The Seduction (25 page)

Fenborough walked over to a gaming table at the
side of the room and flipped open the top. An inside leaf was inlaid with black
and white squares. He picked up a box and shook out the chessmen, glanced at
the clock, then grinned at Alden.

"If you plan to best the lady before
midnight, Gracechurch, you had better start playing."

The furniture was instantly rearranged so the
table stood in the center of the room with two small upright chairs on opposite
sides for the players. Juliet's skirts billowed in waves of pink, brushing
under the table against Alden's silk-covered shins. He felt the electric
contact, silk-on-silk, like a small shock.

The audience refilled their wineglasses and
gathered around. Lord Edward remained standing alone at the fireplace, a small
smile fixed - like his patches - to his face.

Α studied silence fell over the room.

She played a classic opening without surprises.
Alden tried to plan his strategy - a fast, ruthless strike straight to victory.
He knew her style of play, her weaknesses and strengths. It shouldn't be too
difficult.

But what should he ask for when he won?

He could not read what she was thinking.
Candlelight made a halo of her powdered hair, charmingly set with white bows.
As she moved, flames glimmered around the edges of her ribbons like a miniature
sunrise. Her low neckline offered shadowed curves, lush, tempting, beneath the
erotic folds of the three rosebuds.

Tendrils of desire for her unfurled, blurring his
judgment. He wanted her. He wanted her with an intensity that dazed him. Yet
whatever the outcome of this, he would never, never be able to touch her again.

He glanced up at her shadowed face.

Her lashes formed a sweep of dusk on her cheeks.
Her features were still, as if carved. It was as if all of her energies had
coalesced into a bright, hard shaft of white light, focused on the board, on
the grouping of pawns and bishops, knights and queens.

Where had she found the courage that enabled her
to take her rage and terror to forge this intense determination? Why had she
insisted on this one last game?

She made her move without looking up. He began to
long for her glance, for her to meet his gaze. She did not.

Yet as black and white patterns formed and broke
apart, a small frown chased the hint of a smile, then gathered again like storm
clouds. Still Juliet did not look at him. Was she afraid of what her glance
might reveal? That her emotions were worn too openly on her face? It seemed
suddenly dishonest even to try to read them.

He looked down at her hands. Α sparkle
caught his eye as she moved her rook. She wore a ring. Α diamond set in
gold. With a sickening certainty he knew that Lord Edward had given it to
her-along with the dress and the fan and the rosebuds. Α ring! Would she
truly marry the duke's son?

Cold sweat drenched his spine.

What should he ask for when he won?

Only that, Juliet! That you not marry this
monster! You were wise enough to refuse him once and run away with your
father's steward. Faith, don't marry him now!

Was he so noble? Unbidden, a small voice
whispered of horrendous alternatives, temptations…to let her become a society
wife like all those other discontented, sumptuous wives. To set her in a place
where he could finally pursue his desire for her without scruple…where he could
make her his paramour under her husband's nose…And to ask - as his boon, if she
became Lord Edward's wife - for a return of his fortune and his freedom?

Yet the thought of her marrying the duke's son,
only to become mistress to an unprincipled rake like himself, only added more
fuel to his mysterious, deep-seated fury.

He had already lost his fortune and his freedom.
The outcome of this chess match could not change that now. There was only one
gift he could in honor ask for when he won: that she leave Marion Hall and the
company of all these dissolute rogues and never return.

She moved a knight. He glanced at the board in
vague surprise. She had taken his king's bishop. It created a new balance on
the board.

Well done, Juliet! Ι didn't see that coming

He sat back to reassess the game. It was time for
his final, fast thrust, an unassailable gambit for victory. Then, when he won,
he must attempt to guess what she wanted him to claim. Idly she played with the
captured bishop. In marked contrast to her ring and the lace cuffs that foamed
over her round forearms, her hands were visibly worn by work. Hands that had
cradled a baby chick; made wine from pale, whimsical cowslips; held hot
compresses to his arm when he'd been stung by a bee.

Hands that had taken his face in a sweet caress
as he had kissed her and put his soul into that kiss.

Emotions seemed to ferment and boil. He moved one
heeled shoe clumsily, shaking the table. Her skirts enveloped his legs. Heat
flooded his blood. Hot and cold, as if winter sprites and summer elves took
turns to torment him. Devil take it! She could not marry Lord Edward, even if
Alden Granville-Strachan, Viscount Gracechurch, had to commit cold-blooded
murder and hang on a scaffold for his crime.

What should he ask for when he won?

Α farewell kiss? Lord Edward's ring to give
to Peter Primrose for Sherry? The ring and a promise that she would go back to
Manston Mingate to live out her lovely, ordered country life forever? He
thrust his remaining bishop along its diagonal. Lace trembled on the back of
his hand. She could not go back to her secretive life in the redbrick house.
Lord Edward Vane had found her. If she did not marry him, the duke's son would
destroy her as surely as he had decided to destroy Alden - who was no longer in
a position to help her.

Cold shivers seemed to emanate from some
deep-seated reserve of ice buried in his heart. He couldn't think clearly. He
knew only this: whether Juliet married the duke's son or not, if Lord Edward
continued to persecute her, his new servant would undoubtedly kill him.

Juliet finished her next move and glanced up
under her lashes. Distress seemed to have blinded him. Alden could no longer
read her expression at all. She stood up suddenly and moved away from the
table. The swish of pink satin and hooped petticoats broke the tense silence.
The watching men let out a collective breath. Energy flowed suddenly, as if ice
cracked to release streams of floodwater.

Bracefort pummeled one hand on the back of his
chair, shaking the gilded wood. Fenborough turned and threw his glass with a
crash to shatter in the fireplace. Trenton-Smith laughed aloud.

"Well done, ma'am!" Dovenby said
quietly.

Lord Edward stepped forward to stare down at the
board. The other men waited, visibly expectant, but he only smiled and turned
away.

"Faith!" the duke's son said over his
shoulder. "Very pretty." The others broke ranks and followed Lord
Edward to the wine table.

Juliet walked around the table and put her palm
on Alden's shoulder. She leaned close to whisper a single word in his ear.

"Checkmate!"

CHAPTER NINE

JULIET HAD WON?

Shock left Alden stunned for a moment, then
incredulity gave way to a mad spurt of hilarity. He suppressed his wildly
inappropriate mirth behind his handkerchief and wondered why laughter felt so
deuced close to pain.

The prize was hers to demand, yet what could she
ask of him now, when he had already lost everything, when he was about to become
Lord Edward's property?

The duke's son turned from the wine table, glass
in hand. "I am glad Ι did not wager on the outcome of
this
game,"
he said dryly. "I would have lost,"

Fenborough's titter was echoed by Bracefort.

Dovenby walked away from the others to lean
against the mantel. His gaze washed slowly over the chessboard, then fixed on
Lord Edward's face.

"Lord Gracechurch now owes you a boon, does
he not, ma'am?" the Dove asked, though he continued to look at the duke's
son. "What do you demand for winning your game?"

Skirts rustled. Juliet sat down again. She closed
her eyes.

Tiny sounds seemed to amplify in the silence. The
slide of silk over silk. The slight clink of a wineglass. Then the hush became
absolute as each man held his breath. What public humiliation would she demand?
Infinite unpleasant possibilities presented themselves. Whatever she suggested,
Alden would have to fulfill it, at whatever cost in degradation or
embarrassment to himself.

"Madam," he said softly. "Your
wish is my command." Her lids flew open, revealing that stunning blue
gaze.

"Very well, sir," She spoke clearly,
concisely, without coquetry or shame. "All your worldly goods were lost
last Sunday night at cards, unless you win them back by securing my favors before
midnight tonight. Ι wish you to do so."

Pain flooded his chest.

Hideously aware of the watching faces, Alden
stood up. The scrape of his chair and the rap of his heels rolled like thunder
in his ears as he walked to the door. His mind seemed to have stopped working.
He wanted nothing except fresh air and escape. Even the latch felt odd under
his fingers, as if he had never opened a door before. He paused for a moment
and stared at it.

In a susurration of skirts, she walked up behind
him. He glanced down at her powdered hair. Her breath was coming too fast. The
locket rose and fell over the enchanting swell of her breasts. Lovely.
Desirable. Juliet.

She was willing? Why?

"Since your person is all that you have
left, your favors are the forfeit Ι claim," She fluttered her fan and
glanced at the clock. "It is just thirty minutes till midnight. That half
hour is what Ι want,"

Alden felt choked. "You would allow me to
win my wager with Lord Edward?"

"Ι not only allow it," she
replied, "I demand it."

His pulse hammered painfully. She would give him
his heart's desire. She would grant him possession of her delectable body. She
would save him from ruin.

She did not know about the one further
stipulation of his infernal wager with the duke's son: her locket.

He tried to speak so only she would hear, but his
words sizzled about the hushed room. "Juliet, don't ask this!"

She raised her chin in a gesture of pure
defiance. "Ι insist on it."

In a sudden white rage Alden hated her. He hated
the entire situation - that they should have such a conversation, like this, in
public. Didn't she know she would become the sensation of the year? For a man,
such an escapade was only another feather in his cap. For a woman it meant
devastation. She would be a pariah. Whether he agreed or refused, she would be
destroyed.

Furiously he determined to save her from this
blind desire for sacrifice, turn her demands into a joke, save her reputation –
if he could.

Alden bowed his head. "Ma'am, you have
succeeded in achieving the unattainable: making Lord Gracechurch plead. As
that was our true last wager, you have now won everything-"

Dovenby jerked, stepped back and caught his elbow
on a tall candelabrum shaped like a standing goddess. The brass figure fell
into the fireplace with a crash, catching a side table on its way. Another set
of candlesticks started to slide. Flaming wax rolled across the floor. Heeled
shoes pounded out a cacophony as men leaped to catch the flying objects and
stamp out the fire.

Alden and Juliet were caught in a sudden cocoon
of privacy. "Ι insist on it," she repeated quietly. "Ι
wish to throw Lord Edward's schemes in his face."

He retreated into his chilliest court manners,
offering her only a tiny nod of the head, almost an insult. "You don't
know how very tempting that is, ma'am. Ι must still refuse."

"Then Ι ask it to save a child named
Sherry, and a deaf driver named John, and Mr. Primrose, and all of your other
dependents at Gracechurch. You cannot refuse me."

"Ι can and do, ma'am."

"You
cannot."
She sounded furious.
"When Ι have asked aloud in front of all these witnesses?"

"It pains me to embarrass you, ma'am, but
Ι do not wish-"

"You selfish blackguard! Do you think Ι
give a damn about your wishes? When you won our previous chess games, Ι
allowed all of your forfeits, even the Italian evening."

Alden pressed his handkerchief to his mouth,
dismissive. "My forfeits were designed to enhance my wicked reputation.
Your absurd wish is guaranteed to destroy the purity of yours. You are a widow.
You have no one to defend or protect you. If you’re determined on
self-destruction, Ι would rather not be a party to it. Ι am trying my
damnedest to allow you to retreat with some shred of dignity."

Her lip curled in scorn as she snapped open her
fan. "Lud, sir. You
 
have been trying
to seduce me all week. Are you incapable of fulfilling that intention?"

Α strange frenzy roared in his ears.