A Season of Seduction

by Jennifer Haymore

  These thoughts were dangerous. “This has nothing to do with the scandal? With my family?”

  “No. It has only to do with you and with me.”

  Becky clasped her hands firmly over the book in her lap. “Mr. Fulton, I do believe it’s possible that it might work out between us in time, but my first priority is to alleviate the strain this scandal has caused to my family. I should very much like to see you again, but only when the gossip has been long forgotten. If you decide you don’t want to wait—” She broke off, swallowed hard, then continued. “I will understand. And please forgive me for being rude to your father. It was not well done of me, not at all. I regret any inconvenience it might have caused you.”

  “It wasn’t an inconvenience.” He took her hand and cradled it in his own. “You made me proud.”

  “What?”

  “You were magnificent.” He raised her hand to his mouth and pressed his lips against it.

  “I allowed my temper to get the better of me. I rarely do that.”

  He lowered her hand and met her gaze head-on. “I am glad you did. My father deserved it.”

  His eyes looked deep into her, as if they saw her, not her outside shell, not her twisted arm, but her. She shifted on the hard cushion, trying to regain her equilibrium.

  “Becky… I want you.”

  It took her a moment to recapture her breath before she spoke again. “You must understand that I cannot allow the outcome of my entire life to depend on an ephemeral ‘want.’ ”

  “No. Not ephemeral.”

  She ignored that statement. “I cannot base my future on a corporeal feeling. I cannot promise to spend the whole of my life with a man I don’t know.”

  “I am a man. Who wants you. You, and no one else. What more is there to it than that?”

  She clasped her hands in front of her. “There is far more to it, Jack.”

  He thrust his fingers over his scalp, then closed his fist around a clump of hair, closing his eyes in defeat. “You’re right. This is why I propose a formal courtship.”

  “That would be a farce,” she said quietly, “given that it’s public knowledge we were in bed together.”

  Jack shook his head. “Not a courtship to display to the world, Becky. One between you and me. No one else needs to know, or even be involved.”

  Her resolve wavered. He dropped his hand, leaving his hair tousled. The desire to try to tame it with her fingers flitted through her, but she thrust the notion aside.

  He smelled so good, so salty and clean and masculine. His lips were supple and soft, she knew from experience. She wanted to touch her own lips to them, to feel them glide over her skin.

  “I’m not giving up, Becky. I want to be married to you someday. Someday soon.”

  “There are many ladies on the marriage market who are far more qualified, and far more eager for marriage, than I am.”

  “I’m not interested in any of them. Wives are not horses. I won’t choose a woman from a pool of eligibles only to toss her back and select another when something goes awry.”

  He was so different from other men. So focused, so intent on her. Why her? A soft shudder tickled up her spine.

  “I’ve already found the woman I want.”

  “And if the woman you want has no desire…” She paused. She couldn’t say she had no desire for him. That would be a lie. “…to be married?”

  “Then I will change her mind.”

  She broke her gaze from his face, her own face growing warmer by the second. “You should go,” she whispered.

  “Yes, I’ll go.” His voice was gruff. He pried the book out of her hands and set it aside. Then he leaned closer, turning a little so his breath blew softly over her cheek. “But you’re coming with me.”

  Chapter Nine

  Where are we going?”

  Jack glanced at Becky. A light flush suffused her cheeks, and she had gnawed on her lower lip incessantly since he’d helped her into the carriage.

  “I told you—it’s a surprise. But I promise you’ll enjoy it.” He slid his fingers over hers, the gesture intended to comfort her. His thumb played over the fine lace on the edge of her sleeve. “We’re almost there,” he murmured. Their destination was only a few minutes away from Lady Devore’s house, and there wasn’t much traffic today, for the promise of rain was heavy in the air.

  She slid him a nervous glance. “We shouldn’t be seen together.”

  “I know.” He squeezed her fingers. “I won’t do anything to further damage your reputation.”

  At that, she released a short burst of cynical laughter. “It doesn’t matter, I suppose. My reputation is quite beyond repair.”

  She made her voice light, but her eyes were stark with the upset the scandal had caused her. The scandal orchestrated by him.

  It had to be done, he reminded himself. The ends justified the means.

  A blustery wind propelled the carriage to the bottom of Bond Street, where it stopped at the corner of Piccadilly. Jack exited and went around to Becky’s side tohelp her out.

  She glanced up as they stepped out of the carriage, then her eyes sparkled in genuine pleasure. “The Egyptian Hall.”

  “Mmm.” He gazed up at the façade of the Hall with her. “The museum is closed this afternoon. They’re adding a few final touches to their newest exhibit before it opens to the public next month.”

  “Their African exhibit?”

  He smiled. “I thought you would have heard about it. I’ve arranged a private showing for us.”

  She didn’t move for a long moment. Then, as if in slow motion, she slipped her arm through his.

  He stood beside her on the pavement, gazing at the edifice of the Egyptian Hall, relishing the trust in her touch and the contentment in her expression. People brushed by on all sides, and behind them the street was thick with the sounds of traffic. He wished he were alone with her. The image of her body, bare and creamy, in the semidarkness at Sheffield’s Hotel assaulted his memory, and his body hardened all over—one particular part of his anatomy in rather extreme, painful fashion.

  God, he wanted her. He wondered whether anything would be able to coerce him to leave their bed once they were married.

  He’d best focus on the present lest his carnal recollections run away with him and his state become obvious. He was thankful that the day was frigid, and he wore a heavy woolen coat. He pressed his free hand over hers, the black of his glove a sharp contrast to the bright white of hers.

  “Do you know what it says?” He gestured up at the symbols carved into the architrave of the building.

  “I think the hieroglyphs are nonsensical. The architect claimed the design of this place was taken from the temple at Dendera, but…” She frowned. “It possesses certain Egyptian qualities, I believe, but it is not an accurate representation.”

  “But you have never been to Egypt.”

  “No, I haven’t.” She shrugged. “I might be wrong, of course.”

  He studied her from the corner of his eye. It was clear that she didn’t really think she was wrong. He didn’t think she was wrong, either. She read profusely and with impeccable attention to detail.

  They entered the Hall, and the curator hurried up to welcome them. It was thanks to Stratford’s acquaintance with the man that they’d been allowed to explore the museum today. After shaking Jack’s hand vigorously and bowing to Lady Rebecca, the man took their coats and excused himself, saying he had much work to do with the forthcoming opening, and he hoped they’d make themselves at home. This had been planned, too. Jack had wanted their private showing to be completely private.

  After the man vanished into one of the side rooms, Jack led Becky through the silent entry hall toward the natural history collection from southern Africa. They entered the Great Room of the Hall. The place had been redecorated since he’d last come here as a boy, in an ostentatious permutation of modern and Egyptian styles. Columns painted in earthy colors and encircled at their tops by the carved
visage of an Egyptian goddess lined the walls. To Jack and Becky’s left, tucked between two of the outlandish columns, lay two live dogs sleeping in a cage. Becky hurried up to them and he read the plaque attached to the cage: “African Canines: Specimens from the Cape.” The dogs inside were smallish, with wolflike features and random patterns of black, red, yellow, and white in their fur.

  As Becky studied the animals, Jack’s gaze wandered to the center of the room, where a bevy of stuffed ducks, geese, and birds stood round a large swatch of blue fabric meant to resemble a pond. In the center of the pond stood a monstrously fat creature he didn’t recognize. “I suppose they couldn’t acquire a live specimen of one of those,” he murmured.

  “Mm,” Becky said as they approached. “A hippopotamus. It’s enormous, isn’t it?”

  “I wouldn’t like to be attacked by one,” he said. “Looks like he could eat an entire ship.”

  “They’re known to become quite aggressive,” Becky agreed. “They’ll occasionally attack Nile boats.”

  “I suppose we should be happy we don’t reside in Africa. No chance of encountering such ferocious beasts.”

  “Oh, I don’t know.” Wryness edged Becky’s voice. “There are ferocious beasts aplenty in England. Mostly of the human variety.”

  He chuckled, but at the same time he acknowledged there was some truth to her joke. More truth than he was comfortable admitting.

  A movement caught his eye, and he looked across the room. A cage was tucked into the corner, no bigger than the cage holding the dogs, but the animal inside was much larger. The horned creature gazed at them between the bars with dark, watering eyes. It was incredibly ugly—a little smaller than a cow, with black fur, skinny legs, a mat of tangled shaggy hair for a mane, and a long, pointed beard. Horns curled up from its ears, and its nostrils flared.

  “What is that?” he asked, equally appalled and intrigued.

  “I believe it’s a gnu,” Becky murmured. “Poor thing, it can hardly move.”

  He gazed at her, at the compassion in her face and stance as she reached through the bars and stroked the animal’s woebegone muzzle, and something inside him went soft.

  She was so different. So unlike any woman he’d ever known. She was special.

  “Look at him,” she murmured. “Once he ran free on the African plains with his herd, and now… he is alone and trapped. You can almost see his spirit seeping out of him.” She looked up at Jack with shining eyes.

  “Shall we set him free?” he whispered, gazing at Becky rather than the gnu.

  “I wish we could.” She blinked hard. “But what good will it do? He would die in London. He would be caught again, or shot…” She drew in a ragged breath. “There is no freedom here.”

  “You possess a great deal of compassion toward a creature you know nothing of.”

  “I do know a few things about gnus,” she said. “I’ve read about them.”

  “Of course you have.”

  “Despite their wild appearance, they’re more mild-tempered than many of God’s creatures. They live in tight herds, and they protect one another. None of them deserves to be caught, caged, and taken from everything he knows.”

  “That’s probably true.” He studied her. She looked beautiful, with dark curling tendrils of hair peeking from the brim of her green velvet-trimmed bonnet, with the matching lapels of her moss green silk redingote, and her shining midnight-blue eyes, so expressive and rich with feeling. Her dark gaze, so sad, so full of the life she’d lived and of the experiences she’d had, smacked him in the chest.

  She’d been beaten down by her husband, and that made her tentative and hesitant, fearful of setting herself free, of opening her heart. She believed she couldn’t survive being hurt again. Jack understood completely. He’d been in that same place for many years after Anne’s death.

  Jack wanted her to stop hurting. He wanted to protect her, cosset and spoil her, until she was confident enough to set herself free. Until she was confident enough to allow herself to be happy.

  He wouldn’t let anyone hurt her. Never again.

  “Come.” Becky smiled, but the look of sadness lingered in her eyes. Sighing, she threaded her arm through his again and turned him away from the gnu. “Let us walk awhile.”

  Arm in arm, they began a slow promenade through the Hall, their heels tapping on the wood floors as they progressed through the otherwise silent rooms.

  When they reached the landing on the second floor, they gazed out the front windows, watching the rain fall sideways onto the street below.

  He leaned closer to her, breathing her in. She smelled sweet and fresh, like the pink amaryllis he’d sent her.

  Gathering her hand in his, he tugged off her glove. She watched him with a bemused expression, but she didn’t try to stop him as he tucked the glove in the inside pocket of his tailcoat.

  “I once met a fortune-teller,” he said, “at port in Kingston. She claimed to be able to read a person’s future in his palm.”

  “Did she read your palm?”

  “Oh, yes. She said I would have a long and prosperous life. She counted the lines coming off of this deeper line here—” he slid his fingertip across the top line beneath her little finger, “—and said I’d father three children.”

  She frowned at her hand. “How many children shall I have by her method?”

  “Three.”

  She sucked in a breath. “It means nothing.”

  “True,” he said easily.

  “I… You see, I have reason to believe I am barren.”

  “What makes you think so?”

  “I was married for four months and did not conceive.”

  “Conception can take longer than four months.”

  She swallowed and nodded. “I hoped… I hoped that if I conceived, William would stop ignoring me. That he would grow to love me again.”

  Four months. How quickly her first husband had proved to be a bastard.

  “People have little control over such things. Perhaps a higher power determined it wasn’t your time.”

  She grew even more somber. “Perhaps. If I’d had a child by William, he wouldn’t have a father, and I would know his true father was…” Her voice dwindled.

  He closed his hand over hers, so that her fingers folded into a small fist encompassed by his own. The fortune-teller had also told him that he would experience great love in his life, and that if he wasn’t careful, he’d lose that love.

  He’d known—just known—there was something of truth in what the old crone had told him. She was speaking of Anne. But it was too late for him—he’d already lost her.

  Yet maybe she’d been speaking of Becky.

  Beautiful Lady Rebecca Fisk, daughter of a duke, wounded soul, and oh so rich. Could he love this woman? He certainly liked her. He’d liked her from the beginning, and that feeling grew each time he saw her, witnessed the quirks of her personality, learned more about her.

  “Trust,” he said quietly, “is a leap of faith. One must make a decision to abandon doubt and release all misgivings. One must hold on to the conviction that the soul upon whom you’ve bestowed the gift will hold it close and never destroy it.”

  “I gave William my trust so easily.” Her expression darkened. “Far too easily.”

  “Yes, you gave it generously, and in all innocence. But no longer.”

  “No.” She squeezed her eyes shut.

  “I understand.”

  “Then you should understand why I cannot trust anyone ever again.”

  “I understand it, Becky. But there is no way for me to prove beyond a shadow of a doubt that I will not hurt you. I can tell you I won’t, over and over again, but that isn’t proof.”

  “No, it isn’t.”

  “Words are meaningless; only actions will provide you with the proof you need.”

  “Yes.”

  He shrugged, then brought her fist to his lips, opening her fingers and brushing small kisses over each of her knuckles. “
Then all I can do is attempt to show you how I feel for you. How much I wish to see you content and happy. What a life with me would be like.”

  “You could do that.” She opened her eyes and looked at him with something akin to desperation. “But what would it prove? William—” Her voice cracked and she tried again. “William was so kind, so loving—passionate, even—before we ran away together. And then, as soon aswe were married—” Her eyes turned glassy and she looked away.

  “That is where the leap of faith comes in.”

  “But,” she whispered, “what if I cannot make that leap?”

  “You will,” he promised. He wanted her lips. Badly. He tightened his grip on her, effectively trapping her against him.

  Her gaze shot to his, pupils flaring a bit, whether with excitement or alarm, he couldn’t quite tell.

  “Your bonnet is in the way,” he said in a low voice. He moved his hand to the ribbon tied around her chin and with a flick of his fingers, loosened the bow. He removed the bonnet carefully, making sure none of the straw strands caught on her hair. He set it on the window ledge and turned back to her.

  The traffic had increased on Piccadilly below. If anyone chanced to gaze up at the Egyptian Hall’s window, he would see Jack gripping Becky’s upper arms. Jack didn’t care.

  Pressing a finger to her chin, he tipped her face up. She didn’t resist. Ever so softly, he pressed his lips to hers.

  His eyelids sank shut as every nerve in his body flared into high alert. But he schooled himself to gentleness, gliding his lips over hers in a delicate caress. She tasted so sweet.

  She didn’t fight him. She didn’t draw away. Her lips moved tentatively over his, her hands slid hesitantly up his arms. Slipping his arm around her waist, he drew her tightly against him, showing her just how much he wanted her.

  Her arms tightened over his shoulders and closed around his neck. Her mouth opened and her lips moved more boldly over his. He cradled her face in his palm. There was nothing softer, warmer, sweeter than the curve of her cheek.

  And her taste, God… He touched his tongue to hers, certain he could never get enough of her taste. She whimpered softly into his mouth, her fingertips playing in the strands of hair at the base of his skull, tickling and teasing him in a place he’d never known could affect him.