An Invitation to Seduction

by Lorraine Heath

  He shook his head. “I fail to understand what it is that you don’t understand.”

  “What do you think you gain by giving us your yacht?”

  He angled his head as though truly baffled. “It is a gift, Miss Robertson. It comes with no strings attached, no expectations on my part.”

  “It’s too grand a gift.”

  “But it pleases me to give it to you.”

  “But it belongs to you.”

  “And now it is yours.”

  She didn’t know how to explain the sense she’d had on the ship that it was as much a part of him as he was of it. “I simply had the impression that you cared a great deal for the ship.”

  “I care more about your happiness. Farthingham is unlikely to invest in a yacht when he has more pressing expenditures to address.”

  “I can live without a yacht.”

  “You could, but you don’t have to.” He tilted his head toward the door. “Shall we begin the walk before you determine that you are angry at me for my generosity?”

  “Too late. I’m already angry at you.”

  He smiled slightly. “I know. That is something else about you that I fail to comprehend—how it is that I can never do anything that doesn’t make you angry.”

  She spun on her heel and walked to the door. He barely beat her to it, opened it for her, and followed her through. The hallway echoed the clicking of their passing footsteps. He walked beside her, his hands still clasped behind his back, and she thought of the time in the garden when he’d confessed that he’d take her in his arms if he released his hold on his hands.

  “It would make me happy if you wouldn’t give us the yacht as a gift.”

  He had the audacity to laugh, the deep rumble echoing off the walls and circling around her. “You’re very clever,” he finally said when his laughter stopped. “Now I must weigh your happiness and determine which action will make you the happiest despite your protests to the contrary.”

  “I don’t want Farthingham beholden to you.”

  “He’s already beholden to me.”

  His response came quickly, darkly, as though something sinister was hidden behind the words.

  “Are you referring to the forfeit that you won because of the tennis match?”

  “Yes.”

  But the answer sounded hollow, unconvincing. She couldn’t quite determine why she felt as she did. “Is he in your debt for something besides the forfeit?”

  “No.”

  That answer rang more true. What a strange conversation—as though questions and answers weren’t truly related. “He thinks very highly of you,” she said.

  “And I think highly of him.”

  “You claim to be good friends, and yet before this Season, he’d never introduced me to you.”

  “Perhaps he feared you’d cast him aside in favor of me.”

  About the time she began to like him, he revealed his arrogant streak. “I hardly think that is the case since I’ve never given him the slightest cause to doubt my affection.”

  “Then perhaps we’ve never been introduced because while Farthingham plays, I see to the management of my estates.”

  She was beginning to realize that was probably more likely to be the case. “And yet this Season, I can hardly take a step without running into you.”

  “I see no great mystery there. I have been forthright regarding my intentions toward you. You should not be surprised that I have rearranged my daily schedule, my entire life so that I might spend a few moments in your company.”

  Abruptly she stopped walking and turned on him. “I love Farthingham.”

  “I know you do.”

  “I will be a good and faithful wife.”

  “I doubt that not for a second. I am a great believer in loyalty. Ironically, it is an aspect of your character that I greatly admire and that makes me care for you much more than I should.” He cradled her face with one hand and slowly stroked her cheek with his thumb, his eyes holding hers. “Is there any chance at all that you would reconsider marrying Farthingham if I were to tell you that I have fallen madly in love with you?”

  Her heart slammed against her ribs, and she began to tremble. He hadn’t said he loved her, only that he would tell her he did. She stepped back, beyond his touch, beyond his warmth, beyond his reach. He was a man who didn’t enjoy losing, and he had yet to understand that he had no hope of winning her.

  “I beg you, please, give up your quest of obtaining me.”

  “I can’t.”

  She was totally unprepared for the speed with which he moved, clamping his arms around her, drawing her into his embrace, blanketing her mouth with his.

  His kiss was demanding, insistent, so reminiscent of the one he’d bestowed upon her in the garden that she feared the journey he might again be leading her toward even as her body urged her to follow.

  She once again felt as though she were on the deck of his yacht, swaying with the tide of emotions over which she had no control. He had the power to take her under as easily as he could lift her above the swells. Even as she longed to reach the heights to which he could carry her, she feared the depths to which she must plunge.

  To hear his taunting reminder that Farthingham would never make her body respond in this manner, would never bring her pleasure of this magnitude. She was torn between weeping and rejoicing. Weeping for the loss of what only Weddington could give her. Rejoicing because she would never have to fight temptation again once she was beyond his reach.

  Filled with sorrow for the exact reason. She would never again experience these incredible sensations. Because she knew in her heart that Weddington was correct. Farthingham would never heat her body to this magnitude, his mouth would never threaten to devour her, his body would never press hers as close, as firm, as hard against his.

  She’d never responded to Farthingham’s nearness as she did to Weddington’s. With Weddington, she was caught in the midst of the storm, sensations swirling around her and through her over which she had no control. Her resolve to resist the tempest was weakening with each sweep of his tongue, each caress of his hands.

  Drowning, she was drowning. And God help her, she wasn’t certain she wished to be rescued.

  Pushing against his chest, she broke free of his kiss and staggered back. His eyes held a desperation that she feared mirrored hers.

  “I would do anything for you,” he rasped.

  With a tiny whimper, she tore down the hallway, never looking back, because she knew what she would see.

  A man standing in the shadowy hallway who made her ear herself.

  Chapter 17

  With a heavy heart, Nicholas Glenville stared out at the dawning sky. He’d go down to breakfast shortly, but for the moment he merely contemplated the horizon and his future.

  Red sky at morning, sailors take warning.

  Wasn’t that how the ancient mariner’s saying went? A day that began with a red sky was a prelude to stormy weather. How appropriate, considering all the storms currently housed within Drummond Manor.

  He’d been heading to his bedchamber, shortly after midnight, having left Freddie in the billiard room to continue practicing his shots—the man was atrocious at the game—when Nicholas had passed a hallway and noticed a couple in the shadows. Then their voices had reached him: Weddington and Kitty.

  He’d heard Weddington’s declaration of love. Damnation. He wasn’t surprised that Weddington had become enamored of Kitty, but he was surprised the man would admit his feelings for her and admit them to himself, for that matter. Love controlled a man. Years earlier Nicholas had proven that unfortunate fact by falling in love with someone of whom his family would never approve. And Weddington was not a man who liked to be controlled.

  Although if Kitty’s initial reaction to the man’s kiss had been any indication, Nicholas suspected that she might have feelings for Weddington as well. It had taken her an inordinate amount of time to push Weddington away.

  Pressing his
forearm against the casing and leaning closer to the window as though that small act would help him bring the horizon into better view and allow him to see what lay beyond it, he tried to remember what Weddington had told him during previous conversations.

  That Kitty feared the man.

  Yes, that’s what he’d said.

  Ah, dear God. He bowed his head and closed his eyes. Not the man. She feared the passion he stirred to life within her, the passion Weddington had warned Nicholas she possessed, the passion she’d never revealed to him, the passion he’d thought she lacked. The passion she’d displayed in the hallway last night.

  She possessed such a passion for life that he’d always assumed she needed no other. His assumption no doubt had been a way for him to convince himself that marriage to him would not harm her.

  She’d felt safe with him, she’d told him so countless times. Safe. And he’d never thought to question, “Safe from what, my sweet?”

  He raised his head. What exactly had transpired behind the hedges in Harrington’s garden? He’d known that Weddington had distracted her, removed her from the path. He’d assumed a kiss or two had been delivered. Had the man delivered more?

  Kitty had been frightfully upset, overwrought. Yet she’d stood on the yacht yesterday afternoon, Weddington at her back, her hands on the wheel…she’d looked truly magnificent, and at that moment, he’d thought that even he could fall in love with her.

  No, she didn’t fear Weddington. She feared herself. He understood those fears only too well, to fear giving in to passion’s siren…

  The jagged lightning in the far distance snagged his attention. Sailors take warning.

  After spying Weddington and Kitty last night, he was in a mood to tempt fate.

  He turned from the window and headed for the door. Now all that remained to be seen was if he had the courage and the fortitude to release Kitty into Weddington’s keeping. More importantly, he needed to discover if Weddington had the courage and fortitude to help him achieve that end.

  “You can’t be serious?”

  Kitty stared at Freddie, unable to believe the words he’d just uttered. She’d purposely delayed coming down to breakfast, hoping to avoid another encounter with Weddington. It appeared she’d avoided everyone as well, except Freddie, who merely shrugged before moving his food from one side of his plate to another.

  “Freddie!”

  “I know, I know. It’s madness. I told them both that, but they insisted. You know how Farthingham and Weddington are once they’ve decided something. You might as well be talking to a stone wall for all the good it will do you to try to persuade them to see things your way.”

  “How long ago did they leave?”

  “Close to an hour now, I’d say.”

  She sank onto a chair at the table, near Freddie. “But you have only to look outside to know that this isn’t a day to go sailing.”

  “You don’t have to convince me.”

  And it was far too late to convince Farthingham if he’d already been gone for an hour. She pressed her fingertips against each temple, striving to stop the headache threatening to arrive as fiercely as the storm that hovered on the horizon. “What was he thinking?”

  Freddie tapped the tines of his fork against his plate, an irritating clicking that made her want to scream.

  “I suppose he was thinking that he wanted to try out Weddington’s smaller sailboat. And Weddington is always an accommodating host.”

  “A careless host if he takes a guest out on the sea with a storm coming in.”

  “You mustn’t worry so. I know the sky looks bleak in the distance, but that doesn’t mean a storm will arrive here. Besides, I’m certain they meant to do little more than take the boat out for a short time. They’ll be back before you know it.”

  Only they weren’t.

  Kitty stood in the hallway outside her bedchamber, staring through the pristine windows at the churning sea, barely visible in the distance. Black clouds had rolled in, and with them a heavy rain, darkness, and screaming winds. She’d crossed her forearms over her chest and was constantly rubbing her upper arms, seeking comfort as her dread increased with each passing moment.

  Hearing footsteps, she spun around, only to have disappointment wash through her as harsh as the torrent of rain.

  Freddie, appearing as worried as she, gave her what was obviously a forced smile. “No sign of them?”

  “No.” She turned back to the storm. “They should have returned long before now, don’t you think?”

  “Without a doubt. I went down to the harbor, but I saw no more ships coming in.”

  “Damn them!” She stomped her foot, squeezed her arms, and fought not to double over from the agony of worry. “Why aren’t they back?”

  “Maybe they took refuge elsewhere once the storm came up.”

  “But what if they didn’t, Freddie?” She glanced at him. “Weddington is so damned competitive that I don’t think he’d retreat before a storm. And Farthingham would probably make some stupid wager that they could survive it.”

  Freddie smiled softly. “Yes, Farthingham probably would.”

  She shook her head in frustration. “I can’t simply stand here doing nothing. What if the boat has wrecked? What if they’ve washed up onshore? Cold and miserable? Or worse yet, hurt?” She pivoted about and headed for the stairs. “I’m going to get lanterns and go down to the shore.”

  “I’ll accompany you.”

  He did more than accompany her. He decided that a search party of more than two was needed. Waiting impatiently on the terrace while he gathered several servants and lanterns, she couldn’t help but feel that each passing moment lessened their chances for locating Weddington and Farthingham. It didn’t help calm her mind to realize that she seemed as worried about Weddington’s safety as she was Farthingham’s.

  She told herself that it was simply because she valued all life. Weddington certainly had never done anything to deserve a ghastly end, but part of her concern stemmed from knowing Weddington feared the sea…and she simply didn’t want it to claim him. She thought that his demise during a storm would be the height of unfairness. Not that losing Farthingham to the storm would be any fairer.

  Her thoughts were all jumbled, as scattered as the dried leaves before the storm. An umbrella was of no use, because the rain pelted from all sides. Her hooded cloak wasn’t much better, although it did manage to offer a bit of protection when it wasn’t twisting in the swirling wind that threatened to pick her up and haul her to the sea.

  Freddie finally returned to her side. “Perhaps you should stay here, inside. Farthingham will never forgive me if you should take ill while searching for him.”

  She shook her head, the futility of the situation almost overwhelming her. “No, I’m going, with or without you. I have to feel like I’m at least doing something.”

  “Very well then. You and I shall walk south, the servants to the east and west, and hopefully someone will have a bit of luck.”

  Considering the severity of this storm, she thought it likely that they’d need more than a bit of luck. She was terrified that they’d need a miracle.

  She was cold, wet, chilled to the bone. Her eyes ached from staring at the dark sea and into the black of night with only the faint light from the lantern Freddie had given her earlier to provide any sort of hope.

  “Nicky! Richard!” The gusting winds captured her words and threw them back at her. She wondered when she’d stopped calling out for Weddington and had begun to yell for Richard as though he were more likely to answer to one name more than the other. “Nicky! Richard!”

  At one point, she’d thought she’d caught sight of a sailboat, and her heart had soared, but it had quickly disappeared, and she hadn’t seen it since. When she’d called out to Freddie, rushed over to him, and pointed to the sea, trying to get him to see what she had, he’d simply shaken his head and suggested it was no more than wishful thinking on her part.

  She’d wan
ted to smack him. When had he become such a pessimistic creature?

  Although she could hardly blame him as she wended her way around the rocks, illuminating nooks and crannies with the lantern, ducking each time the surf crashed against the shore. Her own optimism was dwindling. If they hadn’t found them by morning, she’d gather the crew and take The Fair Lady out herself. After all, the yacht was close to being hers, and she was desperately hoping that the possibility existed that maybe the men had shown a little sense and taken refuge on one of the nearby Isles of Scilly if they’d been too far out to return to this shore.

  She didn’t know how far they’d planned to travel or in which direction they’d intended to sail. Madness. It was sheer madness, and when she found them she was going to knock some common sense into their uncommon heads—

  A shadow that didn’t belong! A shape! Long, lean, stretched out on the shore.

  The light from her lantern wavered. She heard a sound that wasn’t the screaming of the wind. Beneath it all. Lower. Vaguely familiar. Retching.

  “Freddie! Here! Freddie!”

  She scrambled over the rocks, the lantern swinging, the light dancing around as though caught up in some eerie, frenzied waltz. As she neared, the glow from the lantern cast a halo around the man, but he remained dark. Dark hair. Black hair. Plastered to his head—as she’d seen it once before.

  Not blond. Not Nicky.

  She dropped to her knees. He was up on his elbows, gasping, sputtering, coughing, his head bent, his body jerking. “Richard?”

  He continued to cough, no doubt needing to bring up all the water he might have swallowed. She set the lantern down, removed her cloak, and draped it over him. “Richard, where’s Nicky?”

  He shook his head. He didn’t know. Of course, he didn’t know. They’d arrived at shore separated no doubt. She’d been silly to ask, but she had to find him, find him quickly. She reached for the lantern—

  “Are you daft, woman?” Freddie asked as he knelt on the other side of Weddington, snatched up her cloak, and tossed it to her. “Put your cloak back on, before you catch your death.”

  Under the circumstances, she thought it was the most absurd thing he could have said, as he whipped off his coat and placed it over the man trembling before them.