The Seduction (26 page)

As if his body acted without conscious volition,
his left hand pressed down on the door latch; the fingers of his other hand
locked around her wrist. With a small cry, she shut her fan. Alden pulled her
with him into the corridor. The door slammed closed behind them. The ruckus of
swearing, half-drunken men was cut off, as if by a knife.

Alden barely registered the tranquil hallway. His
hands closed on her bare shoulders. His palms feasted on warm skin, then
slipped down over ripe, female curves. He pushed her against the wall, letting
his thumb brush over one sweet arch of breast. Rosebuds shredded in his
fingers, so he tore them away.

Without compunction he seized her head in both
hands and brought his mouth down over hers.
Ecstasy.
He held nothing
back, used no subtlety. One need overwhelmed: to invade her, possess her,
transport her to the heights of sensual pleasure. To thrust into this one
woman, to plunder her tenderness, plumb her mysteries and her sweetness and
her heat, until she writhed and gasped beneath him - to hell with the
consequences!

Overwhelmed by the stridency of his desire and
his rage, he ravaged, not caring if he scorched her. Yet her mouth met his with
a white-hot rage and passion of her own. It was a kiss born of desperation,
seared by anger, that almost forced them both into hatred.

Alden tore his mouth away. Juliet leaned back
against the wall, cheeks flushed, lips bruised. Her eyes swallowed darkness.

"You think to frighten me?" she asked.
"Ι am not afraid of you. You are nothing but bravado and show, an
empty man with an insufferable conceit. This is for me."

He stared at her pulse, rapid and hot in her
throat. Hot breath roared in and out of his lungs. "Is this truly your own
wish, ma'am? Ι thought perhaps you were Lord Edward's puppet."

He didn't know why he said it. It wasn't what he
believed. If she wished to, she could throw those words in his face and walk
away.

Instead she turned her head and took a deep
breath. "Ι did not come here to Marion Hall of my own free will.
Apart from what you owe me, that is the third reason you cannot refuse
me."

As if a snuffer were dropped over a candle, his
rage died. She faced him with that high, bright courage, tinged with a
desperate bravado. It seemed essential to offer her every possible escape, to
make at least that recompense for his theft of her peace.

"I am- Juliet, Ι am sorry. That is not
how Ι have dreamed of winning you. There must be some other way out of
this. You're an earl's daughter. Your father, surely, will protect you from
Lord Edward?"

Juliet glanced back at him. She looked every inch
a lady. "My father will not receive me. We have not spoken, nor
corresponded, in five years. Why do you suppose Ι was living alone in
Manston Mingate?"

Α world of unspoken questions hung between
them, yet throughout the house, clocks were ticking . . .
to midnight.
.
.
to midnight.
. .
to midnight.

"How did you come here?"

"Lord Edward walked into my cottage and told
me about your wager in London: my body for a stranger's fortune.
What an exquisite moment!
To know the true reason for your attentions. To know
that everything you said and did was a lie since the moment we met. Perhaps you
can imagine the humiliation of that?"

"Believe it or not, an almost equal
humiliation is mine." He tried to speak gently. "Thus, whatever your
motives, I'm not sure Ι can bear the generosity of what you offer now. Why
would you reward me for my venality?"

"Because Lord Edward also told me, with
exquisite finesse, of my husband's death. Recently, apparently, in London. It
was a . . . shock, unlooked for. While Ι struggled to comprehend that, he
suggested Ι marry him. Ι refused, but he had menservants with him.
Ι was thrown into a closed carriage and brought here."

"You were
kidnapped?"
His voice
sounded raw.

She shuddered. "Ι have been washed and
painted by strangers, dressed in this silk gown that he purchased for me when
we were engaged to be married. He wants us to begin again."

"Then why did he arrange the unholy wager
with me?"

"Lord Edward thinks he has now taught me a
lesson about his power, so he can forgive my rejection of him five years ago.
Perhaps he can. However, Ι prefer his disdain. There is only one way for
me to avoid his persecution. His pride will never forgive another public
insult. Win your wager and he will wash his hands of me. Otherwise, he will
never leave me be."

"If he wants you so badly, why the devil did
he risk the wager to begin with? Ι might have won."

"Might you? Lord Edward was supremely
confident you would lose. Thus he could help himself to your fortune, while
offering me a nice punishment." She glanced back at him, her eyes the
color of bruised violets. "He learned of my husband's death and knew
Ι was at last a free agent. He will try to force me to marry him. Nothing
else will confound him, but this: you must win the wager."

Pain spread into every muscle, as if he had
fenced until exhausted. The pieces fit, each move part of one overall gambit,
bringing them both to this intolerable conclusion.

"With hindsight, it would appear that Ι
was peculiarly thick-witted-"

"None of that matters." She tugged off
the diamond ring and let it drop to roll away on the floor. "This is all I
care about: Lord Edward will be forced to abandon his interest, if Ι
publicly spend the next half hour in another man's bed."

It was true. Lord Edward was undoubtedly repudiating
her right now and cared nothing for how it was done. He listened as a swell of
masculine laughter echoed through the closed door behind him.

"Indeed, Ι see Ι am trapped,
ma'am. You have pinned me and toppled my king, robbing me of dominion. The
price, it seems, is my body-"

"La! The price of your original wager was
mine."

"So we are both in demand tonight. Firstly,
by Lord Edward. Now, me by you. You, obviously, have won."

Her neck curved like a sculpture of Venus. Her
mouth was set, rigid, her back like a column.

"You cannot bear not to be in command, can
you, Lord Gracechurch? You cannot bear it that the consummation of our game is
due to my ultimatum, not yours, even when it is what you worked for so very
hard?"

"You do not accuse me of being Lord Edward's
accessory?" he asked. "You don't think Ι was part of this from
the beginning?"

She spun about and walked away a few paces, heels
clicking on the floor.

"No, of course not. Even you are not such a
good actor. All you know is this: to labor, toil, slave to win yet another
conquest, another lady's name to add to your endless string of meaningless
encounters. Why else would Lord Edward choose you?"

The back of her neck seemed very tender beneath
the clasp of gold chain that held her locket. Α sweep of powdered hair
rose above her bent nape, an echo of the sweetness of the curve of her
shoulder. Whatever accusations she flung at him now, he deserved. It was all true.
He had accepted this profane wager. He had intended to win it.

They both knew that he had almost succeeded.

He stepped toward her - and saw a faraway version
of himself stepping back. Α large mirror gleamed at each end of the
corridor. They reflected into each other, an infinity of hallways, receding and
receding in a sparkle of candlelit glass. In each replicating image he saw
himself. The smallsword. The wide skirts of his waistcoat and the silk-clad
shape of his calves. His gilt hair worn without powder, unless that was
required for an audience with royalty. Α vanity that seemed hideous to him
now, dressed like a doll in the clothes of the court - except his jacket, of
course, which he had stripped off. Wise, always, to be able to reach one's
blade easily when surrounded by enemies.

His gaze slid away from his reflection to lock
onto that infinity of ladies, multiple images of rose silk, powdered hair, deep
décolletage. Smaller and smaller, disappearing into the never-ending corridor,
each one stood with hooped skirts billowing, spine rigid with courage. Each
pair of blue eyes looked back into his with disdain.

Juliet.
He had told her he loved her. He had casually
said the same to a myriad women. Why on earth did he think he perhaps meant it
now?

"Ι have been asking myself what Lord
Edward's real game was all week," he said. "Ι do not usually
lose at cards-"

"Nor with women, why is why he used you. Now
it is my turn.
         
What matter if
there is one more notch on your bow?"

"It matters, if you are not truly willing,
Juliet."

Her fan snapped, the frail ivory wands
splintering in her hands.

"Willing? Oh, your conceit is surely greater
than that? You are such a splendid lover, every woman is willing."

He swept her a bow. Up and down endless glass
corridors, blond heads bowed, getting smaller and smaller. He retreated into
the familiar game, the game he had perfected with so many women.

"Then you will not change your mind?"

"I will not!"

He smiled, deliberately. "Ma'am, I desire
your body with a quite reckless ferocity. I have never denied or attempted to
hide that. When in addition, I stand to win back my fortune and my ancestral
home, I am by no means noble enough to turn that down. I only hope you are
prepared for what's about to happen."

She wavered then. He saw it in the nervous little
jerk of her hand. "Prepared?"

"To share passion for our mutual pleasure,
for as long as it lasts, with nothing else implied. I am ruthless about
affairs. Mine are only of the body, not of the heart. That's what it means to
be a rake. I will not marry you."

Rose satin flowed in the infinite mirrored images
as she turned away. "Alas, but there is another condition, sir: After
tonight, you will never see me again."

It was a small shock. He took the broken fan from
her hands. "I did not mean anything quite so drastic. I shall delight in
changing your mind."

"You will not seek me out again."

"After tonight, you may wish me to."

"But if I do not ask you, you will not
contact me. I must have control in this."

He bowed his head. "Your wish is my command,
Juliet."

"You are also, no doubt, experienced enough
to guarantee not to get me with child?"

"Yes, I can guarantee that."

"Then, if we are to consummate our unholy
treaty, we had better begin. There's not much time left."

The door flew open. Like a cork thrust forward on
the wave of inebriated laughter from the room behind, Sir Reginald Denby's
flushed face bobbed into the corridor.

"Well, Gracechurch? Do you agree to the
lady's demands? We have a new wager riding on the outcome."

Alden swept him a formal bow. "You may tell
Lord Edward that the lady gains her desire. I trust you wagered on the winning
side, sir, and that your distinguished guest is not too disappointed by his
failure to win Gracechurch Abbey?" He turned back to Juliet and held out a
hand. "Madam?"

Her fight for courage was palpable as she placed
her fingers in his. Α tremor ran up his arm. He laid his other hand over
hers to keep it still." Her wide eyes glanced up into his. Alden pulled
Juliet to his hip, crushing her hoops, doing his best to imbue her with
confidence. Now it was too late to turn back, she was shaking like a leaf.

Sir Reginald seemed ecstatic. "Hah! I
wagered you'd do it this time, Gracechurch. Deuced pretty filly, what? Would've
had her myself - just for the sake of her eyes, dammit all!" He bellowed
until a footman came running. "The green bedchamber, man! Show this lady
and gentleman to the green bedchamber."

"I despise green, Denby," Alden said.
"Did you not hear me tell Fenborough so?"

"The green room's the best-" Sir
Reginald began.

Alden ignored him and smiled at the footman,
standing awkwardly to one side. "You may go. The lady and I will choose
our own accommodation."

The footman seemed distinctly confused. "My
lord?"

Denby swayed against the wall. "Take 'em to
the green chamber and be damned to it!"

Alden tapped Denby lightly on his plump cheek,
not enough to hurt, just enough to humiliate. "I regret I must spoil the
rest of your evening's entertainment, Sir Reginald. We’ll find our own
way."

Taking a tight grip of Juliet's fingers, he led
her away, leaving the footman to support his drunk master as he slumped to the
floor.

Α stair led them up to several suites of
bedrooms. Alden strode down corridors, throwing open doors, until he found what
looked like a disused dressing room with a valet's sleeping couch against one
wall. The couch had been made up with clean sheets. The room had no windows or
other entrances, and it met one other vital criterion: a key in the lock.