Leslie Lafoy (18 page)

She smiled ruefully, remembering. Gerald had never once complimented her on how she looked or who she was as a person. What appreciation he had ever expressed had been for the money that might someday come from her painting. If she practiced, if she could somehow improve her techniques. Like her parents, he had seen her value strictly in terms of what she could do and how it could contribute to his own goals and aspirations.

Carden, though … Sera swallowed down her heart and faced the truth squarely. Carden Reeves saw only her beauty and wanted only her body. Her parents wouldn’t have approved of him at all. And for the first time in her life she understood why they had raised her as they had. Beneath the heady intoxication of Carden’s adoration, beyond the thrill of his tender kisses, there was nothing but an aching emptiness that he would never see, could never fill. In his own way, he was every bit as blind as Gerald had been.

But he was ever so much better at kissing. Infinitely better. He was bone-meltingly, common-sense-shatteringly
good.
And, heaven help her, she truly liked feeling the way she did in his arms. Could she lie with a man knowing that it was only for the pleasure there might be in doing so? Was being a wanton once in her life—for just a short while—such a horribly unforgivable thing? If she could be sure that no one would ever know …

C
HAPTER
10

Hoops. And sticks. He’d never suspected that Sawyer had a mean streak until the man had handed the damned things into the carriage and suggested that the girls might enjoy trampling unwary pedestrians in the park. Where the hell the iron circles had come from was a mystery. But Lord knew that between the rolling hoops, the hooped crinolines, and the yards and yards of flounced fabric, the carriage had the definite feel of an overpacked sardine tin. Matters would have been a bit more endurable if the three littlest sardines hadn’t insisted on wiggling and bouncing all over the seats. He winced and clenched his teeth as Camille kicked his shin for the fifth time.

A second carriage, one reserved strictly for the transport of the girls, was going to be a necessity within a very short while. They were growing and that meant that their hoops and skirts were only going to get bigger. If he didn’t get them their own carriage, his driver would open the door one day, hand the girls out, and then find him crumpled in the cushions, suffocated and kicked to death.

Not that he was opposed to sharing his coach, of course. He smiled at Sera who sat opposite him in the forward-facing seat. Riding alone with Seraphina would be a most wonderful way to pass any journey. The longer it went, the better. Especially at night, over slightly bumpy roads. And most definitely without a child on either side of him and one beside her. Yes, the girls would have their own carriage by next week, he decided as they rolled to a stop above the Hyde Park fountains. He’d play the doting uncle, the girls would feel exceedingly grown-up, and Sera would protest until he kissed her into a breathless appreciation for privacy on wheels.

As plans went, it was a positively brilliant one, he admitted, tucking his walking stick under his arm and leaning across Beatrice to open the door. He let himself out and then turned back, meeting Sera’s gaze and offering his hand. She emerged to stand beside him, smiling sweetly and looking absolutely virginal in her prim, dusty blue walking dress and her lace-trimmed bonnet. Knowing how she tasted, how she felt pressed against him, her arms around him, remembering her little moans of pleasure … The contrast between reality and appearance was delightfully evocative.

It occurred to him, as he turned away to assist his nieces from the carriage, that every man dreamed of knowing a Seraphina Treadwell in the course of their lives. The vast majority never did and existed on the fantasy alone. Only a very few ever got the chance to even meet a woman like her. The man who was actually allowed to strip away the prim and proper façade and take the lioness to his bed … That lucky bastard died one happy, supremely enviable man.

Bless Fate for choosing him, Carden concluded with a grin, closing the door behind Camille and turning away from the carriage. The girls, hoops and sticks in hand, stood before Sera who was considering them with an arched brow.

“You will be mindful of others and control your hoops,” she said, her gaze passing over each of them in turn. “And you will remain where your Uncle Carden and I can see you at all times. Is that clear?”

They nodded in unison, their curls bobbing.

“Then you may go,” Sera finished, clearly fighting a smile. She tilted back her head and laughed outright as they squealed and bolted for green grass.

God, what he wouldn’t give to be back in the library alone with her. Hell, alone anywhere would do; he wasn’t inclined to be choosy at the moment. Fate might have blessed him, but she certainly wasn’t above challenging his patience along the way. It took considerable effort, but he managed to find some. He smiled and offered Seraphina his arm.

“Thank you, but no,” she said sweetly, turning to see where the girls had gone.

Stunned by the rebuff, he quickly stepped to her side. “Why ever not?”

“Because I’m the governess and you are my employer,” she replied, starting down the path that ran along the Long Water.

“Are we back to that?” he asked, falling in beside her. “I thought we’d cleared that particular hurdle rather permanently.”

“There’s a great deal of difference between private and public behavior. Would you like your nieces walking on the arm of any man who offered one? Without a concern for the consequences of it? We must set a good example for them.”

“Serving as a good example is highly overrated,” he countered, irritated by the physical distance she’d put between them. “I believe in letting someone else do it whenever possible.”

“Then it’s a very good thing that you intend to send us to the country house as soon as the renovations are done. When do you think that will be?”

He’d completely forgotten about having threatened to do that. In hindsight, it had been an incredible bit of shortsighted stupidity. “The end of the season. Assuming that no major problems develop,” he answered. “But I distinctly recall you saying that you were opposed to the girls’ going to the country, of their being denied the nurturing circle of family. Although now, from the sound of your voice … Have your feelings on the matter changed?”

“I can see certain advantages in being removed from London.”

He couldn’t. Not anymore. His stomach actually clenched at the possibility. “For the girls or for you?”

“For all of us. Including you.”

“Oh?” he asked casually, hoping that she couldn’t hear his heart thundering. “How would it be to my advantage to have you gone?”

“You’d be free to live as a carefree bachelor again,” she replied, sliding a glance his way. A tiny smile flirted at the corners of her mouth. “If we were gone, you’d be able to walk about the house in your dressing gown at noon and kiss women in your library without worrying about being interrupted.”

Grinning, he eased closer and, careful to keep his voice low and their exchange private, said, “Avoiding interruptions is a matter of careful planning and good timing. Would you care to meet me back in the library at midnight and let me prove it?”

She tilted her head and met his gaze. “Not tonight. Perhaps another.” He was still trying to catch his breath when she arched a delicate brow and added, “If the invitation is a standing one, of course.”

His knees threatening to give way, he desperately mustered both the resolve to keep moving and the voice to ask, “You’re tempted? Seriously?”

She nodded, but didn’t look at him. “I’m wrestling with the decidedly uncomfortable notion that to succumb to curiosity would forever brand me a woman of loose virtue. I do believe that I’d prefer to avoid that reputation if at all possible.”

“Understandably,” he countered, wondering why the hell they couldn’t have had this conversation in the privacy of Haven House where he could actually
do
something about moving her off the button. He couldn’t very well kiss her senseless on a public walkway. “Would it help you decide if I assured you that I’m a man of considerable discretion?”

She chuckled dryly. “I’m afraid that it’s of no help at all. Rakes offer such assurances as a matter of course, Carden.”

“And just how many rakes have you known?”

“Aside from you, one. But he provided me with a most thorough education during our blessedly brief marriage.”

A woman uttering the word “marriage” always made him nervous. He knew too many men who had wandered into seemingly innocuous conversations and found themselves standing, completely poleaxed, at the altar. In instinctive self-defense, he observed, “Rakes make especially bad husbands.”

“I couldn’t agree with you more.”

“We make very attentive lovers, though.”

She arched a brow and laughingly retorted, “So you claim. Unfortunately, that wasn’t my experience at all.”

“Well,” he replied, leaning close again, “I think you owe it to rakes the world over to give me the chance to redeem our reputation.”

She laughed outright, tilting her head back and gazing up at him in a way that all but shredded his commitment to public decorum. God, he wanted to kiss her; long and hard. To kiss her until she breathlessly begged him to take her home and to his bed.

And given that aim, it was best to be absolutely clear on the long-range expectations of the romantic aspects of their relationship. And now, before they took one more step in that direction. “I gather that marrying isn’t something you’re anxious to do again very soon,” he posed as he tipped his hat to acknowledge a couple passing by, the man a member of his club, the woman—most surprisingly—his wife.

“I might consider it. It would depend largely on the qualities of the man. Another rake is out of the question, though,” Sera answered lightly, fully aware that the stranger had looked over his shoulder to watch her a while longer. And that Carden had glanced over his, as well. With a truly menacing scowl.

“And you, Carden?” she asked, calling his attention back to her and their negotiation of terms. “Under what conditions would you consider marriage?”

“The threat of a slow and painful death.” He laughed softly, and from the corner of her eye, she saw him shrug. “Maybe. I’d have to ask for some time to think about it.”

And she didn’t have the slightest doubt as to what he’d decide in the end. Carden Reeves was the kind of man who made love and walked away with equal amounts of passion. No woman on earth would ever be lover enough to hold his interest for longer than a single night. To hope for more, for longer …

A knot formed high in her throat and with it came a surging sense of melancholy. She instantly and silently chastised herself for the sentimentality. Carden hadn’t told her anything that she hadn’t already known. To so much as think that he’d become a different person in order to bed her was ludicrous. He was handsome, charming, roguishly daring. He wasn’t the stuff of which good husbands were made. That being an utter certainty, the question remaining to be answered was whether she possessed the qualities of a most temporary lover. Despite her misgivings, she had to admit that there was something exceptionally compelling about the notion of lying with a man without having to surrender the whole of your life for one night’s experience. The freedom to exercise that kind of choice … If only she’d had these kinds of notions and feelings when Gerald had been part of her life. One night would have been all he had ever had of it. And not a full night at that.

A night with Carden Reeves, though … That was a very different prospect altogether.

She glanced over at him, noting the chiseled planes of his face, remembering the intoxicating power of his kisses, the hard warmth of his body, the delicious way he made her feel. How long, precisely, was a night? And was one required to waste any of it sleeping? Did you bow and curtsy in the morning, thank each other, and then pretend nothing had happened? There were so very many things she didn’t know about the world Carden wanted to share with her.

“Look, Sera. There’s Honoria.”

She returned to the reality of Hyde Park with a start and an almost audible thump. Straight ahead of her, bearing down on them with clear purpose, was indeed the tiny hurricane named Lady Lansdown. “And it’s too late to run. She’s seen us,” Sera muttered darkly. “Dammit.”

“Seraphina Treadwell!” he admonished, a grin splitting his face. “I’m appalled.”

“Well, Honoria will make you forget all about my language,” she countered through a tight, false smile. “And I give her less than two minutes in which to do it.”

“Oh, I’m sure that it won’t take her that long.”

“Seraphina! You look marvelous!” Honoria exclaimed when she was within earshot. She raised her hand and twirled her index finger. “Turn around for me and let me see.”

Sera obediently, if reluctantly, played the marionette while Honoria clapped her hands and went on, saying, “Isn’t Mr. Gauthier simply a wizard with cloth and thread? Aren’t you ever so glad I sent him to you? Carden, you’re looking positively respectable this afternoon. Dare I say even paternal?”

Sera stopped turning and waited for the world to do the same. From beside her, she heard Carden drawl, “Yes, she does. Gauthier’s a genius. Yes, she is. Thank you. No, you may not. And fair warning, Honoria, I may strangle you in the next moment or two.”

Sera fought a smile as Honoria pressed a wrinkled hand to her heart and tried to look surprised and innocent.

“Whatever for, Carden? What have I done?”

He leaned forward and kept his voice low. The volume did nothing to lessen the force of his obvious displeasure. “You bloody well know what for and what you’ve done, Honoria. What aspect of ‘Arthur is still alive’ did you fail to grasp? Was there something lacking in the explanation?”

She drew herself up, sniffed once, said, “Credibility,” and then pointedly turned away from him.

As though not one bit of unpleasantness had just passed, she smiled, took Sera’s hands in hers, and breezily said, “I just left my stationer’s and happened to meet that nice Mr. Terrell on the street outside. We had a delightful conversation during which he confided that he had felt obliged—some time ago and for some reason or another which I forget—to accept an invitation to the Martin-Holloways’ dinner party this week.”