The Seduction of an English Scoundrel (8 page)

Chapter 7

“I have decided something,” Jane remarked a moment later as the carriage set off down the street.

“What is that, Jane?” he asked pleasantly.

“I am going to pretend that conversation in the street never occurred.” She cleared her throat. “And that incident between us in the Red Gallery yesterday.”

He picked up the newspaper that was wedged between them, deliberately dislodging her derriere in the process. “As you like.” The shadow of a smile crept across his face. “If you can.”

She folded her hands demurely in her lap. “It is already forgotten.”

He put down the newspaper, obviously not content to let matters rest. “Would you like me to refresh your memory?”

“Perhaps we should refresh your manners first.”

She had just decided how to deal with him. Handling awkward matters could not ruffle the feathers of a Welsham swan for long. Self-control came as naturally to this daughter of an earl as flirtation did to Sedgecroft. The situation simply required that she fight his manliness with etiquette.

“So, my lord. You look well rested this morning. Did you pass a peaceful night?”

There was a pause. She wondered suddenly if he might take her inquiry as encouragement to describe his nocturnal activities in titillating detail. She steeled herself for a recitation of naughty misadventures.

He glanced down at her, the glitter in his eyes making her catch her breath. “Let me think. A few hours after I left you, I caught Chloe sneaking out with the ladies in her social-reform society. They practically attacked me when I refused to let her go out on whatever misguided mission they had in mind. I had to lock her in her room.”

“That does seem a dangerous activity for the evening,” Jane agreed.

“That was only the beginning. I then proceeded to search the whole of Vauxhall Gardens for my brother.”

“Which brother would that be?” she asked, envisioning the crew of handsome blue-eyed rogues in the chapel yesterday.

“I was looking for Drake, who, as it turns out, was busy selecting which pair of boots he would wear for his duel in the morning.”

“He fought a duel today?” she asked in alarm.

“Fortunately not,” he said with a rueful sigh. “His adversary made a public apology a few minutes before the duel was to take place.”

“Good heavens, Sedgecroft.”

He leaned his head back, his blond hair brushing his collar. “It was anything but a restful night. Responsibility carries a price.”

So did deception, Jane thought with a pang of unease as he settled himself into a more comfortable position, his knee pressed to hers. His powerful build heightened her awareness of how precarious their relationship was. She wondered how he could be so different from his cousin Nigel. And why she could not have met him first. Not that he would have even noticed her with a mistress on each arm, or that she would have made any attempt to make him do so.

She stared out the window, pondering the strange quirks of fate.

The carriage came to a stop, snagged in the crush of early-afternoon traffic. Oxcarts, coaches, pedestrians darting across to the pavement, crossing sweepers clearing pungent manure from the street. She gasped as Sedge-croft rose, seizing her arm, and pulled her from the seat.

She glanced helplessly at her dozing brother. “Simon, wake up this instant, you worthless excuse for a chaperone.”

Simon gave a piggy snort and rolled onto his other side.

“Where are you taking me, Sedgecroft? There are people outside watching your carriage.”

“I know,” he said without a qualm. “That is one of my bankers and his wife on the corner. The woman happens to be a notorious gossip.”

“What am I supposed to be doing?”

He helped her down onto the pavement. “Enjoying yourself.” He lowered his voice. “Allowing me to spoil you. Stop frowning like an owl for one thing. Pretend to be delighted.”

“Delighted? Over what?”

“Over our blossoming romance, darling.” He beckoned to a pair of flower vendors on the corner, tossing a handful of coins into the baskets they held. The two older women blushed beneath their straw bonnets and thanked him by name. Before Jane could question him, she found herself smothered in masses of fragrant posies, a gift that the girl in her could not help responding to.

She bit her lip, her palms suddenly damp inside her gloves. That banker's wife recognized her, all right. She felt the woman's gaze go straight to her in scandalized recognition. Oh, how embarrassing. As if yesterday hadn't been enough, although it was fun to be spoiled in public.

“What is everyone going to think?” she whispered.

“Probably that I am enamored of you,” he replied, appearing unperturbed.

“Why?” she asked, unwillingly intrigued by the thought.

“Well, you're lovely and sweet for one thing.”

“No, I'm not. I'm rather ordinary and mean.”

He laughed. “Well, then. You're modest.”

“And the whole of London is supposed to believe you're buying me flowers to honor my remarkable modesty?”

His slow beguiling smile gave her the shivers. “Everyone will think there is something more between us.”

“Something . . .”

“A serious courtship,” he said with a shrug.

“Oh, really, Sedgecroft. No one would believe that you—that I—well.”

“Why not?” he asked so earnestly that she almost melted.

He took her chin in his hand, and Jane felt her heart quicken in anticipation. She might not have any of the practical experience he'd had, but it wasn't hard to imagine a woman secretly wishing to be wooed by this man. And all of the pleasure and heartbreak it would entail.

“Sedgecroft, you silly thing, you're holding my face.”

“I'm waiting for you to thank me.”

“Oh . . . thank you.”

“Not nearly convincing enough.”

“No?”

He shook his head. “Try thanking me with a little more enthusiasm. I happen to be a generous suitor. The flowers are only the prelude to the pearls that will be delivered to you tonight. Let the ton talk about that.”

Pearls, and what would come afterward? she wondered. She amazed herself by standing on tiptoe to press a quick kiss on his cheek. “Thank you,” she whispered, blushing hotly at the contact with his warm clean skin. What on earth had she just done? Kissing
him
after all the fuss she made only minutes ago.

His eyes sparkled down at her. “That was very nice, Jane, but somehow it lacked . . . enthusiasm.”

She gave him a stiff artificial smile, the posies crushed to her chest. “Oh! Oh, Sedgecroft!” she cried in a theatrical voice. “What a surprise! Pearls! And flowers! For
me
?”

He winced, giving an embarrassed cough before he steered her back toward the carriage. “I think you need a little more practice. I've seen the ducks in my pond give a better performance.”

She buried her face in the profusion of nosegays to smother a chuckle. “First a pigeon, then an owl. Now I am a duck. What bird shall I remind you of next?”

“A goose, I think.” They settled back into their seats, Simon flat on his back with his arms clasped across his chest. Grayson's blue eyes traveled over her in lazy appreciation, bringing another blush to her cheeks. He really was a shameless man. “What do I remind you of?”

She spilled the posies onto the seat, filling the carriage with the delicate fragrance of gillyflowers. “A lion, I think. A lordly beast.”

“A beast?” he echoed, lifting his brow. “You are brave to call me that to my face. Sit closer to me.”

“Closer?” she said with a catch of laughter in her voice. “This is Brook Street, Sedgecroft, not a brothel.”

“I like the feel of you next to me,” he said quietly. “Besides, I am not known to be a saint, Jane.”

“Does that mean you're a devil?”

He took a daisy from the seat and propped it between Simon's hands. “You shall have to find that out for yourself.” He looked up slowly into her eyes. “And if I am, I shall be your devil, Jane. At least for as long as it takes to put this situation right. Good or evil, I will fight on your side.”

 

They turned right at David Street to pull up before a Georgian mansion on Berkeley Square with row upon row of glistening sash windows. Gay strains of music wafted from the sloping gardens that lay sheltered within a grove of plane trees. Beyond rose fertile strawberry fields, clusters of red fruit ripening in the sun. The coachman veered toward the wrought-iron porte cochere.

A group of young bucks stood idly on the entrance steps, stopping their conversation to stare as the elegant black carriage and team of snowy white horses approached.

“That's Sedgecroft,” one of them shouted.

“There's a woman with him,” another observed, stretching his neck for a better look.

“Of course there is,” said his friend, groping for his quizzing glass.

“Who is she?”

“She's wearing pink, that's all I can tell.”

“My brother saw Sedgecroft's secretary on Ludgate Hill choosing pearls this morning.”

“Ah, then it must be serious. I wonder if they're in negotiations.”

“Didn't read about it in the papers. All the talk was of the Belshire bride left standing at the altar yesterday by Nigel Boscastle.”

“Who the devil is Nigel Boscastle?”

“Sedgecroft's bore of a cousin. Do you think . . .”

The group flowed as one down the steps for a closer inspection of the mystery woman in the carriage window. The Marquess of Sedgecroft had set a standard to which many potential scoundrels aspired. It was considered a coup to be seen at a party conversing with one of his former mistresses.

As a whole, this elite circle of women remained notoriously loyal to their noble paramour, tight-lipped about their past relationships. The whys of this devotion provided a constant subject of delicious speculation.

Did Sedgecroft pay them for their silence? Was he such a skilled lover that the besotted mistresses hoped he would resume their arrangements? Or had he already done so, in secrecy? Was the man juggling three or four hot-blooded beauties at once in his bed?

His sexual successes, whether fact or fantasy, stirred the admiration of the younger set.

“Why do you think he has a passion for pink?” asked a brash gentleman. “Because it resembles a female's naked flesh?”

His brother snickered rudely. “No, because it reminds him of carnations, you idiot.”

 

From inside the carriage Jane blushed furiously, able to pick out only a few words of this conversation. “You do realize,” she said in a resigned undertone to Grayson, “that those young men are discussing me, and not in flattering terms.” Although, after the scheme she and Nigel had pulled off yesterday, she supposed she had better become accustomed to such gossip. But, goodness, she had never thought herself the least bit interesting to the beau monde. Poor Nigel had absolutely bored Society silly with his love of dogs and ancient French literature.

Grayson glanced out the window, narrowing his eyes at the group of onlookers. “Leave this to me, Jane. I shall soon set them straight.”

She swallowed over the knot of nervousness in her throat. “I've just decided I shall not budge from this carriage.”

He smiled at her, the slow easy smile of a man who'd never had to lift a finger in his life to attract a woman, the smile of a man who did not give a damn how many scandals he ignited. “Shall I have breakfast brought to our carriage then? A string quartet to play while we eat?”

Jane's mouth curved in an answering smile; the dark amusement in his eyes sent waves of giddy heat washing through her. Anticipation prickled down her spine as he took her gloved hand in his, stroking her palm through the buttery soft kidskin. “I have never attracted a crowd in my entire life,” she grumbled.

“Are you ready to attract one now?” he asked, his voice challenging her.

“Ready? Ready to face scandal and smirks of sympathy, you mean?” She turned her shoulder to the door, blowing out a sigh. “If I have to. You are a taskmaster, aren't you?”

“Come on, Jane. Let's have a bit of fun with them today. We'll drive them half mad wondering what we mean to each other.”

“I've been wondering that myself.”

His hand slid up to her elbow, held her fast, drawing her practically into his lap. His heart began to beat harder, and he was taken aback again at the force of his reaction. What had he gotten himself into? He probably didn't want to know. It was too late to withdraw now, even if the path to hell was paved with good intentions. “Wait,” he ordered her, not certain why. Perhaps to buy time, or simply because he took pleasure in talking with her.

“But they're all watching us. They're going to think that we're . . . kissing or something even worse.”