a package wrapped in brown paper.

Taking it, Emily gushed her gratitude before saying, “Kitty’s been waiting forever for you to arrive.”

“Has she now?”

Then he shifted his attention to the top of the stairway, and Kitty felt all her doubts and worries melt away as though they’d never existed. His blond hair had grown a bit longer than she remembered from when she’d last seen him, his side whiskers a tad bushier. But he was as handsome as ever, his blue eyes dancing with mirth.

Walking down the stairs with all the dignity a young lady should exhibit, she dearly wanted to rush down them in the same excitable manner that Emily had only moments before. She approached her suitor and curtsied. “Lord Farthingham.”

He bowed. “Miss Robertson, you are a welcome sight for a lonely heart.”

“As are you, my lord.”

He took both her hands and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. “I have missed you terribly, my sweet.”

“I missed you, too.”

“Kitty, look! It’s a book.
Hans Christian Andersen’s Fairy Tales.
”

“With colored illustrations,” Farthingham said, still holding one of Kitty’s hands and squeezing it. “Colored illustrations are becoming quite popular and readily affordable with these newfangled printing techniques they’ve developed.”

“Thank you,” Emily said. “I’ll start reading it tonight. Did you bring a gift for Kitty?”

“Emily!” Kitty scolded.

Ignoring Kitty, Emily grinned. “You did, didn’t you?”

“Of course, I did.” He reached into his pocket and brought out a small box wrapped in white paper.

“You shouldn’t have,” Kitty said as she took it and slowly peeled back the paper.

“I know, but I couldn’t resist.”

Opening the box, she smiled at the delicate cameo. “Oh, Nicky, it’s lovely.”

“Not as lovely as you.”

“You flatter me, my lord.”

“Not as much as I intend to once we are married.”

“Mother and Father are out for the afternoon. Would you like to join me for some tea on the terrace?”

“I’d rather have a stroll in the garden if Miss Emily will serve as chaperone.”

Before Kitty could announce that she didn’t think they needed a chaperone, Emily had already proclaimed her willingness to take on the role.

With Emily walking ten paces behind them, Kitty walked through the garden with her arm wound around Farthingham’s. She’d grown up with little chaperoning. It simply wasn’t as prevalent in America as it was in England. She’d spent more time alone with her gentleman by the sea in two days than she had with Lord Farthingham in all the years she’d known him.

Guilt swamped her with that admission. If she was to be alone with anyone, it should be with the man she intended to marry. If she needed a chaperone, it was when she was with any man other than Farthingham.

“How was Paris?” he asked.

“Lovely.”

“How many new gowns?” he asked.

“Enough to see me through the Season.”

“You’re not comfortable with your father’s wealth,” he speculated quietly.

“He worked hard to build his empire, without any help from me. I simply don’t see the need to brag on it.”

“We’re close to agreeing on the settlement.”

Patting his arm reassuringly, she looked away. “Good.”

“You know you mean a great deal more to me than money, my sweet.”

She returned her gaze to his. “I know. This whole settlement business…I understand it’s necessary for both our sakes. It just”—she lifted a shoulder—“I don’t know. It makes our marriage seem more like a business arrangement. I find the whole process hardly romantic.”

“Hence the very reason I brought you a gift.”

Which he probably shouldn’t have. An expensive piece of jewelry—no matter how lovely—when she had so much already. He could use the money for other more important purchases. But she kept her thoughts to herself, because she knew him well enough to know he had an abundance of pride.

“A lovely gift,” she said. “I’ll wear it to Ravenleigh’s ball next week.”

“Ah, is that the one we’ll attend?”

“Of course. Ravenleigh and father have been friends for as long as I can remember.”

They walked along in companionable silence for several moments before he asked, “How was your holiday in Cornwall?”

She almost tripped over her feet, with the unexpected change in topic. “I was ready to come to London straightaway, but Papa likes to spend a few days getting his land legs back after traveling on the yacht.”

“After all the adventures you’ve been on, I fear you’ll find life with me exceedingly dull.”

She smiled warmly at him. “Never.”

Reaching up, he stroked his gloved thumb across her cheek. “I will make you happy, Kitty, and you’ll never regret marrying me. I swear it.”

“I’m happy now, Nicky.”

He kissed her forehead. “I’m the luckiest of men to have such a devoted lady by my side.”

She averted her gaze, not wanting him to see that she’d not been as devoted as she should have been. She made a silent vow to resist all temptation in the future, to be the loyal, dedicated wife he deserved, so that he might never have regrets. Because she did love him. Her future resided with him, and together they would find happiness.

From that moment, she would never again think of her gentleman by the sea.

From the credenza in the entry hallway, Richard picked up the silver tray brimming with invitations. Since his mother and Anne had arrived in London, they’d been busy making the rounds, and he was the grateful beneficiary of their concerted efforts.

He strode into the morning room, where his mother was busily engaged in delicate needlework that required she wear spectacles to do a proper job. She looked up at him with owl-like eyes that made her seem lonely, and he was hit with a pang of guilt. His father should still be with her, offering companionship and love. Although their marriage had been arranged, they’d always doted on each other, and he knew his mother dearly missed his father.

“Finished with all your business matters so early?” she asked.

“Hardly, but I thought to take a few moments to attend to another urgent matter.” He set the tray on a table beside her. “I require your assistance.”