An Invitation to Seduction

by Lorraine Heath

  He would make an excellent, upstanding husband, ensuring that she made an excellent, upstanding wife.

  She would share his bed, his kisses, his body, while burying the baser instincts that yearned for what she might have experienced that morning by the sea. She would lie beneath him, welcome his body into hers—without gasps, writhing, and moans. With him, she wouldn’t lose her way, she wouldn’t journey toward forbidden desires.

  So buried within her thoughts had she become that she barely stirred when she heard the knock. “Come in.”

  Her bedroom door opened slightly, and her lady’s maid peeked into the room. “Are you feeling poorly, miss?”

  “No, Nancy, I’m fine, thank you.” But she didn’t think her voice reflected her answer.

  Nancy entered, carrying a silver tray. “Mr. Robbins instructed me to bring this up to you. You have a gentleman caller.”

  “At this time of night?”

  “It’s well into the day, miss. Long past noon.”

  Startled by that revelation, Kitty slipped her fingers between the heavy draperies and sunlight sliced inside. “My goodness, I had no idea.”

  She rose to her feet, unable to believe she’d sat there with her thoughts throughout the early hours of the morning and into the afternoon. Taking the card from the tray, she asked, “Will you please open the draperies?”

  Almost blinding light spilled into the room, revealing the identity of her caller, written in elegant script: the Duke of Weddington. She considered refusing him, contemplated feigning illness. Instead she squared her shoulders.

  “Will you please see if my mother is agreeable to having tea on the terrace and inform the duke that I’ll walk with him through the garden? Then please return to help me with my toilette.”

  After Nancy left, Kitty collapsed on the bed. What could he possibly want? Had she not made her intentions and feelings toward Farthingham clear?

  Part of her wanted to see the duke, and part of her dreaded the meeting. She didn’t know why she’d feel safer in the garden. Perhaps because under her mother’s watchful gaze, she knew she’d have more success at remaining a lady and keeping her wanton side under control.

  All doubts that had surfaced within Richard’s mind regarding Kitty’s bloodlines evaporated the moment Madeline Robertson strolled into the parlor and introduced herself. Then she had invited him to join her on the terrace, an invitation that clearly indicated acceptance of the offer was preordained if he wished to meet with her daughter for even the shortest of time.

  So he sat across from her, the small, round, lace-covered table between them decorated with a vase of freshly cut flowers and a tea service gilded in gold. He’d been greeted by a butler, they’d been served by a housemaid, the gardens were expertly kept. To a keen observer, which he prided himself on being, it was obvious that the Robertsons lacked for nothing. Yet neither did they exhibit the crass American habit of flaunting their wealth. Subtle and refined. They were comfortable with what they’d attained and sought to make others comfortable around them.

  Little wonder Farthingham had been drawn to them—not only for their wealth, but for their elegant mien. He could so clearly see Kitty reflected in the manner in which Madeline Robertson held herself. Obviously Kitty had taken her poise and grace from her mother. Her smile. Her ability to make a man feel as though he held her complete attention, as though nothing would distract her from her purpose of pleasing him.

  “I understand attending balls is quite unusual for you, Your Grace,” Madeline Robertson said.

  “I must confess that I have made a point to avoid them in the past, Mrs. Robertson.”

  “You gave many mothers hope that your presence last night indicated that you’d decided to take a wife.” She poured his tea. “Sugar?”

  “Yes, please. Four and a half helpings.”

  She arched her brows and smiled softly. “You possess a sweet tooth.”

  “Several of them, in fact. I fear sweets are my weakness.” As was her daughter, although he suspected she might not appreciate hearing that bit of information. Some matters were best revealed later.

  Handing him his cup of tea, she glanced toward the French doors. “Kitty should be down any moment. I can’t imagine what’s keeping her.”

  It occurred to him that perhaps she had no wish to meet her caller—or perhaps she was taking the time to make herself particularly presentable. Having seen her at dawn and at midnight, he imagined that at any moment of any hour, she was beyond comparison.

  “Farthingham indicated that her Christian name was Mary Ellen,” Richard said.

  Mrs. Robertson’s smile warmed considerably as though she were touched by a tender memory. “She’s always had a fondness for cats, kittens especially. Whenever my husband was trying to find her, he’d simply call out, ‘Here, Kitty, Kitty.’ And whenever a cat answered his call, our daughter was not far behind. I can’t remember exactly when he started calling her Kitty exclusively, but as she grew into a young lady, it seemed to suit her.”

  He agreed wholeheartedly. The name reflected a lightness that seemed to capture her spirit. He couldn’t imagine her as Mary Ellen. The name was too common, and she was incredibly uncommon.

  “Am I to understand, then, that you and Farthingham are friends?” his hostess asked.

  “Yes. We’ve known each other for many years. Attended the same schools.” The same clubs, the same brothels, the same gaming hells. But again, he didn’t think she’d appreciate knowing the entire truth.

  “Strange that our paths haven’t crossed before now,” she said with a hint of suspicion and protectiveness.

  Strange indeed. “You’ve known him for a while then?” Richard asked.

  “Over the years, we’d see him from time to time when we came to visit the Earl of Ravenleigh and his family. The earl and my husband have some joint business ventures that require they meet occasionally. Kitty has always had a soft spot for Farthingham. I think they make a lovely couple.”

  Was that a bit of warning he heard in her voice? Don’t interfere. Don’t poke your nose where it doesn’t belong.

  “He seems quite smitten.”

  “I’m sure he is. My daughter has many admirable qualities.”

  “I doubt that not for a moment.”

  The door clicked open, and Richard was grateful that his reason for coming had finally made her appearance, and he thought the wait was quite worth every second. The lines of her pale lilac dress were elegantly cut, enhancing her perfect form so it resembled a work of art. Lace at her throat revealed a hint of skin, but other than that, she was dressed almost as completely as a nun. And yet still, desire speared him, hot and unrelenting. He couldn’t explain it. He only knew he experienced it each time his gaze fell on her.

  Shoving back his chair, he came to his feet.

  “Your Grace,” she greeted, before he could speak.

  Her speech was stilted, carried a hint of disapproval that made him want to smile, a reaction he could not have explained had his life depended on it. “Miss Robertson.”

  “Shall we take a turn about the garden?” she suggested.

  “I would be honored.”

  She glided past him. He quickly excused himself from her mother’s presence and joined Kitty where row upon row of red, pink, and orange blossoms added fragrance to the air.

  “I thought I made it clear that you were not to call,” she said, as soon as he was within hearing distance and her mother was not.

  “You did.”

  “Then why are you here?”

  “I couldn’t stay away.”

  “Am I to deduce, then, that you are a man who possesses absolutely no willpower and lacks complete self-control?”

  He smiled at her tartly delivered assessment of him, certain her intent had been to insult him with her sharp barb. “Apparently, that is indeed the case where you’re concerned.”

  Her gaze darted over to him for only a heartbeat before she looked away. “Truly, why are yo
u here?”

  “I believe I understood you to say last evening that you and Farthingham have made no formal announcement regarding your betrothal.”

  “Indeed, we have not. Farthingham, Father, and the lawyers only recently finished haggling over the settlements.”

  “Then I am here to ask you to marry me.”

  She came to an abrupt halt and faced him, abject horror clearly etched over her lovely features. He supposed he shouldn’t have continued, but he’d gone too far to stop. From his pocket, he withdrew an envelope that was sealed with wax embossed with his ducal crest and held it toward her. “My formal request. I know it should have been delivered before I voiced my intentions, but time seems to be of the essence.”

  “Are you mad?”

  “Probably. I am not a man who acts impulsively, Miss Robertson. But neither am I a man who easily gives up what he has determined that he wants.”

  The horror transformed into disbelief. “And you’ve decided that I am what you want?”

  “Precisely.”

  Her lips curling slightly as though she were suddenly amused, she shook her head and began to walk again. “We are not well suited.”

  “I disagree.”

  “You may disagree all you want. I assure you, we are not well suited.”

  “Give me this Season to prove otherwise.”

  She stopped again, her eyes traveling over his face as though she sought to memorize each facet of his appearance. “I have loved Farthingham from the moment I met him.”

  “Then why did you seek me out at dawn?”

  Tears welling in her eyes, she averted her gaze. “It had nothing to do with love.”

  “Is it possible that it could?”

  She looked back at him, holding his gaze, honesty and regret in her eyes. “I could never love you. And I won’t hurt Farthingham or risk damaging what he and I have by even entertaining the notion that you are more suited to me than he.”

  “And if Farthingham loved another?”

  She smiled with absolute certainty. “He doesn’t.”

  She turned back to their walk. “It was wrong of me to meet you by the sea. I hope you’ll forgive me for any false hope I might have given you that anything more than a passing moment could exist between us.”

  He was damned near tempted to take her in his arms, there within the garden, and prove to her that considerably more existed between them. A wise woman to insist that they walk where her mother could keep a watchful eye on them, where a man of his rank wouldn’t behave badly.

  “So you will not consider me?”

  “No, Your Grace, I will not.”

  “I am not in need of funds, Miss Robertson.”

  She hesitated, but did not cease her walking. “It doesn’t matter.”

  “You would be a duchess.”

  “It is not rank that I seek, but love.”

  “I would have thought you could have found that in Texas.”

  She spun around, anger in her eyes. “I have been brought up to be a lady, to manage a household of immense size, to stand beside a man of tremendous influence. That I have fallen in love with an Englishman suits me, and I suit him. We’ll be happy. I won’t settle for less. Like you, Your Grace, I’m accustomed to gaining what I desire. I made a grave error in judgment in seeking you out, and I do not intend to pay for it for the remainder of my life. It was a mistake, but no harm came of it. You profess to be Farthingham’s friend, and here you are striving to steal me away from him. What sort of friend would do such a despicable thing? Is he aware that you’re here?”

  “No.”

  “Can you conceive of him approaching a woman who holds your regard and asking her to turn away from you?”

  He slowly shook his head. “No, I cannot.”

  “Would he betray you?”

  He released a low sigh. “No, he would not.”

  “And yet here you are, striving to betray him. That, Your Grace, is only one of the many, many reasons why I am absolutely positive that I could never love you. I value loyalty.” She quickly held up a finger. “And before you chastise me or remind me of our prior meeting, I am well aware that I strayed, and I’ve vowed to dedicate myself to forgetting that encounter and ensuring I never again do anything similar.”

  “A harsh punishment for so innocent an act.”

  “Not a punishment. I’m simply recognizing a failing on my part. It won’t happen again.”

  Strange how he found himself more enamored of her than before. He desperately wanted her loyalty bestowed on him, wanted her dedication, and her heart.

  “Will you at least postpone your betrothal announcement until the end of the Season?”

  She released a laugh that floated toward him as light as the breeze. “Have you not listened to a single word I’ve said?”

  “I’ve heard every word, and I assure you that I shall not forget a single one. But I am also a proud man. To read your announcement would be to rub salt in the wound of your rejection.”

  Her brow furrowed. “When you came here, did you honestly think that I would turn away from Farthingham?”

  “I’d hoped. Apparently I vastly misjudged the affection you hold toward him.”

  “Apparently so.”

  “He is a most fortunate man. I shall envy him until the day I draw my final breath.”

  She shook her head. “No. Be happy for us, for what we’ll have. You’ll find someone else and easily forget me.”

  “Now it is you who have misjudged my affection for you.” He bowed slightly. “I bid you good day.”

  He strode from the garden, more determined than ever to possess her, to make her his wife, his duchess, his mate.

  Breakfast was becoming a terribly glum affair, Richard thought, as the only sound in the dining room was the consistent tapping and sliding of forks, knives, and spoons against china. He’d always longed for quiet while he’d read his newspaper, always tolerated the constant chattering of his mother and sister, turned a deaf ear, so to speak, yet constantly aware of them.

  Their continual silence these days, however, was driving him to madness!

  Precisely their goal, he was certain, and the very reason that he refused to acknowledge it. How could silence be so incredibly distracting and utterly annoying? And yet he found it was, beyond belief.

  He imagined Kitty greeting him each morning with a smile and a kiss and enlightening conversation. He hadn’t yet determined the best way to proceed where she was concerned. He’d considered speaking with Farthingham, but it seemed a bit presumptuous on his part to urge his friend to give up his claim to the Texas lady. He preferred a more subtle approach, perhaps to win the lady over first. Farthingham, as a gentleman, would surely step aside with the realization that he’d fallen out of favor, and Richard was more than willing to generously compensate his friend for his loss.

  On second thought, perhaps monetary compensation was the best way to go from the outset. Simply offer Farthingham far more funds than whatever settlement he’d obtain from marriage. He recognized, however, that funds would do little to satisfy the burdensome need for an heir. He cursed the duties that fell to a peer and forced obligations on him.

  But then he couldn’t deny that being a peer also brought with it a considerable number of benefits. Especially if one’s predecessors had the foresight to move beyond agriculture—as his had.

  The butler entered and presented a silver tray bearing a card to Richard. Richard took the card, read the name, and smiled. “Send him in, Watkins.”

  Richard came to his feet.

  “Who is it, Richard?” his mother asked.

  “Farthingham.”

  “Oh!” Anne popped up from her chair, her face suddenly animated.

  Farthingham strode into the room, bowing before his mother, taking her hand, and pressing a kiss to her fingers. “Duchess, I do believe you grow more lovely with each passing day.”

  “Oh, bosh, I do not grow lovelier. I simply grow older. But I see you a
re still a charmer, Farthingham.”

  “Dear lady, my charm is always only equal to the beauty before me. If it pleases you, it is only because the sight of you pleases me.”

  His mother laughed and waved her hand. “Off with you now! Take your charm elsewhere.”

  Smiling grandly, Farthingham approached Anne and held out his arms. “Lady Anne.”

  With a delightful and very unladylike squeal, she flung herself into his arms. “Oh, Farthingham, it’s so terribly good to see you.”

  He set her aside and made a big production of studying her. “I did not think it possible, but I do believe you are more beautiful than ever.” He touched the back of his knuckles to the dark hair at her temple. “My God, how you’ve grown.”

  She patted his shoulders. “Don’t be silly. I saw you at Christmas. Now gather up some food and join us. We have much catching up to do.”

  “Gossip, you mean?”

  “Of course! Now come on. Hurry.”

  Farthingham finally looked Richard’s way. “Weddington, I hope you will forgive my intrusion.”

  “I would never consider your presence an intrusion.” He gestured toward the sideboard. “Anne is correct. We have an abundance of offerings here. You are more than welcome to join us.”

  “I believe I shall then.”

  Richard and Anne took their seats, waiting patiently while Farthingham heaped food on his plate. The marquess took his place at the table, looking like a man who had conquered the world. “I hope you’ll not think me greedy, but I left home this morning before Cook had prepared breakfast.”

  Richard thought it more likely that Farthingham was not having breakfast prepared. He knew the man’s financial situation was in dire straits, and one could pretend for only so long before the creditors began knocking on one’s door.

  “Eat all you want,” his mother urged. “We have plenty.”

  “You are too generous, Duchess.” He savored his first bite of pheasant by closing his eyes and purring. “Excellent.” His eyes popped open. “I do believe you have the best cooks in all of London. Now on to the gossip.”