Romancing the Countess (39 page)
At the sound of a child’s voice outside the drawing room, all of the women turned toward the door. Henry entered, tugging Sebastian along by the hand. Leah’s heart turned over in her chest to see the two of them together, her husband and son. Henry’s hair had begun to darken at the roots, and although his eyes were still as blue as Angela’s, his smile was a younger, more innocent replica of Sebastian’s.
“Grandmother, Grandmother, look at my crat.”
Sebastian gave them all an apologetic shrug, a corner of his mouth curved upward. “He insisted he too wear a cravat today.”
Henry broke free from Sebastian and ran toward Adelaide, who held out her arms.
“Henry,” Leah said. “Don’t forget your manners.”
Sliding to a halt, Henry turned toward Lady Elliot and bowed. Then Mrs. Meyer. He smiled up at Beatrice, who gave him a wink.
“What a fine young gentleman,” Lady Elliot declared.
Henry touched the blue dotted silk bow at his throat. “Did you see my crat?”
“Oh, yes,” Mrs. Meyer said. “Well. You look just like your father now, don’t you?”
Henry beamed, then turned into Adelaide’s arms. “Did you see my crat, Grandmother?” he whispered.
Sebastian leaned down and gave Leah a kiss on her cheek. “Hullo, my love.”
“You couldn’t stay away for an hour or two, could you? A cravat? Truly, Sebastian, I’m beginning to think you might be quite infatuated with me.”
“Oh, but I am,” he whispered in her ear, sending a smile to Lady Elliot and Mrs. Meyer, who watched them closely.
“I suppose I forgive you. I missed you, too.”
“You’re not going to chastise me for interrupting your tea again?”
“Did I chastise you last time?”
“No, but that was only because Henry was able to distract your mother.”
As soon as he spoke, Henry squealed, catching Leah’s attention as well as Lady Elliot’s and Mrs. Meyer’s. “But Papa says I shouldn’t have ice cream,” he told Adelaide, then cast a sad look over his shoulder at Leah and Sebastian.
Adelaide sniffed and scooped him into her lap. “As well you shouldn’t if that’s what your papa says. But Grandmother will let you have some when you’re with her.”
“Oh, Sebastian,” Leah whispered. “You just wait.”
Soon the other women were rising, their tea unfinished. Apparently a decision was made that they should all go get ice cream.
“I can’t believe . . .” Leah began, then paused as Henry turned and ran to her, a grin splitting his face. She bent and hugged him, squeezing him tight. “Did Papa tell you to ask Grandmother for ice cream?”
Henry stepped back and looked up at Sebastian, then back at Leah. Grinning again, he nodded. Leah laughed. “Go on, then.” She turned him around toward Adelaide. “Wait, Henry.” He glanced over his shoulder. “I love you,” she said.
“You too, Mama,” he said, then rushed in between Adelaide and Beatrice to grab ahold of their hands. Leah swallowed, then waited for everyone else to leave the drawing room before she turned to Sebastian, her arms crossed over her chest.
“What is it?”
“Next time, don’t wait so long.”
“You want us to come in after half an hour?”
“Twenty minutes,” she said. “No, ten.”
Sebastian smiled and took hold of her arms, uncrossing them and placing them over his shoulders. He set his hands at her waist. “I’m beginning to think, Lady Wriothesly, that you are the one obsessed with me.” He kissed her temple, then her cheek.
“And if I am?” she asked, lifting her mouth toward his.
“By all means, don’t stop.”
“I don’t intend to.”
“Good.”
A moment passed, then: “Are you going to kiss me?” she asked.
“I was waiting to see if you would change it to five minutes.”
“I have a better idea. Next time, we’ll just send Henry and his nurse to have tea with the ladies at Mother’s house. Perhaps they’ll take him shopping. And we’ll dismiss the servants for the day. We’ll be alone.”
“All by ourselves?”
Leah nodded.
Sebastian smiled, a wicked curve of his mouth that lifted the heat pooling in her stomach to flush across her skin. “Now that, my lady, deserves a kiss.”
Read on for a preview ofSeducing the Duchessan enthralling historical romance by Ashley March.Available now from Signet Eclipse.
She was exquisite, a sin to be indulged in and never repented.
The sound of her laughter, rich and full, a siren’s song, caught at his soul. It lured him to the edge of his seat until his nose was nearly pressed against the carriage window.
She did not walk like a lady; she didn’t walk like any other woman he had ever known. Every move was calculated to draw masculine eyes to the voluptuous lines of her body—the taunting sway of her hips, the subtle arch of her spine, the inviting tilt of her head. Even the moon desired to be her lover, its long fingers caressing her face and throat in admiring regard before she disappeared into the gambling den.
She was stunning. A beautiful harlot.
Six months he’d spent wooing her. Invitations to the theater, the opera . . . giving his undivided attention in the hopes she would at last turn her affections toward him.
He’d tried to ignore the other men, knowing that soon he would be the one she graced with her smiles, the one she would return home with each night. He’d waited patiently, desperately. Even this night, he’d followed her across London, watching her flit from one social engagement to the next, on the arm of a different man each time . . .
But no longer.
Philip stared at the building’s entrance, his heart speeding foolishly.
Straightening, he opened the door and stepped from the carriage.
No sooner had he passed through the foyer of the gambling den than he spotted her, perched on the lap of some rotund, fortunate bastard, her half-naked bosom exposed to his leering gaze. One gloved arm was looped around his neck, a purchase for balance as she leaned forward over the table, the spin of dice cast from her hands in a cheery clatter.
As Philip strolled toward her, he lifted his hands to his cravat, slowly, single-mindedly, untying the careful knot his valet had perfected earlier in the evening.
The cravat fell apart easily in his fingers, and he dragged it loose, the mangled cloth dangling from his fingertips.
“Good evening, gentlemen.”
Immediately the gaiety at the small table ceased. Upon spying their new guest, a few of the men scraped their chairs backward, their eyes darting nervously between Philip and the woman.
For too long he’d allowed them to believe that her actions and the company she kept didn’t matter to him. Now he was prepared to create a scandal in front of everyone for his message to be undeniably clear: despite her past lovers, she would soon belong to him alone.
The man whose lap she occupied met his eyes and then quickly glanced away, his tongue creeping forth to wet his lips. Philip couldn’t blame his indecision; if she had been sitting upon his lap, he would have been loath to give her up as well.
Philip nodded to him. “You, there. What is your name?”
The man’s eyes bulged out of their sockets. “Lord Denby, Your Grace. My name is D-Denby.”
Philip nodded. “Very good. Denby, my dear fellow, I believe you have something which belongs to me.”
A bead of sweat popped out on the man’s forehead. “Y-Your Grace?”
The woman, who thus far had only watched the proceedings with an amused smile, narrowed her eyes at Philip and tightened her grip on Denby’s neck. “He means
me
, Lord Denby.”
me
, Lord Denby.”
“Oh.” The man started, and with trembling fingers grasped her arm, frantically trying to push her away. His breath came in short gasps, and he looked at Philip with a plea in his eyes. “She won’t come loose, Your Grace.”
“Oh, Denby, you coward,” she murmured. With a toss of her head, she detached herself from him and rose gracefully from his lap. She stared up at Philip for a long moment, her bright blue eyes daring, mocking.
When she attempted to brush past him, he caught her arm easily in his hand.
The entire room hushed. Philip could feel the heat of a hundred eyes scrutinizing his every movement.
Tomorrow morning this would be in the scandal sheets, upon everyone’s lips. Even if he wished it, there was no going back now. He had made his decision.
Her chin had lifted when he halted her departure, and he smiled down at her, a quick flash of teeth. Her sharp indrawn breath gave him no small measure of satisfaction; she was not as immune to him as she would have him believe.
“Lord Denby,” he said, his eyes still focused on her sweet, temptress face.
“Yes, Your Grace?”
Philip maneuvered her until she stood between them. “Be a good fellow and hold on to her for a moment, would you? Don’t let her escape.”
“Er, yes, Your Grace.” Denby settled his thick, ringladen fingers on her shoulders.
“What is the meaning of this?” she demanded, twisting in his grip, her eyes furious, darkening from sapphire to the dusky haze of twilight.
Philip ignored her struggles. He drew her arms together with one hand and draped his cravat over her wrists with the other. Then, quickly so she didn’t have a chance to resist, he knotted the material and gave it a tug.
Perfect.
“Very good. You may release her now, Lord Denby.”
“What are you doing, Philip? This is ridiculous. Untie me at once!”
It had been a very long time since she had said his name. Even though it fell like a curse from her lips, it was good to hear it all the same.
Philip grasped her upper arm again and looked around the room. Trollops and whores, rakes and scoundrels gaped at him, openmouthed. He nodded to them, ever aware of the sinuous heat seeping from her skin—a twisting, vagrant fire now burning past his gloves to the flesh of his palm.
The woman tried to jerk away, but Philip held her tightly. He would never let her go again. “Release me, you arrogant son of a—”
Philip clapped his hand over her mouth. With a shake of his head, he withdrew a linen kerchief from his pocket. “I had hoped this wouldn’t be necessary, but you force my hand, dearest.”
She tried to sink her teeth into the flesh of his palm, but fortunately he withdrew it in time. He was certain she’d meant to draw blood. While she sputtered more curses, he proceeded to wrap the cloth around her head, careful only to muffle and not gag her. He tied it at the back of her head, his fingers lingering on the silken tresses of her upswept hair. The sable locks gleamed beneath the dim, smoky lights, tempting his restraint, provoking memories of a time when his hands had tangled freely in her hair. When she had sought his touch, his embrace—
Philip wasn’t fast enough to block her kick, her foot connecting painfully with his lower shin.
He crushed her against him, her back to his front, his hands clasped together beneath the delicious swell of her breasts. He tried to move her toward the door, but she hung like a dead weight in his arms. Only when he dragged her did she begin to writhe against him, her body pitching against his.
His audience had apparently recovered from their stupor, for their voices rose in a fevered crescendo as he neared the exit. But the noise was only an indistinct rumble in the background as he focused on her attempts at freedom.
Her elbow managed a sharp blow to his ribs. Philip grunted, then hoisted her over his shoulder and carried her out the door. Her gag was loose enough that her curses brutalized his ears, but Philip continued on with grim determination. She struck his back with her bound fists at every step, but he didn’t stop until he stood in front of his carriage.
The groom opened the door.
“Here we are.”
She shrieked as he dragged her down and shoved her headfirst through the entrance, his hands helping as they pushed against her bottom.
“Damn you, Philip!”
He climbed in after her, careful to avoid stepping on her skirts or any scattered appendages. Leaning down, he grabbed her by the elbows and assisted her to a seated position.
The door closed, the carriage shifting as the coachman and groom took their places. The sharp crack of the whip rent the air, and they were off.
Philip allowed a brief sigh of victory.
He’d done it. He had kidnapped his wife.
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