A Season of Seduction (14 page)

This wasn’t the way to go about winning her. This dinner was a mistake. They could prattle on about propriety, expectations, and scandal for the rest of her life, but that wasn’t what she wanted. It wasn’t what she needed.

She wanted peace. She needed to be freed from her fear. The way to do that was to be with her alone. To talk to her, to touch her. To prove that he was different from William Fisk; that he was the man who could bring her the happiness she believed was impossible to attain.

Jack’s father slapped his hands on the table. “I see!” he exclaimed. He flashed a jovial smile across the table at Becky. “I finally comprehend your hesitation, my lady. You know as well as I do that my son is a wastrel—of course he is! He’s got nothing, whereas you are rich as Croesus, and he could very well be after you for your money.” His grin widened. “I do not envy you, child. Still, there is the matter of propriety and duty, is there not? And the matter of this wretched scandal. If you don’t do whatever you can to stop the talk, it will only worsen. There are children in your family who could be affected by this years from now.”

Becky’s lips curved stiffly. “Thank you, sir.”

Jack’s father’s eyes widened. “Why… you’re welcome!”

“The solution is now clear,” she said, her voice quiet but with a steely edge.

“Well, that’s excellent!” Jack’s father blustered.

She was impressive, so cool, so elegant, her back straight, her violet eyes cold and clear. She possessed far more strength than Jack had originally given her credit for. First she’d eschewed propriety and risked permanent exile from society with her refusal to marry him, and now Jack sensed that she was on the verge of giving his father the set-down of his life. Despite knowing that her solution wouldn’t be compatible with his bid to become her husband, Jack’s admiration for her soared.

“You’re correct about the scandal escalating and you’re correct about its effect on my family,” she said with chilly politeness.

Bertrand muttered his assent. Her family stared at her, forks poised—some in midair—and Jack’s gut tightened at their expressions. They knew what was coming, just as he did.

Becky stood. Instantly, Jack thrust his napkin aside and rose. All the other men followed suit. Snagging his chair leg on the expensive Persian carpet, his father was the last to rise.

She addressed the entire table. “By continuing with our association, Mr. Fulton and I are only adding fuel to this fire. I shall retire from London until the scandal has been put to rest. I intend to remove myself from this situation entirely.” Her dark blue gaze traveled to Jack. “Forgive me, Mr. Fulton, but I believe this is the best course of action.”

So many feelings crashed through him—respect, excitement, affection, dread, alarm—he could hardly push a word out. “Becky—”

She dipped her head in a semblance of a curtsy, swiveled, and left the room.

Chapter Seven

J
ack caught Becky as she placed her hand on the banister and planted her foot on the first step. He grabbed her wrist, stopping her, and she turned to face him.

“Don’t go.”

She shook her head helplessly. “There is no other solution.”

His grip on her wrist tightened, his skin warm against her chilled flesh. “Yes, there is. Marry me. We’ll work everything else out later.”

Her lips twisted. She leaned toward him, lowering her voice. “What if we cannot ‘work everything else out’? What if we find ourselves locked in a miserable match for the rest of our lives?”

“That won’t happen.” His voice was firm, the look in his eyes hard and determined. She didn’t understand how he could be so assured, but then she remembered. Of course. He’d never been married before. He didn’t know how awful it could be to be married to a person who despised you.

“Let go of me, Jack.” Her voice was quiet but strong.

He loosened his grip but didn’t release her.

She glanced in the direction of the dining room, and seeing no movement, she turned back to him. “What if your father is right? What if you
are
a wastrel and a scoundrel? What if all you want from me is my fortune? What if you prove to be as inconstant as they are?”

She’d heard rumors about his father’s and brother’s infidelities. She wasn’t blind or deaf, and these were the things the married and widowed ladies of London society gossiped about.

Jack’s eyes locked onto hers. “I am not like them. You know in your heart I am not like them.”

She gazed at him for a long moment, tempted to agree, to say she knew she was being hopelessly stubborn and that she believed him.

Instead, she shook her head. “No. I don’t.”

Anger flashed, sharp and hard, in his dark eyes, and his jaw muscle flexed as he ground his teeth.

“How can I?” she asked. “We’ve spent only a few hours together.” Even less time than she’d spent with William before throwing her life at him. “It’s not enough.”

“Don’t go, Becky. Don’t leave London.”

Across the hall, the door opened, and Kate bustled up to them, her skirts rustling. She paused when she reached the bottom of the stairs, inclining her head at Jack. His fingers slid from Becky’s wrist.

“Good night, then, Mr. Fulton.” Without another word, Kate grasped Becky’s hand and marched her up the stairs. Jack didn’t say anything, but Becky felt the heat of his stare as they disappeared from his sight.

She didn’t realize she’d been holding her breath until they entered her bedchamber. She exhaled, then inhaled deeply as Kate closed the door firmly behind them.

“Sorry I took so long.” Kate plunked her encumbered body onto Becky’s bed. Her cheeks were pink with the exertion of their flight up the stairs. “There were certain feathers to unruffle at the dinner table.”

Becky sank into her soft peach armchair. “It’s quite all right. I managed.” She tried to smile at Kate. “And thank you for unruffling those feathers.”

“It’s my fault for inviting the lot of them. I truly had no idea that Mr. Fulton’s father and brother would be so…” Sighing, Kate changed the subject. “Are you really going to leave us?”

“I think so.”

“But where will you go?”

Becky shrugged. “I don’t know. Calton House, or…” She paused, thinking of the one other place she might go. Seawood—her house in Cornwall. It was the one thing in the world that belonged to her and her alone. But she’d never been there before, never seen it, had no idea what to do with it…

“Calton House,” she repeated, her voice firm. It was the house she’d grown up in. Familiar and safe.

All spark drained from Kate’s vivacious brown eyes. “Oh, Becky.”

A knock sounded on Becky’s closed door, and Becky’s chest tightened. She swung her gaze to the door, and when she said nothing, Kate asked, “Yes?”

“It’s Cecelia.”

Becky’s shoulders sagged with relief. “Come in.”

Cecelia blew in, a compact, elegant ball of energy. She took the time to close the door with a firm
snick
. Turning to Becky, she shuddered. “What an abominable man that elder Mr. Fulton is, and that awful Bertrand takes after his father. Indeed, they are nothing like the youngest Mr.Fulton at all. Are you quite all right, Becky? And do you truly intend to leave London, or was that just a threat?”

“I feel it is best that I leave.”

“Where will you go?”

“To Calton House in Yorkshire.”

“Please don’t,” Kate begged, her voice a near whisper. She pressed her hand to her belly. “You were there for Jessica’s birth, and I so want you to be there for this babe as well. I… I need you.”

“Oh, Kate.” Helplessness surged through Becky. Kate was right. She couldn’t leave London, because she must be there for the delivery of her sister-in-law’s child. Yet she
must
leave London, to escape the scandal and Jack Fulton. “Truly, I don’t want to go, and I don’t want to leave you, but…”

“When is the babe expected?” Cecelia asked.

“Not for a few weeks yet,” Kate said. “But there is always the possibility that the child might come early.”

Cecelia gave a brisk nod. “I’ve the perfect solution, then. You shall come to my house. Jack Fulton needn’t know you’re there at all. It is quiet at Devore House, I rarely see visitors, and you can have the time and space to be alone and think without the pressures of your family.” She cast an apologetic glance at Kate. “No offense, Your Grace.”

Kate didn’t seem angry at all; instead she appeared relieved. “None taken, my lady.” She turned to Becky. “I understand that you need some time to be alone, and I heartily approve. Lady Devore is right—it is the perfect solution. We will not make it known that you’ve remained in Town, and you’ll have some time to yourself to mull things over. And I’ll have the assurance that you’ll be close and can attend to me the moment I need you.”

Becky rose from her armchair and went to sit beside Kate on the bed. “Forgive me, Kate. You’re all so torn between wanting me to be happy and wanting this scandal to go away, I can feel it, like a black cloud hanging over us all. You don’t want to exert pressure on me, and yet it’s difficult for me to hold on to my resolve under the force of it.”

Kate squeezed her hand. “I’m so sorry that you feel coerced. I promise you, it’s not intentional.”

“I know,” Becky said. “Truly, I do. But I still feel it.”

Kate nodded gravely, and tears shone in her eyes. “Then it’s for the best that you go. For a little while. I do hope you’ll return to us soon.”

“I will. I promise.”

The three ladies spoke for a few minutes longer, arranging for Becky to stay a few weeks at Cecelia’s house and for Kate to send a message if she went into labor so Becky could be present at the delivery.

After they fetched Josie and helped the disgruntled maid to pack, Becky’s luggage was loaded onto one of Garrett’s carriages, and at midnight, the carriage drew into the drive at Devore House. Cecelia led Becky to the guest bedchamber she’d used to prepare for her assignations with Jack, and Josie helped Becky undress. She fell into the bed and, after an hour of staring at the dark ceiling, sank into a fretful sleep.

When she awoke late the next morning, bright shafts of sunlight streamed through the crack in the rose-embroidered damask curtains.

Josie helped her to dress in a pale pink muslin morning gown, and by the time she descended to breakfast, the midday hour was fast approaching. Cecelia’s breakfast room boasted tall, narrow windows looking over a small garden. The curtains were open this morning, and sunlight streamed into the room in bright golden shafts. Gleaming white wainscoting offset the yellow silk damask that covered the walls. An oak sideboard stood along the far wall, and a complementing round table dominated the center of the room.

Cecelia rose to greet her, saying she’d only just come downstairs as well, and offered her a light breakfast of warm chocolate and a poached egg, some bacon, and toast.

Becky seated herself at the table opposite Cecelia, and as a servant set her meal in front of her, Cecelia reported that in the last few days, rumors had run rampant through Town. Not only had Becky’s true wicked nature been revealed, the gossips said, but after the world had caught her red-handed in debauchery, she’d spat in Jack Fulton’s face and turned him down. Jack was portrayed as the hero of this most unfortunate event—he had proven his true gentlemanly nature by attempting to salvage her reputation by offering for her.

After Cecelia gave her the news, Becky sighed. “It seems to me that ladies always bear the brunt of such scandals while men are easily forgiven. Yet I am no guiltier than he is.”

Cecelia’s lip curled. “Absolutely true. It’s just another example of the unfair burdens society places on woman.”

Becky leaned back in her chair and took a sip of her thick, sweet chocolate. “Well, I am happy the brunt of the blame has gone to me rather than anyone in my family.”

Cecelia raised a sleek black brow in question, and Becky lowered her cup. “I like to consider myself immune to scandal. If they disparaged Garrett and Kate, Tristan and Sophie, or any of the children, they would truly harm me. But they can call me selfish and wicked till the world comes to an end, and I will bear it.”