The Seduction of an English Scoundrel (2 page)

“The only acceptable explanation is that Nigel has been killed,” Lady Belshire passionately told anyone who would listen.

To which the earl, with equal passion, replied, “He certainly will be when I get a hold of him.”

“But they have been promised to each other forever,” his wife said tearfully. “On the day they were born, we all agreed that their future was destined for this—this debacle.”

Jane released a deep sigh, burying her nose in her bridal bouquet. The social embarrassment she could withstand, but she did hate to see Mama so distressed that the fairy tale she had plotted would not have the chosen prince at the ending.

The bride's dispirited sigh was interpreted by most of the guests to indicate that she had reached the end of her tether. Her tender maiden's heart was broken. One could almost hear it shattering in her chest. Who could blame her? How could Sir Nigel inflict such indignity upon the young woman who had served as his constant companion and champion since boyhood?

Of course a few malicious opinions did rear their ugly heads here and there, primarily between the debs who had always resented Jane's social standing and bluestocking tendencies, her refusal to follow the herd. And there—

Jane's broken heart leaped into her throat. Her gaze had just connected with a pair of sultry blue eyes that sent the most unsettling shiver of awareness down her back. Struggling to catch her breath, she assessed the rest of this compelling person in a covert glance between the gilt-tipped petals of her bouquet. Oh, goodness, goodness, goodness. So
that
was the scandalous Sedgecroft. That magnificent, menacing specimen of manhood could only be the infamous cousin of whom Nigel had spoken so disparagingly. Jane had always secretly hoped to meet him, but certainly not like this.

“Bear up,” her father whispered in her ear. “We shall survive this.”

“The Welshams have endured far worse,” her brother added, giving her an awkward thump on the shoulder.

Her sister Caroline scowled at him. “Not in this century they haven't.”

Jane nodded solemnly, not actually hearing a word. It was the first time she had actually gotten a close look at her host, the notorious Marquess of Sedgecroft, in the flesh. All six feet and several inches of impressive flesh he was, too. She felt a little light-headed at the sight of him, or was her corset obstructing the flow of blood to her brain?

“That is Sedgecroft sitting in the front pew, isn't it?” she whispered behind her bouquet to Caroline.

Caroline's delicate face darkened in distress. “Good gracious, Jane, do not look into his eyes, whatever you do. You might fall under the curse of the Boscastle Blues.”

Jane dared another look. “Whatever are you talking about?”

“It is said,” Caroline whispered hurriedly, “that whenever a woman looks into those eyes for the first time, she is—oh, what am I saying. You already fell in love with a Boscastle, and your luck couldn't get any worse than it is now. I am heartsick for you, Jane. I must say you are holding up admirably.”

“It is a trial, Caroline.”

“It must be. My word, three of Sedgecroft's brothers here and a challenge has not been issued. It's a miracle the chapel walls have not fallen down. I don't know where one could find such a collection of imposing, troublemaking entities outside of Mount Olympus.”

Jane smiled at that; she and her sisters all tended to wax dramatic under times of duress. Yet it was true. Most of the Boscastle brood did appear to be present for her public shaming. The four handsome men towered head and shoulders above the less physically endowed guests. Chatting and laughing at intervals, the three youngest lounged idly in their pews, while the marquess presided over them in all his leonine glory.

She swallowed, feeling another shiver race down her spine. Sedgecroft's entire demeanor bespoke irritation, and no wonder. He had extended his hospitality to host his cousin's wedding, and by the look on his face, there would be the devil to pay for putting him out. Jane hoped to be hidden away before he lost his temper. She planned to make her escape as soon as possible.

“Do you want me to find a vinaigrette for you?” Miranda asked in concern.

“Whatever for?” Jane tore her gaze away from her intimidating golden-haired host.

“You do look a trifle faint all of a sudden,” Caroline said in sympathy.

That would be Sedgecroft's fault, Jane thought with a stab of annoyance. Even halfway across the chapel she could sense he was a man who would not appreciate being inconvenienced. Heaven help her if he took it upon himself to personally investigate Nigel's disappearance, although such a measure did not seem likely.

He appeared to have his hands full enough keeping his own clan under control. Not to mention the two very attractive women who kept whispering to him in a way that suggested a strong personal association.

“Save the vinaigrette for Nigel's mother,” she whispered, her cheeks suddenly warm at the thought of Sedgecroft and his lovers witnessing her failed wedding. “I think she's swooned at least five times in the past hour.”

“I believe she's taking this whole disaster harder then you are, Jane,” Caroline said pensively.

“Jane is merely better at hiding her feelings,” Miranda whispered.

A pall of silence fell. Jane stole another peek at Sedgecroft. He looked as restless as she felt. Then Simon asked, “Well, how much longer are we supposed to wait?”

Jane reached down to tug the hem of her gown from beneath her father's shoe. She felt as if she were sinking under the weight of her wedding garments. Socially speaking, of course, she was sunk.

Probably no one who counted would want to wed her after this. Not unless she found a man brave enough to love her beyond reason. Her parents would never dare arrange another marriage. It seemed likely that they might even be afraid to meddle in her sisters' affairs, thereby saving Caroline and Miranda from unhappy unions. The three of them would have to find husbands for themselves.

Jane could barely restrain the impulse to hurl her bouquet in the air and let out a whoop of joy.

The cloud of despair that had darkened the long months of her engagement began to dissipate. Sunshine peeked through. She had done it. She had actually eluded the fate she had dreaded.

“Three hours,” her father muttered, staring in disbelief at his golden pocket watch. “That's long enough. Simon, help me escort her to the carriage. One on either side of her in case she collapses from the humiliation.”

Lady Belshire gazed around in horror. “Not in public, Howard. Think of all the common people outside, waiting to catch a glimpse of the wedding party. All they shall see is a . . . a collapsed bride.”

“I shall walk out on my own,” Jane murmured, stung by a prick of guilt at the death of their dreams. Even though it meant the rebirth of her own secret hopes.

This wedding had never been
her
dream. Nor had it been Nigel's.

In fact, at this very moment, Nigel was probably exchanging vows with the woman he had passionately desired for the past four years. The robust Boscastle governess who had dedicated a decade of her young life to supervising the wild clan at their country estate. Jane envied the two of them their future; despite the fact that Nigel's father would surely cut him off without a penny, Nigel would spend his life with the woman he loved.

And that woman had never been Jane. Nor had she loved him, except in the warmest, most affectionate manner. Marrying Nigel would have been tantamount to marrying a brother, a union that neither of them wished, although they had never been able to convince their parents of this.

“What could Nigel be doing as we stand here like a party of proper idiots?” muttered her brother as he grabbed her arm to prop her up for the escape to the carriage.

“Unhand me, Simon,” she whispered sharply. “I have never been the fainting sort in my life.”

A huge shadow fell across the altar, and a profound silence suddenly engulfed the chapel, stilling whispers. An unnerving chill of foreboding swept through Jane's willowy frame. The shocked expressions on her sisters' faces heightened her presentiment of doom.

“Oh,” Caroline whispered, her face as white as her sister's wedding gown. “It's
him.
Dear heaven.”

“Him?” Jane whispered, her dark green eyes widening. “Which him?”

Her brother had slipped away, dropping her arm as if it were a loaded pistol. He, too, was staring up at the shadow in a fascinating mix of dread and . . .
respect.

Her bridal bouquet crushed to her silk-laced décolletage like a shield, she turned to confront her fate. And stared up at the most indecently beautiful face she had ever seen.

Him.
The Most Honorable the Marquess of Sedgecroft.

Sedgecroft, who cast a shadow that swallowed her up from her head to the tips of her wedding slippers. Sedgecroft of the stormy blue eyes and steel-muscled body, of a scoundrel's fame and libertine lifestyle, the most charming rascal to entertain the scandal-loving ton. The man in whose chapel she had hoped to pull off her daring scheme. Sedgecroft looking embarrassed and capable and—

What on earth could he be doing at the altar?

She felt the wild palpitations of her heart against the rose petals that she held in a death grip. The strangest thoughts raced inside her mind. She decided a sculptor would have delighted in chiseling Sedgecroft's face, all those proud bones and hard angles, that cleft chin.

Not to mention that sinfully molded mouth, and his manly shoulders. Jane tried to estimate how much broadcloth his tailor would require to stretch across the musculature of his back. And was it true that he and his last mistress had once made love in the Tower?

His deep voice startled her from her embarrassing reverie. “I am profoundly ashamed.”

Ashamed?
He
was ashamed? Well, he probably had a hundred good reasons for confessing this, but none unfortunately in which Jane had taken part. She shared a bewildered glance with her sisters. “I beg your pardon. You said you were—”

“Ashamed. On my cousin's behalf. Is there anything I can do?”

“Do?”

“Yes. About this”—he swept his large hand through the air—“this sad affair.”

“I think I can manage,” Jane replied, then added, “but it is nice of you to offer.”

His low pleasant voice sent a peculiar wash of heat swirling through her veins. She had expected a man of his reputation to deny any responsibility in the matter. Not to offer personal assistance. She wondered if he used this endearingly concerned manner with his bevy of love-stricken mistresses and admirers. What an effective way to melt a woman's heart.

Her father bustled between them. “We're facing a tactical problem, Sedgecroft—how to get her to the carriage through the crush outside.”

Sedgecroft glanced appraisingly at Jane, an experienced look that seemed to penetrate to her bare bones, to all her wicked secrets, to her most private hopes and fears. “That is not a problem. She may go through the vestry door and use one of my carriages. Unless for some reason you prefer your own vehicle.” He paused, studying Jane again. “I could escort her through the gates myself. I could carry her, if it comes to that. That would give the populace a reason to talk.”

Caroline drew a breath, and Miranda's eyes widened in amused disbelief. Jane groped for Simon's arm, clasping his wrist in such panic that he turned to frown at her.

“Help,” she whispered weakly.

“I thought you had never fainted in your life,” he muttered.

She raised her bouquet to whisper back. “This might be the day I make an exception. Could he be serious?”

A glimmer of admiration lit Simon's eyes. “With Sedgecroft, one can never be sure. I've seen him bluff his way at cards to win a fortune.”

She stole another glance at that magnificent face and recognized the traces of good humor that the marquess had presumably suppressed, perhaps out of concern for her feelings. She was again pleasantly surprised. Rumors of his family's rash behavior had circulated in the ton's drawing rooms for years.

“I do not think it will be necessary to carry me,” she said, although under different circumstances a woman might certainly have been tempted to take him up on the offer.

“No?”

She was horrified at the hot blush that burned her neck as she looked into his blue eyes and found herself captured by a sensual appeal that he seemed to exude almost as second nature. Jane might have been completely overwhelmed by all this blatant male charm if she hadn't been so intent on bringing the situation to an end.

Carry her to the carriage, indeed. Talk about creating a scandal. Although she had to admit those proud shoulders of his looked more then capable of the job—oh, what was she thinking? This was hardly the time or place to go to pieces over a handsome stranger.

“I am prepared to walk to the carriage and face the crowds,” she said.

“Of course,” he said, his voice polite and deferential.

Lord Belshire gave the marquess an anxious look. “I don't suppose you know anything about where Nigel is.”

A cold determination settled on Grayson's face. His reply struck straight to the center of Jane's heart.

“I intend to find out what happened today, believe me.” He looked directly at Jane, as if trying to penetrate the shadows of the wedding veil that framed her face. “I know this is a difficult time for you, but please tell me—did you and Nigel have a fight by any chance?” he asked.

She shook her head slowly. She and Nigel had parted the best of friends, in complete agreement that they did not belong together as man and wife. “No. No fights.”

Sedgecroft pursed his lips as if he suspected something vital had been omitted from her response. “No little lovers' quarrel that you might have forgotten in all the excitement? No misunderstandings?”