A Season of Seduction

by Jennifer Haymore

  “If you believe I’m not like him, then why do you hesitate?”

  “I—” She bowed her head. “I just don’t know you well enough. As much as I believe in you—feel in my heart that you cannot be anything like him—I cannot take the risk.”

  She sat more stiffly now, her hands clasped tightly in her lap, resting on that goddamned paper that made him want to go out and wring the smug little artist’s neck. The caricature infuriated him even while it played perfectly into his plan. Yet apparently, it hadn’t been enough.

  He addressed the duke. “We agreed that marriage was the best course of action.”

  “Yes,” Calton agreed. “But the choice is ultimately my sister’s.”

  She exhaled a breath of relief, and for an instant, the devil in Jack regretted the fact that Calton gave her free choice in the matter.

  “I told His Grace last night that I’ve no wish to see you suffer because of this, Becky,” Jack said, looking meaningfully at the pamphlet. “I don’t want anyone else to suffer, either.” He rested his hands on his knees as if he had nothing to hide. “And I want you. God… You must know how much I want you.”

  He infused meaning into the word “want,” because, damn it, he did want her. A hell of a lot more than he wanted the hangman’s noose.

  Her cheeks grew pink, and she slid a glance at her brother. “I feel wretched for having caused my family pain… again. There is nothing I desire less in this world, Garrett. But please understand my reasoning. My first marriage was so… difficult…” Gazing down at Jack, she swallowed hard. “I’m sorry, Jack, but I cannot marry you.”

  Chapter Six

  A week after the world discovered her in bed with Jack Fulton, Becky pushed open the door to the drawing room and reeled to a halt.

  Kate and Garrett stood in the center of the room locked in an embrace only slightly more decent than the one in which Jack and Becky had been discovered. They jerked apart, but Garrett’s hand remained cupped protectively over Kate’s belly as her skirt fluttered to the floor. One side of Kate’s hair had been pulled free from its pins, and color flared high in her cheeks.

  Becky froze in the doorway. “Oh… dear.”

  Garrett smiled. His smile could light up a room, and after his years of living in poverty and isolation, every one of his smiles was a gift. Though she often saw him grinning like a besotted fool at his wife, he rarely bestowed that gift on anyone else.

  And he could smile, couldn’t he? The object of his affections was his wife, after all. Whatever they did together was perfectly acceptable.

  Kate pressed the back of her palm to her flushed cheek.

  “I’m so sorry… I was looking for my book.” Becky gestured at the volume of Antigone lying on the palm-print sofa.

  Garrett pulled farther away from Kate, but he clasped her hand, and a spasm of envy shot through Becky. Garrett and Kate were good people, and they deserved all the happiness and all the blessings they were given. Those had been many in the past four years, and Becky was thankful for it. Still, she couldn’t help envying what they had.

  “We were just sitting down for some tea.” Kate made a vain attempt to correct her hair. “Please join us.”

  “All right.” Becky seated herself on the sofa beside her book while Kate poured them some tea from the silver service set on the table.

  “Perhaps you should tell her now,” Garrett said as Kate handed her a cup of steaming liquid and sat beside her. Garrett took the matching chaise across from them, his back to the hearth.

  “Tell me what?”

  Kate hesitated. Then she lowered her cup to the saucer and placed it on the small marble table beside the sofa. “Please don’t be angry with me, but I’ve invited Jack Fulton and his family to dinner day after tomorrow.”

  Becky gaped at her. “Why on earth would you…?”

  “Fulton visited when you were with Lady Devore yesterday,” Garrett said. “And Kate took it upon herself to ask him to return. When she learned his father and brother were in Town for a few days, she took pains to invite them, too.”

  Becky stared at Kate with wide eyes. Her sister-in-law raised her hand in a placating gesture. “I know it was rash of me, and I probably should have asked you first, but I do like him. He seems… well—” she cast Becky an apologetic smile, “—he seems quite besotted with you.”

  “I turned down his proposal,” Becky reminded her.

  “Not exactly,” Garrett said. “If I recall correctly, at first you said you required time to think on it. You needed time to know him better. Kate is right—what better way to do that than invite him to dinner?”

  “And his family,” Kate added, tucking a stray strand of dark brown hair behind her ear. Kate always thought of family. To her, there was nothing in the world more important.

  “I haven’t heard a word from him,” Becky said. “I thought he was finished with me. I assumed he’d decided to move on.”

  Those thoughts had plagued her for the past few days, filled her with doubt and even a glimmer of regret. A part of her wondered if, in her fear and distrust, she’d given away her final hope for happiness.

  “He has no intention of moving on. He still hopes to convince you,” Garrett said.

  “Really? But why?” He’d been furious when she’d said no. He hadn’t said a word, but he’d clenched his fists, and his lips had gone white. She’d believed she’d damaged his male pride beyond repair. “I’m surprised he’d even want to set eyes on my face again, much less dine here with his family.”

  “Sometimes love isn’t so easy to relinquish,” Kate said quietly.

  Becky plucked her book up from the sofa cushion and clasped it to her chest. “Oh, for heaven’s sake, Kate. He doesn’t love me.”

  “Are you certain of that?”

  “He hasn’t known me long enough to love me. He hardly knows anything about me.”

  Kate’s fingers slid up and down the curve of her belly. “Really, how can you know? Love is as variable as people are. How can you be so insistent that love cannot evolve after a month’s acquaintance? Honestly, I fell in love with your brother even before we formally met.” Kate and Garrett shared a secret smile before Kate turned back to Becky. “He seems so determined to have you. Why else would he persist? Why else would he agree to come to dinner? Why else does he seem so interested in ingratiating himself to our family?”

  Becky closed her eyes. God, but she’d missed him these past few days. Her body yearned for him. She couldn’t stop thinking about him, remembering the simple contentment of just sitting and talking with him, reliving the erotic pleasures he’d wrought on her body. She’d longed to see him again, even while she knew it was best if she didn’t.

  Kate’s brow furrowed in distress. “I don’t want you to feel compelled to join us for dinner. I understand if you prefer to stay in your room.”

  “It would be cowardly of me not to come.” Rubbing her forehead with her fingertips, she looked through her fingers at her sister-in-law. “Tell me the truth, Kate. Do you think I should marry him?”

  “What I feel has no bearing on what you should do. You must do what is right for you. Garrett and I only want you to be happy.”

  The scandal had escalated in the past few days. Now, when Becky walked on the street, ladies tittered behind their fans. Becky could hold her head high for now, but she was already tiring of it all.

  A shudder of mixed anticipation and trepidation wound down her spine. “Dinner. Very well.”

  Kate smiled wistfully. “I must say I like Jack Fulton. I hope that someday things will work out between the two of you. I agree that it would put the scandal to rest if you marry him now, but it’s certainly not worth risking your happiness to do that. Take your time to determine if it is the right course. But I truly hope you will give the gentleman a chance.”

  The day of the dinner engagement with Jack and his family arrived, and that afternoon, Becky sat in her favorite chair in the salon warming her toes by the fire, a
n unopened book on her lap. Tonight was the first time Becky would see Jack since the morning of his proposal over a week ago. But tonight, her entire family would be in attendance, including her sharp-tongued Aunt Bertrice, who’d arrived from Yorkshire for the holidays just this morning.

  A knock sounded on the door and she looked up to see a footman peek into the salon. “You’ve a visitor, my lady. Mr. Fulton is here to see you.”

  Jack! She hadn’t expected him to arrive before dinner. She jumped out of her chair, set the book aside, and shook out the flounces in her slate-colored skirts. “He’s early.”

  “Yes, my lady.”

  “Please show him up.”

  A few moments later, Jack entered, bringing with him that masculine virility that shone about him like an aura. He was tall and broad and everything she ever imagined when she’d lain alone at night and envisioned perfection in a man.

  Just inside the room, he stopped, a smile curving his wicked lips. The footman left, closing the door behind him.

  “Thank God,” Jack said, his voice an arousing amalgam of roughness and quiet. “I thought I’d never see you alone.”

  Her fingertips fidgeted in her skirts.

  In two long, silent strides over the carpet, he stood before her. He hooked one broad arm around her waist and tugged her against him.

  Every muscle in her body stiffened, but then his mouth descended over hers, and she melted.

  His lips were the richest dessert, soft and creamy, passionate, as hungry for her as she was for him. She dropped her skirts, twined her arms about his neck, and kissed him back with the force of all the twisted emotions that had confounded her in the last several days.

  If only it could always be like this. Her guilt and fear melted away, slid down her spine and pooled at her feet, leaving her fresh and pure and clean. Open to whatever he offered her.

  He could make her lower all her shields. All he needed to do was keep kissing her, keep his lips pressed against her cheek, her eyelids, her jaw. Keep his hands firmly gripping her about the waist, holding her steady.

  This was togetherness. If only they could stay like this, joined, inseparable…

  But it ended all too quickly. He pulled away gently, then bent his forehead to hers. “I’ve missed you,” he murmured, his breath a whisper over her lips.

  “I’ve missed you, too.”

  “I’m going crazy for wanting you.”

  Should she tell him the truth? Admit that she wanted him, too? Had desperately craved his touch every day since she’d last seen him?

  Once, she’d felt this way with William, but that had faded sooner than she ever could have predicted. It was all a figment of her wishful imaginings, this security she felt in Jack’s arms. Even that had already proved false—for she’d been in his arms when all those people had stormed into the bedchamber last week.

  He stroked the back of his finger down the side of her cheek. “You want me, too. I feel it.” His lips moved to her ear, his breath dancing over her lobe. “Let’s finish this nonsense. Marry me.”

  She sighed. As much as she wanted him, she couldn’t suggest another evening with him in Sheffield’s Hotel. He didn’t want that anymore. He wanted more. He wanted too much.

  Pulling back, he scraped a thumb over her brow, smoothing it. “I’ve made up my mind—I made it up a week ago. I want you. I’m ready to commit to marrying you.”

  She stared up at him, her forehead furrowed in consternation. “How can you say that so easily? How can you commit your life to someone you hardly know?”

  He shrugged. “I’ve chosen my path. I will not be dissuaded from it. Not now, not ten years from now. This is what I what. You are what I want.” He gazed down at her face, his dark eyes intent. “Do you understand that?”

  “I… think so.” She turned away. “But it’s not so simple for me.”

  “Why?” he demanded.

  She crossed her arms tight across her shimmery gray bodice, closing herself off to him. “I never thought I’d marry again. I thought I’d live out the remainder of my days as a widow bluestocking.”

  He chuckled. “You? A bluestocking?”

  Once again it struck her how very little they knew of each other. Scandal aside, he intended to spend a lifetime with her based on nothing but their immediate carnal attraction. They possessed only a sliver of knowledge of each other beyond it.

  She remembered those long days at Kenilworth after she and William had married. William had grown distant, and she’d begun to realize they weren’t as well matched as he’d led her to believe. She’d never felt lonelier.

  Since William died, she’d surrounded herself with her family, and more recently, Cecelia, and though she was physically lonely, that feeling was nothing compared to the soul-deep aloneness she’d felt at Kenilworth.

  It wasn’t a difficult stretch of the imagination to think the same thing might happen with Jack. He was a bachelor rogue. Thirty years old, accustomed to gallivanting about the globe and taking lovers when the mood struck him. Accustomed to his freedom. Perhaps he’d loved a girl once, but that was long ago. Did he have the first idea how to know—to really know—a woman? Did he have the first idea how to be a husband? For that matter, did she have any idea how to be a proper wife?

  “Becky?” He touched her hair, lightly stroking his fingers over the braided strands twisted at her nape. “I would make you happy,” he said, his voice quiet but emphatic. “I swear it.”

  “Would you?” Turning back to him, she searched his eyes and found nothing but promise in them.

  “I swear it,” he repeated. His lips descended on hers again, sweet and warm. His gentle touch swept through her, softening her muscles and her resistance.

  “Marry me,” he whispered against her lips.

  “No,” she whispered back. Then she winced as he stiffened. “Jack… I…”

  His hands curled around her shoulders, but he didn’t pull away.

  “I don’t mean it to sound so final.” Give him a chance, Kate had said, and she was right. It would be ridiculous, not to mention foolish, to dismiss Jack out of fear that he might be another William. “You must give me time.”

  The tightening of his fingers on her shoulders was subtle, but she felt it. “I want you, Becky. Now.”

  “I’m not ready.”

  With a harsh, frustrated breath, he drew back, thrusting his hand through his blond-streaked hair. “I’m going to convince you otherwise. You’re afraid because of what happened to you last time. But you keep forgetting: I’m not him.”

  “I know. Just… please. Be patient with me.”

  “I’m not a patient man.”

  “It will take time for me to learn how to trust again.”

  “And once I win your trust?”

  A small thrill wound through her at his insistence, at the steely determination in his eyes. “Then… if it can be done… yes. I will consider marrying you.”

  He squared his shoulders. His brown eyes bore into hers in direct challenge. “I will win your trust, then. It won’t take long.”

  He seemed very convinced of that, but she knew herself better than Jack did. “I hope you’re right,” she said with a small smile.

  “I am right. By month’s end, we’ll be at the altar.”

  He seemed to relish this challenge, and his cocky confidence melted her further. Her smile widening, she pressed her body against him, looking up at him from beneath her eyelashes. “Do you think so?”

  “I know it.” He lowered his lips to her brow. “I cannot wait to make you mine.”

  Jack sat stiffly, his fingers clamped around his wineglass, his neck prickling. He resisted the urge to yank off his cravat. He hadn’t desired his father and brother’s presence tonight, but the duchess had invited them, and he was in no position to naysay the woman.

  To his annoyance, he’d not been seated near Becky. Instead, her aunt, Lady Bertrice, who incessantly peered at him through a monocle, sat on his right. Her magnified r
heumy blue eye was so suspicious it made his skin crawl, though if he were being reasonable he’d remember there wasn’t any way she could know anything. If the Duke of Calton could discover nothing of interest in his exploration into Jack’s private affairs, surely an old woman couldn’t either.

  Still, he didn’t like the way that blue eye pried under his skin.

  Lady Westcliff sat on Jack’s left, separating Jack from his father. Bertrand, Jack’s eldest brother, sat across from them, flanked by Becky in a glorious cream-colored silk gown and Lady Devore. Jack’s father and Bertrand behaved with an obsequiousness toward the duke and his family that made Jack’s gut churn.

  Viscount Westcliff, sitting at the duke’s right, was the most affable presence at the table, deftly balancing the surliness of the duke with the fawning of Jack’s family, and it was he and his wife who kept the conversation from sinking to banality—or ceasing altogether.

  After the second course was served, Jack’s father sighed and leaned back in his chair, resting one hand on his protuberant belly while the other lifted his wineglass, his little finger raised in an effeminate gesture. He spoke loudly, so his voice could reach the other end of the table. “I should like to thank you again, Your Grace, for convincing my son to take the proper course and do right by your lovely sister. I only regret that the lady has declined.”

  Everyone fell silent, and Jack glanced across to Becky. The edges of her lips thinned, and she stared at the table linen beyond her plate of oyster-stuffed venison.

  The duke leveled a cold stare at Jack’s father. “I convinced your son of nothing. He was the one who decided that marriage would be the best course of action.”

  Jack didn’t look at his father. Not for the first time, he wondered how it was possible that anyone, much less a king of England, could have enough faith in the man to make him a privy councilor. Then again, the Right Honorable Edmund Fulton had always sunk far more effort into his political career than he would with anything related to Jack. And considering King George IV—well, perhaps not so surprising, after all. Jack had never met the current king, but from all he’d heard, the man shared many traits and habits with Jack’s father.