An Invitation to Seduction

by Lorraine Heath

  Now she was certain that he’d lost his mind. “Nicky, you can’t accept—”

  “Of course I can, my sweet. Actually, I must accept. It’s an insult to the bearer of the gift to do otherwise.”

  “But it’s too…it’s too…magnificent a gift.”

  “Of course, it is. That’s the very reason I wanted you to have it. What’s more, he’s arranging with his solicitor to have a certain amount set aside each year for ten years to go toward its upkeep—which can be quite costly, I can assure you.”

  She shook her head emphatically. She was quite aware of the expense involved in keeping a yacht seaworthy. “Why is he doing this?”

  “Because he is a friend who wishes to see us happy.” He cupped her cheek. “Why aren’t you joyous?”

  “It’s too grand a gift.”

  He laughed. “My sweet, Weddington can well afford to give this yacht away tenfold. It means nothing to him.”

  “Nicky, simply because someone possesses something in abundance doesn’t mean that he no longer values it. It’s like children. If you have one, then another, your love for the first doesn’t diminish, and you don’t love the second any less than you did the first. Abundance doesn’t always cause value to lessen.”

  He moved his hand aside and furrowed his brow. “I thought you would be pleased. I want you to have it. If I could purchase it for you myself, I would without hesitation. But I can’t. Not even the settlement your father agreed to will ever allow me to purchase something of this grandeur.”

  Now it was she who cradled his cheek. “Nicky, you’re what I want, what I need. Not things. Not yachts, not jewelry, not gowns.”

  “Because you’ve always had them, you’ve not learned what it is to miss them. But you will, my sweet. You will. Be gracious. Accept Weddington’s gift, if only because it will please me for you to do so.”

  She so wanted to please him, but she couldn’t help but believe that not only the yacht but ten years of upkeep were far too generous of Weddington. She didn’t trust the gift, feared it more closely resembled a Trojan horse. What would Weddington gain by giving it to them?

  She forced herself to smile. “May I have time to think about it?”

  He grinned broadly as though he’d already won the argument. “Of course, my sweet. But don’t take too long. I was serious about our using it for a wedding trip.”

  Nodding, she walked out of the room and headed for the stairway that would return her to the deck. A few months ago, she’d been so sure of her course, and now she suddenly felt as though she’d somehow managed to become lost in a fog. Weddington’s generosity. Farthingham’s willingness to accept it. She was no longer sure what to make of any of it or her feelings toward either man.

  As soon as Lady Priscilla, Lady Anne, and Freddie had arrived, Weddington had ordered that they cast off and be on their way. Since he’d confessed to being terrified of the sea, Kitty was surprised by his eagerness to be under way, and yet at the same time, she fully understood it. She’d never been one to put off unpleasant tasks. Better to get the unpleasantness over with as soon as possible, so she could move on to pleasanter endeavors without guilt.

  Yet watching Weddington at the wheel, she couldn’t help but believe that he was determined to control the sea—or at least his destiny—as much as possible. He stood with his feet spread for balance, his hands gripping the wheel, his gaze trained ahead of him, man battling the elements.

  He had his crew, who saw to the sails and watched the sea as well, but she had no doubt that Weddington was at the helm, completely in charge. Not a figurehead, playing at commanding—as her father was prone to do from time to time—but the absolute commander, in charge of the ship, the men, the guests, the course. She thought if it were possible, he would have commanded the wind, the swells…the manner in which the sunlight glinted off the water.

  Farthingham and Freddie had gone to the bow—for a clearer view—while Kitty, Lady Anne, and Lady Priscilla sat in wicker chairs at a wicker table, politely sipping tea that a servant had delivered from belowdecks. So terribly civilized.

  Kitty was well aware that a lady’s place on the yacht was relegated to one of pleasure only—simple enjoyment. All the ladies, including her, were dressed for afternoon tea with their tight dresses and their fancy, wide-brimmed hats. They could quite successfully disembark and walk through Hyde Park without anyone being the wiser about where they’d spent the afternoon.

  And even now, aboard the ship, no one would know how she’d spent her time watching Weddington instead of thinking about her betrothed. She couldn’t quite get over how she’d spoken in his defense last night at the bathhouse when Lady Priscilla had mentioned how much more fun Farthingham was.

  Kitty couldn’t deny that Farthingham was the one who made them laugh and smile; nor could she deny that he was the one who generally possessed such scathingly brilliant notions for having fun—yet Weddington somehow appeared to be the one who made the fun available. Accepting ridiculous wagers so that people had an opportunity to take sides and be able to place more emphasis on, take more interest in, an event than it rightly deserved, thus making it more enjoyable for all involved, participant and spectator alike. He made his residence, his yacht, his opera box, his carriage, his coach available for anyone who asked. With complete unselfishness. Never demanded or apparently expected anything in return.

  And yet, he’d tried to take her away from Farthingham. To steal her away, actually. With daring, forbidden caresses and slow, sensual kisses. He’d left no doubt in her mind that he wanted her. Had tormented her constantly with that knowledge. And yet, had she not continually placed herself within his reach?

  He was the one who held his hands behind his back so he wouldn’t touch her. He was the one who appeared to be a perfect gentleman, while she knew a part of him was a corrupting rogue. Knew his true nature because she’d certainly allowed him to tempt and corrupt her. She hadn’t put up much of a fight either, nor had she ever bothered to protest except after the fact.

  Men were beasts. It was a woman’s place to keep them in line, to give them no opportunity for misbehavior.

  And yet for all her contradictory actions with regard to him, he seemed to hold no ill will toward her. He was gifting her with his yacht, for pity’s sake. She hardly knew what to make of him or his generosity.

  She certainly couldn’t understand why Lady Priscilla didn’t consider Weddington handsome. Ruggedly so. Strong-jawed. Bronzed by the sun. He could appear at home in the fanciest parlor or on the stormiest sea. Kitty couldn’t determine why she found him so incredibly attractive. Yet if she were honest with herself, she had to admit that something about him did draw her to him, did force her gaze to wander over to him.

  He’d removed his jacket and cravat, loosened the buttons at his throat, rolled up his sleeves. The wind billowed his shirt, revealing glimpses of his chest—as bronzed as his face, and she wondered if he would dispense with his shirt or perhaps even his clothes entirely if no ladies were presently on board. She thought he possessed a bit of barbarism. As though he’d reluctantly donned the mantle of civilization because he’d realized it would serve him better than running wild.

  She recognized that she should make her way to the bow so she could be nearer to Farthingham, and yet, here she was casting sly glances at Weddington, grateful Lady Priscilla and Lady Anne were too busy gossiping and occasionally lapsing into silence with a bit of a green tinge to their faces whenever they hit rougher waters. Drinking a good deal of wine the night before a venture on the sea was not a wise course of action.

  But then she was beginning to wonder if she’d recognize a wise course if she happened upon it. She’d always considered herself smart for latching on to Farthingham, and yet doubts were suddenly beginning to plague her. Not because she didn’t love him, but because she was beginning to fear that she might not love him enough. She’d always felt safe because he didn’t tempt her, but she’d never truly given any thought to crawling int
o bed with him, couldn’t imagine him touching her as Weddington had. And yet, she wanted his touch, would welcome it. She’d kiss the dew from his flesh. With her lips, she’d capture the droplets as they slowly rolled—

  “Miss Robertson?”

  She jerked her gaze from Weddington’s throat, glistening with moisture, to his gaze, intense, speculative, and challenging, not certain when the fantasy in her mind had shifted away from Farthingham and on to Weddington.

  “I was wondering if I might bother you for a moment and have you hold the wheel,” he said.

  “Richard, women don’t sail ships,” Lady Anne said.

  “I believe Miss Robertson is fully capable of handling it for a short time.”

  Kitty nodded. “Yes, certainly I can do that.”

  She rose to her feet, a little unsteadily after sitting for so long, grabbed the railing, reestablished her sea legs, and made her way to where he stood. He moved his right hand away from the wheel, while still holding it steady with his left, the muscles on his forearm bunching and tightening with the additional strain.

  “If you’ll grab that spoke,” he ordered.

  She wrapped her hand around the wood, surprised that it seemed as though she could feel the soul of the ship tingling through her fingers. He took a step back, and she moved in so she was trapped between him and the wheel.

  “Place your other hand on the spoke near mine,” he ordered. “I won’t release it until I know you have control.”

  Nodding, swallowing hard, she placed her hand near his. What a contrast. His large, dark hand beside her pale, fragile-looking one. The muscles bulging in his thick wrist, his dark coarse hair stirred by the breeze. While her delicate wrist was covered with the long sleeve of her dress.

  “Are you ready for me to release my hold?” he asked quietly.

  “You won’t go far will you?”

  “I shan’t go anywhere at all.”

  She glanced over her shoulder. “Why did you need me to take the wheel then?”

  His mouth shifted into a slow, easy grin. “I don’t recall implying that I was in need of anything…but if that’s how my request was interpreted, I am not bothered in the least.”

  His eyes held a kindness, and she wondered why she’d failed to notice it before. He possessed a generosity, somehow always managing to ensure that those around them had their needs, wants, desires satisfied.

  “Perhaps you shouldn’t release your final hold,” she said.

  “I can reestablish it quickly enough,” he assured her. “Gaze ahead, concentrate on the sea, on where you wish to take the ship, feel the wind billowing her sails…”

  His voice was as mesmerizing as all that surrounded her. She lost herself in his commands, lost herself in the ship, in its motions, in the feel of it beneath her feet. Always before she’d been a passenger, an observer…but from this vantage point she was beginning to feel an entirely different appreciation for all that was involved in taking people out on to the sea.

  She’d traveled extensively with her father, but he had a captain, a pilot, a navigator, a crew that saw to all their comforts, all their safety…and she suddenly realized with startling clarity that a man who was terrified of the sea would not leave the command of it in someone else’s hands. He no doubt inspected the ship, knew every inch of her, knew her strengths, corrected her weaknesses…he’d never put at risk himself or others.

  Even as the thought took root and held, she quickly glanced down at her left hand, only to find it alone on the spoke of the wheel. She didn’t know when he’d relinquished absolute control into her keeping. Her heart pounding with a sense of accomplishment she’d never before experienced, she looked back out to sea.

  “Well done, Miss Robertson,” he said quietly behind her. “Well done.”

  And in that moment, for the first time since she’d met him, she felt unexplainably, remarkably safe.

  Chapter 16

  Kitty couldn’t sleep. She’d lain in bed, staring at the shadows, trying to make sense of her feelings. She’d never been more confused in her entire life. She’d always been so certain of the road she traveled, of what she wanted in life, what she expected of herself and others, what her behavior should consist of—and the thoughts rumbling through her mind were contrary to everything she’d ever hoped to attain.

  She’d called for her maid and gotten dressed simply because she couldn’t stand to be isolated in her room any longer. She needed to roam, and she certainly hadn’t wanted to be caught by anyone in her nightclothes. For some reason, she thought they would be a large sign proclaiming her wanton thoughts.

  She’d chosen a simple dress that required no corset or bindings. If fate were kind, she wouldn’t cross paths with anyone except servants. Surely this time of night—a little past midnight—no one would be up and about. Since Lady Anne had not come for her, she was fairly certain they had no plans for any excursions to the bathhouse that night. She was halfway tempted to go there by herself, but she decided that action would be the height of rudeness—to ask the servants to prepare the building for her personal indulgence.

  Instead she wandered through the shadow-filled hallways, the gaslights low and flickering. She was passing one dark corridor when she glanced down it and saw light creeping out along the floor—no doubt seeping out from beneath a closed door.

  She’d only taken two steps toward it, when the door suddenly clicked open, the light from the room illuminating the footman standing nearby, a man she hadn’t noticed as she stood some distance away.

  “Oh, no, I hadn’t wanted—” to go in. With frustration, she didn’t complete her thought aloud, because she’d realized that since he’d opened the door he’d committed her to going through it whether she’d wished to or not. She could only hope that the lights had been burning by mistake, that no one was actually inside the room, although she thought it highly unlikely that she’d find the place deserted. Why else would the footman be standing within reach of the door so attentively?

  “Thank you.” She forced herself to smile as she strolled casually by him and into the room—a study, an office. Weddington’s office. She had no doubt it was his because he was sitting behind a massive mahogany desk, while a gentleman sat in a chair before him. Immediately both men came to their feet.

  “Miss Robertson,” the duke said.

  “Please, forgive me. I couldn’t sleep. When I looked in the hallway, the footman mistook my destination—”

  “Where was your destination?” Weddington asked. “Perhaps I can help you locate it.”

  She shook her head. “I didn’t really have one.”

  “Then please sit for a few moments, and I shall accompany you on your journey. I would hate for you to get lost in this rambling structure. Allow me to introduce Mr. Alexander. He oversees a good part of the estate here. We’re about to finish up, then you shall have my undivided attention.”

  She didn’t want his attention—undivided or otherwise—but she couldn’t very well reject his offer with one of his employees standing in the room. She was well aware that a man of his rank had to maintain certain appearances. “Thank you, Your Grace.”

  She selected a chair off to the side that would not require she look at him. She heard, more than saw, both gentlemen take their seats, heard the low rumble of their voices as they continued with whatever matter of business they’d been discussing before she’d interrupted.

  This room was a man’s domain, and she could well imagine every duke before the present one conducting his business here. Plotting, planning, conquering, controlling. It had a strong presence, a commanding presence, and she wondered if the room seeped into its owner or if the owner seeped into the room.

  Slowly she slid her gaze toward the desk and decided the owner seeped his way into the room. He left no doubt that he was the one in charge. Even when Mr. Alexander was speaking and Weddington was listening, it was evident who was master. Shifting in the chair, she found herself mesmerized by the way Weddingt
on gave Mr. Alexander his absolute attention.

  She and her family had spent some time at Farthingham’s estate, but she’d never seen him address any managers or workers. He’d gone about his business of entertaining her as though the estate managed itself. While she knew that was not the case, she’d never really given any thought to exactly how much work was involved in overseeing the family’s properties.

  Weddington and Mr. Alexander came to their feet. “Thank you, Mr. Alexander. I appreciate your agreeing to meet with me at such a late hour.”

  “I serve at your pleasure, Your Grace.” The man turned toward her. “Good night, Miss Robertson.”

  “Good night, Mr. Alexander.”

  The man left the room, and Kitty came to her feet. “An odd time to hold a meeting,” she said.

  “Business must be managed, Miss Robertson. I had to choose between giving up my time with my guests this afternoon or sacrificing a few hours’ sleep. I chose the latter.”

  She nodded. “My father does that as well. He says the day doesn’t contain enough hours. He’s always put his family first.”

  “A commendable trait.” He walked around his desk, his hands behind his back. “Shall we continue on with your late-night excursion?”

  Only she didn’t want to be in the shadowy hallways where she couldn’t clearly see his face. “Farthingham said you’re giving us The Fair Lady as a wedding gift.”

  “I am.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I was led to believe that you enjoyed yachting, and after watching you on the sea this afternoon, I know that assessment to be true.”

  “But you offered it to him before this afternoon.”

  “An offer would signify an opportunity for refusal. It was not an offer, but a gift.”

  “Given before you saw me on the yacht.”

  He shrugged. “I’ve known Farthingham for many years. I trust his ability to judge accurately the truth of a situation.”

  “I don’t understand why you gave it to us.”