Sara Bennett

by Lessons in Seduction

  All warmth and desire had vanished from his eyes. He was cool now, and perhaps more than a little irritated by her spoiling his evening. “You followed me from Berkeley Square, Miss Greentree. How did you get into this place? I very much doubt Dobson would have let you through the front door.”

  Under his speculative look her face colored. “I entered through the back door,” she replied, refusing to admit she had done anything wrong. The end justifies the means, she reminded herself.

  “I see.” He said it slowly. “You crept into the back of this house like a thief, and now we are locked in this room together, you and I. What did you mean to do with the riding crop? Beat me into submission?”

  Vivianna found it difficult to keep her gaze on his. “I brought it for protection. I have never been to London before, and I did not know what sort of people I might encounter.”

  “Well, that explains it.” His voice was very dry.

  “I believed this place to be a gentlemen’s club. I did not realize it was a house of ill repute,” she went on, her face even redder than before.

  “A house of very fine repute, I would say. Gentlemen such as myself come here to enjoy themselves and have their senses titillated by ladies such as yourself. Well, not quite such as yourself, Miss Greentree.” His mouth quirked up, but his eyes remained cool. “It is not my practice to seduce reformers. I find that unless I keep their mouths constantly occupied they bore me with their lecturing.”

  Vivianna’s face burned, but it was anger that made her voice tremble as she replied, “Then I count myself fortunate, my lord, that I am not to your taste.”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t say that,” he murmured, and gave her another of those long, assessing, and blatantly lecherous glances from beneath half-closed lids.

  “You are insufferable,” she began, clutching the crop with shaking hands. Perhaps she would use it on him after all.

  And perhaps he realized it, for he smiled. And then all trace of humor left his face and he said, rather coldly, “Do you always behave so rashly, Miss Greentree? No doubt where you live everyone knows you and you are safe. This is London. You cannot do as you wish here, and if you venture into some of the more lawless districts, a riding crop will not save you. Do you understand me?”

  Vivianna did not lower her gaze. How dare he lecture her! “I understand you perfectly, my lord,” she said through stiff lips.

  He stared at her a moment more, and then he shook his head. “But you’d do it again without hesitation, wouldn’t you? You’re one of those crusading women who believe they know best.”

  “I prefer to think of myself as committed,” Vivianna said through her teeth.

  “Then be warned, Miss Greentree, I do not permit interference in my affairs. Not by you or anyone else. I do not take kindly to it.”

  Vivianna was angry; very angry. Interference! If he imagined she would turn about and go meekly back to Yorkshire, then he was even more arrogant and deluded and…and misguided than he seemed. Vivianna was used to getting her own way, and when she felt as strongly about something as she did the shelter…

  “Don’t do it, Miss Greentree.”

  He wagged a warning finger in her face. He was closer to her than she had thought. Vivianna managed not to flinch.

  “Don’t do what?”

  “Whatever plot you are formulating behind those big, beautiful eyes. Don’t do it. I might have developed a sudden fascination for lovely, bossy women, but you are treading on dangerous ground. Take my advice, Miss Greentree, and go home while you still can.”

  Vivianna felt her jaw drop a little. Lovely? Bossy? She swallowed. Keep to the point! “I cannot allow you to tear down the shelter,” she said. “Believe me when I say that I will do anything to stop you.”

  He was closer still, although she had not seen him move. His breath was warm against her skin. His gaze dropped to her lips. He smiled. He did not say anything; he did not need to. Her own words repeated in her head like an echo. Anything. I will do anything to stop you.

  “My lord—”

  “Oliver. Say it.”

  “Oliver,” she repeated like an obedient child, and then couldn’t think of anything else to say.

  He dropped his head until his brow was resting against hers, and closed his eyes. His lashes were thick and dark, like his hair, and his skin was warm and smelled of sandalwood and brandy and man. So near. She could turn a little and kiss him, if she wanted to.

  And she did. Oh yes, she did….

  And then, as she trembled on the brink of something momentous, he straightened and turned away, and just like that he left her standing flushed and hot and confused. His voice was tight, as though he spoke through his teeth.

  “I will have a hansom cab called for you. Go home, Miss Greentree, before it is too late.”

  Angry with him and herself, Vivianna followed him. “I will not be threatened by you! And I will not go anywhere until you promise me you will not touch the shelter!”

  He laughed without humor. “I will promise nothing of the sort. And even if I did, I wouldn’t keep my promise. The shelter is an eyesore and I am going to have it pulled down, Miss Greentree, and I am going to build something much nicer in its place. In a year, the railway will pass by Candlewood, and many respectable middle-class families will be seeking respectable middle-class homes outside the bustle of the city. It is my belief, Miss Greentree, that this is the way of the future.”

  Vivianna felt her breath catch in her throat, but somehow she managed to get the necessary words out. “My lord…eh, Oliver…my lord, the shelter provides a home for children who have nowhere else to—”

  “I would have thought a dwelling in the city would be more convenient,” he continued with a studied indifference, as if he didn’t care a jot, and went to stare out of the window.

  “But don’t you see? Candlewood is perfect! They are safe there, and the country air is healthy for them, the water is clean, and they have a garden….”

  Frustrated tears filled her eyes as she gazed at his implacable back. Don’t cry, she thought, don’t cry! “Where will the children go if you demolish their home? What will become of them?”

  “That is not my concern.” He turned to face her, his expression blank, his gaze indifferent. “Frankly, Miss Greentree, none of this is my concern. My man of business leased the place to your friends for one year, and now that year is ended. I am under no obligation to extend it.”

  “But we believed—”

  “What you believed is nothing to do with me. If I must be blunt, then I shall. I need the money; I must demolish.”

  “So you can spend it on places like this,” she said, rage tearing through her, and the longing to smash something.

  He grinned. “That’s it. Whores and brandy and gaming. My three greatest passions. I believe the money I make from Candlewood will keep me in the lifestyle to which I’ve grown accustomed for at least two more years. That is all that matters to me.”

  Vivianna swallowed her fury and frustration, and tried one last time. “The fate of these children is the concern of us all, Lord Montegomery. We are all responsible. Please reconsider.”

  He yawned. “Miss Greentree, you’re starting to bore me. I came here to enjoy myself, not to be lectured. My patience is now at an end. If you continue to harangue me I will have to take action. I wonder if your reputation is pristine enough to withstand the story of your being arrested by the Metropolitan Police at Aphrodite’s? What would your family and friends say then, I wonder?”

  Shock made her speechless, but only for a moment. “You are a monster!”

  “Good, you realize it at last. Now, I will go and find Dobson and he will call a cab for you, and you will get inside it and you will leave. And I will never see you again. Do you understand me, Miss Greentree?”

  Vivianna’s mouth set in a mulish line, and just for a moment, as she met those surprisingly watchful eyes above his smirking mouth, she wondered if he was deliberately trying to frig
hten her away. But whatever his intention, she was beaten. This time. Although, if Montegomery thought this was the last of the matter, then he was a fool as well as a rake. Except that he wasn’t a fool. She had learned that much.

  “What is your address?” he said now. “And do not lie—I will be able to tell if you are not honest with me.”

  “Queen’s Square, Bloomsbury,” she replied sullenly, not looking at him.

  “Very good,” he declared, as if he were a tutor giving her a lesson. “Now, one last thing…”

  She looked up at the pause. He was holding out his hand steadily toward her. An ebony and silver ring winked on his little finger. “The door key, Miss Greentree, if you please. I have a feeling you have it hidden about your person somewhere.

  What would he do if she were to withhold it? But once again he seemed to read her thoughts and that smile touched his mouth—oh yes, he would relish the opportunity to wrestle with her for possession! Vivianna fumbled in her pocket and all but threw the key at him. He caught it, gave her a brief bow, and strolled to the door. Vivianna stood, outraged, as the key turned in the lock and the door opened and closed behind him.

  She was alone.

  Had he bested her? Had she squandered her chance? Perhaps she should have waited until the morning, presented herself properly, spoken to him with cool and calm logic….

  It would have made no difference.

  Oliver Montegomery was a rake, the type of man who cared little for others and everything for himself. He would not have answered her any differently, no matter how prettily she wrapped up the facts for him.

  And yet he must. Somehow, she must ensure that he did.

  Behind her the door opened again. There was a rustle of stiff skirts and a strong, sweet perfume. Vivianna turned sharply and found herself being surveyed by a dark intelligent gaze in the face of an elegant woman. It was the same woman she remembered seeing out in the other room with the beaded black gown and diamonds about her throat. She was older than the other “ladies,” but still beautiful, the lines upon her face giving it interest despite her air of aloofness. It was a face that had laughed and lived, but it was a face that had also suffered.

  “You should not be here,” the woman said in a rich, educated voice with a light French accent.

  “So I have already been told,” Vivianna replied, ignoring Montegomery, who had also reentered the room.

  A flash of something lit the woman’s large, dark eyes—amusement, perhaps—before she became serious once more.

  “This is no place for a respectable young lady, and I can see that that is what you are, Miss…?”

  “Greentree,” Vivianna supplied, darting a fulminating look at the “gentleman.” He had moved to a table with a decanter and was pouring himself a glass of brandy.

  “Miss Greentree,” he added with emphasis, “is a founder of the Shelter for Poor Orphans.”

  Vivianna felt the woman’s stare upon her. There was something almost familiar in it, and yet she was certain she had never met her before. Then the woman gave a sophisticated, very French shrug. “I do not understand.”

  Vivianna threw off her own momentary inertia and took charge. “I do not know your name.”

  Another smile. “I am called Madame, Miss Greentree. That will do for now.”

  “Very well, ‘Madame.’ I have traveled from Yorkshire to speak with Lord Montegomery. I am, as he has said, a founder of the Shelter for Poor Orphans. The Shelter is presently housed at Candlewood, a house which belongs to Lord Montegomery and is leased to us. We were told the lease would be indefinite and the house would be available to purchase, but now it appears that Lord Montegomery wishes to demolish the house and…” She took a breath. “I wanted to ask him not to. But I fear he isn’t a man who thinks much of anything but himself.”

  Madame gave a brittle little laugh. “But all gentlemen are so, Miss Greentree. Oliver is neither better nor worse than the rest of his kind.”

  Vivianna felt her tension ease. She glanced sideways at Oliver, to see how he was reacting to his hostess’s summation of his character. He was standing against the darkness of the windows, looking elegant and yet with that air of danger and aloneness she had felt surrounded him from the first. He had narrowed his eyes at them over his brandy.

  “You think so?” he asked in deceptively soft tones. “I could have ruined her, Madame. I could have forced her, although she seemed to be enjoying herself so much I don’t think it would have been force. But I was a perfect gentleman. Don’t I deserve some credit for that?”

  Outrage had stolen Vivianna’s voice, but Madame answered for her. “Of course you do, Oliver,” she soothed him. “You are not quite as despicable as you pretend to be—I do know that, mon chéri.”

  He returned her smile, as if he couldn’t help himself. “I am whatever you want me to be, Madame,” he replied with smooth good manners.

  Madame laughed again, and then she wrapped fingers heavy with rings about Vivianna’s arm. “Come, Miss Greentree. I will make certain you reach your cab safely. You were fortunate tonight, as Oliver has reminded us. Please, do not risk yourself again.”

  Briefly, Vivianna thought of refusing, but there was no point. Lord Montegomery had won this round. But Vivianna would never give up—the orphans were relying upon her—and once she had set her mind upon winning, she did not do it by half measures.

  “Goodbye, Miss Greentree. Do not forget your whip.” Oliver had raised his glass to her. Mocking her, daring her. Gloating. The last thing she saw as the door closed on them were his dark eyes and his victorious smile.

  “You are headstrong.” Madame’s tones were clipped, as she half led, half tugged Vivianna toward the door. The room’s inhabitants turned to stare—someone laughed. The doorman in his red coat was waiting, his battered face stern. Suddenly Vivianna was glad she still had her riding crop.

  Madame drew Vivianna’s attention back to herself. “You must learn to rein in your impetuosity, mon chou. To give some thought to your actions. To come here was a grave mistake, Miss Greentree, because you have given him the upper hand now. Remember, a man like Oliver Montegomery cannot be bullied, he can only be led. Persuaded.”

  Vivianna, about to object to being called “my cabbage,” turned her head to stare. “What can you mean?”

  Madame met her eyes thoughtfully. “You are not a fool,” she said, “and neither do I think you are a prude. Most ladies would have fallen into a faint as soon as they set foot in here. You did not. Indeed, I think, Miss Greentree, it would take a good deal to make you faint! And you understand very well what I mean. Oliver is no more selfish than any other gentleman, and he can be got around. He finds you amusing and refreshing. Play upon that. Maybe he even desires you—it is clear that his tastes are jaded and he is looking for something new and different. Play upon that, if you dare. If you are skillful enough you can achieve your aim.”

  Vivianna’s face had begun to burn long before Madame had finished. She pulled away from the older woman.

  No matter how fascinating I find lovely, bossy women.

  Oliver Montegomery’s voice mocked her.

  She ignored it.

  “I would rather give myself to a snake than try and please that man,” she said furiously, and strode past the doorman and out into the chilly night.

  Behind her she heard Madame give a rich laugh, as if she could tell bluster from truth, and then the door closed with a thud. As promised, there was a hansom cab awaiting her.

  “You for Queen’s Square?” the cabbie asked her.

  “Yes, I am.” Vivianna climbed in.

  “You just come from inside there?” She felt the driver’s eyes assessing her from his seat behind and above her compartment.

  “Of course not,” Vivianna retorted, although he must have seen her hasty exit.

  He gave as much credence to her answer as she had expected. “That’s Aphrodite’s, ain’t it? Best academy in London!”

  Vivianna was sudden
ly very tired, too tired even to care that she had left her cloak behind. She leaned her head back against the squabs, ignored the talkative hansom driver, and closed her eyes.

  Persuade Lord Montegomery? Use her feminine wiles on him? Her mouth quirked. That was assuming she had any wiles, which she had not. Vivianna told herself she was not the sort of woman to flirt, or to speak in other than a plain and direct fashion. She had never had the time or inclination to ponder the mysteries of desire and physical passion.

  It was true she had once perused a booklet called Mr. and Mrs. England, which dealt with the ways in which married couples could consummate that passion without conceiving. Books on such matters were illegal in England, although there were those, like Vivianna, who thought that in the right hands they were important and necessary. At the time, Mr. and Mrs. England had not pertained to her; it had fallen into her hands by chance and she had read it through curiosity. But now the images in it came back to her with surprising and disturbing clarity.

  Persuade him.

  “No!” Her voice was unnaturally loud in the compartment. She would use reason and logic. That was what was needed in this situation—reason and logic had worked before, and it would work this time.

  Feminine wiles indeed!

  But as the cab rocked her gently through London’s dark streets, Vivianna could not help but remember the intimate feel of his lips brushing against hers, the warm and expert touch of his long fingers on her skin, and the expression of unwilling fascination in his dark blue eyes.

  Chapter 3

  Oliver didn’t stay at Aphrodite’s Club after all. Not long after Miss Vivianna Greentree left, he discovered that the desire to spend a few hours with one of Madame’s lovely protégées had fled. Their beautiful faces and scantily clad bodies were suddenly stale. Dull. Miss Vivianna Greentree, with her passionate belief in her cause and her honest hazel eyes and her soft sinful lips, had taken the shine off them.

  He didn’t like to admit it, and he certainly didn’t understand it. He had realized who she was almost at once, but had pretended to mistake her for one of Madame’s girls. He had set out to embarrass her, to frighten her with his attentions into catching the very next stagecoach northward. The last thing he needed now was this added complication. But he had seriously misread her character. Instead of putting her off with his mauling, it seemed he had lain down a gauntlet, and he had little doubt that she would eagerly pick it up. In hindsight, he should have allowed Hodge to send for the constables.