Seduce Me (26 page)

Thea met her on the staircase as they made their way down to the dining room.

“This is a lovely surprise,” Thea said. “And you look beautiful, Esme. Simply stunning.”

Esme had to admit she did feel particularly lovely this evening. She didn’t think she’d ever owned a prettier dress. The marquess
had seen to it that she and Thea both had new gowns for the evening, including all the matching accoutrements. The cerulean
satin of Esme’s gown matched with white netting looked perfect with her skin tone. Beading lined the scooped neckline and
was further accented by a string of tiny blue flowers that just covered the inscription on her left breast. The tightly cinched
waist and full skirt accentuated her best features, and she’d finished everything off with elbow-length white satin gloves.

“Thank you,” Esme said as they descended the staircase.

The parlor attached to the dining room was abuzz with servants and early arriving guests. It was not a room Esme had visited
since her arrival at Lord Lindberg’s townhome. Lovely green wallpaper covered the room, accented by the cream-colored molding
and two large columns. But the true showcase was the great, swooping chandelier. Crystals draped together like lovely necklaces
hanging from a woman’s neck.

Despite the circumstances—despite
herself
—something deep inside Esme awoke. The sight stirred those girlish dreams of beautiful ballrooms and darkly dressed suitors
whisking her away while romantic music swelled in the background. Fantasies she’d long since forgotten until Fielding had
awoken that part of her and made her yearn for more.

She couldn’t have more, she reminded herself. Especially with the man she wanted. He thought her a dreamer, and he’d never
see her as anything but.

“There you are,” Max said, jarring her thoughts. He approached with an older gentleman beside him. “I’d like to introduce
you to someone.”

“Albert?” Thea whispered. Her eyes brimmed with tears as the tall, gray-haired man approached. She looked over at Esme. “How?”

Esme said nothing, merely watched the older couple embrace after what must have been twenty long years. Her own heart stumbled
clumsily as she witnessed the reunion.

“My sweet Thea,” Albert murmured. “You look as lovely as ever.”

Thea’s burgundy gown was accented with cream-colored lace that not only flowed out of the neckline in two lovely swags, but
adorned the three-quarter-length sleeves and peeked between the split skirt in four ruffled layers. Annette had even done
Thea’s hair up in an elaborate confection of curls that took at least ten years off Thea’s face.

But none of that enhanced her appearance the way her beaming smile did.

“Thank you,” Esme whispered to Max.

He shook his head. “I’m not responsible for this.” With one last look at Thea and Albert, Max held his arm out to Esme. “May
I escort you to dinner?”

“I’d like that.” Esme never took her eyes off her aunt. Even as Max introduced her to several people, she couldn’t help being
distracted.

Fielding had done this for her. He’d paid attention to her concerns about Thea’s safety and had taken it upon himself to find
Albert Moore. Perhaps this was his peace offering for going to see her sister.

Now as Thea listened to Albert’s every word and giggled like a young schoolgirl, Esme wanted more than anything to thank him.
Yet Fielding was not here.

Max led Esme into the dining room and seated her at his end of the table, but between two gentlemen she did not know. She
smiled warmly at each of them, but made no attempt to converse. Their first course was served, and Esme was tempted with the
rich aroma of fish stew. She took a bite with a nice plump piece of cod.

“Miss Worthington,” the young man next to her said. “Lord Lindberg tells me you and your aunt are visiting for a short while.
How are you enjoying London?”

Esme caught Max’s wink before she answered the man to her right. Evidently the marquess had been kind enough to weave a story
explaining her presence. “I find it quite exhilarating, actually. I’ve barely been able to catch my breath from all the activities.”
She didn’t even have to lie. “It seems to have been ages ago that I was last outdoors.”

“Being a champion croquet player, I find myself outdoors quite often,” the young man replied. He was a bland-looking fellow
with sand-colored hair and a pale countenance. Esme seriously doubted the man had ever been outdoors.

She smiled politely and went back to her soup. She’d barely swallowed a spoonful before the man across from her gave her a
toothy grin.

“Ever heard of Darwin’s
Origin of Species
, Miss Worthington?” he asked. The portly man looked to be about her age, with ruddy, freckled cheeks and muddy-brown hair.
He wore a purplish-blue coat with a wide velvet collar, looking very much like a portrait she’d seen of the newly popular
writer Oscar Wilde.

“Of course,” she said. “I’m rather well-read.”

He nodded knowingly. “Though he refuses to acknowledge the affair,” the man began, “he and my mother had quite the tryst.
And I”—he motioned with his hands—“am the product of their love.”

Esme nearly spit her soup back into the bowl. She caught herself and covered a cough behind her napkin. “Is that so? How very
interesting.”

And what a horrific conversation opener. And to think, people at her previous society dinner parties considered
her
ill-mannered. She tried to catch Max’s eye again, but he was otherwise engaged in conversing with the older woman next to
him. Though Esme wondered from his sly smile if he hadn’t intentionally bookended her with these two fools.

“Croquet, did you say?” the fat man asked of the pale man. “I dare boast I am quite accomplished at that myself.”

“Indeed…,” the pale man answered.

But Esme was no longer listening. Instead she was caught up in watching her aunt. Thea was deep in conversation with Albert.
It was as if those two were utterly isolated from the rest of the dinner party, so affixed were they on each other. A lump
settled in Esme’s throat, and she found it difficult to continue eating.

Perhaps it meant nothing, but to Esme, Fielding could have made no grander gesture. He might always argue with her, insist
he was no hero, but Esme knew better. She knew there was no man more honorable, more noble, than Fielding Grey.

Conversation abounded across the table of sixteen. She continued to answer any question aimed directly at her, but for the
most part, she concentrated on her food. She was most eager for the evening to end. She looked down at her dress and fingered
the small flower nestled between her breasts. Her vanity longed for Fielding to walk in and see her in the pretty blue dress.
But as she bit into her baked cherry pudding, he still had not arrived.

Three courses and four hours after the dinner began, she and Thea climbed the stairs to their bedchambers.

“That was a delightful evening,” Thea said, her voice lyrical. “So thoughtful of the marquess to plan such an event in your
honor.”

“I do believe it was more in your honor,” Esme said.

“How did the marquess know about my past with Albert?” Thea asked.

“Fielding must have told him. I mentioned it to him once before.” And he had remembered. She squeezed Thea’s hand. “Are you
going to see him again?”

“He’s taking me to a poetry reading tomorrow night,” Thea said dreamily.

Esme almost warned her that it would better to stay here, where it was safe. But Albert Moore was an acclaimed adventurer;
he was older, to be certain, but still fit and conditioned. He would be able to protect Thea. Esme relaxed a little.

“I’m glad you found each other again,” Esme said. “You deserve happiness.”

“I was already happy, Esme. This is a nice addition, though.” They made it to Thea’s room. “Are you going to stand in the
hall all evening, or come in?” Thea asked.

Esme nodded and stepped into the room. “I apologize. I’m a little distracted.”

“Indeed? I hadn’t noticed at all,” Thea teased.

“I apologize. I wasn’t a complete dolt during dinner, was I?”

“Even if you had been, I wouldn’t worry overly much.” She paused, thoughtful, then continued. “That was an interesting collection
of men the marquess invited.”

“A motley crowd, indeed.” Esme found herself at the window, staring down at the barely lit walkway leading to the townhome.
No sign of Fielding. She had to admit she was a little nervous about the fact that he hadn’t yet returned.

“I feel as if I’m on holiday,” Thea said. “Living in an expensive hotel with anything I want at my fingertips. I could get
used to a life like this.” She smiled mischievously.

“Perhaps you can have a similar one with Albert.”

“I don’t want to get ahead of myself.” Thea slipped out of her shoes. “You’ve made a good choice, Esme. I think he is rather
dashing, all things considered,” Thea said.

Esme turned from the window, feigning ignorance. “The marquess? He’s handsome, I suppose, but I would never be so presumptuous
as to—”

“No, you goose. Mr. Grey. Unless I am mistaken and you do not fancy him?”

“Yes, Mr. Grey is rather dashing,” Esme said.

“Then why the hesitation? You can’t convince me you are not interested in him. Even tonight, with plenty of men paying you
all sorts of attention, all you could do was watch the door.” She dropped her shoes in a corner. “Granted, most of those men
were nothing more than silly fops.” She paused in front of Esme. “Don’t end up an old maid like me.” Her tone turned somber.
“If you want him, you should have him.” She walked to her dressing table.

Plain and simple logic. It made sense to her too, Esme realized. But she also acknowledged that life wasn’t quite so simple.
Wanting Fielding did not mean she would have him. One must be wanted in return. Her mind flashed to his hands on her skin,
his mouth on her body, and she smiled from the memory. Perhaps he did actually want her as well. But for how long?

Still, the scenario seemed much more complicated than mutual want. She and Fielding had been thrust together in extraordinary
circumstances. Ancient curses with a death warrant and a desire so strong for him she could barely catch her breath.

“Are you suggesting I offer myself to Fielding as his mistress?” Esme asked.

Thea stopped moving, her jewelry in hand. “Most certainly not. I was thinking of something more permanent,” she added with
a tilt of her head.

“Marriage?” Esme asked, unable to hide the wistfulness in her tone.

“Why not? You sound as if the notion never crossed your mind. I’ve seen the way you look at him.” Her aunt smiled knowingly.

Truth was, Esme hadn’t thought about it; she hadn’t allowed herself to. The desires Fielding had awakened in her—not merely
the sensual desire, but the heart-wrenching need for a family of her own—were dangerous, and she’d done her best to swallow
them at every turn.

“There is nothing to keep you from making a good match with him. He seems fond enough of you as well,” Thea said.

Fondness was nice, but would it be enough? Sure, there was desire as well. She’d felt Fielding’s hot and demanding desire
for her in the way that he kissed her and the way his hands caressed her skin. She shivered with the memory.

“And who wouldn’t be?” Thea added. “You are, after all, the most charming girl in all of London.”

Esme snorted. “Charming, perhaps some might agree. But none would call me a girl. I am well past marriageable age.”

“Poppycock.” She turned her back to Esme and pointed at her buttons, which Esme promptly began to undo. “I see announcements
in the
Times
of brides twice your age.”

“No doubt after burying husband number one, perhaps even two,” Esme said, patting her aunt’s back to let her know she was
done.

Thea stepped out of her gown. “Always an answer for everything, child. Listen to your old aunt; I know love when I see it.
And you’d be a damned fool to walk away from it when you have it in your grasp.”

Fielding glared at the man behind the large desk. Jensen picked up a glass and took a sip of the amber liquid. “Would you
care for a brandy?”

Fielding rubbed the back of his neck. “No.”

“You might as well take a seat,” Jensen offered.

“How did you—”

“Know you were coming?” Jensen interrupted. “I didn’t; I was already here sorting through a stack of membership recommendations.”
He bent and withdrew a massive leather-bound volume from a drawer and set it on top of the desk. “But I do suspect I know
why you’re here.”

Fielding sat. “I want to know who was there with him.”

“The day of the cave-in?” Jensen provided.

“Yes. I know there were two other men with my father. Two other members of Solomon’s. But we were never told who.”

Jensen inclined his head. He cracked open the book and turned the crisp pages. “Here we are.” He turned the book to face Fielding.
“Right there,” he said, pointing at a section on the left page.

In flourishing penmanship was a recounting of all the steps Fielding’s father had taken to research and locate the Templar’s
Treasure. The final entry, dated September 4, 1873, detailed the trip to Hadrian’s Wall his father had taken, and listed his
companions on the trip: William Higginsworth and Stephen Piper.

“As you’ve already been informed, there was a cave-in,” Jensen said. “William and Stephen did what they could to pull your
father out. When they finally retrieved his body, it was determined that he’d died when a particularly large rock hit his
head.”

The two names stared up at him. Fielding recognized one of them, Higginsworth; even remembered that he’d been his father’s
closest friend. And yet after his father had been killed, Higginsworth hadn’t bothered to inform his friend’s family of exactly
what had transpired in that cave.

He’d imagined this moment over and over. It seemed he should feel… something. Anticipation or perhaps satisfaction.

Yet for the first time he felt himself questioning his own motives. Would making these men pay for encouraging his father’s
futile quest really bring Fielding any contentment?