Seduction Regency Style

by Louisa Cornell

  “I have often been told I am not that wise.” Evan held his gaze. “Surely, you aren’t afraid?”

  The earl stared for a long moment, then faced Lady Carr and bowed. “Tomorrow afternoon, if it pleases you, madam.”

  She angled her head in agreement, then he whirled and strode away.

  She turned her gaze to Evan. “I imagine it was your mother who said you aren’t that wise?”

  He grinned.

  She shook her head. “She would be right.”

  Evan caught something in her eyes. “You are not afraid, are you, my lady?”

  ***

  Leslie fought the urge to take her leave. She hadn’t realized how easily she’d allowed her feelings to show. It made her feel vulnerable. Naked.

  Despite the twelve years that had passed since her brother died while racing their father’s prize Friesian, she still trembled inside every time she raced. She didn’t race as often as she used to. Perhaps she was getting old. Perhaps the need to face the same danger John had was finally dissipating. Yes, no doubt, that was the case, at least a little. But not enough.

  Mr. MacLaren shifted, and Leslie realized she hadn’t answered him—and he was studying her with those too-keen eyes.

  She laughed, softly. “I am never afraid.”

  “No?” he asked. “Perhaps I was mistaken.”

  “Perhaps you were.”

  Was there a touch of amusement in his eyes?

  Oh, that would not do. Had he reminded her of Carr? Nae, he was a mere boy compared to her. She had been the wife of a dynamic, powerful nobleman, a paragon of military discipline. Now she was an experienced widow, well accustomed to handling her lovers as suited her fancy. She would not be reduced to a trembling, over-eager chit by this young man’s fine face and form. He wanted to seduce her, that she could easily see. But his seduction of her would be no easy conquest and she would enjoy every moment of that greater, most delicious dance between them.

  “Lord Barnton is a prig,” the baroness said.

  Mr. MacLaren’s full mouth turned up in a sardonic smile and Leslie had the sudden desire to kiss him full on the mouth right then and there.

  Baroness Trent turned to her. “I had no idea you raced. So, you beat the earl last month. He will be positively livid when you beat him this time, as well.”

  “He is a skilled horseman.” Leslie wished she’d brought a fan. The room had grown too warm. She finished the last of her champagne, then said, “It is just as possible he will beat me,” as she withdrew a handkerchief from her reticule.

  “I should hope not,” Mr. MacLaren said.

  She paused in lifting the handkerchief to her cheek and said, “I did tell you it wasn’t necessary to risk your money. I should hate to see you lose too greatly.” Something flashed in his eyes and she couldn’t miss the sudden cooling between them. She managed to conceal her disappointment and returned his look steadily. “I meant no offense. You are a third son. It would be expected that you would need to watch your wagers.”

  “I can afford the loss,” he said tightly. “But I do not intend to lose.”

  “Of course, you shan’t lose,” Baroness Trent said. “First thing tomorrow, you shall ride Ares, Leslie. You will love him”—she leaned close—”and he will love you.” She stood. “If you will excuse me, I must see to my guests.” She hurried away, and Mr. MacLaren took the empty seat.

  Alice appeared in the doorway. She scanned the room. Her eyes met Leslie’s, then flicked to Mr. MacLaren and narrowed.

  “Gird your loins, sir,” Leslie whispered.

  “What?” He looked in the direction she stared, then grimaced.

  Leslie bit back a laugh.

  Alice reached them, and Mr. MacLaren stood.

  “There you are,” Alice declared. “I have been searching for you. The card room has opened.” She looked at Mr. MacLaren. “Do you play cards, sir?”

  “A bit,” he replied.

  Alice slipped her hand into the crook of his arm. “Perfect.” She looked down at Leslie. “Come, Leslie, let us play cards with Mr. MacLaren.”

  The young man looked down at her. “Do come, my lady. Perhaps Lord Barnton will be there and we can engage him in a game.”

  “I understand he is a skilled player,” Leslie said.

  “All the better.” He held his elbow out for her.

  She rose. They left the refreshments room and turned left down the hall.

  “The second door on the right,” Alice instructed.

  They entered the room and he continued past the half dozen guests to an empty table near the French doors. Alice looked up at him through her lashes when he held her seat for her, then her eyes followed him as he took the two steps to the chair to her right and seated Leslie. When he sat to Leslie’s right—directly across from Alice—Alice pouted prettily but said nothing. He reached into his coat pocket and withdrew a pack of cards.

  Leslie raised a brow. “Do you always carry cards?”

  “Aye, I find it keeps the other players honest.” His smile didn’t match the fire in his eyes. “But I doubt I need worry about present company.”

  Alice tittered. “Goodness, Mr. MacLaren, you certainly do not.”

  It was the sort of silly, girlish response that Alice slipped into when she was being utterly charmed by a man. The surge of possessiveness that struck Leslie was so fierce, it shocked her. She wasn’t the only woman attracted to the handsome young man. If she didn’t make some kind of claim to MacLaren, at least for the duration of this house party, she might find herself watching a little drama play out between him and her own friend.

  “What’s your pleasure, Lady Carr?” MacLaren’s gaze remained on her with such intensity, it made her lightheaded. He shuffled the cards. There was a sensual laziness to his movement that sent a wave of heat through her. “Whist?”

  He was so young, so handsome. Did he intend to win a fortune with those attributes? Defensive now at how vulnerable she felt to those charms, she wondered just how sadly-to-let his pockets really were.

  “I have been known to be quite lucky playing whist,” she said.

  “You needn’t worry if I lose, my lady. My markers are good.” He dealt the cards.

  She’d said the wrong thing—again.

  The heat between them had definitely cooled.

  Alice laughed. “Oh, Leslie, you are such a goose. Mr. MacLaren will not wager more than he can afford. He seems a most intelligent gentleman.”

  MacLaren looked up from the cards and gifted Alice with a smile—the kind of smile that would heat the life’s blood of a woman in her crypt.

  Leslie angled her head in agreement. “I am certain you are right.”

  Was she being conciliatory or was she patronizing him? Both. His attention to Alice still pricked her. “I have seen pride bring a man to his knees at the card table.”

  He turned back to Leslie, his visage so serious that for a moment he seemed years older. “Such tender concern for me, eh, Lady Carr?”

  There was no tenderness or softness in his voice. Had she misread him? Was that seriousness? Or anger?

  “I shouldn’t wish to encourage you to any vice,” Leslie said.

  He smiled. Not the charming smile he’d given Alice. No, this one held a razor sharp edge. She couldn’t ascertain his emotion as those piercing blue eyes studied her.

  “Perhaps we could make this more interesting. More…” His000000 voice trailed off as his gaze lowered.

  Was he looking at her breasts?

  “Why don’t we play for the honor of your handkerchief?” he said.

  “What?” she asked.

  “Your handkerchief.”

  She looked down and saw that she still held her handkerchief.

  Chapter Four

  Alice laughed. “Oh, how gallant.”

  Alice’s flirtatious exclamation barely intruded on Leslie’s bemusement for MacLaren had lifted his eyes to hers once more. She studied that fierce blue gaze and the unmistakable c
hallenge there sent her heart racing.

  She drew a breath to steady her rising pulse. “I think we must play Ombre, as we are a party of only three.”

  “No, no, Leslie. You and MacLaren must play two-handed Ombre.” Was there a hint of mischievousness to her friend’s voice? “This game is simply too romantic for any interlopers to have a hand in.”

  “I agree,” Mr. MacLaren drawled. “This should be between Lady Carr and myself.”

  “Then it is settled.” Alice clapped her gloved hands softly. “I shall find myself a glass of wine. Alice winked at her and, before Leslie could comment, her friend rose.

  Mr. MacLaren stood and bowed slightly. Alice chuckled, then left the table. Leslie’s throat went suddenly dry and she wished she might follow. But she would select something stronger than wine. This was a novel situation. Usually she was the one dragging Alice into some madcap adventure or another. Now she felt oddly vulnerable.

  Continuously, she had misjudged Mr. MacLaren’s next actions and motives. Now unease wound through her, as though she suddenly were traversing shifting sands in dancing slippers. Damn Alice. What had motivated her sudden change of mind? She had been flirting with Mr. MacLaren, clearly in competition for his attention.

  “Are you ready, my lady?” Mr. MacLaren asked.

  “We shall have to remove a suite of cards from the deck,” Leslie said in what she hoped was a brisk, businesslike demeanor.

  “Hearts or diamonds?” he asked.

  Indeed. Which?

  She couldn’t help but trace a fingertip along her diamond necklace. His gaze followed her fingers. Her heart or her diamonds. Which did he really value more? She mentally shook herself. What a foolish thought. Neither hearts nor diamonds were at stake here.

  She forced a soft, sensual laugh. “You choose.”

  “Hearts.” He began searching the deck for hearts.

  “An interesting choice, Mr. MacLaren. I am curious why you pick hearts to eliminate?”

  “Hearts can be weak.”

  “A wise heart can be the strongest fortress known,” she murmured.

  “How rarely one encounters a wise heart.”

  “Yes, so rarely one might be caught unaware in the presence of one such heart.”

  “Oh, I am never caught unaware,” he said.

  She bit back a laugh. The young man was arrogant.

  Evan continued to separate the hearts from the rest of the deck, all the while trying not to show how the prickling at the back of his neck had unsettled him. What sort of a game was he really playing with her? What were the terms for their play?

  He wanted her. She had to know that.

  Without strings or melodrama.

  Earlier, the gentlemen had called her an adventuress. She clearly enjoyed taking risks. That could lend itself in his favor. But it could also mean that she was the type of woman who liked to play fast and loose with a man’s sanity and reputation. She might end up painting him a devil for her own amusement. Oh, he’d seen enough of those women. Wasn’t his brother shackled for life to such a heartless, manipulative creature? An easily bored woman saw men as playthings, and they all wanted marriage as their ultimate goal.

  “Mercy, sir.” The slight laugh in her tone send a chill through him that was part wariness, part sensual thrill. “You seem determined to strip me to the bone with that look.”

  He set the suit of hearts aside and began shuffling the cards. “I am wondering what sort of a player you are, my lady.”

  She cocked her head, that lush mouth curving upward. “Are you asking if I cheat?”

  “I would know if you were merely cheating the rules of the current game. That is not my worry.”

  She arched a brow. “Then what? You would allow me to cheat so long as you believed yourself in control of the situation?” Amusement laced her words.

  “I believe in being permissive.”

  “But there are limits?”

  “I would hate to think that you were changing the nature of the game entirely,” he replied, unruffled.

  “I think we are no longer speaking of Ombre.”

  “Nae,” he murmured. “We are not.”

  “I think you are being presumptuous.”

  “I think you would be insulted if I were not.”

  Her lips twitched as though she were suppressing a grin. “Just attend to this current game. Ombre, remember?”

  “Aye.”

  He began to shuffle, aware that she watched his hands. What was it about a woman watching a man’s hands that seemed erotic? Or was it just the fact she was watching his hands and he hoped she was envisioning what he wanted to do to her with his hands?

  Her gaze shifted past him and a shadow fell across the table a bare instant before he recognized the familiar scent of lilacs. Evan silently cursed but kept his eyes on the cards. A slim arm draped over his shoulder.

  Lady Isabel Dunn sat in the seat to his left and slid her hand across his shoulder and down his arm before she said, “What a surprise to see you here, Mr. MacLaren.” She turned to Leslie. “Lady Carr, if I am not mistaken.”

  Leslie angled her head in acknowledgement. “Forgive me, but have we met?”

  “We have not. But I saw you at Mrs. Landon’s party last year.”

  Evan wanted to wring Isabel’s pretty neck. Instead, he said, “Lady Carr, meet Lady Isabel Dunn.”

  “A pleasure to meet you,” Leslie said, but Evan had the sense she wasn’t that pleased. The woman was a fine judge of character.

  Evan finished dealing and picked up his cards in hopes Isabel would leave. “I did not know you and Dunn were friends of Baroness Trent,” he said to her.

  “Oh, yes, Dunn knew her husband from their university days.” Her eyes shifted to the cards. A slow smile lifted her mouth and Evan realized his mistake. “Ombre,” she said. “For two players.” She lifted her eyes to his face. “How…intimate.”

  Evan caught the narrowing of Leslie’s eyes.

  She gave Isabel a cool smile. “Care to join us?”

  He winced inwardly. Lady Carr couldn’t turn away from a challenge, and Isabel might as well have slapped her across the face with a white glove. He understood little about women, but the need to answer a challenge, he understood. The challenge wasn’t over him—at least not on Leslie’s part. Isabel…well, she probably wanted him more than she would admit. She hated losing. He suspected the same could be said for Lady Carr, only it was likely Lady Carr hated losing to a person of flawed character, and Isabel was certainly flawed.

  “Three handed Ombre it is, then.” Evan gathered up the dealt cards and began to shuffle again.

  Isabel looked at him from beneath her lashes. She knew how to use that womanly smile to perfection. Six months ago, he would have fallen for it—had fallen for it.

  “What are the stakes?” Isabel asked.

  Evan faltered in dealing. She didn’t mean…

  She turned her gaze onto Leslie. “I hear you are an adventurous woman, Lady Carr.”

  “Isabel,” he growled.

  She laughed. “Come now, Evan, a woman who plays two handed Ombre with a gentleman expects a certain level of excitement.”

  Evan set the deck on the table and looked at her. “Lady Carr and I only met tonight. A stolen kiss is sufficient excitement.”

  Was that curiosity that flickered in Lady Carr’s eyes?

  “A stolen kiss.” Isabel sent her a sideways look. “Any lady who challenges an earl to a horserace is not a lady to settle for a stolen kiss.” She smiled. “At last not a kiss on the mouth.”

  Lady Carr’s expression remained neutral. “Am I to infer that you are proposing stakes of an intimate kind?”

  “It would certainly make the game interesting, do you not agree?”

  Lady Carr arched a brow. “Only if the players are worth playing with.”

  Isabel’s eyes narrowed, then she turned a sultry look on him. “Evan can vouch for my worthiness to apply kisses in just the right ways”—she r
eturned her gaze to Leslie—”and places.”

  Lady Carr’s eyes shifted past Evan and Isabel looked over her shoulder. Isabel drew a small gasp, then faced forward again. “Deal, Mr. MacLaren.”

  Mr. MacLaren?

  A large, sandy haired man stopped at their table and Evan understood her sudden change in mood.

  “Good evening, Lord Dunn.” Evan smiled. “Care to join us for a game of Ombre?”

  “You have bollocks the size of a horse to dare even speak to my wife,” the viscount snapped.

  Evan turned his attention to Lady Carr. “You will have to forgive Viscount Dunn, my lady. He worries about his wife a great deal.”

  The viscount’s jaw visibly flexed. “I will no’ let you off so easy this time, you bloody fool.”

  Anger tightened Evan’s belly. “Forgive me, my lord.” He didn’t stop there, though he knew he should. “We have discussed this at length.”

  “No more of your lies,” the older man shot back.

  “I never denied—” Evan broke off and looked at Leslie. She watched, eyes keen with interest.

  “Never denied that you bedded my wife,” Dunn finished for him.

  Two women sitting in chairs near the hearth glanced their way.

  “Really, John,” Isabel said. “Must you make a scene everywhere we go?”

  He seized Evan’s jacket and yanked him to his feet. A murmur swept the room as Evan twisted free and took a step back. He’d had enough of the fool’s insults.

  “My lord, perhaps you would prefer to step outside with me.” Evan angled his head toward the doors, a few feet away.

  “Not again,” Isabel said, but Evan caught the glint of interest in her eyes.

  “Return to our room, Isabel,” the viscount ordered.

  Leslie swept to her feet and started around the table.

  Evan faced her. “Lady Carr, I will not be long.”

  Lady Carr reached the viscount’s side. A small group of men sitting at a card table across the room watched them. “Mr. MacLaren, I would like that walk in the garden you promised me,” she said.

  “A walk in the garden?” Isabel blurted.

  Her husband’s head snapped in her direction. “What do you care if they take a walk in the garden?”