The Rules of Seduction (26 page)

“Regarding your wife’s funds…” Darfield’s expression finished the question. How were they to now sell funds that she no longer owned?

“I will tell her that as her husband I signed the documents to sell once you had them prepared.”

“May I assume that, like other women, she lacks an understanding of finance and will not question your right to do so?”

“I will explain it to her. Do not concern yourself with this. She is the least of our worries.”

“That gives me untold relief. It would be ironic, no, if this complicated solution came undone due to funds worth no more than four hundred pounds, and owned by your wife of all people?”

Damned ironic. Alexia might not be sophisticated regarding finances, but as a woman who had owned very little, she knew what was hers. Maintaining this final small deception might not be simple at all.

“Madam asked that her dinner be served in her chambers, sir.” Falkner intoned the information as soon as Hayden entered the house the next evening.

He did not take it well. Her allusion to a long night together had distracted him all day. The naughty look in her eyes made him hard whenever he remembered it. Now she had retired without seeing him at all, and she intended to go to Oxfordshire in the morning.

Falkner handed over a sealed note. Hayden opened it, expecting to read polite explanations of illness or some other excuse.

Written formally and in a good hand, the letter invited Lord Hayden Rothwell to join Lady Hayden, his Courtesan in Marriage, to a private dinner in her chambers. He could not believe she had actually put the latter title in writing.

“It appears I will not require the dining room either, Falkner.”

“Very good, sir.”

Hayden retired to his chambers. Nicholson was not there. A garment had been laid out, however. A note from Alexia rested on his midnight blue silk robe.
The party is an extremely informal one.

Charmed by her little game, he stripped off his clothes and donned the robe. He spent some time trying to figure out how to hide a gift he had bought her and finally tucked it against his body, wedged where the belt bound his waist. He went looking to see what else she had devised.

Dinner had been laid on a table in her bedchamber. Alexia waited in a chair at another, smaller table draped in linens. Candlelight played over her face and deepened her eyes.

He might be undressed, but she was not. She wore a dinner dress that he had not seen before, one of a cool red hue and perfect fit that showed off her full breasts. Her little lures and directions had tantalized him, and seeing her so majestic in her beauty made his mouth go dry.

“The dress is lovely,” he said. He gestured to his barely clothed body. “You have me at a disadvantage.”

“I wanted to show it off. The first of my new wardrobe arrived today.”

“It is beautiful.” So much so that he was not sure he wanted other men to see her in it.

He gazed down at the other table and its array of covered platters and bowls. “No servants, I hope.”

“I did not think any could be trusted by a courtesan in marriage to be discreet, so I ordered a meal that did not require service.”

He was beyond caring what food lay beneath those covers. A different hunger had been burning in him all day. Her attempts to seduce him with this little play were adorable, and very effective.

He moved closer so he could see the dress better. Its silk fabric caught the light in watery highlights. It covered her more than her old garments, but it formed to her shape in a way that made it very sensual. Or perhaps it was his mind doing that. Or the way she looked at him with frank desire.

He leaned over to kiss her. “Do we have to eat dinner first?”

“I hope not.” She rose and turned her back to him. “You will have to help me out of this, however.”

He was happy to. There were a lot of hooks, whole rows of hidden bindings that needed attention. She flexed sinuously as his hands moved. Her head lolled slightly while he slowly freed her.

He took care not to ruin the dress after he removed it, but laid it on a nearby bench. He then worked at the lacing of her stays. His body tightened more with each gentle release of her garments’ restraints.

Soon she was in only chemise and stockings, as she had been on their wedding day. He did not want to watch her remove the rest this time, however. He slid the chemise down himself, unveiling her lithe back and narrow waist and the soft, round curves of her bottom.

She trembled visibly and looked over her shoulder. “I am supposed to be seducing you tonight.”

“Trust me, you are.” He turned her and sat her on the edge of the table. He took the chair and began rolling down one stocking. She appeared unbearably erotic sitting there naked and soft and pale, her breasts full and high. Her thighs were slightly parted, revealing the pink flesh now musky with her scent.

He burned hot and impatient just looking at her. He did not bother with the other stocking, but shifted her hips and spread her legs and used his tongue until her abandon left her weak.

He did not take her to completion, but she was crying for it when he stopped. She blinked hard and gazed with wild eyes while she drew a deep, composing breath. She still sat on the table in a scandalous pose, her arms propping her body from behind and her sex exposed to him.

She slid off the table and into his lap. She nestled her knees on either side of his hips and sat on his thighs. She kissed him, and her hands caressed his head and shoulders. They slid beneath the robe to his skin and began driving him mad.

Her hand hit the gift he had hidden. She stopped and glanced at him in question, then removed it. She opened it, and her eyes widened when she saw the diamond parure within. A delightful giggle bubbled out of her throat.

He plucked out the necklace and clasped it around her neck. It glistened on her pale skin, catching the lights in her eyes, making little white flames above her breasts. She gazed down at it. “I think I will leave it on. It makes me feel very worldly and beautiful. Very bold too.”

She was good to her word. Her little seduction became more aggressive. Her kisses and touch were designed to tantalize. She released the robe so he was as naked as she. She allowed his caresses, but she insisted on being the seducer. With increasingly desperate holds and kisses they entwined closer, but her hands moved low between them. There was nothing tentative in how she handled him this time. She had learned how to give pleasure and was merciless.

She broke away from his devouring kiss and looked down at what she did. Then she gazed in his eyes while her hand moved, watching her power. Her lips parted, and the tip of her tongue peeked between her teeth. His erection increased in an instant at that suggestive mouth, and his hunger turned ruthless.

She noticed. She frowned thoughtfully. He dipped his head to suck her breast to make sure she did not think too much.

“If this were not a game, if I were truly a courtesan in marriage, what would you want me to do when I seduced you?” Her words came raggedly between gasps as her cries stole her breath.

He was close to dying. He told her, hoping that it would not shock her into total retreat.

She watched her hands again, then disentangled herself. She dropped down in front of him so quickly it took a moment before he realized that she was going to do it. Just seeing her there, her shoulders near his knees and those diamonds flaming around her body, left his mind blank to everything except a desire so intense that an animal within bared its teeth.

Her kiss made him groan. She experimented, slowly becoming more confident. He barely noticed what she did, because the sensation sent him into a black velvet world where his arousal tightened and climbed while the pleasure increased and increased. It seemed he was there forever, barely holding on to one shred of control.

She rose and climbed on his lap again. He grabbed her close and lifted her hips. He brought her down on him so hard that they both shuddered with relief. Emboldened now, freed by her power, she rocked her body and held her breasts to his mouth and cried her pleasure into the air as they embraced each other in the ecstasy.

CHAPTER
TWENTY

A
lexia gazed out her window at the city of Bristol. One could smell the sea, even though it was far down the channel. Some buildings along the street below even displayed the weathered wood caused by salt breezes. Beyond the rooftops, the very tips of ship masts could be spotted.

She had taken lodgings some distance from the docks. Her hotel sat on a street that inclined on a little rise, however, and she could glimpse the Avon River.

Her visit with Rose had been spent reassuring and cajoling in vain. Rose had not accepted the idea of Hayden’s help. Her resentment of him did not require Timothy’s presence to be sustained. Nor had Rose accepted the four hundred pounds easily. She had agreed to keep it for use only if she and Irene found themselves close to starving.

The arrival of Ben’s trunks had not encouraged a happy mood either. They had dulled Rose’s spirits, entombing Ben’s memory as they did. Alexia had not encouraged her cousin to open the trunks and examine their contents. Perhaps someday Rose would. She would not find those love letters inside, however. Alexia had removed them.

Alexia now knew every word in each one of those letters. She had spent her carriage ride to Bristol reading them. The certainty with which this woman wrote further convinced her that Ben’s entanglement had been a serious one. References to gifts indicated money had been sent or spent.

Reading the words had called up Ben’s memory again, more vividly than she had seen it in weeks. Her heart twinged a little with the old poignancy and the newer pain. The letters had shattered her belief in his love that day in the attic, and a few of those shards cut her again.

Not very deeply, however. New memories had a way of crowding out the old now. Thinking about her last night with Hayden, remembering the erotic wonders and joyful play they had shared until dawn, salved any old hurts very quickly. She had astonished herself, and him too, she suspected. She had ridden down to Oxfordshire in a happy stupor and still had to corral her thoughts to the mission at hand.

She was glad she had been so bold as to read the letters. She had learned what she needed to know. Most of them had been signed the same way—
Lucy.
A few early ones, deep in the pile, had a more complete signature, however, and the name of the property from which she wrote.

Lucinda Morrison, Sunley Manor.
Alexia now had a name and possibly the woman’s location.

Her mind planned as she took in her view of Bristol. How would she approach this woman? What should she say? She had been contemplating it for a day as she traveled here.

I am Benjamin Longworth’s cousin, and I have come to return your letters.
That would let Lucinda Morrison know that her visitor was aware of that love affair. It would be seen as a kindness, since Miss Morrison’s letters might compromise her if she had married another man after Ben’s death. It would also make Alexia’s questions easier.

Then again, reference to Ben might close the door on her face at once.

She would know very soon which way it would go.

She checked her reticule. She buttoned her pelisse and pinned her hat. Steeling her resolve, she lifted the bundle of letters, now wrapped in cloth and ribbons like a present.

Sunley Manor was set back from the road three miles up the Avon River on the way to Bath. The lane approaching it appeared well tended.

Alexia saw the house after they crested a little hill. An old stone building, it displayed a newer wing at one end that greatly increased its already respectable size. Lucinda Morrison led a comfortable if isolated life out here in the country.

A carriage waiting in front suggested the presence of other guests. Alexia opened the trapdoor and told her coachman to stop. She peered at that carriage, debating what to do. She did not want to intrude when others were present. It would be better to do this on another day.

She was about to tell her coachman to turn around when the front door of the house opened and a woman stepped out. A man followed, wearing a high-crowned hat and carrying a walking stick. It appeared the guests were leaving.

A footman emerged as well, and Alexia realized the woman might not be a guest but instead Miss Morrison herself. She squinted to get a sense of what Lucinda looked like, if indeed this was she. She could make out blond hair beneath the richly plumed hat and a nice form encased in a dark carriage ensemble, but little else was distinct from this distance.

The carriage rolled down the lane. Her coachman began to move his equipage to the side. The lane was not broad back here, however. The other coachman saw the problem and stopped to allow Alexia’s vehicle to approach the house where the lane widened.

A head poked out the window of Miss Morrison’s carriage, and her escort assessed the situation. An odd reaction stirred in Alexia. She grabbed the window’s edge and angled so she could see better. Her vision began to spin.

A voice sounded in the far distance, smothered by a roar in her head. Her carriage stopped almost side by side with Miss Morrison’s. A man jumped out and ran the few yards to her. They stared at each other through her window.

His stunned expression cleared. Joy lit his face. He pulled open her carriage door. “It
is
you! I’ll be damned. What a happy surprise, Alexia.”

Black spots swam in her head, and she fainted right into Benjamin Longworth’s arms.

She recoiled from the acrid smell and opened her eyes. Two faces peered down at her. The feminine one possessed a perfection of features and complexion that made time pause.

It was Benjamin’s countenance that arrested her attention, however. He appeared relieved to see her awake. He was suddenly full of the smiles and bright spirit that marked his character. He did not reveal the slightest discomfort at the oddity of the discovery that had sent her careening into oblivion.

“She appears to be composing herself,” the woman said. She placed a stopper on the vinaigrette and set it on a table.

“Yes, I am fine now. Thank you.” Alexia pushed herself up and sat. The sofa that had held her was in a library. The shelves were old but the bindings fairly new, their leather and tooling gleaming expensively in rows of sedate luxury.

Her heart no longer tried to pound a hole in her the way it had in the carriage. She felt at her hair and garments, smoothing and assembling, while she composed something to say.

Benjamin waited patiently. One would think she had been invited for a visit and unaccountably taken ill. His beautiful blond companion displayed a bit more consternation.

“My apologies for acting so frail. It is not like me at all, as Benjamin can attest,” she said. “However, when I saw my cousin—”

“You thought you were seeing a ghost,” Ben finished, patting her shoulder. “Understandable, Alexia. I was as shocked as you.”

“I doubt that.
You
had no reason to believe
I
was dead, now, did you?” She looked at the woman. “Would you be Lucinda Morrison?”

She had not recovered enough to take satisfaction in their surprise that she knew the name.

“I came upon your name in some letters that Ben left when he—when he did not return and we thought him dead,” she explained.

Ben’s shock cleared and a new smile broke. “Ahh, the letters. Clever girl to realize what they meant.”

“I had no idea what they meant. I found a name and address on a few and came here to return them. They should be in the carriage.” Resentment was building fast, and she let Ben see it. “I never imagined I would find
you
here. How dare you allow me and your sisters to believe you were dead. Why did you not come home, or at least write? To look into a carriage window and see a man whom I believed long gone—” The memory of her shock sent her blood speeding again.

Lucinda Morrison caught Ben’s eye. She maintained a calm expression, but her displeasure was palpable. Ben crossed his arms over his chest and calmly suffered the way two women glared at him.

“It would be best if I explained matters to my cousin privately,” he said.

Lucinda Morrison’s eyebrows arched high. She turned on her heel and aimed for the door. “Explain what you must.”

After the door closed, Ben sat on the sofa. He turned his body toward her and beamed another smile. “It is so good to see you, Alexia. I have missed you badly.”

He hadn’t changed a bit in the years apart. Still good-natured, still the happy traveler, he exuded the joy of life that made his presence intoxicating. Under these extreme circumstances, she found his innocent enthusiasm in bad taste.

“You knew where to find me if you missed me badly. I cannot say the same. Who is that woman to you, and why are you here? If you were rescued at sea, why did you not let us know?”

He reached over and tucked an errant strand of her mussed hair behind her ear. “It is a little complicated. I could not return. There was a very bad debt of honor to a man who would have ruined me. His demands had become impossible to meet. So…Well, if I died, the family would be free of that, and so would I.”

She did not care for the familiarity of that subtle touch near her cheek and ear. Her head was clearing fast, and righteous anger eclipsed any relief in her heart. “You jumped off that ship, didn’t you?”

He nodded. “We were close to land. I could see the lighthouse on Corsica. I swam.”

“You could have perished! You could not judge the distance at night. You might have—”

“I knew it would work, and it did.” He spoke lightly. All the possible dangers existed for others, not him. He had said something similar when leaving for Greece.
I will not be hurt. I know it.

He had always been impulsive, and a little reckless, and too confident in fate’s plans for him. She had never before wanted to hit him for it, however.

“Then you made your way back to England and allowed the world to think you had died,” she said. “You came here. Why, Ben?”

He shrugged. “She is an old friend. The niece of one of Father’s friends, actually. I thought that—”

“I read the letters, Benjamin.”

His expression grew more sober. “Well, she had designs for a long time. But I—”

“I also know that you sent money to Bristol before you went to Greece.”

Silence this time. Ben appeared totally serious for the first time in her life. Even when he used to kiss her, the affection had been full of smiles and laughs.

She would not think about that now. Except, with him here with her, so close and so real, his scent subtly tinged by the lemon-oil soap that he had always favored, it was hard not to. The memories wanted to deluge her and remained dammed only through concerted effort.

He looked to the closed door and cocked his head, as if listening for sounds behind it. “Are you recovered enough to walk? There is a little wilderness behind the house a ways. Let us take a turn if you are up to it.”

“I would welcome some fresh air.” She would also welcome the chance to speak with him far away from a beautiful woman who seemed far more worried by her intrusion than Ben was.

As soon as the trees obscured them from the view from the house, Ben took her hand. He raised it to his lips and pressed a kiss on it. “You cannot know how grateful I am that you arrived. How I wished I could write or contact you somehow and explain everything.”

He mimicked Hayden’s frequent gesture, kissing her hand like this. She extricated herself from his hold. “That you did not write to me is excusable. That you allowed your sisters and brother to believe you dead, that you permitted others to grieve, is not.”

“Please understand that I dared not let it be known that I lived. You must trust me on this. I was in danger myself.”

“Because of this debt?”

“The man I speak of demanded satisfaction, one way or another. Either I died or they would all be ruined with me. I did it for them. For all of you.”

Maybe he did, in part. The ruin had come anyway, but not due to his actions or debts. That did not explain those letters, however. Or the money.

“Is Lucinda Morrison your wife?”

He sighed, and glanced in the direction of the house. “Yes.”

“So you became entangled young and married secretly and came to her when you
died.
”

“I married her after I came here to stay. How could you think that I was married when I—”

“I
read the letters,
Ben.”

“
Her
letters. Her affections for me always exceeded mine for her, but when she agreed to help me, I was obligated to her. Also, I could hardly live here with her if we were not married.” He leaned against a tree, rested his head against its bark, and closed his eyes. “It has been a devil’s bargain, Alexia. Being dead is no fun. I can’t go into town and can never return to London lest I be seen. I am not even known by my own name here. I have suggested we leave England and seek another country where we can mix with society, but she refuses. I am something of a prisoner of my circumstances.”

She wanted to tell him he deserved it. He had made her, and also his sisters and even Timothy, suffer. If he had come home, Tim never would have been ruined and Rose would be happy and Irene would have had her season. If he had come home, everything would be normal and the way it was supposed to be and she—