The Seducer (19 page)

It did not last. A raw pain ripped as he pressed farther. A sense of being violated obliterated the tenderness. She grit her teeth and clung to him viciously so that she would not cry.

He stopped and did not move. The pain lessened but was still there. She accepted his kiss, but could not escape the fear that she had just given a part of herself that she could never reclaim. She could run to the ends of the earth, but something of her would always be his.

She thought it was over, but it wasn’t. He moved, and she realized that the initial joining was the least of it. Rising over her, dominating her, his body commanded hers with every reentry.

Pressing one hand against the bedboard for leverage, he took her in a rhythmic, rocking possession. Whatever else this act meant, she could tell that it was a primitive claim of rights. Worse, his moves lured her and demanded that she surrender to that claim.

He moved harder, taking everything, giving meaning to every intense look he had given and every unsettled reaction she had experienced. She tried to block herself from the power, from the aura it created and the emotions it evoked. She concentrated on the pain, to protect herself. It affected her anyway, astonishing her, reminding her again of his warning that she did not know what she offered, or what he would expect.

His head angled back. A hard, deep thrust penetrated her. He stayed deep inside her, frozen for a second. The coiling danger that defined his persona tightened. Tension hardened his muscles beneath her hands. Then suddenly both spun away, into the air.

He moved no more. He looked down at her too long, breathing deeply. She could not see his eyes, and wondered if they contained intense attention or the distracted coolness that she knew too well.

He rolled away, separating their bodies completely. He sank onto the bed, beside her.

Humiliation wanted to slide through her. It could not make any headway. She was beyond embarrassment. Her emotions had been pummeled. Everything still felt too real, but also irrevocably changed.

She experienced neither regret nor triumph, only a sharp sense of the present. It would take time to absorb and understand what was in her heart now.

The silence became strained and awkward. She guessed that he did not speak because there was nothing to say. Well, she had known what she was going to do when she came. She would not pretend it had been other than it had been, or expect him to either.

Leaving the bed, she groped on the floor for her gown. She pulled it on and fumbled with a few buttons as she walked away.

“Was it worth it?”

She turned. He had not moved. He did not even appear to be looking in her direction.

“Was it worth it, Diane? You must care more than I realized, to do such a thing.”

It surprised her that he broached this. The physical intimacy probably demanded that something be said.

“It was worth it. It was a small price to pay to save the man I love.” She found it amazingly easy to say that word, to be honest about her feelings, even if she knew he did not share them. What had happened in that bed had stripped her of more than clothes and innocence. It had also peeled away all of the reasons people guard the truths in their hearts.

“He was not worthy of your sacrifice.” He rose on an elbow and looked at her. “I can’t let him have you, even if you think you love him. Especially not now. You must know that.”

He?

She walked to the door. “You misunderstand. I did not do this to save Andrew Tyndale.”

He watched the door close on the column of rose satin, then sank back on the bed.

He saw her again, kneeling by his chair, so beautiful his heart had stopped beating. With that first button he had known she would not back down. He had known he had lost.

And he had been glad for it, and so hungry for her that nothing else had mattered.
Nothing.

He swung his legs off the bed and reached for the robe. He tied the sash and went over to the window.

He had compromised everything tonight. Her. Him. His whole life.

He opened the window to the silent, sleeping city. He knew the view from this spot very well. Many nights he had stood here, his mind planning, waiting. He had strategized a little war at this window, infiltrating the enemy camp, picking off the guards, watching his back while getting closer to the goal.

Tonight, a woman had lured him to complete defeat without even knowing it.

It was worth it—

She had done it to save a man.

Not Tyndale.

He should have known that. Maybe he had. But if he had admitted it, he could not have accepted her bargain. He could not have carried her to that bed and ravished her. He needed to be angry with her to do that.

And all through this last day it had been essential he not accept that if this duel occurred, it might not be Tyndale who would die, who needed saving.

It was worth it—

He fixed his gaze on the street. One of the lamps had a shorter post than the others. He had never noticed that before. He had looked down from this window for years and never really seen those posts.

His gaze darted around, seeing other oddities he had missed. One of the roofs had an odd bulge in its cornice, and the lower side window of another house appeared to be boarded over. Tonight all these details jumped at him, distinctions long invisible but now demanding attention.

Better to focus on them than face the more critical matters at hand, such as how this bargain that Diane had bought with her body would tie his hands with Tyndale.

Such as how the old memories had swarmed in on him as he lay on that bed beside her, making him disgusted with himself and furious with her.

Such as how he had not treated Diane especially well tonight. She may have been foolish and bold, and he had been hungry and angry, but he could have been more careful with her. He could not have spared her the shock or the pain, but he could have been gentler, even if he lacked the strength and honor to refuse her completely.

It was worth it. It was a small price to pay—

More details loomed in the lamplight outside. One of the houses only had four steps leading to its door, instead of five. He pictured visitors not noticing their steepness, and tripping every time they came.

He realized that two buildings that he had always assumed were identical in fact had slightly different heights.

It was a small price to pay, to save the man I love.

Her words barged into his head, breaking through his attempts to keep them out. He stared at the street, suddenly seeing nothing as her words repeated again and again, leaving him immobile. The tone of her voice, the calm acceptance and resignation, echoed in his thoughts, making his chest fill with an odd heaviness.

He had been right about one thing. The man she had sought to save had not been worthy of her sacrifice.

And it had been a huge sacrifice, given in simple innocence to a man who did not even treat it as valuable. A man owned by the past, who fueled anger and hatred because he feared having nothing inside him if they disappeared. A man who had tempted her long before she tempted him, and then resented her using his own lust to thwart the goal born of that hatred.

She was an idiot to care at all for such a man, let alone love him.

His throat burned, and he heard the cruel silence as they lay next to each other. He saw her walking away, proud despite her desolation.

It was a small price to pay, to save the man I love.

Jesus.

He turned away from the window. He made his way to the door of a chamber he had wanted to visit many times in the dead of the night. He entered and went over to the bed.

She lay on her side with her knees drawn up, wearing a white nightgown. She looked alone and defenseless, as if she huddled under the sheet to protect herself against an indifferent world.

Lifting the sheet, he eased down beside her. She startled enough for him to know that if she had been sleeping she no longer did.

They lay beside each other again, in a different bed and a different silence. There was much that he could say to her, but very little that would not hurt her more. She did not deserve any more wounds. She was an innocent prisoner in this war, not a soldier.

“I am sorry that I hurt you, and that I was not more considerate.” He spoke to her back.

Her shoulders shrugged a little. “It probably can’t be helped.”

“Not completely, but—”

“It was not entirely horrible. Do not feel bad.”

How like her to worry about
him.
He almost laughed, and also came close to crying. “Well, I am glad to hear that it wasn’t
entirely
horrible.”

“But if you have come here to do it again, I don’t think that I want to.”

“I am sure you do not. I did not come here for that.”

“Then why?”

“To tell you that I am honored that you cared enough, and to stay with you for a while, if you will permit it.”

She went very still. So still that she might have stopped breathing.

“Will you permit it?”

She nodded.

He touched her shoulder. “Will you lie in my arms, so that I can hold you?”

There was a pause, as if she had to think that over.

She turned. He pulled her to him.

“Do not worry. I will be gone before the servants are up.”

She nestled close. He embraced her gently and kissed her cheek. His lips touched wetness. She had cried since she returned to this chamber.

That broke his heart. He tucked her closer, protectively.

It felt good holding her as she fell asleep. He had never done that before with a woman. He never shared beds with his passing lovers.

He found her feminine warmth and softness surprisingly pleasing, even soothing, and not intrusive as he had always assumed sleeping with a woman would be.

chapter
19

S
he woke up alone to the smells of cocoa and lilacs.

The cocoa was on a nearby table, as it had been every day since she first tasted some out of Daniel’s cup. The lilac sprigs lay right near her nose, tucked in a crevice between two pillows.

A servant had brought the cocoa. Daniel must have left the flowers.

She held them and sniffed. They came from a bush that grew in a sun-filled corner of the garden. She pictured him going down there in the dark to cut the little cluster.

He had stayed with her most of the night. She had felt his embrace whenever she stirred.

It had been wonderful being held like that. The long, comforting contact had moved her more than what had happened in his bed. For one remarkable night, that emptiness in her heart had disappeared. Vanished. Even in her sleep she had marveled at its absence.

A maid arrived to help her dress. When they were finished, Diane wrote a hasty note to the Countess of Glasbury, brought it down to have posted immediately, and then went looking for Jeanette.

She found her in her chambers, in the same sitting-room chair where she had been yesterday. Jeanette appeared so worn and tired that Diane wondered if she had ever gone to bed.

“It is happening now. Right now,” Jeanette said.

“What is happening?”

“The duel. I expected tomorrow, or the next day—not this soon.”

“I am sure you are wrong.”

“The chevalier came. Daniel left with him. They are meeting now. I know it in my soul.”

“I do not believe this, Jeanette. He told me he would stand down.”

Jeanette’s gaze darted to her. It examined her much as it had that first day in the porcelain chamber in Paris. “When did he say that?”

She felt herself flushing. “Last night. He promised.”

“Last night? Tell me, where was this promise made? When?”

Her face burned hotter.

Flames of understanding and anger flickered in Jeanette’s eyes. “When he was making love to you? Do not look so surprised. I have known of his interest in you. I saw it from the start.” She shook her head and muttered a curse. “A man will say anything at such times, Diane. Worse, he will mean it when he says it. Then the light of day dawns and he regretfully changes his mind.”

“He will not go back on his word.”

“There are older words he is obligated to keep. My brother has never allowed any woman to interfere with what he swears to do. He stands down from nothing. If he seduced you with this promise, it was despicable of him, and I will say so when he returns.” Her harsh expression cracked. “If he returns.”

“He did not seduce me. Nor will he fight this duel.” She said it as firmly as she could, to reassure the woman in front of her, who looked to be grieving already.

Jeanette held out her hand, seeking comfort. Diane grasped it and laid her other arm around Jeanette’s shoulder.

“Was last night the first time with him?”

“Yes.”

“He promised me he would not pursue you. Anticipating the duel, he must have grabbed at the chance to live. I am sure he would not have acted so dishonorably to you otherwise.”

Diane was not convinced of that. The way he had kissed her at the brook implied that he had abandoned whatever assurances he had given his sister.

“We must decide what you are going to do now,” Jeanette said after taking a composing breath. “I will tell Daniel that he must settle something on you. Enough so that you can marry. There have been men who would be suitors if you had some fortune.”

“I do not want to marry any of those possible suitors.”

Jeanette patted her hand. “Right now you may not. Consider it carefully, however. You will see I am right.”

“After what happened with Mister Tyndale, I do not think it likely there will be any suitors anyway.”

“If the settlement is sufficient, there will be, trust me.”

“If the settlement is sufficient, Mister Tyndale himself would take my hand. I do not like the idea of being bartered like used goods.”

Jeanette looked up. Sadness and sympathy filled her eyes. “Have no illusions that there is a future with my brother instead. There is very little room in his heart and his life for the kind of affection a woman expects. He is closed to such emotions. He knows that, you see. He chose for it to be that way, because anything else would make him weak.”

Diane knew that there was no place in his life for her. Daniel was much more complicated than Jeanette thought, however. He was not the cold, closed man Jeanette described. Such a man would not have come to comfort her and to hold her through the night.

She had experienced a beautiful and trusting peace in that sleeping embrace. It had produced a special intimacy, both different from and connected to the physical ones they had shared in his bed. She wanted to hold on to that special glow. She wanted it to fill the void for as long as her memory would let it.

Deep in her soul, however, she knew that she could keep it alive only if she did not reach for more. She did not want to risk learning that he had only been moved by pity or guilt, not affection.

She definitely did not want to take the chance that they might ever make love again. She could not bear it if they did and, instead of that warm intimacy, she again endured the empty, embarrassing silence.

“I have already decided what to do, Jeanette. I think that I should leave this house. There will be no duel, but there will be talk. I do not want to live this lie any longer, that we are cousins. I do not want to attend parties where people will be whispering about what happened with Mister Tyndale, or wondering about what exists between Daniel and me.”

“Where will you go?”

“I will ask the countess to allow me to stay with her while I arrange things. I will ask her to contact some of her friends in the country, and give me a reference as a governess. Or perhaps there is a school where I can teach, one far away from London. If I disappear before a scandal starts, maybe there will be little scandal at all. I will be easily forgotten.”

Jeanette nodded. “I have some money. I will tell Daniel to give you more.”

“I cannot take his money now, in any way.”

“Will you visit me? While I am here, before I return to Paris?”

“Of course.” She bent and embraced her.

Jeanette kissed her cheek. “If he does not return, perhaps you can come back to Paris with me. Promise that you will consider it.”

“He will return today, you will see. He has not gone to fight a duel.”

A return letter arrived from the countess, inviting Diane to join her in a visit to Laclere Park, her family’s country seat. Penelope explained that it would be impossible to hide out anywhere in London, and proposed this as a better solution, adding that she felt some need to hide out herself.

Diane went to her chamber and packed. It was harder to do than she had expected, and she sent the maid away so that her reactions would not be watched.

All the while she listened for the sounds of Daniel’s return. What would be reflected in his eyes when they faced each other again? She suspected it might be very awkward.

How would he react to her leaving? Would he be surprised? Accepting?

Relieved?

She knew he would understand that if she stayed here, dependent on him, it would eventually become unpleasant. All the lilacs in the world, all of the love in her heart, would not make it other than it would truly be.

Her trust in his promise wobbled as the hours passed. By the time she left her chamber and went down to the library, it had gotten very shaky.

She opened a window that faced the street and waited and listened so hard that her head hurt. As more time slid by, worry grew, making her nauseated and sick at heart.

Carriages and horses passed, and she heard each one. Finally, when she had almost given up, when she had begun grieving, a horse stopped in front of the house.

She identified the sounds of a groom leading the horse away.

Jumping up, she ran down the corridor until she saw the entry.

It was Daniel.

Of course it was. Who else would it be?

The relief that made her heart race answered that question. She had been afraid it was the chevalier, coming to bring bad news.

“Go up to your sister,” she said. “She is sick with worry for you. Go now. I will be in the library.”

He mounted the staircase. She waited until the last sight of his boots disappeared, then went back to the library.

In her mind she again saw his face when he noticed her. The memories of last night had been in his eyes, but also something else. She had recognized a touch of the old distraction.

That made it harder to look at him when he finally entered the library. He came in quietly and closed the door.

There was no distraction now. His eyes burned with that total attention he could summon. His mouth formed a hard line.

“Jeanette is reassured?” she asked.

“Yes. Louis and I met with Tyndale and his second. It has been resolved honorably.”

“You withdrew?”

“I said that I would.”

“I did not doubt it.”

“The hell you didn’t.”

Her worry must have been on her face when she rushed to the entry. “Jeanette is very relieved, I’m sure.”

“I do not think that is her reaction at all. She is astonished, however. It has been a long time since I have been able to surprise her, so there is some satisfaction in that.”

But in little else. He had not liked doing this. It had hurt his pride to appear the coward and withdraw. He resented that she had forced him to it.

“Thank you.”

She got a dark glance for that.

“My sister said that you are going to visit the countess.”

“I thought it would be for the best to—”

“Where did you ever get the idea that I would let you leave now?”

He spoke as if he found the notion more curious than anything else. She could not ignore the coiling anger seeping out of him, however, much as it had at the brook. He restrained it, but the restraint itself only intensified its effect on the air, and her.

He walked toward her. “I just went to a man whom I despise and declined to kill him because you demanded it of me, and while I did so, you were packing your belongings.”

“I can’t stay here now. You know that.”

“I don’t see why not.” He moved close to her. “In fact, you must stay here now.”

“You know why I cannot. It would be wrong.”

“Was last night wrong?”

He was confusing her, standing so close like this. Making her mind muddle. “That was different.”

“Perhaps you think that last night was not wrong because you gave yourself in a noble cause. To save a life. Well, if you have a taste for such sacrifice, you must stay. Tell yourself that you do so to save my soul this time. There is a lifetime’s worth of sacrifice in that endeavor.”

He spoke sardonically, but the warmth in his eyes and a gentle resonance in his voice contradicted the lightness he forced.

She stared at him, unable to think of an answer to such a challenge. It crossed her mind that the devil might seduce people this way. How effective it would be to use someone’s own inclinations to lure them to hell.

“When did you make this decision to go?” he asked. “Last night? Was coming to me the final act of friendship?”

He unsettled her more than he ever had, gazing down at her, commanding her attention. She had trouble thinking straight. His references to last night only made her heart jump around.

“Before,” she said. “After the brook, and the game of cards.”

“Because you realized how much I wanted you? Did that frighten you?”

She turned from his gaze and took a few steps from his closeness. She did not like this conversation, and the way he persisted in peeling away at her motives and resolve.

“It could not have frightened you too much, if you came to me last night.”

“I had a reason for last night. A good reason. I offered one night, however, no more. I am not going to be a Margot to you. I can’t. I learned that last night, if I learned nothing else. I think that these things are different for women than for men. Now, I have made my decision and you should be kind enough to accept it.”

She felt him behind her, too close. Then his hands were on her arms and his breath in her hair. A small, light kiss on the back of her crown sent rays of lively sensations down her body.

“I am not so kind as that. I do not easily give up what I want. Nor am I asking you to live here as my mistress, Diane.”

She pivoted out of his hold and faced him. “You aren’t? Then you do not want . . . Of course, it probably wasn’t what you expected. . . . You want me to stay here as it was before, as Jeanette’s companion only. . . .”

Her flustered response amused him. “You can never just be Jeanette’s companion now. Not ever. I intend to make love to you again, and that is definitely one reason why I cannot let you go. Since I am not a man who importunes guests or corrupts innocents, there is only one way to resolve things. We will get married.”

The announcement left her dumb.