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Authors: Lorraine Heath

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BOOK: An Invitation to Seduction
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“And you.” He bowed slightly. “And it was my absolute pleasure to meet you, Miss Robertson. Thank you for honoring me with a dance.”

“I believe you owe your appreciation to Nicky.”

It didn’t escape his notice that she neither thanked him nor admitted it was a pleasure to have waltzed with him.

He made his excuses again and wended his way through the crowd, barely acknowledging those who acknowledged him, making certain not to make any motion toward anyone that would serve as an invitation to begin conversing with him.

He hardly knew the woman who had danced in his arms, who proclaimed her love for Nicholas Glenville, the Marquess of Farthingham. What a fool he was to have thought she was of a passionate nature. Elegant and lovely, but as were all American ladies, she was in want of a title. Willing to lie and pretend favor in order to achieve one.

Surely she would not have sought him out that morning by the sea if she truly loved Farthingham. But if she did not love him, why settle for him?

Perhaps because she did not know that she could marry Richard and become his duchess. He imagined her at his side forever.

It was where he wanted her. He had little doubt that she would be his easiest conquest yet. And beyond any doubt, she would be his most rewarding.

W
ith the draperies drawn so none of the glow from distant streetlights could enter, Kitty sat curled in a chair beside the window in the darkness of her bedroom, contemplating her wedding.

Her wedding to Farthingham. In whose arms she felt safe. Gazing into his blue eyes did not start a slow melting of her bones. His fingers closing over hers did not create a sensation of butterflies fluttering beneath her ribs. Waltzing with him did not cause her knees to weaken or her mind to wander toward forbidden thoughts of unclothed bodies writhing on satin sheets alternately cooled by the night and heated by passion.

Tightly wrapping her arms around herself, she fought to stem the trembling that she’d somehow managed to keep contained throughout the evening until she’d returned home, until she’d prepared for bed, until she’d dismissed her maid. And then she’d been engulfed by violent tremors that threatened to loosen her teeth.

Her gentleman from the sea. She’d thought, hoped,
prayed that she’d never set eyes on him again. He tempted her with the forbidden, and it took all her strength of character not to give in to the temptation. She knew at the center of her being lurked a dark core lured by sin, a part of her that craved a man’s touch, that enjoyed the sight of the bared human form. Primal. Uncivilized. Uncultured.

A part of her that she’d inherited from the woman who’d given birth to her. A woman who had dared to fornicate without the benefit of marriage. A woman who had been alone when she’d given birth to Kitty, alone with no family standing beside her, no husband worrying over her. Without benefit of funds or a husband, she’d given her daughter up for adoption only hours after she was born rather than suffer the shame and humiliation associated with her own unacceptable behavior.

Kitty had been forced on several occasions to tolerate the woman’s presence. Jessye Bainbridge. Now married. With three daughters who did not have to endure the embarrassment of having been born out of wedlock. Illegitimate, ill-conceived, suspicious origins. Bastard. Kitty had spent years scouring the dictionary, trying to find a word that didn’t hurt like a knife being stabbed through her heart, a term that could give a favorable slant to a terribly unfavorable start in life.

No such word existed, and nothing had the power to alter her perception of her beginnings. Not even Madeline Robertson—Kitty’s true mother, the woman who had nurtured her and sheltered her and taught her right from wrong. A woman who Kitty was certain had gone to her marital bed on her wedding night untouched.

Kitty had always been determined to follow Madeline’s example. To be purer of heart, purer of body, purer of soul.

The warmth of a heated memory embraced her, shatter
ing what little peace remained to her. How close she’d come to sharing her flesh with a man without the sanctity of marriage vows. On the coast, without shelter, without locked doors. With nothing except the sun, the wind, and a man, and she’d barely been aware of the sun and the wind.

Always believing Jessye to be weak, without morals, Kitty suddenly felt her foundation shaken to its core and in danger of crumbling. She’d thought herself superior, stronger of will, capable of resisting temptations of the flesh. Now she feared she might have inherited Jessye’s propensity toward wanton behavior. Kitty’s training and preparations to become an exemplary wife would all be for nothing if she slipped into the quagmire of lust as the woman who’d given birth to her had.

Thank God for Farthingham. Farthingham whom she loved. Farthingham who never stirred to life such unwanted passions. Farthingham with whom she was always comfortable.

He would make an excellent, upstanding husband, ensuring that she made an excellent, upstanding wife.

She would share his bed, his kisses, his body, while burying the baser instincts that yearned for what she might have experienced that morning by the sea. She would lie beneath him, welcome his body into hers—without gasps, writhing, and moans. With him, she wouldn’t lose her way, she wouldn’t journey toward forbidden desires.

So buried within her thoughts had she become that she barely stirred when she heard the knock. “Come in.”

Her bedroom door opened slightly, and her lady’s maid peeked into the room. “Are you feeling poorly, miss?”

“No, Nancy, I’m fine, thank you.” But she didn’t think her voice reflected her answer.

Nancy entered, carrying a silver tray. “Mr. Robbins instructed me to bring this up to you. You have a gentleman caller.”

“At this time of night?”

“It’s well into the day, miss. Long past noon.”

Startled by that revelation, Kitty slipped her fingers between the heavy draperies and sunlight sliced inside. “My goodness, I had no idea.”

She rose to her feet, unable to believe she’d sat there with her thoughts throughout the early hours of the morning and into the afternoon. Taking the card from the tray, she asked, “Will you please open the draperies?”

Almost blinding light spilled into the room, revealing the identity of her caller, written in elegant script: the Duke of Weddington. She considered refusing him, contemplated feigning illness. Instead she squared her shoulders.

“Will you please see if my mother is agreeable to having tea on the terrace and inform the duke that I’ll walk with him through the garden? Then please return to help me with my toilette.”

After Nancy left, Kitty collapsed on the bed. What could he possibly want? Had she not made her intentions and feelings toward Farthingham clear?

Part of her wanted to see the duke, and part of her dreaded the meeting. She didn’t know why she’d feel safer in the garden. Perhaps because under her mother’s watchful gaze, she knew she’d have more success at remaining a lady and keeping her wanton side under control.

 

All doubts that had surfaced within Richard’s mind regarding Kitty’s bloodlines evaporated the moment Madeline Robertson strolled into the parlor and introduced herself. Then she had invited him to join her on the terrace, an invitation that clearly indicated acceptance of the offer was preordained if he wished to meet with her daughter for even the shortest of time.

So he sat across from her, the small, round, lace-
covered table between them decorated with a vase of freshly cut flowers and a tea service gilded in gold. He’d been greeted by a butler, they’d been served by a housemaid, the gardens were expertly kept. To a keen observer, which he prided himself on being, it was obvious that the Robertsons lacked for nothing. Yet neither did they exhibit the crass American habit of flaunting their wealth. Subtle and refined. They were comfortable with what they’d attained and sought to make others comfortable around them.

Little wonder Farthingham had been drawn to them—not only for their wealth, but for their elegant mien. He could so clearly see Kitty reflected in the manner in which Madeline Robertson held herself. Obviously Kitty had taken her poise and grace from her mother. Her smile. Her ability to make a man feel as though he held her complete attention, as though nothing would distract her from her purpose of pleasing him.

“I understand attending balls is quite unusual for you, Your Grace,” Madeline Robertson said.

“I must confess that I have made a point to avoid them in the past, Mrs. Robertson.”

“You gave many mothers hope that your presence last night indicated that you’d decided to take a wife.” She poured his tea. “Sugar?”

“Yes, please. Four and a half helpings.”

She arched her brows and smiled softly. “You possess a sweet tooth.”

“Several of them, in fact. I fear sweets are my weakness.” As was her daughter, although he suspected she might not appreciate hearing that bit of information. Some matters were best revealed later.

Handing him his cup of tea, she glanced toward the French doors. “Kitty should be down any moment. I can’t imagine what’s keeping her.”

It occurred to him that perhaps she had no wish to meet her caller—or perhaps she was taking the time to make herself particularly presentable. Having seen her at dawn and at midnight, he imagined that at any moment of any hour, she was beyond comparison.

“Farthingham indicated that her Christian name was Mary Ellen,” Richard said.

Mrs. Robertson’s smile warmed considerably as though she were touched by a tender memory. “She’s always had a fondness for cats, kittens especially. Whenever my husband was trying to find her, he’d simply call out, ‘Here, Kitty, Kitty.’ And whenever a cat answered his call, our daughter was not far behind. I can’t remember exactly when he started calling her Kitty exclusively, but as she grew into a young lady, it seemed to suit her.”

He agreed wholeheartedly. The name reflected a lightness that seemed to capture her spirit. He couldn’t imagine her as Mary Ellen. The name was too common, and she was incredibly uncommon.

“Am I to understand, then, that you and Farthingham are friends?” his hostess asked.

“Yes. We’ve known each other for many years. Attended the same schools.” The same clubs, the same brothels, the same gaming hells. But again, he didn’t think she’d appreciate knowing the entire truth.

“Strange that our paths haven’t crossed before now,” she said with a hint of suspicion and protectiveness.

Strange indeed.
“You’ve known him for a while then?” Richard asked.

“Over the years, we’d see him from time to time when we came to visit the Earl of Ravenleigh and his family. The earl and my husband have some joint business ventures that require they meet occasionally. Kitty has always had a soft spot for Farthingham. I think they make a lovely couple.”

Was that a bit of warning he heard in her voice?
Don’t interfere. Don’t poke your nose where it doesn’t belong.

“He seems quite smitten.”

“I’m sure he is. My daughter has many admirable qualities.”

“I doubt that not for a moment.”

The door clicked open, and Richard was grateful that his reason for coming had finally made her appearance, and he thought the wait was quite worth every second. The lines of her pale lilac dress were elegantly cut, enhancing her perfect form so it resembled a work of art. Lace at her throat revealed a hint of skin, but other than that, she was dressed almost as completely as a nun. And yet still, desire speared him, hot and unrelenting. He couldn’t explain it. He only knew he experienced it each time his gaze fell on her.

Shoving back his chair, he came to his feet.

“Your Grace,” she greeted, before he could speak.

Her speech was stilted, carried a hint of disapproval that made him want to smile, a reaction he could not have explained had his life depended on it. “Miss Robertson.”

“Shall we take a turn about the garden?” she suggested.

“I would be honored.”

She glided past him. He quickly excused himself from her mother’s presence and joined Kitty where row upon row of red, pink, and orange blossoms added fragrance to the air.

“I thought I made it clear that you were not to call,” she said, as soon as he was within hearing distance and her mother was not.

“You did.”

“Then why are you here?”

“I couldn’t stay away.”

“Am I to deduce, then, that you are a man who possesses absolutely no willpower and lacks complete self-control?”

He smiled at her tartly delivered assessment of him, certain her intent had been to insult him with her sharp barb. “Apparently, that is indeed the case where you’re concerned.”

Her gaze darted over to him for only a heartbeat before she looked away. “Truly, why are you here?”

“I believe I understood you to say last evening that you and Farthingham have made no formal announcement regarding your betrothal.”

“Indeed, we have not. Farthingham, Father, and the lawyers only recently finished haggling over the settlements.”

“Then I am here to ask you to marry me.”

She came to an abrupt halt and faced him, abject horror clearly etched over her lovely features. He supposed he shouldn’t have continued, but he’d gone too far to stop. From his pocket, he withdrew an envelope that was sealed with wax embossed with his ducal crest and held it toward her. “My formal request. I know it should have been delivered before I voiced my intentions, but time seems to be of the essence.”

“Are you mad?”

“Probably. I am not a man who acts impulsively, Miss Robertson. But neither am I a man who easily gives up what he has determined that he wants.”

The horror transformed into disbelief. “And you’ve decided that I am what you want?”

“Precisely.”

Her lips curling slightly as though she were suddenly amused, she shook her head and began to walk again. “We are not well suited.”

“I disagree.”

“You may disagree all you want. I assure you, we are not well suited.”

“Give me this Season to prove otherwise.”

She stopped again, her eyes traveling over his face as though she sought to memorize each facet of his appearance. “I have loved Farthingham from the moment I met him.”

“Then why did you seek me out at dawn?”

Tears welling in her eyes, she averted her gaze. “It had nothing to do with love.”

“Is it possible that it could?”

She looked back at him, holding his gaze, honesty and regret in her eyes. “I could never love you. And I won’t hurt Farthingham or risk damaging what he and I have by even entertaining the notion that you are more suited to me than he.”

“And if Farthingham loved another?”

She smiled with absolute certainty. “He doesn’t.”

She turned back to their walk. “It was wrong of me to meet you by the sea. I hope you’ll forgive me for any false hope I might have given you that anything more than a passing moment could exist between us.”

He was damned near tempted to take her in his arms, there within the garden, and prove to her that considerably more existed between them. A wise woman to insist that they walk where her mother could keep a watchful eye on them, where a man of his rank wouldn’t behave badly.

“So you will not consider me?”

“No, Your Grace, I will not.”

“I am not in need of funds, Miss Robertson.”

BOOK: An Invitation to Seduction
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