Seduce Me (12 page)

E
sme hadn’t wanted to talk about her sister. Nothing good ever came from that. She flung open her trunk, fully intent on unpacking
her belongings, but found the task had already been completed for her. The armoire was filled with the dresses Thea had crammed
into the case and her personal belongings—her hairbrush, combs, and the few pieces of jewelry she owned—lay sorted on top
of the dressing table.

With a resigned sigh, she walked to the door. Esme had tried to continue her relationship with her sister, had tried to see
her a few times, but Elena had not been interested. All Esme knew was that she’d stood on Elena’s doorstep and been asked
to leave by a servant. Despite her best efforts, Esme’s relationship with her sister had dissolved to the occasional letter
at Christmastime.

But she hadn’t wanted to say any of that either. Living an anonymous life was rather easy when one stayed home and ventured
out only to libraries or obscure bookstores. Besides, no one knew she was still in London. As far as Esme knew, Elena was
still telling everyone that Esme preferred the solitude of country living.

Quietly, she made her way down the massive staircase to the main hall. Here, in the house of a marquess, though, she was bound
to have her identity discovered.

Did that mean Elena and Raymond would discover all the trouble she’d gotten herself into as of late? The empty marble expanse
seemed to echo with her thoughts as she made her way through it. She turned a corner to find Fielding standing with Lord Lindberg,
and they were quietly having a discussion.

Having Elena and Raymond find out about the kidnapping would only further prove to them that they’d made the right decision
in leaving her to her own devices. Wouldn’t they relish all the details about her being abducted and the ancient curse she
was under, a curse that was turning her into a wanton? Right now, at this very moment, looking at Mr. Grey standing at the
opposite end of the hall, Esme wanted to press herself against him and experience another of his knee-weakening kisses.

Fielding saw her standing there, and his brown eyes flashed with acknowledgment, but he continued his conversation. She decided
he was undoubtedly the most handsome man she’d ever set eyes on. Esme took in Fielding’s height, the sheer length of his legs,
and her heart rate accelerated.

The marquess was also an attractive man, especially if one was the sort to prefer dark blond hair and an easy smile over Fielding’s
darker features. Fielding, though, had a smile that, while slower to appear, came with tight dimples that pierced his scruffy
cheeks. And eyes that seemed to bore into her and make her want to admit every secret she’d ever hidden.

She didn’t have many of those, but for him, no matter the cost, she would share the secrets she did have.

The two men both had the physique of an athlete, although Fielding’s shoulders were broader, and his added height put him
at least a head taller than the marquess. While the marquess’s clothes were impeccably pristine and wrinkle-free and his face
freshly shaven, Fielding’s shirt was open at the neck, revealing a swath of dark hair, and his own face had not seen a razor
in days. Unkempt and unmade like a just-slept-in bed. Esme sighed. Fielding Grey did not look like a true gentleman with his
rough edges and lack of polish, but to her, he was all the more attractive for it.

She tried looking at the marquess, searched for something in his clean good looks that would draw her in, make her heart skip
a beat. But she felt nothing. It appeared her lustful curse had chosen its mark.

Suddenly the marquess slapped Fielding on the back and strode away. Fielding turned toward her, and her heart not only skipped
a beat, it seemed to stop beating altogether.

“Come along, Miss Worthington.”

She wondered for a moment if her feet would move, but they seemed to respond to him on their own as a dog to its master. If
he beckoned, she would follow. Perhaps she should be humiliated by such a realization, but she was only eager for more time
spent in his presence. Infernal curse. She supposed she should be thankful her lustful thoughts were for him and not some
wretched man with rotting teeth and crossed eyes.

“The marquess has prepared a room where we can study those books and journals of yours and hopefully find out what needs to
be done to remove that bracelet from your wrist.”

“Very good,” she managed. She followed him down a hall toward the back of the house. They turned left and then entered a room
through a large open doorway.

The room was perfect for such a task. Normally, it must serve as a smaller dining room, as it contained the standard buffet
against the wall and a table in the middle of the room, yet both were on a much smaller scale than houses this large tended
to warrant. The far wall was lined with windows. The heavy draperies had been pulled back, allowing what remained of the day’s
light to stream in. The room faced the back of the marquess’s house and looked out onto the small but lovely garden. Stacked
on the table were the volumes they’d brought from her house.

It gave her a semblance of peace to have that bit of her own household here with her. As it were, her poor Aunt Thea was upstairs,
lulled to sleep by a pot of tea laced with more than enough brandy to bring down a grown man. The older woman might have a
headache on the morrow, but hopefully her nerves would be settled and she’d have peaceful dreams.

Esme took a seat and once again opened the book she’d been perusing back at her house. It was a translation of an old Italian
text purchased just weeks earlier. She’d glanced through it a few times, but she looked forward to delving deeper into the
mysteries it held.

Tracing her finger down the page, she tried to concentrate on the text. Ordinarily, this was precisely the type of work she’d
find riveting, but it was hard to concentrate with that man sitting in such close proximity. The room wasn’t very large, the
table only big enough to seat six. And they were in here together. Alone.

She was a scholar, for goodness’ sake. Never had she been subject to romantic fantasies. Well, that wasn’t precisely true,
but over the last several years, she’d become quite accomplished at ignoring fanciful notions. She tried to force herself
to focus on the book in front of her. But several minutes later she found herself observing Fielding, admiring the way the
sun burnished his brown hair, the way his face changed as he studied the text before him.

Fielding tossed the book aside, then reached for a journal, and when he did he caught her staring. Leaning back in his chair,
Fielding steepled his fingers across his abdomen, drawing her eye to the way the fabric stretched across his taut stomach.

Her pulse quickened.

“Esme,” he said, her name coming out in a caress. “You warned me I would have to play the gentleman. But I told you that I’ve
never been much accomplished in that.” He shrugged, pulling her attention to the breadth of his shoulders. “When a beautiful
woman wants me to touch her, I tend to find myself most agreeable.”

She tried to speak, but her breaths were coming so quickly she lost her words, and so she merely nodded. Suddenly she wondered
what she’d agreed to.

He leaned forward until his face was so close to hers their lips nearly touched. “How am I to deny you?” His cheek caressed
her own, the stubble of his beard tickling her flesh.

She swallowed. “My apologies for putting you in such a challenging position.”

He moved to whisper in her ear. “This isn’t the position I had in mind. I’d much prefer you naked on this table.”

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “Merely a kiss, ’tis all I request.”

“A kiss,” he repeated. “Like this?” He trailed tiny kisses across her lower lip.

She sucked in her breath. “More.”

His lips moved across hers, tenderly, but with a promise of passion. “How was that?”

“More,” she breathed.

And with that he yanked her chair back, pulled her across his lap, and kissed her. His mouth opened slightly and his tongue
slid seductively first across her lower lip, then her upper. She opened for him. And his tongue delved inside.

The world around her disappeared. She heard no sound save their breathing and felt nothing but the sensations flooding her
body, lighting her nerves like fireworks.

He moved her left leg so that now she straddled him, her skirt bunching up between them.

Desire sparked through her body, igniting every limb, every inch of skin from the roots of her hair to the tips of her toes
and radiating in between. Her nipples hardened and pressed achingly against the fabric of her dress. She longed for him to
touch them, to rub against them.

As if he read her mind, his hand slid beneath her bodice and cupped her breast. The caress was so intimate, it should have
shamed her. But with his warm hand against her aching flesh, she felt a jolt of boldness shoot through her. His mouth left
hers and slid seductively down the column of her throat and across her collarbone. Unabashedly, she arched toward him.

She grabbed his shoulders and tried to press herself even closer to him, trying in vain to alleviate whatever the ache was
that was building inside her.

Naked on the table.

He kissed her again, so deep, so thoroughly, she thought she would come apart at the seams. Then their kiss ended, and for
a moment they sat there holding on to each other, their breath mingling in the quiet air.

“Esme,” he said.

“Yes?”

“You must learn to control yourself, as it is abundantly clear that there is no gentleman within me.” And with that he sat
her back on her chair, then stood and walked to the opposite side of the room.

She tried to concentrate on his words. “This distresses you,” she said.

“You are an innocent. I have no wish for some angry family member to come knocking on my door and demand I marry you.” He
gave her a wry smile. “I am not in need of a wife.”

The desire pooling through her body seemed instantly to dissolve, like sugar in steaming coffee. He had no need for
her
was what he meant.

Men always married. It was in them to find a wife to care for them and see to their needs. So it must be that she didn’t suit
him, and he was trying to be kind.

His words stung to her very core. Yet for all the world she would not have him know how they pained her. She notched her chin
up. “I am not looking for a husband either. And you needn’t worry about any gallant men in my family tree; I have none.”

His face softened. “Gallant men or a family tree?”

“Either.” She shrugged. “I have told you, I am my own woman.”

“What are you looking for?” he asked softly, and she almost believed he truly cared.

She swallowed and ignored the list of desires that scrolled through her mind.
A husband who loved and adored her
.
Children
.

She wanted to say that she didn’t enjoy being cursed with desire for a man she’d ordinarily never look at twice. Because while
that might be true, it had nothing to do with him and everything to do with her. She’d trained herself not to notice attractive
men, not to long for that which was unattainable to her.

“I want to get this bracelet off my arm so that I will cease putting you in such an awkward position.”

His jaw clenched. “Shall we get back to the books, then?”

“Indeed.”

When he returned to the table, he sat opposite her, putting the hard wood of the table between them.

Evidently Fielding had found his gentleman within.

Esme turned over for the hundredth time since crawling into bed. It wasn’t that the bed was uncomfortable; it was actually
quite plush and warm. It wasn’t even that she was wide awake, as her lids felt heavy with sleep, and the yawning was getting
to be ridiculous. Yet sleep evaded her, and she couldn’t seem to keep her body settled.

Ever since she was a child, she’d been enchanted by the legend of Pandora’s box. Her father had regaled her with all the ancient
stories and legends when she’d been but a girl. She’d curl up in the nook of his arm and he’d spin the tales long into the
night.

When her parents had passed on, she’d wanted only her father’s library as remembrance. Not that Elena or Raymond would have
given her anything else. As it was, she’d had to beg for the books. She’d taken those books and she’d studied. Formed her
own hypotheses and become a scholar in her own right when it came to Pandora and her legendary box.

Despite what Fielding thought, Esme knew she was no dreamer. When it came to her studies, she was quite levelheaded. Why,
then, did she become a complete goose around him? Rolling over, she shoved her left leg out of the covers and held up her
arm. It was too dark to see anything other than the shadow of her limb, but she knew the bracelet was there. The weight of
it rested against her skin. Pandora’s curse dangling from her wrist. Something that should have made Esme undeniably irresistible
to men.

Only that wasn’t how it worked. Instead, she was the one who was cursed. Fielding’s touch had left her blood pulsing with
desire, her body aching to be caressed. She was filled with lustful thoughts for a man who clearly did not want her. Twice
now she’d offered herself to him, and both times he’d resisted. And this from someone who swore he wasn’t a gentleman. Yet
he was doing a remarkable job imitating one.