How to Seduce a Scoundrel (13 page)

Lady Wallingham sniffed. “Well, perhaps we should discuss the matter in the drawing room, Lady Julianne.”

“That is very kind of you, Lady Wallingham, but I have no wish to monopolize you when you have other guests.”

Hawk grinned at the edge in Julianne’s voice.

“Nonsense,” Lady Wallingham said. “I shall be happy to instruct you.”

Julianne stabbed her fork into a stewed partridge.

Hawk cleared his throat to get her attention. “The bird looks dead to me.”

She looked at him as if he’d lost his wits. “I beg your pardon?”

He shrugged. “No need to kill it.”

Lady Eugenia choked and covered half her crimson face in her napkin. Beaufort laughed, earning him a quelling look from his mother.

After the dessert courses, the ladies withdrew. Wallingham brought out the port and the pot beneath the sideboard.

Hawk leaned back in his chair.
Let the pissing begin
.

When the gentlemen entered the drawing room, Julianne breathed a sigh of relief. For the past hour, Lady Wallingham had made Julianne her
concern
and proceeded to warn
her of the dangers of staying single too long. According to her, Julianne was in grave peril of finding herself collecting dust on the spinster shelf. Julianne had borne the lecture with amusement, but the woman had persisted beyond all reason and kept asking her if she agreed. Lady Wallingham had not even waited for an answer before continuing.

Upon setting eyes on the gentlemen, Lady Wallingham beckoned her son. “There you are at long last. Edmund, you must turn the pages for Julianne while she plays the pianoforte.”

All too eager to escape the woman, Julianne popped up from her chair. She’d not practiced in weeks, but she didn’t care if she assaulted everyone’s ears.

The young man dutifully escorted her toward the instrument. She saw Hawk frowning and lifted her chin as she walked past him.
Let him watch,
she thought as she turned a bright smile on Beaufort. At dinner, she’d fallen in with Hawk’s jests, but only to divert Lady Wallingham.

Hawk strolled to the sideboard and poured himself a brandy he didn’t want. He needed to do something while he tried to sort out what was eating at his gut—besides the potatoes.

At dinner, he’d felt as if he and Julianne were in perfect accord. It had seemed like the old days when she’d readily joined him in a lark. Six days ago, he’d seen her for the first time in nine months. And she’d greeted him with laughter in her eyes.

But everything had changed the night of the ball. He hadn’t understood her behavior then, and he didn’t now. All he knew was that she’d blown hot and cold ever since he’d refused to let Ramsey dance with her.

When Julianne played a discordant note, he glanced at her. If he’d been the one turning the pages, he would have banged on the keys to divert attention away from her mistake, as he’d done so many times before. In the past, she’d laughed and called him a rogue. Now he wondered if she would glare at him for his antics.

After she played the last note, everyone applauded. Beaufort leaned over her, and she laughed at something he said. The young man’s gaze strayed to her bosom again. Hawk stiffened. Every instinct he possessed urged him to stride over there and plant Beaufort a facer for leering at her.

He made himself stand there and do nothing. Because she’d accused him of hovering over her and acting like a jealous husband.

He wasn’t jealous. He only wanted to protect her.

But as Beaufort led her over to the window seat, Hawk looked away.

Julianne grew a bit anxious as she sat beside Beaufort on the window seat. Lady Wallingham watched them with a satisfied smile. Clearly she thought to promote a match. The last thing Julianne wanted was to mislead Beaufort. She tried to think of some way to tell him that she wanted only his friendship, but she concluded that saying such a thing would sound presumptuous and conceited. Drat it all. She must say something to discourage him, without giving offense.

She needn’t have worried. Beaufort started nattering endlessly about a new curricle he meant to purchase. His eyes gleamed covetously as he described every detail. While he spoke of single axles and the dimensions of the wheels, she turned her thoughts inward to the pamphlet.

Now that she’d finished her chapter on becoming irresistible, she decided her next secret should involve witty banter.

When a gentleman approaches, keep your conversation witty and light. You may be anxious to continue the discussion, but do not linger. Doing so will only make him too confident of your regard, and he may lose interest. Flit about the ballroom and let him see that you are popular with ladies and gentlemen alike.

If only she had pen and paper at her disposal, she could scribble her thoughts immediately. Of course, she could not do so in the drawing room. The moment she returned home, she would record her thoughts. She smiled at the image of all those smug bachelors chasing after the disinterested single ladies.

“I can see you are pleased for me,” Beaufort said.

His words made her recollect her manners. “Well, I imagine it is akin to the way I feel when I purchase a new bonnet.”

He laughed. “It’s a bit more exciting than that.”

His arrogance vexed her. Clearly he thought his male interests far superior to hers.

He took her hands, startling her. “If all goes well, I’ll make the purchase within a week. Now I must have your promise that you will take a drive with me in the park.”

Oh, dear. She couldn’t refuse without wounding him. Then an idea popped into her head. She fixed a vacuous expression on her face. “I’m forgetful sometimes. Perhaps you had better ask again after you take possession.”

“I will,” he said.

Rats. He probably wouldn’t forget.

A shadow fell over them. She looked up to find Hawk staring daggers at Beaufort.

Beaufort released her hands.

“We are departing,” Hawk said gruffly.

She took Hawk’s arm, secretly relieved to have escaped Beaufort, single axles, and wheel dimensions.

A Scoundrel Guardian’s Advice: Do not ogle your ward’s bosom, no matter how much of it is on display.

T
he next evening, Hawk escorted his aunt and Julianne into Lord and Lady Durmont’s crowded ballroom. For the life of him, he couldn’t understand why the ladies had accepted an invitation to Lady Durmont’s ball when they disliked the woman and her scheming daughter, Lady Elizabeth. But Hester had insisted that everyone who was anyone would be there, and therefore their attendance was necessary.

After his aunt ambled off to gossip with her cronies, he stole another look at Julianne. Her bodice consisted of little more than a silky scrap of fabric. Being a man, and therefore not much better than a beast, he couldn’t help noticing the creamy swells of her breasts. He recalled the way she’d fit perfectly in his hand as he’d teased her
nipple with his thumb. Naturally he imagined freeing her breasts and suckling…

A blast of heat shot down to his groin. Alarmed that she might have caught him ogling her, he jerked his gaze up. She was craning her head and searching the crowd, completely oblivious. The devil. He knew every buck and rake who darkened her path would mentally undress her.

“Your gown is inadequate,” he said.

She frowned at him. “I beg your pardon? It is in the first stare of fashion.”

He lowered his gaze to her breasts again, thinking the barely-there bodice was definitely stare-worthy.

She unfurled her fan. “Stop looking at my bosom.”

“It’s rather difficult to avoid when there is so much of it on display.”

“I’m sure you’ve seen far more in your rakehell career.” She sniffed. “I’m off to find my friends.”

“I’ll help you.”

“You’re not planning to follow me, I hope.”

At that moment, Charles Osgood, the bad poet, caught sight of Julianne. His eyes lit up like twin lanterns as he made a beeline for her.

“I’ve no intention of following,” Hawk said, taking her arm and striding away before Osgood could reach her. “I shall escort you.”

“I do not need an escort,” she said.

“I meant to the dance floor.”

“A gentleman is supposed to ask, not demand.”

“Let me rephrase. May I have the honor of the first dance?”

“The only reason you wish to dance is so that you can
keep watch over me,” she said with a haughty toss of her head.

He wasn’t about to admit it. “It’s perfectly correct for a guardian to dance with his ward.”

“Oh? What rule book did you consult?”

He winked. “I promise to behave.”

She considered his request for a moment, and then her lips curved into a sly smile. “On one condition.”

Uh-oh. He knew he wasn’t going to like it.

“I will dance with you
if
you take yourself off to the card room afterward and leave me in peace.”

“Rule number four: I must approve all your dance partners,” he said.

She released a long sigh. “Rule number four is nonsensical. In a country dance, I will exchange partners.”

Of course she was correct, but that only reminded him of something important he’d forgotten. “Rule number seven: No waltzing.”

“Hah! There were only six rules,” she said.

“I reserve the right to add new ones as circumstances change,” he said.

“We will discuss that at a later time. For now, however, I am desperate to be rid of you and will accept the bargain.”

He didn’t like the idea of leaving her alone with a roomful of lascivious men, but if he trailed after her all evening, others might conclude he had romantic intentions. His only recourse was to pop into the ballroom periodically and ensure all was well.

“I will accept, with an addendum,” he said. “You must remain in the ballroom, and you will abide by rule number two: No more than one glass of wine or sherry.”

“Agreed,” she said.

When they reached the dance floor, he stood across from her, along with a dozen other couples. The orchestra struck up a lively tune. He glanced at the top of the line and grimaced at the first gentleman, who pranced forward and back diagonally. The lady directly across repeated the movement. Then the couples alternately clasped hands, turning and switching places in the line.

When his turn came, he merely walked forward. Julianne pulled a face, but he didn’t care. He refused to skip like a girl.

Eventually, the movements changed, and he led Julianne to the top of the line.

“You’re striding,” she said. “This is a dance. You are supposed to move gracefully.”

“I do not prance.”

They moved forward and back and then turned to each other. “An elegant gentleman shows his refinement while dancing,” she muttered.

“Have I ever struck you as refined?”

“You don’t even try.”

He clasped her hands, turning with her. “I have a bad reputation to maintain.”

“I concede the point, my lord.”

They faced forward again.
Step forward, step back… egad, this dance is asinine
. “Is this almost over?” he asked.

“I hope so,” she said. “You are a terrible dancer.”

“I waltz divine,” he said.

She scoffed. “You are too modest.”

He clasped hands with a new partner, turning and changing sides. Julianne did likewise with an elderly gentleman.
Hawk would prefer she dance with only old men, but spry men over the age of seventy were in short supply at balls.

At long last the dance ended. He bowed, took Julianne’s arm, and led her away.

She pointed. “The card room is that way.”

He clapped his hand to his heart. “You wound me.”

“We struck a deal.”

He released her arm. “For both our sakes, try to stay out of trouble.”

Julianne figured Hawk would return soon and hunt for her. Meanwhile, she meant to test her latest theory in the pamphlet. As she meandered through the crowd, she saw gentlemen watching her, but she pretended not to notice. She greeted others and flitted from group to group. In the past, she’d never given much thought to social pleasantries. Mingling with others had come naturally to her, but now she found herself a bit tongue-tied. She felt ill at ease, because her efforts seemed calculated.

She glanced at the wallflowers sitting with the matrons. They looked so miserable. Lady Eugenia sat among them, her eyes downcast. Julianne decided to ask Eugenia to walk with her. Then she would introduce her to others. Perhaps a gentleman would ask her to dance. Delighted with her plan, she started in that direction.

A familiar, snide voice called out her name. Lady Elizabeth Rossdale, the cruelest belle in the ton, stood only a foot away, surrounded by her flock of sheep. Julianne couldn’t ignore them, but she planned to greet them briefly and make a quick escape. “Ladies, I hope you are enjoying the evening.”