The Seduction of an English Scoundrel (21 page)

A game of revenge?

Perhaps a little. But more than anything it was a game of love.

For somehow he sensed that if Jane were capable of sabotaging her own wedding, she would not respect him if he did not respond in kind. A woman of her passion for life, of her capability to plot her fate, would expect the same of her mate. And who else but Jane could match him misdeed for misdeed, word for word? Who else could bring that hunger to live, that gambler's daring to a marriage?

He wanted her, and there was absolutely nothing left for him to do but submit, even if he refused to do so gracefully.

He had found his mate, his match, but before he applauded her wiliness, he would have a little fun taking his revenge on her for deceiving him. Let her earn his forgiveness.

 

Lord Belshire awoke in the darkness of the carriage to feel himself being roughly prodded by an unfamiliar hand. “What? Home already? I was not snoring, Athena. I was not even—” He blinked, staring around the unmoving vehicle in astonishment. “Sedgecroft. Where— What have you done with my wife?”

Grayson rapped on the roof, and the carriage lurched forward into the maze of London streets. “She is safely at home with the rest of your family.” His mouth tightened. “Including your eldest daughter.”

“Jane.” The older man fumbled to pull his gold pocket watch from his embroidered waistcoat. “Where . . . where the blazes are we going at this time of night?”

Grayson settled back against the squabs. “To my house, in order to conduct our business in peace. My solicitors and banker are already awaiting our arrival.”

“Banker—what sort of business is conducted in such a clandestine manner at this hour of night?” Belshire demanded in a thunderous voice. “My God, you scoundrel, if you have brought dishonor on my daughter . . .”

Forty minutes later Lord Belshire understood exactly the nature of Sedgecroft's “business” and had reluctantly agreed to the terms listed in the marriage contract he signed. The conditions set forth for the betrothal were bizarre to say the least, but then so was Jane and Nigel's underhanded deception of all those who had loved and trusted them.

“I cannot believe she would do this,” he muttered. “All the same, I insist that she will not suffer as a result of this agreement. Before God you must swear to honor our contract.”

“Make no mistake, Belshire,” Grayson said, his eyes glittering like ice. “I love your daughter.”

“At the moment I cannot say I share the sentiment. That does not mean I will see her misused in any way.”

“Trust me. Jane will be well treated. In a year or less I hope she will present you with a grandchild.”

A glint of hope lit the older man's face. A grandchild. A future marquess. “I question your methods—”

“You will not question the results,” Grayson said without hesitation.

“I assume that Jane is ready to become your wife.”

“I assure you, she is.”

“It does solve several problems at once, Sedgecroft.”

“I thought so, too.”

As he brooded over Jane's underhanded plotting, Belshire decided on the ride back home that his willful daughter probably deserved to marry a man like Sedgecroft, who had the same sort of duplicitous mind as she. Or so he tried to explain to his wife when he returned to her.

Athena was reading in bed when he rather dramatically paused in the door to their room. “I am in shock,” he announced. “Complete and utter shock. My entire body is numb.”

She put down her book. “That's the price you pay for going out drinking with a man practically half your age. Not that you ever had Sedgecroft's stamina to begin with. What was it he wished to discuss with you anyway?”

He closed the door and strode into the room to explain. When he had finished, she was pacing angrily around the bed upon which he had collapsed.

“And you agreed to this? You put your name to this contract?”

“You are missing the crux of the matter, my dear. Jane deceived us. She never wanted to marry Nigel in the first place.”

“How dare she do this!” she exclaimed. “I am going to her room right now.”

“No. You're going to pack so that tomorrow morning when she arises she will discover us all gone. Except for Simon and Uncle Giles, whom I will ask to stay with her while Sedgecroft carries out his . . . courtship.”

Athena came to the foot of the bed, her face distressed. “I know it is a wicked thing she has done, but she did beg us to call off the wedding to Nigel. And to leave her alone at the mercy of a man like Sedgecroft—”

Howard scowled. “A man who will be her husband, my dear. Sedgecroft loves her despite her deceptions, and I believe she loves him. Besides, do you think there is a decent male in the whole of England who will have her after her plotting is revealed?”

“Well,” Athena said coolly, “there is always Scotland, or Wales. And don't forget the displaced aristocrats from France.”

“I tell you, it is a young Medea we have raised,” he said. “It's a wonder she has not turned us all to stone.”

“You are thinking of Medusa. Medea murdered her own children.”

“Medea. Medusa. Only you would know the difference. That's what I get for marrying a bluestocking and producing a daughter with a devious intellect. Jane will be damned lucky if she has any children of her own to murder.”

Athena sat down at her dressing table, already resigning herself to her fate. “With Sedgecroft she will most certainly have children, and handsome ones, too, with a brood of uncles to spoil them after we are gone,” she thought aloud. “Things could be worse.”

Howard stared across the room. “I do not see how, but it does not matter. She is marrying Grayson Boscastle, and that is the end of it. How he will handle her I cannot imagine, but I can only wish him well.”

“Does Jane know any of this?” she asked suddenly.

“No. And Sedgecroft wants to be the one to tell her. Alone.”

“How romantic of him. I hope Jane shows sense this time.”

Lord Belshire frowned. Romantic was hardly the word he would have used to describe Grayson's air of ruthless determination in drawing up the marriage contract.

“He's nothing like Nigel, Athena. Jane will not find a way out of this situation unless she chooses to become a spinster.”

“Can't we at least say good-bye to her before sending her into battle?”

“It is a courtship,” he said, “not a battle, although in this case one cannot be sure. And, no, we will thankfully be gone before she arises. If Jane possessed the cunning to trick us, she is more than capable of standing up to Sedgecroft on her own.”

Chapter 18

Jane woke up later than usual the next day, aware that an unnatural silence pervaded the house. Nine mornings out of ten Miranda awakened her with her pitiful practicing on the pianoforte, or Mama and Caroline would be arguing in the hall about the inappropriate state of Caroline's attire.

“They have all gone to Belshire Hall in the country, Lady Jane,” the head parlormaid informed her after Jane had hastily dressed to investigate. “Except for Lord Tarleton, who left early for a horse race with your uncle, Sir Giles. The two gentlemen said they would be home in time for supper.”

“My own family left me here without asking if I wished to go?” Jane said in disbelief.

“Lady Belshire's cousin has apparently taken sick, and she thought it was unnecessary for you to come along,” the maid replied, her eyes lowered as if she didn't believe the story any more than Jane did.

“I don't suppose any of them bothered to leave me a personal message,” Jane said in irritation as she turned away.

It seemed all very mysterious and suspicious, and her sense of unease was only confirmed when, on instinct, she ran into Caroline's room and found a hastily scribbled note stuffed under the ink blotter on the desk.

Jane,

Have been taken against our will, practically bound and gagged. Beware—the lion has chosen his mate—

And then there was a huge, ugly smear on the paper as if Caroline had been forced to hide it from whoever had entered the room.

“How peculiar,” she said to herself, gooseflesh rising on her forearms. “ ‘The lion has chosen his mate.' Who—?”

She jumped as the footman knocked loudly at the door. “The marquess is here, Lady Jane. He has insisted I summon you without delay.”

“Summon me? Summon me for what?”

“I didn't think to ask, my lady.”

“I wonder—you don't think anything was wrong?”

Without waiting for an answer she hurried downstairs to the drawing room to find Grayson standing at the window, dressed in an elegantly tailored royal blue morning coat and snug nankeen trousers, his riding crop tapping against one iron-hard thigh. Tapping, she thought fleetingly, like the tail of an animal about to strike in anger.

“Well,” she said, so glad to see him that she started to laugh, “at least you haven't abandoned me. My entire family has gone a little mad. It seems some cousin of mine has taken ill and my parents are gone on a mission of mercy to the country—”

Then he turned, and her breath caught in her throat. No man had the right to look so sinfully handsome this early in the day.

Her laughter faded as their eyes met, and for the second time that morning a prickle of foreboding raised goosebumps on her arms. She didn't remember ever seeing that dark regard on his face before.

“Did you meet with Heath?” she asked, her heart thumping in her breast.

“Yes.”

“Oh.” Her legs felt unsteady as she searched his face for a clue to her fate.

“I'm afraid it is not good news, Jane,” he said heavily.

“No?”

“It seems your hopes of marrying Nigel must be forsaken. He does indeed appear to have run away.”

“To where?”

“Does it matter?”

She wondered if he could hear the erratic pounding of her heart. “I suppose not.”

“I say good riddance to him.”

How aloof his gaze had become. Or was she imagining things? “Yes.”

“You will not forgive him.”

“I—”

“It would be best to forget him, Jane.”

“But—” How much did he know? She was confused by his behavior. Did it embarrass him to break this news?

“He does not matter anymore.” He held out his hand, beckoning her. “Does he?”

A disconcerting flush of heat went through her. “No,” she said, staring at him, wondering if it could possibly be this easy. Was there the wildest chance he would not uncover the truth, or that he knew and they could continue to pretend that he didn't? That he was content to say Nigel is gone, life must go on, and you, Jane, are part of my life?

“Now,” he said in a low, even tone, “fetch your pelisse. We have an appointment.”

Whatever shadowy emotion had darkened his gaze was gone before she could interpret it. There was a subtle difference in his manner toward her. Had Heath learned more than Grayson would tell? No. Nobody knew of Esther's Hampshire home. And if Grayson knew, he would not be able to control his anger. Did he feel guilty about what they had done last night? Her blood quickened at the memory even as she wondered if his opinion of her had been lowered.

Tell him everything. Tell him the entire truth.

He does not matter anymore. . . .

She shook her head. “What appointment? I told you I was supposed to meet Cecily—”

“Your carriage is waiting, my lord,” the footman said from the door.

“Thank you,” Grayson murmured. “Bring Lady Jane a light cloak and meet us outside.”

A few moments later Jane found herself suddenly ushered rather ungently into the hall and out the front door. “Grayson, kindly explain what you are doing.”

“Get in the carriage, Jane. I will explain in due time.” But he remained infuriatingly silent as the vehicle set off through the busy thoroughfares toward the shopping district of Bond Street. She was afraid to speculate on his intentions, or what this brooding mood of his meant. Clearly he had something on his mind. Perhaps it had nothing to do with her at all.

She knew it did.

“At least tell me where we are going.”

His gaze traveled over her briefly, bringing a blush of heat to her face. “To the modiste Madame Devine.”

“Devine—but she is the dressmaker for the demimonde, for Cyprians and dancers.”

He closed his eyes, his relaxed pose not deceiving her at all. “Her gowns are exquisite.”

Jane frowned. “I know. Cecily's fiancé requested a few scandalous pieces for her trousseau, which reminds me. I should at least inform her we aren't meeting today.”

The carriage passed an art gallery and pulled up before a fashionable Georgian-style brown brick shop, where a pair of footmen waited to escort customers inside the tiny candlelit interior. The small crowd of shoppers on the pavement watched them in curious silence. Wherever he went, Sedgecroft was certain to spark interest.

“Cecily will not be missing you,” Grayson said as he guided her past the front counter toward a concealed side staircase. “I took the liberty of notifying her you would be unavailable. Today and in the near future.”

“You did what?” She was certain she had misunderstood what he'd said.

He pulled her up the stairs. “Cecily's friend, this Armhurst character, is not a suitable companion for you. And, Jane, I meant to ask you something last night,” he added as if it were an afterthought. “I suppose this is as private a place as any.”

Her temples began to throb. What was wrong? Something. Something different. Her family had deserted her, leaving her with this outrageous rogue, who might on the surface act like his usual arrogant self, but there was a change, and she still had to tell him—

“Ask me what?” she whispered, aware of movement in the hall above them.

“To be my mistress.” He glanced around in anticipation. “Ah, there is Madame Devine now. I have requested our own private fitting room.”

Her throat went dry, and her ability to think faltered for several moments. His mistress. The two words chilled her. This time there was no misunderstanding what he'd said. So this was what he had been leading up to all along. How stupid, how blind she had been to believe his pretense of kindness and responsibility. While she was falling in love with him, he had been planning the whole time to do what he did so well.

The ultimate seduction.

Well, had he ever claimed to be a saint?

She had blithely followed the same path as his other women. Step by step. No one had forced her.

He smiled down at her, obviously uncaring that he was breaking her heart with his indecent offer. “Darling, don't look so surprised. It's unlikely that a proper marriage proposal will ever come your way again. At least as my mistress your financial needs, as well as those of whatever children you give me, will be taken care of for life.”

“Children?” she said numbly.

He shrugged. “Mating as often as we will do, children are an inevitable part of a sexual relationship. I have always wanted a large family.”

“Have you?”

“A dozen or so of little Boscastle brats, the start of my own dynasty.”

“Far be it from me to stand in the way of your breeding ambitions.”

“Let's discuss it in comfort, shall we?”

She stared up at him as if he had just revealed he was the devil, and before she could reply to his incredible gall, he had turned to climb the remaining stairs, whistling as if he did not have a worry in the world.

“Well, come along,” he added cheerfully over his shoulder. “I won't keep you in my bed every night. There will be times when you'll need to be well dressed to entertain. No more pigeon gray for my little dove.”

Her limbs leaden, she followed him into a small chamber furnished with a dressing screen, two comfortable armchairs, a looking glass, and a rosewood table on which sat a crystal decanter of sherry and two glasses alongside a stack of pattern books.

His mistress.

One of the outrageous women who had attended her sabotaged wedding.

He meant for her to become another Helene or Mrs. Parks. A woman he visited for sexual pleasure. A woman he paid to see in private. A partner he would discard when his interest in her waned.

Jane wanted to push him down the stairs and jump on his offer.

A pair of seamstresses bustled her behind the screen and efficiently stripped her to take her measurements while Grayson poured their sherry and explained to the trim, bespectacled Madame Devine and her assistant exactly what he wanted from the samples she brought him.

“Not that.” His low, arrogant laugh made Jane's blood boil. “Too many buttons. I'm a man who prefers to have a woman in bed with a minimum of fuss.”

Madame Devine gave a girlish giggle. “
Mais oui,
my lord. I understand. These undergarments, perhaps . . . ?”

“No. The lady doesn't need her bosom enhanced. Nature has endowed her with all I can handle.”

“Ah. Well, then, this pink satin?”

“Oh, yes. And that black lace, too.”

Madame Devine's assistant sighed. “Very, very nice together, under a ball dress.”

“What dress?” he murmured. “I thought she could wear them alone.”

The woman blushed. “These stays with the ribbon knots, my lord?”

“Why bother? I prefer the natural feel of a female's flesh.”

At that the assistant rose to open a window; the atmosphere had grown so steamy that Madame's glasses had fogged over. This was a man on a very wicked mission indeed.

Jane stuck her head around the screen to glare at him. “I think that will be quite enough of your nonsense, Sedgecroft.”

“Jane, you are surely not going to refuse me the indulgence of spending a fortune on you?” he said placidly.

She was aware that the ears of the seamstresses pricked to attention at this question. She replied, “Grayson, I am not a complete idiot. You may indulge me until you are bankrupt.” She paused. “But I am
not
promising anything in return.”

He fixed her with an infuriating smile. “Famous last words, my dear. I shall have as much fun taking those things off you as I will buying them. Now let me see what you have in the sheerest silk,” he instructed the modiste, settling back in his chair. “Something I can see through. Yes, those drawers with the slit are nice.”

Jane's cheeks flamed, and her embarrassed gaze met the envious eyes of the two seamstresses in the mirror. He was a rogue to the marrow.

She told him as much when the four flustered women finally left them alone to discuss the details of her wardrobe. “Are you quite mad?” she demanded, taking the sherry he handed her with an innocent smile.

“I intend to lavish gifts on my mistress,” he said in an injured voice. “Is anything wrong with that?”

“Only that I have not agreed to any of this,” she said between her teeth. “My father will be livid.”

He examined the glass in his hand. “Sweetheart,” he said gently, “your father is a man of the world. He understands.”

“Why in heaven's name would you say such a thing?”

“Because he and I talked at length last night about your future,” he replied with a shake of his head. “Yes, at first he resisted, but logic won out.”

“I do not believe you. My father would die of shame if he thought I—”

“Your family is dying of shame, darling. One must face facts. Your marriageable days are over.”

“They are not.”