Seduce Me (18 page)

His mouth went dry. Right in that moment he’d never seen anything as seductive. He’d had women all over the world, experienced
women, exotic women, and yet, here in this borrowed bedchamber, this woman, with her incessant chattiness and bright innocent
eyes, was the one who stole his breath.

He tried to ignore the muscles tightening low across his abdomen and the blood pounding through his body. He tried to pretend
she wasn’t driving him mad with desire, but he was failing miserably. As quickly as he could he wrote the first word on her
neck. He glanced back at the piece of paper on which Mr. Nichols had written the inscription. As ludicrous as this whole scenario
might be, Fielding wanted to do it correctly. He released a heavy breath, scattering gooseflesh across her neck and back.

She sighed.

He swore under his breath.

She turned to look over her shoulder. “What’s the matter?”

The matter was he should have more bloody control over himself. He wasn’t a ruddy schoolboy. He ran his hand down her back,
and she closed her eyes in response. “You’re driving me to distraction, woman.”

She said nothing and did not move.

“Hold still and let me finish.” He inscribed the words as fast as he could. He’d had to write much smaller on her neck, but
he managed to get the entire anti-curse in place. “Finished.”

She dropped her hair.

“I think you’ll have to lie down for me to do the rest,” he suggested. He walked away from her then, uncertain that he’d be
able to keep his hands off her were he to take in the full length of her naked backside again. Attempting to regain control
of himself, he took several deep breaths.

Once she was in the bed waiting, he made his way over to her side. There she lay, partially covered by the blue sheet, her
pale limbs a stark and lovely contrast to his masculine bed.

She maneuvered the sheet so that the top edge lay across her pubic bone. He could see the tiniest hint of her soft curls.
She crossed her arms over her breasts.

He crawled onto the bed next to her and smoothed his hand across her bare abdomen. Chills followed in the wake of his touch.
“Are you cold?”

“No.” Her eyes were tightly closed.

Fielding dipped the quill into the paste and then touched it to her belly. The skin here, less taut than on her back, gave
and moved beneath the ink, making his writing messy and uneven. He pressed his hand to her abdomen to try to tighten the skin
in an attempt to better his penmanship. She was soft where a woman should be soft, and he wanted nothing more than to tear
that sheet the rest of the way off and spend the night running his fingers, not a quill, across her flesh.

He finished writing the phrase as she looked up at him. “Only one more,” she said, her eyes glassy with pent-up desire.

“Across the heart,” Fielding said.

She visibly swallowed. “That’s what he said.” Then her eyes fluttered closed as she unfolded her arms and placed them firmly
by her sides.

Inwardly Fielding swore. Esme’s breasts were neither large nor small, but rather perfectly sized to be cupped in his hand.
Pouty and round with a creamy shade of pink darkening the middles, they had exquisite jutting nipples. Already primed for
arousal, it was no surprise when he hardened immediately. He released a deep breath.

“Low enough so that you won’t be able to see it when I’m fully clothed,” she said. “Please.”

He’d memorized the phrase now so there was no need to refer to the piece of paper, but he found himself checking every word.
With as much speed as he could manage, he wrote the inscription across her left breast. Her mouth opened and she arched toward
him. He moved his hand carefully away from her breast and set the ink and quill on the bedside table. Then with one swift
movement she was upon him, her mouth covering his in a flurry of kisses.

Before he could fight her, she had him pinned to the bed, her naked body writhing across him. Fielding gave where she took
and met her passion for passion. She kissed him deeply, her tongue sliding against his own. One arm wrapped around her, he
moved the other down her body, eager to feel her passion. She was hot and wet for him, and when he touched her flesh she arched
back and cried out.

He plunged his finger inside her. Though he could not afford to lose control of himself, he knew what she wanted, what she
needed
. His mouth settled on her breast while he moved his finger deep within her. Her folds, slick with desire, tensed around him.

With his thumb, he found her center. Esme’s release was immediate. She shook and shuddered while whispering his name again
and again.

In that moment, he knew if they went any further, he wouldn’t be able to stop. With one movement he slid her off him, then
stood.

“I don’t think this was the outcome we were trying for,” he said.

Esme’s eyes were still darkened and hooded with desire. She looked so small and delicate clutching the sheet to her chest.
“No, I don’t suppose the procedure worked.” With a deep, heartfelt sigh, he came to her feet. “Tomorrow night,” she said,
her chin rising slightly, “we will go the museum and find that diary.”

More than anything Esme wished her father were still alive. Certainly he’d know what to do in this situation. Granted, Esme
wouldn’t tell him about her improper behavior, but he could help with the curse; she knew he could.

He’d always known what to do. As a girl, whenever she’d argued with her mother he’d been there, always her champion and advocate.
On more than one occasion she’d overheard him telling her mother to leave Esme alone. “Not all men prefer brainless females,”
he’d tell her. “Some of us enjoy clever banter. I should think you would remember that.”

She’d believed her father, and for a time thought she’d find one of those gentlemen, the ones who chose girls not only for
their dowries or their pretty faces, but also for their minds. But then he’d died, and it seemed that her dream of finding
such a man perished with him.

Esme knew it was late and that Thea was probably already sleeping, but she needed to talk to someone tonight, needed the comfort
of a friendly face. Before leaving her own bedchamber, Esme made certain all the inscriptions on her body were completely
covered. She didn’t bother knocking, just entered Thea’s room and found her cat snuggled up on the bed, nestled in the crook
of her aunt’s bent knees.

“Traitor. I’m only in the next room,” she told him.

Horace eyed her sleepily, then laid his head back down on the brown velvet coverlet.

“Esme?” Thea said groggily.

“I’m sorry to wake you.”

“Don’t be foolish. Come and sit.” Thea scooted up so her back leaned against the great wooden headboard.

Crawling up into the bed, Esme suddenly felt as she had as a child, when she’d climbed into bed with her father and he’d tell
her tales of myth and legend. She knew she was on the verge of tears, so she swallowed hard to dissolve them. Her throat felt
as if it were full of ground glass.

“What’s bothering you, child?” Thea asked.

“Nothing,” she said, forcing the sadness from her voice. She smiled and tilted her head to the side. “I’m probably only feeling
homesick. It’s strange being in another’s house.”

Thea frowned. “Is that all?”

Esme thought for a while before continuing. It was a battle between wanting to tell Thea everything and not wanting to frighten
her with talk of ancient curses and illicit love affairs. “I don’t suppose it is.”

“Esme, you know you can tell me anything,” Thea said, her voice brimming with love.

Esme finally settled on a simple question. “Did you ever take a lover?” she asked, trying to focus on scratching Horace behind
the ears rather than embarrassment at her brazen question.

“No,” Thea said with a light chuckle.

“I didn’t think so,” Esme said.

“But I almost did. Once.”

Her frank answer surprised Esme. Over time Thea had become a dearer companion than Esme could ever have imagined. Yet there
were still things she didn’t know about her aged friend. Thea had family from which she was estranged, yet Esme had no idea
why. In her more romantic moments, she always imagined Thea as the heroine of a tragic love affair, though Esme had never
inquired about it before. Tonight she needed to know.

“Tell me about him,” Esme requested.

“Oh, it was so long ago. Though I suppose I remember it all as if it were yesterday. I was two and twenty. And he was so handsome,
so strong.” Thea’s expression took on a dreamy look, her smile winsome. “Albert Moore was his name.”

“Were you in love?” Esme asked, but instantly she wished she hadn’t. Part of her didn’t want the answer to that question.
Don’t be foolish
, she reminded herself. She was not in love with Fielding. She was merely suffering the effects of a curse.

“I believe I was, although I didn’t recognize it at the time.” Then Thea frowned. “Well, that’s not precisely true either.
I did know it was love; I simply didn’t realize how rare such a love is. I was young and foolish and believed love abounded
around every corner.” She gave a sad laugh. “I never would have imagined how wrong I could be.”

“Then you did not marry?” Esme asked.

“No, but not for lack of asking on his part.” Thea absently scratched Horace’s fur.

Esme’s heart broke for Thea. “You didn’t want to?”

“No, I did. Desperately. But my mother didn’t think he was good enough for me. He didn’t have a fortune, and therefore she
believed him to be beneath us.” She leaned forward and scratched under Horace’s chin. “She convinced me another suitor would
come along, one I’d love even more, and foolishly I believed her. It didn’t take me long to realize that I should have fought
for him, should have run away with him, but by then it was too late.”

“Did he marry another?” Esme asked.

“I don’t know. When I went to find him, I discovered he’d left for Egypt.” Then she smiled. “He’d been a student of antiquities
when we met. I suppose he finally decided to quit reading about them and headed off to see them himself.” She was quiet for
a moment and then said, “It was why I was so often at the Guildhall Library. I thought for so long that I was looking for
him, but I know now that I was there simply so I could find you.” She tweaked Esme’s chin.

Esme’s eyes filled with tears. “Oh, Thea, I wish I’d known.”

“We all make our choices, Esme. Choices that might not change anything—and then there are those that seem so simple at the
time, yet end up altering every aspect of our lives.”

“Have you ever tried to look for him? Contact him?”

“No. I’ve seen his name in the newspapers from time to time. He’s become an accomplished explorer. Found all sorts of exotic
artifacts for museums all over the world.”

“Then he has made his fortune,” Esme said.

“Ah, yes, the great irony in that story, I suppose. It goes to show that you should always follow your heart.”

They sat in silence for several minutes, and Esme searched for the right thing to say, but before she could, Thea spoke again.
“You should get some sleep, Esme. You look tired.” Thea’s familiar smile returned. “And you know how much sleep I require
to maintain my youthful beauty.”

Esme stood and kissed her aunt on the cheek. “You are the best family I’ve ever had,” she whispered.

On her way to her bed, Esme contemplated Thea’s lost love. If Thea’s Albert was often mentioned in the papers, then chances
were he had connections to London. Surely he would want to see Thea again, provided he wasn’t married.

Esme made a vow to try to locate him. If he was that well known, it shouldn’t be too challenging, provided she didn’t get
arrested tomorrow for breaking into the British Museum.

I
cannot believe we’re going to break into the museum. Do you realize this is a royal institution?” Esme asked. Even in a whisper
her voice sounded shrill. “It will probably be considered treason, what we’re doing tonight. Treason is punishable by death.”

“We’re here,” Fielding said.

She was still gazing out the window, trepidation written all over her face.

“Listen to me.” He tilted her chin so that she would look at him. “We’re going to go in and walk around as standard patrons.”
He flipped open his pocket watch. “They close in an hour. Before that time we need to find somewhere secure to hide, then
we wait.”

“Wait for what?” she asked.

“For everyone to leave. Then we’ll find the diary.”

Her cat-green eyes narrowed. “You have this all figured out.”

“Of the two of us, I have more experience with theft. Unless you have something you wish to share with me.” He folded his arms and raised his eyebrows. “Perhaps you have a better plan you’d like to propose?”

She eyed him silently for a while, then her lips pursed into a tight bud. “Of course not.”

He managed to control the laughter he felt brewing inside him. “Very well. Do you wish to remain in the carriage or perhaps
go back to the marquess’s house?”