His Mistress By Christmas (12 page)

“This is your plan?” he said cautiously. She hadn’t mentioned seduction, but perhaps that omission was part of the plan.

“Part of it. I said it was simple.” She cast him a brilliant smile, then directed her attention to Lord Chutley. “Thank you, my lord, for your patience. Now then, you had a question for Sir Sebastian ?”

Lord Chutley stared for a moment, then shook his head as if to clear it. “Yes, of course, Lady Smithson. And might I say you look lovely tonight.”

“You are a dear man.” She smiled. “I don’t see Lady Chutley about. Do give her my best.”

“Yes, of course.” Lord Chutley turned to Sebastian with obvious regret. “Sir Sebastian, we were debating the relative merits of a trek with . . .”

Sebastian tried to concentrate on the gentleman’s query and was fairly confident anyone watching him would think he had nothing on his mind but settling Lord Chutley’s dispute. No one watching him would suspect the way his muscles clenched each time Veronica’s skirts brushed against his leg when she turned in her chair to speak to someone. No one watching would have known his stomach tightened when he heard her laugh and seduction immediately came to mind. And no one would have been more surprised than he by his shock at her question.

He did not shock easily, especially when it came to matters like this. He was no stranger to seduction. Indeed, he had seduced and, on occasion, been seduced. And never less than willingly.

But one did not seduce the woman one intended to marry. He wasn’t sure why he was so inflexible on this point, but he was. It wasn’t at all like him. He’d never had any qualms whatsoever about seduction before. But then he’d never planned to marry before, either. Obviously, the decision to marry carried with it all sorts of respectable behavior. Good Lord, what had happened to him?

Veronica, that was what had happened.

He glanced at her. She spoke to the gentleman beside her and he watched her for a moment. The way her eyes sparkled, the animation in her speech, the graceful gestures of her hand that emphasized her words. His heart thudded. He had to marry her as soon as possible. He’d go mad if he didn’t. Besides, he wasn’t sure how long he could hang on to these newfound principles. The thought had already occurred to him that perhaps the seduction of the woman one planned to marry might be a gray area as long as one’s intentions were ultimately honorable.

No. He gathered his failing resolve. He had to do this right. It might well be wise to forgo a visit to her house tonight, especially given her plan. Whatever it was. Still, she had invited him, and it would be rude not to make an appearance. Besides, her aunt would be there. What could possibly happen?

He wasn’t at all sure if he was afraid to find out or very, very eager.

From the looks her servants had given her when she’d dismissed all but her butler for the night, one would think she did this sort of thing all the time.

Veronica paced the length of her sitting room, a glass of brandy in her hand. There was nothing better for courage than brandy. Who knew the intention to seduce a man would be quite so nerve-racking? Something not nearly as charming as butterflies fluttered in her stomach. Besides, it was entirely possible he wouldn’t come at all. Sebastian had been oddly shocked when she’d asked him if he intended to seduce her. Only an idiot would have failed to realize her question, coupled with her invitation, meant she was ripe for seduction. Good Lord, if she were any more ripe, she’d burst.

What was wrong with the man, anyway? Or perhaps the problem was with her. No. She dismissed the thought with a wave of her hand. She might have allowed herself to be seduced only by one man, but that didn’t mean other men hadn’t tried through the years. And, aside from Sebastian, they still did. She turned on her heel and crossed the room, stopping in front of one of the two ornate gilded Italian mirrors that flanked the open doors to her bedchamber. She considered her image carefully.

She had changed into an amber-colored dressing gown, French with yards of lace and silk. Completely impractical for sleeping, which scarcely mattered as sleep was not her intention. With her hair down and curling around her shoulders and the heightened color in her cheeks—no doubt due to her nervous state and the brandy—she was definitely desirable. Even bloody well irresistible. Lord Chutley had obviously thought so. She raised her chin, nodded to the image, then turned and resumed pacing.

Where was the man? Surely he had had his fill of cigars and listening to the older members of the club reminisce. Veronica had had more than enough time to deliver Aunt Lotte to the house she shared with Veronica’s father and grandmother, return to her own home, and change into this ruffled instrument of temptation. He should be here by now. If he didn’t come soon, she might well change her mind.

What if he had decided not to come? The thought pulled her up short, and she took a small sip of the brandy. It was her first glass, and she had no intention of overindulging. She needed her wits about her tonight. But if he didn’t come . . .

She sank down onto her chaise. It could be that he simply didn’t want her the same way she wanted him, although she doubted it. She could see desire in his eyes when he gazed into hers. Feel it in the brush of his hand against hers. And when she’d kissed him—no, there was no mistaking desire. His as well as hers. So surely there was another reason why he still wasn’t here.

She listed the possibilities in her mind. Number one: Sebastian might be concerned about the propriety of an evening call, which made no sense at all. The man might not have been with legions of women, but one did not get a reputation like his by being reluctant to be alone with a lady. Number two: Sebastian might still be embroiled in whatever manly pursuits the members of the Explorers Club engaged in late into the night. Number three: he could have been run over by a carriage and his dismembered body parts carried off by rats to gnaw on at their leisure deep in the sewers.

She sipped the brandy. If he was lucky, it was number three.

Sebastian nodded at the butler, ignoring a twinge of guilt triggered by the suspicious look in the servant’s eyes. He had nothing to feel guilty about. His intentions were completely honorable. The butler proceeded up the stairs in front of him, then around an open gallery that overlooked a ballroom below. His sisters were right. Only a woman with a sizable fortune could support a house this imposing. He wasn’t sure how he felt about marrying a woman whose wealth was greater than his. He brushed aside the question. He wouldn’t care if she had no money at all. Why should he care if she had a great deal?

The butler led him to a set of doors, knocked, then opened the doors and waved him in. Sebastian stepped into a large sitting room filled with the opulent furnishings of at least a century ago. French probably, but he wasn’t sure. The room spoke of quality and luxury but was not overly feminine. Veronica reclined on a chaise with one of his books in her hand and a halfempty glass on a table beside her.

She didn’t look up when he entered.

Her copper-colored gown had been replaced by a sort of frilly silk concoction that caressed the curves of her body like the hand of a lover. There wasn’t an improper inch of creamy flesh revealed ; indeed, what she wore now was less revealing than the gown she’d had on earlier. And yet, it was the most provocative thing he’d ever seen. His mouth was abruptly dry.

She turned a page.

He cleared his throat.

“I wasn’t sure you were going to come,” she said coolly.

He chuckled. “Neither was I.”

She looked up and met his gaze. “Why not?”

“It didn’t seem especially . . .” He struggled for the right word.

“Goodness, Sebastian, if you are about to say ‘proper,’ I shall throw your book at you.” Her eyes narrowed. “And I have excellent aim.”

“I’ve no doubt of it.” He chuckled.

“I’m beginning to believe you lied to me.” She sat up, swinging her legs over the side of the chaise to plant her feet on the floor, and he caught a glimpse of a gracefully turned ankle.

He swallowed hard and stepped toward her. “Never.”

“When we met, you said you were not concerned with propriety.” She snapped the book closed. “Yet, it seems to me, you have been overly concerned with propriety.”

“I don’t think I should apologize for that.”

“I do not expect an apology.” Her tone softened. “But I would like an explanation.”

“An explanation? I’m not sure I have one.” He pulled a chair close to the chaise and sat down. “You, Veronica Smithson, are the most intriguing and remarkable woman I have ever met.”

“Am I?” She cast him a reluctant smile.

“And you are, well, special.”

“Special?”

He nodded. “And you deserve better.”

“Better than what?” she said slowly.

“Better than my usual behavior.” The firm note in his voice bolstered his resolve. This was far more difficult than he had imagined, given where they were and what she wore and the fact that he had wanted her since very nearly the moment he’d met her.

She stared in stunned silence.

“Veronica?”

She stood and he got to his feet. She crossed the room, poured a glass of brandy, and returned to hand it to him. “What do you mean by ‘special’?”

“I mean . . .” He shook his head helplessly. “I mean special.”

“Do you mean special in the sense of being especially clever or especially pretty or especially well spoken?” Her brow furrowed. “Or do you mean special in the sense of being odd and even somewhat mad?”

“Oh, I don’t—”

“My grandmother has a friend who cannot seem to remember, on any given day, exactly where she has left her hat or her gloves or her house. Grandmother says she has always been
special.
”

He laughed.

“It’s not amusing.” Nonetheless, her lips quirked upward.

“The poor dear grows more
special
every day. My grandmother has
special
moments as well, although I have always suspected her age is a convenient excuse for saying and doing exactly as she pleases. Not that she has ever hesitated to do just that, regardless of age. And you haven’t answered me, you know.”

“I meant all of it. Not special like your grandmother or her friend,” he added quickly. “But the rest of it.”

“I see.” She picked up her brandy and took a sip. “That might well be the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me.”

“Then I’m glad I was the one who said it.” This was going well.

“Are you being charming because you took so long to get here that I didn’t think you would come at all? And you are now trying to get back in my good graces?”

“Absolutely, if it’s working.” He flashed her a grin, then sobered. “But I meant everything I said.”

“I know you did. That’s precisely what is so charming.” She took another sip of her drink and replaced the glass on the table. “I think you’re rather remarkable, too.” She stepped toward him.

He resisted the urge to step back. “Don’t forget endearing. You called me endearing earlier tonight.”

“Endearing and charming and remarkable. Practically perfect.” She reached out and ran her finger along the edge of his lapel. “How do you bear up under the pressure?”

“It’s a burden,” he said with a weak smile. What was she doing? He took a deep swallow of his brandy. Not easy, as she was so very close.

She plucked the glass out of his hand and set it on the table.

He stared into her eyes. Good Lord, he was an idiot. This was her plan!
She
was going to seduce
him!
Unless . . .

“Is your aunt planning on joining us?”

“Goodness, Sebastian.” She untied his tie. “You are adventurous. But neither my aunt nor I would ever consider—”

“Veronica!” He gasped. “I would never suggest such a thing!”

“I know, darling.” She pulled his tie free and gazed into his eyes. “It’s most endearing.”

“Stop saying that,” he said sharply. “Aren’t you concerned that your aunt will come in at any minute?”

“I’m not an eighteen-year-old virgin, Sebastian. I certainly don’t need a chaperone. Besides”—she tossed aside his tie—”Aunt Lotte isn’t here.”

“Where is she?” Caution edged his voice.

“I assume she is where she lives.” She unfastened his collar. “At my father’s.”

“She doesn’t live here?”

“No.” She pulled his collar free.

He stepped back. “What are you doing?”

She cast him an exasperated look. “I should think it’s fairly obvious.”

“Yes, well . . .”

“Sebastian.” She huffed. “Look me directly in the eye and tell me you don’t want this every bit as much as I do. And if you don’t, why, I shall even pick up your tie for you before I have you bodily thrown out.”

He groaned. “Bloody hell, Veronica.”

“I shall take that as an affirmative answer.” She stepped close, reached up, and pressed her lips to his.

He wasn’t sure how long he could battle her and himself. Every second her lips were on his, his resolve weakened. As did his knees. She pushed his coat over his shoulders, and he shrugged it off.

Only a saint could keep this up, and he had never been anything close to a saint.

She pushed him backward, and they tumbled onto the chaise together. Veronica lay slightly on top of him. She stared into his eyes.

“You should know,” she said in a matter-of-fact manner that belied the breathless note in her voice, “I have never done this before.”

“What do you mean, you’ve never done this before?” Not that they were going to do anything now. No, indeed. He was not that weak. “You have been married.”

“Dear me, Sebastian, you are confusing seduction, which is what I am attempting, with lovemaking. One is not the same as the other.”

Confusion furrowed his brow. “It’s not?”

“Of course not. One leads to the other. Seduction is the prelude, as it were. The prologue. Perhaps even chapter one.” She thought for a moment. “Or possibly it’s more of an invitation. You know, one of those invitations that carry with it some sort of promise of an exceptionally good time. That’s it.” She nuzzled the side of his neck. “It’s a persuasive invitation.”