The Problem with Seduction (16 page)

Until she knew him better, she must be mindful. She’d provoke him carefully and observe his reactions. Any action on her part could turn his desire into loathing, or worse, disgust. If he thought she needed him more than he needed her…she would never draw him into her bed.

She made no move to adjust his heavy coat slung around her hips. It draped down the backs of her legs and caught the heat of the fireplace against her limbs. “Refreshment, my lord?” She moved toward the tray.
Swish. Swish.

She poured out two snifters, each move deliberate, and set the stopper into the mouth of the bottle. She turned and held one cut-crystal vessel toward him. He hesitated. She curved her lips into a teasing smile. “My brandy is perfectly illegal, I assure you.”

The scowl between his eyebrows crinkled. “I’d daresay most men would kill to be in my position at the moment. But you, madam, have me quite on edge.”

And there it was. Confirmation that he didn’t think he wanted to be seduced. She must tread very, very carefully. “I’ll stop.”

He cocked his head at her blunt acknowledgment. “You admit you’re trying to seduce me?”

She held her gaze fixed with his as she sipped her brandy. Boldness suited the moment. If she seemed weak, he’d be repulsed by her neediness. “You’re a handsome man. I was lonely.”

He gaped at her. “Is this an appropriate conversation?”

She laughed. “Do you think only men feel desire? Forgive me if I saw a handsome man and became carried away. It won’t happen again.”

He flinched. “Yes, well… See that it doesn’t.”

She smiled serenely, as if she’d agreed. “Now, where were we? Lust does have a way of wiping all thought from one’s brain.”

“Elizabeth!”

She chuckled. “No more, I promise.”

He regarded her warily. “Are we to have dinner? Or was this nothing but an attempt to draw me into your bed?”

An unbidden laugh escaped her. “There will be dinner.”

His lips parted. He wanted to ask her more, and understand what she was doing. She couldn’t let him guess. To her relief, he fixed his eyes on an oversized, carved picture frame suspended to her left above an azure French settee. She couldn’t think he’d suddenly developed an appreciation for the Baroque nude framed within it.

His gaze swung back to hers. “A trifle over-the-top, wouldn’t you say?”

She was sure he didn’t mean the painting.

This wasn’t going as easily as she’d thought. He was virile. She was enticing. Why was he fighting it? “What sorts of paintings do
you
find appropriate?”

His brows drew down. As though he’d never afforded it much thought. “Ones with more clothes.”

She held her snifter in two long fingers and lightly caressed the bottom of the glass with her other hand. “Are you a prude?”

A smile crept across his lips. “I never thought so before.”

She shrugged. “Maybe you’ve changed. I know I never was one for dull displays, in my youth. I preferred dramatic expression, and it suited me, I think. Now that I’m older, I don’t have time for silliness. I like this oil because it brings both halves of me together.” It was also one of the few things she’d brought with her from the apartments Nicholas had let for her after Oliver’s birth.

Lord Constantine regarded her. “When did you change?”

It was her turn to be surprised. “Recently, I suppose.”

He stepped to her right to move around her, then began a slow promenade about the drawing room. Not a large room compared to what he must be used to, coming from the ancestral pile his brother managed in Devon, and Merritt House here in London, but a good size considering it was maintained on her annuities. Her income came from arrangements she’d made prior to him, and she was proud to be able to support herself now that she was settled.

The furnishings were largely part of the house lease, though she’d managed to salvage a few of her personal items before Nicholas had tossed her completely on her ear. The painting was one. The brightly colored pillows Constantine considered pensively were another.

He picked up one overstuffed ultramarine-colored pillow and gave it a squeeze. “I wouldn’t call these subdued, either. You’re not one for dull colors, I gather.”

“What color are
your
cushions, my lord?” She meant it teasingly, for this inane topic couldn’t possibly be interesting to him. Nonetheless, he was right. The bland hue of the townhouse interior drove her mad.

He set the bolster down and lifted a brilliant, poppy-colored one in its stead. “This one is pleasing, though I can’t say I would have chosen it myself. Then again, I’m sure I’ve never been asked for my opinion. Montborne is the one with a head for fabrics. Montborne and Darius,” he amended. “Darius finds it all too easy to spend money that isn’t his.”

Elizabeth watched him from beneath her lashes as he stared blindly at the bright red pillow. “I don’t think I’ve had the pleasure of meeting Lord Darius,” she said, though she did know of him. No one was quite sure why the youngest Alexander would destroy himself in the image of their father, but that didn’t keep the
ton
from speculating.

“I’m surprised you haven’t. He fancies himself a ladies’ man, in addition to his predilection for the tables. And horses.” Con sighed. “I fear he’s as lost as our father was.” His eyes went wide, and his cheeks hollowed as his mouth formed a horrified O. “Never tell anyone I said so. God, I can’t believe I—” He turned slowly and seated himself, still clutching the poppy pillow. “I should never have thought such a thing, let alone said it aloud. He’s not so far gone that he can’t return.”

His love for his brother, a damaged fellow with little to recommend him, softened her heart. She waited a moment before walking toward him. If she went to him too quickly, she’d lose her appearance of detachment. More than anything, she didn’t want him to know how much his suffering affected her. She didn’t doubt he’d reject her pity and find her concern suffocating.

But if she kept herself apart from him long enough…

His shoulders hunched ever so slightly. He sat like that a moment before his blue eyes sought hers and the worry between his brow smoothed. His chin lifted.

There. This.
It was
his
decision to find her, or so he thought. She may have distanced him with her first attempt to lure him, but she hadn’t lost her touch completely. She’d simply needed to step away. A simple tactic she’d used often enough. Her instinct to bring a man around had been a part of her for as long as she could remember…long before she’d made a fool of herself chasing Nicholas.

She didn’t have to be proud of her methods. Just successful.

She chuckled soothingly. “Plenty of good men are gambling men. I count Lord de Winter among my friends, and heaven knows he hasn’t a shilling that’s not owed.”

Lord Constantine scowled. “Darius is not good.” Then he looked staggered again. “I suppose I have certain feelings about my brother that I never realized. I hope I haven’t given you reason to think I want anything but the best for him.”

“We cannot always get on with our siblings, my lord. I have three, myself.” She rolled her eyes heavenward. “Though I fear I was the one driving
them
to distraction.”

“Were you?” His brow smoothed a fraction.

It was her turn to be astonished. She’d never spoken of Sarah and Ellen and her brother Oliver to a lover. To anyone besides Celeste, in fact. She brushed her fingertips across his shoulder, suddenly filled with a sweet sense of longing. Even when he was huddled over, his muscles cut a fine form against his pale shirtsleeves.

She’d not exaggerated earlier, even if she’d misconstrued the truth a little. She was a woman of passion, who enjoyed the feel of a man beneath her hands.

But she didn’t dawdle with her touch. Not tonight. After that quick reassurance he wasn’t alone, she turned and went to the bellpull. It did her no good to have Lord Constantine blue-deviled the entire evening. He’d come to her to be entertained, not dragged through a gauntlet of his demons. She’d bared his soul enough. It was time to see to the rest of him.

Rand entered. “Yes, madam?”

“I should think we’d be served by now,” she said. “Has something gone wrong?”

Rand’s shoulders straightened. He glanced at Lord Constantine. “My humble apologies. I had one last thing to see to, but ’tis taken care of. Please, proceed into dinner.”

She turned to Con, who had yet to rise. He still appeared deep in thought. “My lord, our dinner awaits us.” She held her hand palm up to him, her fingers stretched toward him. He rose with reluctance. She felt another brick in her defense fall. No one had ever cared what became of
her
. Especially not with the same fervor he showed for his brother.

She had no doubt in her ability to seduce him. What must she do to bring him to
care
for her? Was such a feat even possible?

And if it were… Did she truly want to risk her heart that way?

Chapter Nine

HE HAD NO NOTION how she did it. One minute she
was
sex. The next, she had him verbalizing thoughts he shouldn’t even think. Now she was entertaining him with idle chatter about his friends; no more of the stoic navel-gazing they’d suffered earlier.

In the light of the many candles placed strategically about her dining room, she shined. He wasn’t
taken
with her, of course. She’d put him off with her bold attempt to take him to her bed. But he could admit her appeal, beyond the obvious. With her many faces and ability to change fluidly between them, she was rather fascinating.

He supposed if he must pay her visits for the next few nights, or however many it took to convince the
ton
that they were involved, he would at least be amused.

“Lord Hennig was beside himself, you see,” she was saying, her melodious voice an entrancing combination of laughter and promise. “He’d been convinced to that point that Kinsey was going to call their wager off. ‘I’ll not have such a scandal on my head!’ he declared, but of course, no one was listening. He’s something of a windbag.” The soft sound of her chuckle tickled Con’s spine. “Pompous man. But I never thought Kinsey would go through with it, so I paid him little mind, myself.”

Con couldn’t keep himself from leaning forward, though he’d only been listening with half an ear. “If Kinsey meant to climb up to Lady Violet’s window and serenade her with a love song, what possible outcome could there have been but humiliation?” He paused. “The altar, I suppose.”

Candlelight highlighted her aristocratic cheekbones. Her disenchantment with Lord Kinsey was obvious, but her wry smile took the bite out of her words. “And all for a hundred guineas. Who would risk her father’s wrath—the Duke of Avondale, if I must remind you—for pocket change? Men make the most absurd wagers in their cups.”

He liked that she didn’t shy from the topic of gambling, despite his outburst earlier. It was as though she refused to be afraid of offending him.

It wasn’t polite in the least to make light of the issue, but then, she was hardly a lady.

He did find it disconcerting to hear a hundred guineas referred to as pocket change. A hundred guineas would see his mother in a new gown and the servants with extra coin to spend. Or one of his older brothers would think up a more practical use for it. Bart had been going on about a new thresher, and Antony would likely put such a sum toward their stables.

In any event,
had
Con been given the opportunity to embarrass himself with Lady Violet’s papa for a hundred guineas, he would certainly have jumped at the opportunity, marriage to a duke’s daughter notwithstanding. “How did I never hear of this?” he asked Elizabeth.

She’d been about to pop a piece of carrot in her mouth. She set her fork down and turned to answer him instead, but the damage was already done. He’d seen her. In just that moment when her lips were poised to take the morsel into her mouth, her pink tongue curved slightly to receive it—

Oh, God. He was never going to stop thinking about her and her bed, together. With him in it.

“There
was
no marriage, as you can have guessed. It was all kept very hushed. I suppose if Viscount Kinsey had been a man of more importance—”

“You imply means,” Con supplied with just a bit of an edge, not amused to hear a destitute comrade denigrated. “He’s dead broke and everyone knows it.”

She smiled as if he’d said something patently ridiculous. “Lady Violet is a duke’s daughter. Her father wouldn’t have wanted it known that she’d been compromised, especially on a wager.”

He knew that. It just made him feel lesser, and he didn’t like the feeling. “Please, go on. I shouldn’t have been rude.”

She shrugged. The light shawl around her shoulders slipped, revealing one palm-sized swath of creamy flesh. “I only know of it because Hennig thought nothing of spreading it among the demimondaines. We shared a good laugh at Kinsey’s expense, imagining him running away from Avondale in the dark, his breeches ripped from his arse to his knees from the fall through the trees.” She laughed at the image. He could swear her eyes reflected the candlelight like sapphires… except that was possibly the stupidest thought he’d ever had.