Seduction in Mind (5 page)

"I came to remind you of our dinner party tonight."

"I'm sorry. Did my secretary send an acceptance?"

"Of course he didn't, and that's why I'm here. Clarissa Thornton will be there with her parents, and I wish you to attend. The earl and countess always ask for you, and their land borders our Yorkshire estates."

"And their daughter is angling for a husband."

"You needn't be so crass, Samuel. Is it a crime for a beautiful young woman to wish to marry well?"

"Just so long as it's not to me."

"The Thornton family goes back well before the Norman invasion. Their bloodlines are as pure as ours. No taint of industry stains their heritage, nor does the stench of new money—"

"You may stop, Mother. I've heard the lecture a thousand times more than I wish, and the taint of industry or new money doesn't concern me. Nor does Clarissa Thornton." His smile was tight in spite of the fact that he was well sedated with cognac. "Is that clear enough?"

The Countess of Milburn sat up straighter, her blue gaze cool. "I told your father you would be obstinate as usual."

"You should have listened to him and saved yourself a trip to

"Your marriage to Penelope has left you bitter."

"Your persistent efforts to marry me off then and now have left me bitter, Mother. Kindly stop interfering in my life. Penelope was a disastrous mistake I have no intention of repeating."

"You shouldn't have been so cruel to her, and she would have been perfectly content."

A tick appeared high on his cheekbone and he restrained his temper with difficulty. "In the interests of peace in the family—however strained—let's not discuss Penelope. You know nothing about the matter."

"I know perfectly well what her mother told me. You treated her abominably."

"No, I did not," he said, his voice taut.

"She loved you to distraction."

"No, she did not." The tick was more pronounced.

"You don't know how to treat a woman with respect."

He was doing his damnedest just then. "I have an appointment, Mother. If you'll excuse me. Owens will bring you fresh toast if you wish."

"I don't wish fresh toast. I wish you to come to dinner tonight."

"I'm sorry, Mother. It's impossible."

"Have you no thought of an heir," she inquired heatedly, her eyes snapping with irritation, her slender shoulders quivering ever so slightly with her indignation.

"Marcus has sons."

"The Lennoxes have always inherited by direct bloodlines."

"Then maybe it's time for a change. Good day, Mother." And he walked from the room before he said something inexcusable.

His temper must have been evident on his face, for the servants moved out of his way as he stalked down the corridor. Fucking Clarissa Thornton! What the hell was his mother thinking? As if he were interested in another empty-headed schoolgirl intent on marrying a wealthy man.

And as though his heated emotions required surcease, the very unschoolgirllike sensuality of Miss Ionides appeared in his thoughts. He smiled. What a perfect antidote to his mother's annoying visit. He could be at the racetrack within the hour.

The day was balmy with a light breeze, the sunshine brilliant, the field of thoroughbreds choice. It was the kind of afternoon to put anyone in good humor. And once he found Miss Ionides, Sam thought as he walked into the royal enclosure, he just might attain that state.

He'd missed the first race, having been waylaid by his steward, who'd required numerous signatures on numerous documents, most of which could have safely waited until tomorrow with anyone but Patrick. But Patrick McGuff ran Sam's estates with a fine-tuned precision and for his expertise, however compulsive, Sam willingly suffered an occasional inconvenience.

His headache was almost gone—several cups of very black coffee along with a quick breakfast had restored his energy after his sleepless night—and now all he had to do was find Miss Ionides and convince her to leave with him. Nothing too daunting, he facetiously thought, remembering her pointed rejections yesterday. But he remembered, as well, the look behind the look in her eyes, the one that responded to him with an instant susceptibility. And she wasn't a novice after two husbands and considerable lovers. She knew what she was feeling.

When he found her, however, she was surrounded by a flock of admirers, and she refused to acknowledge his presence. He stood apart for a time, enjoying the view—she looked especially fine in cream georgette and a small flowered hat—enjoying her obvious discomfort as well. She'd taken note of him despite her studied indifference. But when he finally approached her sometime later, his voice was deliberately bland. "Could you spare a few moments, Miss Ionides? I could use some help deciding which horse to bet on in the next race."

The Spanish ambassador's son, who had been the most solicitous of her admirers, looked at Sam and snorted. "Might you like some advice on the ladies as well, Ranelagh?" Sam's record of wins at the track was unparalleled.

"I wasn't talking to you, Jorges, but if I were, I wouldn't be asking for advice on either horses or ladies."

"I'm afraid I can't help you, Lord Ranelagh," Alex interjected, fixing her gaze on Sam's forehead because her pulse rate had quickened the instant he'd walked into the enclosure and only sheer will had maintained her composure under his surveillance. "I rarely bet on the horses."

"Perhaps we could learn together, then"—he smiled—"about the merits of thoroughbreds."

How beautifully he smiled, how at ease he was in pursuit. "Thank you, but I'm really not interested." Her voice was brusque because she'd barely slept last night for thoughts of him, and his assurance was galling. Furthermore, he looked as though he'd not slept either, his eyes shadowed with fatigue, and she wasn't naive enough to think he'd lost sleep over her.

"She's not interested, Sam," the Prince of Wales noted jovially, turning from his conversation with Lord Rothschild. "Now, there's a first, eh, my boy? And I don't blame you, Alex," he added, grinning. "Sam's not to be trusted with a pretty lady."

"I'm well aware of that, Your Majesty. As is everyone in London."

Wales laughed as Sam's gaze narrowed. "There, you see, your reputation has preceded you."

"You might mention to Miss Ionides that I contribute generously to charity," Sam drawled. "Several of yours, as I recall," he remarked pointedly, one brow raised faintly at the heir to the throne.

"Oh, ho! So it's blackmail and chastisement for my directness," the prince noted cheerfully. "Would you be placated, Alex, by a charitable nature?"

"Charitable in a great many ways, Miss Ionides," Sam interposed smoothly.

She knew what he meant; everyone within hearing knew what he meant, and she kept her voice temperate with effort. "I'm sure you are, Lord Ranelagh, and I commend you on your benevolence, but as I mentioned yesterday, I have a very busy life."

"There. You see, Sam? Just as I said. Now, come," the prince declared, taking Sam by the arm, "come entertain Lillie with your racing expertise. She wishes to parlay her money into a windfall, and if anyone can help her, you can. Excuse us." Familiar with having his wishes obeyed, Wales took Sam with him, and the viscount spent the next hour helping Lillie Langtry, the prince's paramour, bet on sure winners.

But even the Prince of Wales couldn't long prevail on Sam's good nature, and after the fourth race, which brought Lillie another generous return on her investment, Sam made his bow.

"All good wishes on your pursuit." Lillie gazed in Alex's direction. "But as a woman of great wealth, Miss Ionides is in a position to determine her own course in life."

"The advantage of having money," Sam replied lazily, taking note of Alex's mildly distracted air. "Although it allows a certain degree of impulsiveness as well."

"While there are those of us with neither luxury," Lillie murmured.

He couldn't with courtesy agree. "If Miss Ionides refuses me again," he said instead, "I'll be back to add to your winnings."

"Sam, dear, you were more than generous with your discerning eye for winning horseflesh. And I have plenty of time to feather my nest."

"Make sure Wales pays for your company, darling. He can afford it."

Lillie glanced at the prince, who was in conversation with several of his cronies. "I'm doing well," she said quietly.

"Better, at any rate." The viscount knew of the Jersey Lily's impoverished background as the daughter of a clergyman.

"Yes, much. And thank you for all the wins today."

"My pleasure." Sam grinned. "And now we'll see if Jorges has sufficiently bored Miss Ionides."

"Along with all the others," Lillie added with a nod of her head at the throng of men surrounding Alex.

"She looks weary of smiling, don't you think?"

"She does, rather. And you feel you can alter that stoic smile?" Her query was playful.

"Of course I can. If only the lady would overlook the burden of my reputation."

"She plays at amour occasionally herself, it's said."

"So why not with me?"

Lillie's eyes sparkled. "Why not indeed, when you have so much to offer."

But Sam was cautious in his approach this time, standing at the fringe of the throng for a short period, listening to the conversation, watching Alex's response, trying to gauge the extent of her boredom against the protocol of leaving before the prince. Personally, he cared little for Wales's sense of consequence, but Miss Ionides had given him the impression she proceeded with less rashness.

He entered the conversation when Princess Louise began discussing Edgar Boehm's newest sculpture.
²
A sculptor herself as well as Boehm's lover, the princess was waxing eloquent on the portrait he'd recently completed of her mother's servant, John Brown.
³

"Did the John Brown sculpture appear at the Academy show?" Sam asked.

"Yes. It received much acclaim," Princess Louise proudly replied, always a spirited advocate of her lover's work.

Sam smiled. "As did your work, Princess, I hear.
The Times
said your Daphne was a triumph."

"They were kind in their praise," she noted modestly. "Have you seen the show, Lord Ranelagh?"

"Only quickly, I'm afraid."

"Then you must go again. Even Mama has gone twice."

"Perhaps I might. Has anyone been lucky at the track today?"

Immediately, a collective sigh of relief seemed to emanate from the group, and several people quickly responded. Everyone was aware of the princess's unhappy marriage to the Marquess of Lome, who was homosexual, so her interest in Boehm was understandable, but the possibility of inadvertently speaking out of turn on either subject always made for a certain awkwardness. Racing was so much more comfortable a topic. As the conversation became animated, Sam was able to approach Alex with apparent casualness.

"You should have been a diplomat, Lord Ranelagh," Alex observed, Sam's finesse worthy of praise. "Everyone finds it difficult to discuss Boehm with the princess."