Seducing the Single Lady (11 page)

And the tea set—that was an apology. A fresh start. Not a parting gift
, but a gesture of good will.

And now that she was free do to whatever she wished…

What she wanted was Damien. His strong arms around her in a warm, forever sort of embrace. She wanted his kiss and she wanted to feel him inside of her again and again. Susannah wanted to spend her life with a man who listened to her (as he did), who took her hand and led her on grand adventures (as he did), and who loved her thoroughly and knowingly (as she hoped he did and thought he might).

And then she noticed the card attached to the bouquet.

Susannah broke the red wax seal and opened the sheet of paper.

For Percy.

She met his gaze and gave him the smile of a girl with a secret.

“I do think I shall attend Almack’s this evening,” she declared loudly to her callers.
Damien coolly lifted one brow, intrigued. For that matter, so did half a dozen other gentlemen.

“A night on the marriage mart? We thought you were a sworn bachelorette, Miss Grey,” Lord Stanford exclaimed.

“I have half a mind to take a husband, now that I am liberty to marry a man of my choosing,” she said, her eyes once again meeting Damien’s across the room.

Almack’s Assembly Rooms

Having declared her intention to take a husband after all, and being free to do so, Susannah was swarmed with suitors when she arrived in the Almack’s ballroom
that evening. The dress she wore did not help matters—it only enticed them more, which was part of her plan. She suspected Damien’s intentions. And just in case he was still wavering over his course of action, she made sure she looked absolutely irresistible.

The gown
was made of a deep cerulean blue silk with small diamonds sewn into the fabric so that she sparkled like the night sky when she moved or danced. The modiste had cut and fashioned the dress to enhance the swell of Susannah’s breasts and draw the eye lower to her tapered waist. The soft fabric lovingly caressed the flare of her hips and swirled around her ankles.

Susannah paired the gown with satin shoes so thoroughly covered with glass beads that they seemed like sparkling
stars.

Dressed as she was
, there was no way to miss seeing Susannah and she hoped that it would prove impossible to wrench one’s gaze—one particular someone’s gaze—away from her.

While she waited for
Damien to arrive—dear God, he had to arrive!—she danced.

When he did arrive—finally, thank God—Susannah’s heart was pounding and she was slightly breathless
, and not entirely from her numerous turns on the dance floor. This was it. Tonight was the night she promised herself to Damien forever.

******

Damien could not take his eyes off Susannah. Yes, there was that dress. But there was also the fact that her hopeful blue eyes that kept glancing in his direction and the adorable way she nervously nibbled on her plump pink lower lip.

Had it only been a week ago that he’d reunited with her?

Speaking of a week…

“You
owe me fifty pounds,” Watson said by way of greeting. Damien groaned. He hadn’t forgotten the stupid wager he’d made—how could he? Nor had he forgotten payment. But he was eager to resolve the matter, put it behind him and take more care in the future with off-the-cuff comments where he could be overheard, leading to disastrous results. Scrappy brat. Hitched within the week.

“You might have wa
rned me about Susannah,” Damien said. “Instead of letting me make such a fool of myself.”

He had looked at all the
plain wallflowers when the woman he’d sought had transformed into the belle of the ball. You must not know about me, she had declared. Never again would he underestimate her.

“And miss the entertai
ning spectacle that has ensued?” Watson asked with a laugh. “I have no regrets.”

“I suppose I don’t either,”
Damien agreed. But dear God what a tumultuous week it had been. His plans crashing down. Failure staring him in the face again. His father would have been devastated to see that contract ripped up, and he would be incredibly disappointed should Damien fail to secure Susannah’s hand in marriage. Hell, Damien would be disappointed and devastated and though he was still intent upon living the life of a good, upstanding man as he ought to do, Damien now wanted to marry Susannah for one and only one reason: he loved her.

He had the ring in his pocket. He would propose. Tonight.

But first he had to fight his way through the thick throng of suitors surrounding her.

“Susannah!”

“Hello, Damien,” she replied with a hint of a smile on her full pink lips.

“You look beautiful tonight,”
Damien said.

“Thank you,” she replied.

God, he should be more original or poetic, but she took his breath and his wits away. That ring was burning a hole in his pocket. His future happiness hung in the balance. He wanted to ask the question and get on with the business of living happily ever after. But if there was one thing he had learned this week, it was that perfunctory proposals were not successful. She wasn’t something to be won, she was a girl to be wooed and loved.

Thus, instead,
Damien invited Susannah to waltz. She graciously accepted. Shy smiles. Meaningful gazes. In spite of his best intentions to be a perfect gentleman, his hand slid lower down her back and she treated him to a naughty smile, which incited all sorts of seductive thoughts…

Halfway through he could stand it no more.

“Would you care for a turn about the terrace?” 

“Oh please yes,” she gushed and he dared to hope that she was of the same mind as he.
They rushed through the other couples waltzing and pushed through the French doors onto the terrace. A burst of cool air hit them. Above, the stars sparkled brightly in the midnight sky.

“You know, Damien, all sorts of trouble often occurs on the terrace,” Susannah remarked and she slipped her hand in his.

“I can assure you
, my intentions are honorable,” Damien said softly as he tugged her into his arms for an embrace. “You’re the one—the only one—that I want, Susannah,” he murmured.

“Oh,
” she sighed. And then she sighed again as he dropped to one knee before her. His fingers fumbling slightly, Damien withdrew the betrothal ring from his pocket.

“Sometimes I think that I should have put this ring on your finger years ago. Da
ys ago, even. But it wouldn’t have been right. I didn’t know you then. I didn’t love you then. It would have been an arranged marriage of strangers.”

“That is not the destiny I want.”

“I could have showered you with trinkets and gifts,” Damien said, “in the hopes of buying your favor.”

“
That’s not the kind of girl I am,” Susannah said softly. “I’d rather have your love.”

“Love is what
you deserve and I love you, Susannah Xavier Peregrine Grey,” Damien said. There was an odd tremble in his voice that revealed his truest feelings. “Please make me the happiest man alive and say you’ll be my wife.”

Susannah laughed and said yes and then yes again. Just to be absolutely clear she pressed her lips to his for a kiss that promised forever.

And with that, finally, Susannah accepted one of his proposals and Damien finally slipped the ring—a large oval sapphire encircled by diamonds—on her finger. Forever.

The very happily married viscount and viscountess of Bedford retired to their adjoining country estates at the end of the season. They moved into the grand house at Bedford Hills and proceeded with making new memories together in addition to all the ones from their childhood.

There were long rides around the lands—over rolling hills, across woodland streams, throug
h green pastures—for which the viscountess scandalously wore breeches and rode astride. Just as scandalously, the viscount encouraged this behavior in his wife and always joined her.

No one
could miss the way Lord Bedford savored long lusty looks at his wife as she strolled around in her expertly fitted breeches. But lord help anyone else who looked at her thusly.

In warmer weather, t
hey emerged soaking wet after swimming in the lake. There were shrieks and splashes, almost as if they had pushed each other in. But viscounts did not push ladies into bodies of water and ladies certainly did not shove unsuspecting gentlemen into lakes. Yet all evidence suggested it very much was done.

Occasionally they ventured into t
he village tavern, where they chatted amiably with the new tavern maid, a beautiful lass by the name of Frannie who had captured the hearts of all the village boys shortly after her arrival from London at the request of Lord Bedford. She spoke of boorish brother, Angus, who she had left behind. Occasionally she referred to “a lovely boy named Percy” but had quite forgotten him amongst all her other beaux.

The servants were known to remark fondly to each other
about how the viscount and viscountess were always seen to be smiling from ear to ear. And when one caught a glimpse of the simple, affectionate caresses between them—his hand upon her waist, or her hand placed over his beating heart—one couldn’t help but see how they each melted from the other’s touch. Occasionally Lord Bedford even playfully tugged one of the Lady Bedford’s red curls, at which she feigned utter outrage.

Oh, they bickere
d and fought occasionally. The viscountess did not shy away from standing up to her husband and he was known to heave an exasperated sigh and storm off to his study for hours. “Nothing is perfect, but it’s worth it,” the viscountess would remark with a sigh and a tear in her eye. Then there would be kisses and then the bedchamber door would be locked for hours…

“You’re the one I love,” Susannah would whisper as she nestled into
Damien’s warm embrace after a particularly intense bout of lovemaking in the afternoon. Or morning. Or evening.

“You’re the one I need,” he would reply, tightening his embrace and finding her lips for another slow and loving kiss.

Soon enough they welcomed babies—first a set of twins, then another girl and then another boy. All of them lived happily ever after.

Maya Rodale began reading romance novels in college at her mother’s insistence. She is now th
e author of numerous smart and sassy historical 
romance novels
. A champion of the romance genre and it’s readers, she is also the author of the non-fiction book
 
Dangerous Books For Girls: The Bad Reputation Of Romance Novels, Explained
 
and a co-founder of 
Lady Jane’s Salon
, a national reading series devoted to romantic fiction. Maya lives in New York City with her darling dog and a rogue of her own.
Visit her on the web at
http://www.mayarodale.com
.

This novella would not be possible without my beloved husband who helped plot the story, opined on shades of pink for the cover, and endured listening to “Single Ladies” and other Beyoncé songs on repeat.  Also, many, many, many thanks to him for sending me off to a fancy hotel for a few days so I could work on this story in five-star peace and quiet with room service (and so he could escape from all the Beyoncé songs). Thank you, Baby!