A Taste of Seduction

by Bronwen Evans

  He looked at her as if he had not seen her before. She was a beautiful young woman. Glossy fair hair was intricately dressed with fine pearls. She wore no necklace, but a long curl hung seductively over her shoulder, emphasizing her graceful neck, and drawing a man’s eye to her abundant cleavage. Her lovely hazel eyes twinkled with intelligence. She loved to read and had an enquiring mind. He glanced down and with a start noticed bosoms that would spark any red-blooded man’s interest. He quickly looked away.

  “Hadley,” she repeated, “there is a wonderful new exhibit at the British Museum. I was wondering, due to the circumstances we find ourselves in, if I could rely on you to accompany me tomorrow afternoon. Sebastian won’t leave Beatrice’s side, and it’s dangerous for me to go alone.” She batted her eyes. She was flirting with him.

  Helen had never been so forward before. He supposed it was to defend him against Evangeline, who to his annoyance seemed rather amused by Helen’s behavior. But then, why would she be jealous? She had shown him how little regard she held for him by marrying her viscount.

  A cold hand wrapped itself around his heart and squeezed.

  “I would be honored to escort you, Helen.” A tinge of worry made him shift in his chair when he saw the look of pure happiness on Helen’s face. This was just an act, wasn’t it? Helen even flashed a smug look at Evangeline, who merely inclined her head.

  Silence hung in the air, as uncomfortable as his fragile little chair had been.

  Finally Arend, who was seated to Evangeline’s left, asked, “How long do you intend to stay in London, my lady?”

  “Please, call me Evangeline,” she told Arend before turning to look at Hadley. “My stay depends on how long it takes me to catch up with old…ah, acquaintances. I have some business with one in particular.” She finally turned to Arend and added, “I won’t be able to leave until I have done so.”

  Hadley bit his tongue. He wanted to say Then you will be here for a long time, because I have nothing to say to you, but that would have seemed childish.

  Instead he asked, “And once you have caught up with your acquaintances, will you be returning to Scotland?”

  “That depends.”

  When nothing further was forthcoming, he prodded, “On what?”

  “On how our conversation goes.”

  —

  There, she’d said it. She’d told Hadley Fullerton exactly why she was here. She could not for the life of her understand his coldness toward her. If anyone should be bitter, it was she. She’d spent five years in misery, waiting every day for him to rescue her, but he’d never come.

  Love obviously meant something completely different to him. She would have moved heaven and earth to find him if he had suddenly gone missing.

  Before condemning him, she would at least give him the opportunity to tell her why—why had he abandoned her to such a horrible fate.

  Hadley tried to pretend he didn’t understand her meaning, but it was there in his eyes. His beautiful blue eyes. She had blue eyes too, but hers were light blue, whereas his were deep blue, as deep as an ocean. She used to love how they burned for her when he held her in his arms, when he made love to her, when he swore he couldn’t live without her.

  It appeared he could live without her very well.

  She tried to ease the pain in her chest by drawing in a few quick breaths. She’d been widowed for twelve months, three days, and fifteen hours, yet he still had not had the decency to write to her.

  She had hoped he’d explain his behavior of five years ago. How does a man profess such undying love, make love to you as if he can’t live unless he has you, and then not even attempt to find you?

  Not even when she’d begged him in her letters. She prayed he’d received her letters.

  She swallowed back the tears that wanted to fall the minute she’d seen him across the drawing room. Now thirty, he looked the same. The years had been kind to him. He still looked like the handsome twenty-five-year old lord who’d asked for her first dance at her neighbor’s country ball. That had been the moment their relationship had become more.

  As soon as he’d taken her in his arms for the waltz, she’d known he was the one. He was her future, her life.

  Only, her life had not turned out how she had imagined. Far from it.

  He didn’t reply to her bold statement. So she added, “Nothing to say? How surprising.”

  Hadley’s chair scraped back, and he stood, throwing his napkin onto the table. “Pardon my manners. If you’ll excuse us, I’d like a private word with Lady Evangeline.”

  Christian said, “You may use my study,” as he looked accusingly at his wife, as if to say I warned you.

  Hadley then stood behind her, and she sighed and allowed him to pull out her chair so she could stand. She addressed Serena, the hostess. “Please forgive me. I did not mean to ruin your lovely dinner.”

  Serena smiled warmly and assured her she had not ruined anything, but Evangeline could barely make out her words over the pounding of her pulse. Forcing a relaxed smile, she preceded Hadley from the room.

  Neither of them spoke as he virtually marched her into Christian’s study. He closed the door with a deafening thud. With knees trembling she sank onto a high-backed wing chair obviously made for a man, because her feet barely touched the ground unless she moved to sit on the very edge. Her dinner would be getting cold, she worried; then she realized what an odd thought that was. The rise of emotions churning inside her made the idea of continuing to eat dinner unpalatable anyway.

  She had thought herself prepared to face Hadley, but she had not been expecting such open hostility or, worse still, indifference.

  She’d dreamed of this day every night for more than five years, but never in her dream had she felt so afraid.

  Her marriage had been the most terrifying, heartbreaking, and soul-destroying experience of her life. In the space of an hour, not only had she lost the man who owned her heart, but she’d found herself utterly defenseless against her mother’s dastardly plan. A tear almost escaped as she recalled how her lady’s maid offered to smuggle a note to Hadley. She’d written the note, of course, but he never came.

  It was as if he’d washed his hands of her. And was glad of it.

  She’d arrived in London three days ago. She’d come to London to finalize her son’s inheritance, and to see if Hadley was man enough to tell her to her face that she’d been mistaken. That he had never loved her as he professed.

  His rejection, more than her forced marriage, had left her broken, her dreams shattered in fragments of longing and hope.

  It was a fragment of hope that had brought her south to London. She wanted Hadley to say the words to her face, to tell her his love had faded, for she didn’t believe his indifference. But having now met him, she had her answer.

  How foolish to continue to love him all these years when he had obviously never loved her to begin with. He’d been infatuated with her, had lusted after her, perhaps—but not love.

  He’d haunted her waking moments and held center stage in her fondest dreams. The memories of his lovemaking—and it was lovemaking; what her husband did to her had taught her that—had sustained her through the nights of terror when Viscount Stuart would come to her bed.

  Hadley’s touch had always set her soul alight, sending intense, desperate, wild need streaming over her. She ached for his caress, for the indescribable pleasure he had given her.

  Why had he deserted her?

  The man pacing the room in front of the fire seemed so different, as if a stranger. Being this close to him, seeing him again, remembering his kiss, his touch, his smile, roused an aching inside her for what could have been. Anger was her leash.

  Why had he deserted her? She did not deserve that.

  It was the tense, hard flash in his eyes that made her want to curl up into a ball and cry. Her hands clenched into fists. Well, he could be as annoyed as the bloody king, for all she cared. It was obvious there was to be no happy ending
for her. He clearly cared not a jot. But she would not leave here without answers.

  She raised her head and squared her shoulders. Why would he not say something? He simply stood before the fire, his slow appraisal sending prickling heat through her body. His gaze brushed over her bosom, traveling down to take in her waist (which had, to her shame, thickened over the years since the birth of her son), and finally resting on her hips before racing back up to her blushing face.

  It was the scrutiny of a man who knew women intimately and didn’t care that she understood that fact.

  Her nails dug into her palms. She drew in a steadying breath, trying to calm the rage beginning to boil. She did not deserve his scorn.

  “You should not have sought me out, Evangeline. I am not the gullible man I was when you last knew me.”

  Evangeline eyed him coolly. “So it would appear. Nor were you ever this cold, unless your professions of love were all an act.”

  His head snapped up, and he glared at her. “Cold? You have the nerve to speak of me being cold? Cold is professing love to one man while secretly planning to marry another.”

  Bolts of lightning flashed in her head. She snapped her head back. “Did you not receive my letters?”

  “I received the only one that I needed to receive. The one informing me you had no option other than to marry Viscount Stuart in order to help your family. Duty above love, you said.”

  She shook her head, and waves of nausea engulfed her stomach. She pressed a hand to her mouth. Finally the bile receded. “I did not write such a letter. I wrote a letter begging you to save me.”

  He eyed her warily. “No. No more lies. You were kind but clear. The letter said that there were advantages to marrying Viscount Stuart that in your youth you had overlooked.”

  “That doesn’t even sound like me.” But his face said it all. He did not believe her.

  Oh my God, she thought, he never received any of my correspondence, or he would not be acting this way. “You are under an incorrect comprehension, my lord. I was not planning to marry another. I wanted to marry you.”

  Scorn filled his eyes. “Then pray tell how you ended up married to Viscount Stuart. As I recall a title, money, and standing are every debutante’s dream.”

  Evangeline addressed Hadley with a chilling smile. “You know very well it was not my dream. My dream was you.”

  “How convenient to profess to have had this dream, now that you have a title and money. How stupid do you think I am?”

  “Very stupid,” she said under her breath. Either that or he was using this so-called letter as an excuse. Did this letter even exist? She wanted to box his ears. She stood and walked to stand toe to toe with him, even though the top of her head only reached his chest. “You have no idea what the hell you are talking about. For five years I have barely lived—it has been more like merely existing—and if I’d had any choice, I would not have done so voluntarily for money or prestige or title. I doubt I would have even done it for you!” She was shaking so much that the pearl bracelets on her wrist were knocking together audibly.

  Hadley’s eyes narrowed and his nostrils flared. Before he could say another word she began to tell her sordid story.

  “Five years ago I awoke in the bed of Viscount Stuart as he was forcing himself on me.” She knew her bottom lip was trembling, and she willed herself not to cry. She had not come to Hadley for pity. She’d come for an explanation. “My mother had sold me to Viscount Stuart. I was told I was legally wed to him, but I have no recollection of the ceremony. I suspect they used a veiled woman in my place to fool the priest. Either that or he was paid to make no objections.”

  Hadley’s eyes did not soften, but his hands lowered from where they rested on his hips.

  “I tried to escape several times, but each time I was hunted down and returned to him. I will not tell you what punishment I received.” She turned away, not wishing him to see the haunted pain in her eyes.

  A hand gripped her wrist, forcing her to turn back to face him. “I received a letter from you, in your handwriting, telling me a different story.” When she tried to tug her hand free, he let her go. “You wrote that you could not possibly let your family down. A mere second son was no longer an option you could in all good conscience marry, knowing your family’s dire financial situation.”

  “I did not write any such letter.”

  “I assure you, I still have it, I checked it against the other notes you sent me during our affair, as at first I could not believe the words you wrote.” He leaned close. “The handwriting matched.”

  She took a step back, pain sending her reeling backward. He did not believe her. Five years made such a difference, it would seem.

  How could he not believe her? He obviously hadn’t known her at all.

  “Why would I be here if I had written such a note?”

  “I have no idea. That is the only reason I am giving you one moment of my time.”

  This “moment” was a nightmare—nothing like her dreams, in which he got down on his knees begging for her forgiveness, swearing he’d tried to find her and that he still loved her. Angry tears welled in her eyes.

  “I cannot believe you would think me capable of such deception.”

  “You are a brilliant actress, I’ll give you that. However, words on paper do not lie.”

  “I swear that I never wrote you any letter.” At his look of disbelief she added, “I wrote to you after I was kidnapped and forced into matrimony. Aggie, my maid, said she’d send a letter for me.”

  “The only letter I received was the one detailing why it was impossible for you to wed a penniless second son, even the second son of a duke.”

  “You obviously didn’t know me at all if you were stupid enough to believe those words.”

  The man she’d once loved looked at her as if she were a stranger.

  Evangeline’s heart somersaulted violently in her chest. He was as devastatingly handsome as ever, with the same lithe grace, the same lean hardness. Yet when she finally looked closely she saw that time had marked him. There were fine lines at the corners of his eyes, his shoulders were broader beneath his exquisitely tailored gray coat, his thighs looked more powerfully muscled, and his hair had darkened slightly.

  Like a hungry scavenging dog, she soaked in his beauty. His cravat set off the finely chiseled chin, his aristocratic features just as striking now as they had been in the past. His face, with its high cheekbones and noble brow, had always been a beacon for the ladies. He had the devil’s own beauty and had always been in demand among the mamas of unwed young ladies, even though he was only a second son.

  She still, to this day, wondered how she had caught the interest of such a fine man. Or, as she’d learned to her cost, not such a fine man. To sleep with her, promise her his name, and then leave her to her fate…

  Perhaps it was lust, not love, and once he’d slept with her, he had been relieved that she’d been forced to marry Viscount Stuart.

  It wasn’t the five years apart that made them strangers, she thought. Perhaps they had been so infatuated with each other that they had not taken the time to really learn about each other. Had she ever really known him? Or had she been blinded by his looks and the idea of love?

  He hammered home his distrust. “You’re right. It appeared that I didn’t really know you back then, and I don’t know you now. How can I ever trust anything you say when you come to me with this convoluted story?”

  An ache of sorrow the size of the moon filled her. Once he had looked at her as if his whole world revolved around her. Now all she saw was contempt.

  She laughed inwardly at herself. She had expected him to profess that he’d been waiting for her all these years. That he had tried to find her, to rescue her. At the very least he would be filled with guilt and sorrow for abandoning her to her fate.

  She’d escaped her dreadful life only because her husband had had the grace to be killed by a highwayman. His title and estate went to their son
, but he had left her a very sizeable fortune. She’d been absolutely astounded, as had his servants. The same servants who had not lifted a hand to help her for the five years she’d lived in the wilds of Scotland at Rossack Castle now kowtowed to her. One of the reasons she’d come to London was to escape the people who now did as she bid but who had kept her a virtual prisoner while Dougal was alive. When she returned, if she returned, she’d replace them all….

  As to the money he’d left her, she liked to think that perhaps her husband had a conscience after all, but it was more likely that he’d hoped it might see him avoid hell because of the wrongs he’d perpetrated against her. No amount of money in the world would atone for what he’d done to her—taken from her. He had stolen her happiness and joy in living. He had stolen Hadley from her, or so she had thought. Seeing him now, she realized he had never been hers in the first place.

  She would make him eat his words. “I want to see this letter.” She would have her groveling apology. Hadley owed her that at least.

  His mouth dropped open and his hands rose to his hips once more. “What good will seeing the letter do?”

  Time to turn the tables on him: “How do I know you’re not lying simply to cover the fact you were pleased you didn’t have to marry me? You wouldn’t want me to know you’re a coward or a cad.”

  Anger flared in his eyes and his mouth firmed. “If anyone is a liar here, madam, it is you.” Without another word he stormed to the door and threw it open. He called for Christian’s butler. “Can you hail a hackney, please?”

  She came to stand beside him. “There is no need; my carriage is outside. Please call for my driver.”

  Hadley’s eyes narrowed. She couldn’t bear to see the anger marring his beautiful face, so she swept through the door and waited in the entrance hall for her cloak.

  She heard him say, “Please let his lordship know that Lady Evangeline and I have been called away.”

  “Certainly, my lord. Will we expect you back this evening?”

  They both said no at the same time.