The Seduction (19 page)

It had been five years since she had done such a
thing! Α whole day away from her house. Α whole day to rub in the
knowledge that she would never have another chance at a man's love, the past
squandered, the future destroyed.

Yet, of course, she could not go. It was too
dangerous. She would have to find some excuse. For the note read:

My dear Mistress Seton: If Ι might beg your
kind indulgence, our chess match today will take place in α folly, α
few hours' drive from Manston Mingate. The distance will necessitate a picnic
lunch, kindly provided by mine host of the Three Tuns. Ι trust these
arrangements will cause you no great inconvenience. It is impossible to
describe the pleasure with which Ι anticipate such an outing in your
company.

Ι shall arrive with a
carriage and pair at ten o'clock.

We may, of course, expect
another checkmate.

Whether yours or mine remains
to be discovered.

Ι remain, dear madam, your
most obedient, humble servant - G.

Humble servant, indeed! He obeyed only his own
whim. Yet when had she last traveled in a private carriage? Taken a day's
outing? Α drive, a picnic, a visit to an interesting and beautiful place,
and a chess game.

Their last day.

She had given her word to fulfill his forfeits
whenever she lost a chess match.

Yet she could not go.

What if she were seen by someone who remembered
her? Someone who could convey the information to George? Her husband lived.
She knew it in her bones and that soul-deep knowledge was backed, every once in
a while, by a scrap of news. George Hardcastle was making a name for himself,
running his timber trade. He was gone often to Russia, but he also spent time
in London - only thirty miles away.

Juliet stood and walked to the door. She opened
it and called to Kate.

The lady's maid appeared and curtsied. "Yes,
ma'am?"

"Do you think me mad, Kate?"

The maid curtsied again to hide her obvious
discomfort. "No, ma'am."

Cradling the note, Juliet laughed. "Then you
are wrong. Ι am about to do something quite lunatic. Ι shall need
your help yours and Tilly's."

ALDEN STEPPED DOWN AND LEANED BACK FOR Α
MOMENT against the wheel. He had brought a light open carriage and pair: the
matched grays from Gracechurch Abbey, sent down the previous afternoon. It was
going to be another blazing day, yet he had dressed in the full formal clothing
of an English peer: dove gray coat; lace; crisp, clean linen. He crossed one
heeled shoe over the other and let his gaze drift over the trailing roses. As
when he had first seen them, Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego sat serenely on the
brick path, watching him.

Mistress Juliet Seton.

He had bedded lovelier ladies and ones of more
consequence: ladies of the royal court, dukes' wives, and once, a visiting
German princess, who had gifted him with her lace. He had been inveigled into
bed by females with the skills of Delilah, beguiled noblewomen and harlots.
Sometimes they were one and the same.

It wasn't a life he had ever questioned. It had
always brought him a profound pleasure, an intensity of sensation - at the
tables, in the exquisite food and wine, in the voluptuous knowledge of each
woman's body - a life filled with potency.

Now he was here to complete his seduction of this
widow. It should be no different from a hundred other seductions, just more
important. Alden cursed under his breath. He wasn't used to feeling so
vulnerable, and - lud! - such a great deal hung in the balance.

This was the last day.

So he had decided on another gamble: to enlist
the aid of those enchanting false ruins, the folly at Gracechurch Abbey, and Juliet's
surprise when she discovered his identity. After weakening her with the
amusement of the grounds, he would take her into those cool, gracious rooms and
let his house destroy her defenses by its very loveliness. The awe-inspiring
ceilings. The art. The collection of Italian and Roman sculpture in the long
gallery. The home of each Viscount Gracechurch for several hundred years.

The only weapon he refused to use was Sherry.
Peter Primrose had been instructed to take the boy out for the day. Foolish,
perhaps. The child was bound to soften any female heart. Yet he couldn't quite
bring himself to do it, even though Sherry's future depended as much as Alden's
on his success today.

His servants would see that everything was in
readiness. The kitchens would produce a feast of sumptuous food and heady wine.
Α tour of the house would include alcoves and private sofas. Every bed
would be aired and made up with clean linen.

If he took her to Gracechurch, he would know
every secret of her body by the end of the day.

He would do her no harm. He would bring her
nothing but pleasure.

He concentrated on that one thought as he opened
the gate. The cats stalked away and disappeared into the flowerbeds. Alden
stopped and watched them leave, surprised.

The door opened. He looked up.

The breath was snatched from his body.

The impoverished widow of the blue smock and
wine-stained skirts was gone. The soft, vulnerable lady of the Italian gown and
petticoat had suffused into smoke. Α new Juliet Seton stood facing him,
her eyes as brilliant as the sky. Her chin was up as if she challenged him to a
duel.

Α straw hat, decorated with sweet peas and
ribbons, nestled over elegant powdered ringlets. They were real sweet peas,
wafting their fresh perfume among the fluttering satin streamers. Α thin
dusting of powder and rouge enhanced her perfect skin. She even wore a patch
that danced coyly at the corner of her mouth as she smiled.

She stepped onto the path. Her rose satin gown
shimmered in the sunlight. White satin bows decorated the bodice and sleeves.
Deep ruches of lace frothed at each elbow. The belling skirts were supported by
extravagant hoops, tipping and swaying as she walked. Petticoats rustled.
Dainty high-heeled slippers with matching satin bows rapped on the brick,
beating the rhythm of his heartbeat.

White-hot desire flooded through his veins.

Lud, lud! Mistress Juliet Seton! Would you try to
match me at my own game?

It took him a moment to realize that the dress
was five years out of style and a little faded. His body derided such an
irrelevant observation.

The narrow, corseted bodice forced up her breasts
in deliberate invitation. Lush, rich, female - just as he had imagined. Their
swelling curves were framed by a pleated ruffle around the deep, square
neckline, a display for male delectation. Her gold locket glittered against
tender white skin. The deep cleavage begged for a touch: of aching fingers; of
a clever, lascivious tongue.

With the brazen rush of lust came the knowledge
that she recognized his purpose and did not shrink from it. It would be the
sweetest, most glorious conquest he had ever made. With a shock that left him
floundering, Alden knew that his desire was not only for her body - displayed
with all the deliberate provocation of a society gown - but for the high
courage it must have taken her to wear it.

Yet from somewhere he felt the smallest blossom
of rage, though he had no idea why.

She flipped open a fan that hung from her wrist
and held it to hide her décolletage from his eyes. The movement was one of pure
coquetry, learned in a ballroom.

He took off his tricorn and swept her a complete
court bow. "Madam," he said. "I am ravished."

And knew to the bottom of his heart that he meant
it.

THE DRESS HAD BEEN WRAPPED IN LAVENDER AND PAPER
IN THE chest in her bedroom for five years. What call was there in Manston
Mingate for such finery? Juliet had carefully folded back the layers of paper
and taken out the gown, as images of a life lost
 
forever had come rushing back. Evenings at
the theater exchanging glances over her fan. Afternoons at embroidery or the
harpsichord. Five years ago she had sold every last dress but this one.

While Tilly worked frantically at pressing the
creases out of the rose satin, Kate had dressed Juliet's hair. She had even produced
powder and rouge.

"I would never attend a lady without it,
ma'am," she had said through pursed lips.

Kate had also worked expertly at the tight lacing
the dress required. Then Tilly had come in from the garden, red-faced and
giggling, carrying a posy of sweet peas.

"For your hat, ma'am!" she cried.
"Oh, ma'am. You do look splendid! Wait till Ι tell Jemmy and the
rest!"

"I am to travel in an open carriage,"
Juliet replied. "The entire village will no doubt see me depart."

She felt breathless, gasping at the unaccustomed
constriction of the tight stays. The high-heeled slippers made her feel unsteady,
as if she might totter, but she hadn't forgotten how to walk so that her skirts
dipped and swayed, provocatively displaying glimpses of ankle. Had she ever
dallied away an afternoon in such clothes?

She wasn't sure why she had put them on now and
decided against every better judgment to defy the fates. Because she was worn
down with her life and with the requirements of secrecy? Because she longed to
take a wild, uncalculated risk, just for once? Because she wanted to see that
admiration in Mr. Granville's gaze turn into a recognition that he tormented a
lady - his equal?

She stepped onto the path and saw his admiration
turn into something quite different.

He took off his tricorn and swept her a complete
court bow, elegant, graceful, deadly. The fleeting vulnerability left his face.
She thought he might even be angry.

For a moment it was as if the entire world stood
still, crystallizing her in place, like Lot's wife turned into a pillar of
salt. Then a small anger of her own blossomed in return. How dare he! How dare
he sweep into her life with his overweening confidence, then leave unscathed in
the morning? Did he think she couldn't match him in this?

"Madam," he said. "I am
ravished."

CHAPTER SEVEN

IT WAS Α DANCE, THEIR MOVEMENTS PERFECT, AS
HE HELPED HER
into the carriage. Each action precise, practiced. In a
rustle of petticoats, with the dainty rap of high-heeled shoes, she settled
herself on the seat. Her billowing skirts and stiffened panniers filled most of
the space.

Alden stepped up to sit beside her. Rose satin
surged against his thighs. If he had retained any last doubts, they were gone now:
that grace had taken a lifetime of training. Backboards and comportment
lessons. Dancing masters. Straight-backed chairs and rigid corsets. Trained for
a ballroom from earliest childhood.

The value she placed on her word and her privacy
said the same thing. She had been raised as a lady. In which case, there was no
explanation that justified her life of solitude and hard work, except some mad
self-immolation or romantic denial of reality - either one essentially selfish
at the core.

He was glad. He must ravish her, leave her, and
not look back. That she had become this stranger in rose satin only made it
easier. Yet he didn't like her like this! Something in him wanted the Juliet of
the garden and the chicken coop, not just another society lady, flirting over a
fan-

What was the matter with him? Deliberately he
thrust away the memory of her as she had been last night in the Italian gown, a
mad trick of muslin and moonlight. He shuddered to remember that flawed moment
when he had almost told her about his brother's death. Ι’ faith, he didn't
want any such intimacy!

Alden signaled the driver. The grays started
forward. "John, our driver, is stone deaf-" he began.

"What a considerate employer you are, not to
turn him off, when he suffers such a convenient affliction!"

He laughed, though in truth John's deafness was
inconvenient more often than not. But the man had driven for the viscounts of
Gracechurch his entire life. It was out of the question not to provide
employment for him. Another innocent soul whose future depended on Alden's
success today.

He leaned back and smiled. "Ι thought,
perhaps, you wouldn't come. Ι see Ι was right."

"What do you mean, sir? Ι am
here." She fluttered her fan, forcing the hot summer air past her face.
"You think Ι have so little courage that an outing in a carriage
would make me quail?"

"Ι’ faith, ma'am, Ι imagined
Mistress Ju1iet Seton was reluctant to leave the security of Manston Mingate.
Ι am right – Juliet stayed home. She did not have the temerity to come. Instead
we do indeed have the actress."

Her eyes smiled over her fan, but he had
definitely raised her ire. Α little anger often helped in a seduction. Let
the day move into the well-practiced, meaningless provocation he was used to,
without the trickery of moonlight and the slide into some unwelcome, truly
personal exchange. Let their physical attraction be out in the open under a
blazing sun on the hottest day of summer!