The Seduction of an English Scoundrel (14 page)

Chapter 13

By that evening the papers had posed a provocative twist to the Boscastle wedding scandal: Had Sir N jilted Lady J, or had he been threatened off by the dominant branch of the family? Had a certain marquess been waiting in the wings to make a move? Or had this handsome plotter set the stage to begin with?

It posed a mystery as to when this drama had actually started. Or how it would all end. Why were Lady J's parents so outwardly accepting of this affair? Had Sir N vanished from the face of the earth entirely? And, the most provocative question of all, Was another marriage between these two illustrious families in the offing?

Within hours the ton could talk of nothing else. Conversation stopped at Southwick House when the crowd spotted Grayson and Jane together, although she wasn't convinced it was her audacity to appear in public repeatedly after her failed wedding as much as Sedgecroft's popularity that created a reaction.

The ladies definitely had their eye on her attractive escort. His lean elegance and unhurried stride as they crossed the reception hall turned heads and had fans fluttering all over the place.

Grayson had a different perspective on the furor their appearance caused.

Yes, he noticed that people were watching them. Especially the men, and the barely veiled desire in their eyes confirmed his fear that Lady Jane Jilt would be targeted as an easy female.

But the heated looks sent her way died out the moment Grayson turned his crushing glare upon the men who dared to demean her. Then there were averted glances, whispered questions, shrugs of resignation. No one had the courage to challenge Sedgecroft, neither in word nor action. His easygoing temperament had earned him few enemies, but his loyalty to those he loved was well known.

He'd seen the papers naturally. He was not at all bothered by the speculation that he was courting Jane as a potential bride. As Lady Belshire had predicted, this seemed to be raising Jane's social value, and Grayson was glad to be of service. In fact, he'd instructed his secretary to neither deny nor confirm when questions were asked.

An enigmatic smile would suffice.

Weary of his status as a scoundrel, Grayson did not care if the ton believed he was considering Jane as his wife. They were a plausible match. What did it matter if anyone thought he was behind the wedding scandal?

Let them label him the devil.

In fact, if he'd met Jane a few months earlier, he . . . he what? A thoughtful frown overshadowed his face. They probably had attended several affairs at the same time before.

Yet their paths had never crossed. Why not? In the mists of memory he saw Nigel huddled around her, protecting her from rogues like Grayson so that he could hurt her later himself. Which reminded him that he had received word from Heath only two hours ago about Nigel's disappearance and needed a private moment to deliver it to Jane. He hated to spoil a pleasant evening, but she had a right to know the truth about his cousin.

“The damn idiot,” he muttered.

Jane glanced up at him, her face startled. “What did you say?”

“Nothing. Have a good time.”

“How?” she whispered, gazing around at the crush of guests crowding the candlelit room. “This is absolute torture for me.”

“No one will bother you with me here. Ignore them.”

“Are you always so blindly arrogant?”

“I believe so,” he said, moving instinctively closer to her. It would remain a mystery to him until his dying day how bright young women like Jane and Chloe could be so easily damaged by the opinions of virtual strangers.

He drew a breath as a passing guest inadvertently bumped them into each other. His body ignited with desire at the all-too-brief feel of the side of her breast, the arch of her elbow against him. He ached to know then and there what she looked like beneath that pale rose gown, what color her skin was in all the secret places. He wanted her in his bed so badly he had to clench his jaw to stop from pulling her into his arms.

He glanced away, perplexed that he could entertain such potent thoughts of seducing a woman he claimed to befriend. But the hidden shadows of her sexuality unsettled him a little more every time he saw her. Or was it her character that drew him to her? How peculiar he could not tell. One trait only enhanced the other, he supposed.

He glanced back at her. She looked so utterly miserable that he had to laugh. “Are you always this resistant to enjoying yourself?”

“How am I supposed to enjoy myself?”

“You dance a little. You drink a little.” He motioned to a footman to bring Jane a glass of champagne. “You talk to me. And,” he added lightly, his large body shielding hers, “since we're here, we may as well try to make the best of it.”

She smiled up at him, and he felt another reckless urge to grasp her hand and carry her out of this place to have her to himself. Just riding in the carriage with her tonight had put him in the mood for a night of lovemaking. Of course, she was the one female in the world he couldn't own, which might have something to do with the fact he wanted to debauch her up and down.

And now he was going to distress her further by revealing what Heath's brief message had said. He was going to make her cry by explaining that it appeared Nigel had planned his escape in advance. Ah, well, let her have an hour of enjoyment before he broke the news and ruined the evening.

As it turned out, he rather liked making Jane laugh. He liked irritating her, too, only a little, just enough to watch those green eyes of hers ignite with so many interesting emotions. It probably wasn't nice to do, but those demons of his couldn't seem to resist her. His demons were drawn to Jane in a very mystifying way.

 

Jane searched the crowds of elegantly dressed guests for sign of her sisters until she felt Grayson gently turn her back toward him.

“Are you looking for Nigel?” he asked her.

“For—oh, no.” Her throat closed on the words.

“Don't worry.” His mouth flattened. “I'm sure in due time he will answer to us both. I shall derive personal satisfaction from meeting my cousin again.”

Her eyes darkened at the merciless determination on his face. Pray God
she
wasn't going to answer to Grayson any time soon. “I'm not so sure of that,” she murmured.

“Unless he's dead,” he added, sounding rather wishful.

“I—I hope he isn't dead.”

“Ah, yes.” There was a trace of disapproval in his low voice. “You love him, as incredible as I begin to find the notion.”

In a manner of speaking, she did love Nigel. In the same fond way she loved Simon or Uncle Giles, or the family dogs. “I have known Nigel forever. He put a frog in my cradle four days after I was born, or so the story goes. We were inseparable as children.”

“Do you have any idea where he might have gone?”

“Gone? Well, he mentioned Scotland once or twice.” As in the last barbarous place on earth he would visit. Nigel was the type to sit in an armchair in front of a fire for the rest of his life. Oh, Jane absolutely despised being so dishonest.

“Scotland?” Grayson frowned. “Strange. But I shall pass that information on to Heath.”

She felt an icy chill slide down her spine. “Why?”

“Because Heath has the tracking instincts of a wolf, my dear. He was well-suited to his work in secret intelligence.”

Wolves. Secret intelligence. The mesmerizing sensuality that glittered in Sedgecroft's eyes. It was enough to send a lesser woman to the couch. Jane felt the web of her own deceit drawing more tightly around her at every turn, strangling her good sense, thwarting her escape.

The ball was a grand affair. The master of ceremonies handed a red rose to every lady in attendance. A band of Italian musicians gave a concert during supper, and three card rooms hosted gambling afterward. Despite the elegant atmosphere, Jane could not relax for a sin-gle moment, pretending not to notice that people were stealing curious looks at her all night.

No one had ever noticed her to this degree before. The truth was, without Sedgecroft at her side, she was not considered an interesting enough person to continue to stir rumors. Not that she didn't have friends. She did. But the scandal surrounding her would have passed soon enough. She would have happily slipped into oblivion before the season ended.

But no one overlooked the marquess.

Jane found it impossible for even a second not to be aware of him, and having him hover over her hardly eased her anxiety. She felt as if she were accompanied by a big golden lion that might turn feral at any moment. Who knew what he really thought of all this? Those heavy-lidded blue eyes gave nothing away, and the nagging feeling that she would pay dearly for deceiving him persisted.

He danced with her twice. Then, with practiced ease, he waltzed her through the French doors and out into the gardens, where a group of younger guests were playing an impromptu game of blindman's buff.

“What are we doing?” she asked in amusement, resisting as he pulled her down the terrace steps onto the lantern-lit lawn.

“Do you really want to dance with all those pretentious people watching us?” he teased her. “I know now where that owlish scowl of yours comes from. Your brother looked as if he might swoop down on me any minute.”

Jane smiled. “The Belshire Scowl can't be as dangerous as the Boscastle Blues.”

He stopped at the bottom of the stone stairs, blinking innocently. “The Boscastle Blues? Is that some sort of military regiment?”

She stared up at his angular, teasing face. He was still holding her hand, well, only her gloved fingers, but the warm pressure was enough to send a frisson of forbidden excitement deep down into her belly. It was so tempting to press herself against that strong, hard body and pretend the rest of the world didn't exist.

“The curse of the Boscastle Blues,” she said. “And don't act as if you don't know what it is.”

He shrugged his shoulders in bafflement. “But I don't. Is it something horrible?”

“Only if you're a victim—one of the unfortunate souls who falls under the bewitchment of those blue eyes.”

“Well, I apologize that my family has claimed you as a victim.”

“You don't look all that sorry.”

He stared at her in curiosity. “I didn't mean as
my
victim, sweetheart. I meant as Nigel's.”

“Oh.” Could her cheeks blush any hotter? How could she forget she was supposed to be wallowing in heartbreak over Nigel, not fighting an attraction to his sinfully desirable cousin?

“He had green eyes, anyway,” she murmured.

“Then perhaps the curse can be broken,” he said, leaning toward her to brush a stray curl off her shoulder.

She caught a whiff of his shaving soap and shivered involuntarily. “Umm. Perhaps.”

“Hey, you two, are you playing?” a friendly voice shouted, and a young man yanked his blindfold off seconds before he bumped them back into the steps. “Oh, hello, Sedgecroft. Have I caught you?”

“Not yet.” Grayson steered Jane firmly down the flagstone path, into the garden twinkling with beguiling fairy lanterns. “Give us a chance.”

“But I don't want to play,” Jane protested.

“Well, neither do I, but I have no desire to be accused of luring you outside for a tryst either. Have you ever toured the gardens here by moonlight?”

She subjected him to a suspicious look. “Are they anything like the Pavilion of Pleasure?”

“I need to talk to you.”

“That sounds rather ominous, Sedgecroft. Why this secrecy all of a sudden?”

“I don't want us to be overheard. Let's separate and meet in the middle of the maze.”

“But the maze isn't lit.”

“I know. Don't be frightened. I shall be with you.”

“Do we really need to skulk about like spies?”

“Only if I mean to protect your name. Go.”

He watched with a grin as she turned into the labyrinth of privet hedge, only to take a wrong turn and summon him for help.

“You might have common sense, Jane, but you show absolutely no sense of direction,” he said through the hedge. “No, go to the right. I'll meet you on the other side.”

“Everyone saw us arrive together,” she whispered in his direction. “What do you suppose they're thinking?”

He didn't answer, and she decided she was talking to herself, until a strong pair of hands clamped down upon her shoulders and spun her around. She suppressed a gasp as she stared up into his grinning face.

“Perhaps they're thinking that we are caught up in a love greater than the world has ever known,” he replied, looking so attractive in the shadows that Jane half wished it could be true. “That you are a femme fatale no man can resist.”

“Really? Have you thought about writing for the scandal sheets? Wait. I have a bit of gravel in my shoe.”

“Here. Sit on that bench. I'll help you. I don't think we were seen.”