To Be Seduced (2 page)

“What a pleasant diversion for you. Lady Rothley had not said that he planned to visit,” she said in a tone of polite indifference.

“Oh, she wouldn’t have,” Gloriana replied airily. “We did not know exactly when he’d be here, as he is kept immensely busy in London.”

“I can imagine,” Bethany said dryly. According to her mother’s acquaintances, since the ascension of the second King Charles, the city had plunged itself into a plethora of lascivious behavior, drunkenness, and public disorder. A man of Lord Harcourt’s lax ways would find much to occupy himself, most of it immoral.

The road appeared before them through the manor’s open gate. She hurried between the massive brick and iron posts and turned to wait for the smaller girl to catch up.

At her side, Gloriana smiled brightly and pointed past Bethany’s shoulder. “Look! I believe that is my brother’s coach down the road.”

Bethany shook her head at the chit’s transparent attempt at surprise. “For pity’s sake, Glory, why did you not simply tell me your brother awaited you? ’Tis quite unmannerly of you, although I am surprised he did not escort you to the door.”

Her companion looked sheepish. “I wasn’t sure your mother would admit him after the escapade with your maidservant last summer. I am very fond of Richard and did not wish to subject him to embarrassment. Faith, he swore nothing more happened than a few kisses, and that the girl was willing.”

Bethany snorted. “Knowing Joan, she proposed the meetings! But it’s true, Mother would scarcely welcome him had he come with you.” She smiled mischievously. “Although it might have been amusing to watch him puncture Mr. Ilkston’s self-importance.” While she could not approve of loose behavior, she appreciated Lord Harcourt’s piercing wit.

She watched the shabby coach make its way along the rutted road for a moment before adding, “I think we had better go meet him. That contraption looks like it won’t last all the way to the gate.”

Gloriana nodded and they strolled to meet it. Bethany glanced at her. The younger girl’s mouth was set in a determined line and her usually inquisitive eyes remained fixed on the ground.

However, when they reached the slow-moving coach and four, the irrepressible sixteen-year-old called out cheerily, “Rickon! I’m back, and look who came with me. Mistress Bethany thought to visit Aunt Rothley.”

The door swung open, and Lord Harcourt himself stepped down to assist them. Bethany caught her breath. He remained unchanged from last summer. Instead of a periwig, he wore his own hair in long, dark gold waves. The same lazy smile highlighted his strong features as his gaze swept over her with unsettling thoroughness. His assessment reminded her uncomfortably of just how worn her brown cloak and hood were, and how drab she must look beside Gloriana’s fashionable amber dress and black cloak.

“It is my pleasure to meet you again, Mistress Dallison.” Even his voice unsettled her with its combination of honey over gravel. “Please allow me to convey you to our destination.” He stepped forward in a fluid movement and took her bare hand in his gloved one. Gracefully he bowed over it, brushing her fingers with the barest kiss. They fluttered nervously at the unexpected contact and Bethany swallowed as Lord Harcourt tightened his grip. Feeling the strength and heat through his black leather gauntlets only served to make her blush. From the warmth in her face, it must be bright pink. He smiled and assisted her into the coach.

“Your hands are cold. We’ll have to find a way to warm them.” He pressed a kiss into her palm, his green eyes glinting at her wickedly. She gasped softly and snatched her hand away. He shrugged and helped Gloriana inside, then settled himself on the seat opposite them.

She pointedly placed herself as far from him as the cramped space allowed and stared out the window disinterestedly. His clear green eyes shot her an amused glance before he turned his attention to his sister.

The two of them chatted idly during the brief ride to Rothley Hall. Left to herself, Bethany observed the coach’s interior. Stuffing burst from the cracked leather seats and dark blue paint peeled off the wooden sides. Warped window frames permitted a steady draft of cold air inside, forcing her to keep her hands inside her cape. She thought this must be the worst-sprung vehicle she had ever ridden in. She could not imagine enduring its teeth-rattling bounces for a lengthy journey. Lord Harcourt’s purse must be lean indeed to have resorted to such a miserable conveyance.

Her ears pricked up when Gloriana teased her brother to fetch her back to London. To her surprise, Lord Harcourt’s brows drew together in unexpected disapproval.

“That would be quite improper, as you should know. ’Pon rep, I’ve explained it to you often enough.” His sister protested, but he ended the argument with a flat “No.”

Lifting the window covering, Bethany recognized the stretch of road leading to Rothley Hall. She anticipated sitting by one of Lady Rothley’s warm fires for an afternoon of amusing conversation before having to face her mother.

Lord Harcourt noticed they had reached their destination as well. He knocked on the top of the coach and it halted.

“Glory, we’re here.” His serious tone made Bethany turn to look at him. He held his sister’s hands and gazed into her face, now white and frightened, as if he silently asked her a question. It was one she apparently understood, for she gave him a jerky nod of her head in return. “Good girl,” he said softly. “You’ll be well?” She nodded again. To Bethany’s surprise, he opened the door without another word and got out to help them down. Surely he did not mean to have them walk to the Hall from the gate!

Glory looked over her shoulder with an apologetic expression before stepping out of the coach. Puzzled, Bethany prepared to follow, only to find her way blocked as Lord Harcourt placed an arm across the doorway. “I beg your pardon, my lord, but if we are to walk to the Hall, I should get out of the coach.” Her cold voice clearly displayed her displeasure, but he did not reply.

Instead Gloriana looked up at her from the road. “Bethany, I am so truly sorry,” she choked out. “Richard said he needed my help and I am obligated to—he’s my brother and he took such care of me after our parents died. Please try to forgive both of us.”

“Enough, Glory. You must go.” At his flat statement, the girl pulled her hood up and trudged up the drive to her aunt and uncle’s, her cloak wrapped around her. Lord Harcourt turned and leapt up into the coach so quickly that Bethany was forced to sit back down. “I regret to inform you, Mistress Dallison, that you will be coming with me.” He knocked on the roof again.

“I—beg—your pardon?” Dumbstruck, Bethany scarcely noticed as the vehicle lurched into motion.

“You will accompany me to my estate in Yorkshire, where we will be married.” His matter-of-fact tone did not stop the air rushing out of her lungs in shock. He looked at her sympathetically. “I’m very sorry, my dear. But I need a great deal of money very quickly, and you are the most accessible heiress of my acquaintance.”

He continued to observe her minutely during the long pause that ensued. When she lunged to wrest the door open, his hand shot out to capture her wrist easily.

“No.” The softly spoken word belied his iron grip. Trying to pull away from him only resulted in an agonizing stab up her arm, and Bethany yelped in pain and anger.

He released her at once, only to move across to her side and examine her slender wrist in the light of the window. “I apologize, madam.” He looked at her ruefully. “I did not realize you have such delicate bone structure.” He looked bemused as his gloved thumb and middle finger easily encircled her wrist.

She froze as his hand slowly moved to her face. His leather-clad fingertips grazed her cheekbone as his eyes looked soberly into hers. Bethany caught her breath at the intimate touch, but a blaze of outrage cleared her mind.

The arrogant blackguard was trying to seduce her! She glared at him. “Get away from me and stop the coach at once! I am most certainly not going to marry you.”

Instead, he released her and leaned back against the seat at her side. “I believe you will have no other choice. Rest assured, I have no desire to harm you, but after two days and a night in my company, the world will assume the worst. You will either become Lady Harcourt or you will be ruined.” Glancing her way at last, he raised his eyebrows suggestively. “A title and an estate, my dear. Many other females would snap me up without hesitation.”

Fear seeped into her fury as Bethany realized his utter seriousness. She shook her head to dispel her sense of unreality. Giving in to fright would not help her. Or would it? Perhaps a bout of hysterics would convince him to turn the coach around and dump her back on her mother’s doorstep.

As if reading her mind, her adversary smirked and pulled a small object out of his pocket. “A vinaigrette. French ladies carry them to use in moments of great distress.” He offered it to her. “In case of faintness. We will both find the journey far more pleasant if you do not indulge in a fit of some kind.”

She itched to slap that irritating smile off his face. “I am never faint.” She lifted her chin and glared at him. Lord Harcourt simply shrugged and tucked the filigree oval into the depths of his greatcoat.

“My felicitations, dear Mistress Dallison. I am sure you are the first female of my acquaintance to say so.” His voice quivered with amusement.

Bethany nearly ground her teeth but held on to her temper. She needed a cool head to convince him to return her to Abberley. She cringed to think what her mother would say, not to mention Mr. Ilkston. Her fortune would doubtless overcome his shock, but she feared he would make her suffer for it once they married.

The thought unexpectedly surfaced that life with Lord Harcourt would make the most intimate aspects of marriage very pleasant, but the idea flashed out of her mind just as quickly. Like Ilkston, he just wanted her money; he merely followed a more direct course of action to obtain it.

She wished again that she controlled her own money. Disgusting as the idea might be, she would have considered bribing him to return her with her reputation intact. But the law allowed only widows any control over property and income. Most women depended on funds settled on them by their fathers and husbands.

At this thought, Bethany straightened on the seat and blinked. Unmoving, she stared at the opposite side of the coach for several seconds. Suddenly facing Lord Harcourt, she took a deep breath. If he guessed at the idea that had entered her mind, she faced disaster.

Tucking the vinaigrette away, Richard congratulated himself on the success of the first part of his plan. Despite the fierce scowl on her face, the girl offered little resistance so far. Granted, she had demanded he stop the coach, and then tried to open the door while it still moved, but he had expected no less. He had recognized the willful streak behind her pretty face the previous summer, but he had every confidence of mastering her. Once he wed her and bedded her, everything she had became his.

Expanding on this pleasing subject, he regarded the young woman beside him. She refused to look at him, pinning her gaze straight in front of her. He satisfied himself with the view of her rigid profile, even opening the window covering farther to permit more sunlight into the coach. He had thought her pretty enough last summer; he was pleased that his recollections proved accurate.

Her fair skin glowed against the darker wood and leather. A few pale freckles spotted the bridge of her nose. He tamped down an urge to trace them with his fingers. She had shied away from his touch earlier and a frightened bride would not suit his purposes at all.

He realized he had never seen her hair uncovered and wondered what color it was. He guessed brown from the brow and lashes turned so fixedly away from him. The color of her eyes, he knew, ranged from cool gray to silver lightning.

When she turned unexpectedly to face him, they flashed bright sparks of anger before hardening. The charming sight so disarmed him that he was not prepared for her question.

“How much money do you need?”

She might just as casually have asked how much he needed for a new shoe buckle. He stared at her.

The baggage dared to roll her eyes at him. “How much money do you need,” she repeated, her tone of voice suggesting that she spoke to a person of limited mental capacity.

Richard stalled for time to assess this new ploy. “Why do you want to know?” He leaned against the back of the seat and cocked an eyebrow at her. Stretching one booted leg before him gave the appearance of ease, while his other foot remained firmly on the floor, enabling him to move quickly should she try to bolt again.

She did not try to bolt. Instead, she settled herself more firmly on the seat and looked him full in the face. “I might not have enough to meet your debts.” A triumphant smile curved her lips.

Clever puss, to search for his most vulnerable point. “I’m quite sure your assets will more than meet my needs,” he purred. “My uncle determined your worth to be a good fifteen thousand pounds, and I have immediate need of but five thousand.”

“Ah.” Bethany tilted her head against the back of the seat as if thinking. When she looked at him again, he guessed her next words.

“Very well, Lord Harcourt. I will marry you.”

He’d won the throw.

Trying to hide his overwhelming relief at her capitulation, he pressed her hand between both of his. “Thank you for doing me the honor of agreeing to be my wife, madam.”

“Indeed. Naturally, there are conditions.” At her suddenly brisk tone of voice, his brows lowered. “In the first place, I wish to be married in London, so you’ll need to turn the coach around. In the second place, I trust you will not pester me with unwanted attentions after the ceremony. I collect you planned to marry me and leave me in Yorkshire?”

He could not seem to find his voice. She continued, unperturbed. “I think under the circumstances that will do very well, although I might like to travel at least to York or Scarborough occasionally.”

Lord Harcourt gathered his wits. “And just how do you think to enforce your—er, conditions, girl? Tell me that.”