Seduction in Mind

by Susan Johnson

  “She plays at amour occasionally herself, it’s said.”

  “So why not with me?”

  Lillie’s eyes sparkled. “Why not indeed, when you have so much to offer.”

  But Sam was cautious in his approach this time, standing at the fringe of the throng for a short period, listening to the conversation, watching Alex’s response, trying to gauge the extent of her boredom against the protocol of leaving before the prince. Personally, he cared little for Wales’s sense of consequence, but Miss Ionides had given him the impression she proceeded with less rashness.

  He entered the conversation when Princess Louise began discussing Edgar Boehm’s newest sculpture.2 A sculptor herself as well as Boehm’s lover, the princess was waxing eloquent on the portrait he’d recently completed of her mother’s servant, John Brown.3

  “Did the John Brown sculpture appear at the Academy show?” Sam asked.

  “Yes. It received much acclaim,” Princess Louise proudly replied, always a spirited advocate of her lover’s work.

  Sam smiled. “As did your work, Princess, I hear. The Times said your Daphne was a triumph.”

  “They were kind in their praise,” she noted modestly. “Have you seen the show, Lord Ranelagh?”

  “Only quickly, I’m afraid.”

  “Then you must go again. Even Mama has gone twice.”

  “Perhaps I might. Has anyone been lucky at the track today?”

  Immediately, a collective sigh of relief seemed to emanate from the group, and several people quickly responded. Everyone was aware of the princess’s unhappy marriage to the Marquess of Lorne, who was homosexual, so her interest in Boehm was understandable, but the possibility of inadvertently speaking out of turn on either subject always made for a certain awkwardness. Racing was so much more comfortable a topic. As the conversation became animated, Sam was able to approach Alex with apparent casualness.

  “You should have been a diplomat, Lord Ranelagh,” Alex observed, Sam’s finesse worthy of praise. “Everyone finds it difficult to discuss Boehm with the princess.”

  “You included?”

  “Of course. One must agree with her or bear her displeasure, and while the man has talent—” She shrugged.

  “It’s his other talents that charm the princess.”

  “No doubt.”

  “Speaking of such talents,” he said, smiling.

  She surveyed him, a half-smile barely curving her mouth. “You’re persistent at least.”

  “Did you think I wouldn’t be?”

  “I didn’t think of you at all, my lord,” she replied, perjuring herself in self-defense.

  “While you quite effectively ruined my peace of mind and my night.”

  “You spent the night alone, then?” she noted archly, recognizing the weariness of debauch when she saw it.

  He hesitated.

  “I dislike men who lie.”

  His teeth flashed white in a smile. “How do you feel about evasion?”

  “So you weren’t alone, as if I didn’t know.”

  “Were you?”

  “No.”

  He was surprised at the degree of his annoyance. “Did you enjoy yourself?” he drawled.

  “Did you?”

  “No,” he said brusquely, unsure why he chose to be honest. “I didn’t.”

  “My condolences, then. My three-year-old nephew and I enjoyed ourselves immensely. He likes when I read him stories about animals that talk.”

  “You’re a bloody little bitch,” he said, but his smile matched the amusement in her eyes.

  “That’s no concern of yours, is it?”

  “I could make it my concern.”

  “You can’t without my leave.”

  “Why is that?”

  Her large eyes seemed to grow larger. “Do you always assert your authority, Lord Ranelagh?”

  “Rarely.”

  “Don’t even think of doing it with me.”

  He smiled. “Am I supposed to be intimidated?”

  “Cautioned perhaps. I don’t take kindly to coercion.”

  “You might like it. St. Albans and Coutts were older, weren’t they?”

  “This conversation is over,” she said tartly.

  “I only meant in play, Miss Ionides. Think about it.”

  “Go to bloody hell,” she said in an undertone, and walked away.

  * * *

  He should have been more tactful, and if it had been anyone else, he probably would have been. But she provoked him—an oddity in a woman—and if he were inclined to introspection, he might say her pronounced independence served as some benighted challenge. But he wasn’t introspective, nor was he easily daunted when lured by such flagrant sensuality. Nor was he unaware of the contradiction between her words and her heated gaze.

  A shame she wouldn’t allow herself to do what she wished to do.

  A shame he wasn’t more patient.

  Damn his conceit, Alex reflected hotly, her long-legged stride indication of her anger. Ladies didn’t stride, or at least they didn’t in these cursed tight skirts, she furiously thought, easing into a more sedate gait, searching the crowded enclosure for a quiet corner in which to compose herself. Whenever she was in Ranelagh’s presence, she found herself exasperated by his unabashed cheekiness, disturbed by his brazen virility, reminded as well—the disconcerting voice inside her head whispered—that his extraordinary talents in bed were the stuff of legend.

  Damn gossip.

  Damn his blasted beauty.

  Damn Leon, who had contributed to her unusual celibacy—the practical reason, she assured herself, of her too-ardent attraction to the viscount.

  She really would have to go and see young Harry, she decided. Considering her ungovernable desires, it was the only sensible course—once she could see her way clear of all these people. Finding a deserted area near the box rail, she pretended to watch the racing horses below. On the other hand, her contrary voice persisted, she could take Ranelagh up on his blunt invitation, join him in bed, and be done with it.

  Perhaps his reputation was highly overrated and unjustified, the result of hearsay and tittle-tattle. She drew in a sustaining breath and contemplated the possibility with satisfaction. Wouldn’t that be fine. And she’d take great pleasure in telling him so afterward.

  Afterward …

  Good God … was she actually considering it?

  The cheers erupting around her went unattended as she weighed the dramatic consequences. Could she, would she … would he be boorish—or not? What if he actually lived up to his exalted reputation? Where would that leave her? Discarded like all the rest, for he’d not been a pattern card of constancy since his disastrous marriage. Or before it, for that matter.

  “Don’t be angry with Sam. He’s really very nice.”

  Alex turned to find Lillie Langtry smiling at her.

  She grimaced faintly. “Did he send you?”

  The tall, beautiful redhead glanced at the group of men around the Prince of Wales, Sam among them. “He doesn’t need advocates.” Her eyes gleamed with amusement. “Or at least not until now. And he would think me interfering if he knew what I was saying. But the darling boy is smitten with you.”

  “He said that?”

  Lillie smiled again. “Of course not. I doubt the word’s in his vocabulary. It’s my perception only. I thought you’d like to know.”

  Alex offered the Prince of Wales’s mistress a small smile. “Thank you, but whether Ranelagh is smitten or not, or whether he’s nice or not isn’t under debate. I find his reputation too daunting.”

  “You don’t mean all that gossip about his wife? She was a hussy through and through in spite of her blue blood. She made his life miserable.”

  “Some might say he deserved it.”

  “But then, I know better. He was faithful to her—at first.”

  “You see.”

  “You misunderstand, Miss Ionides. He was faithful until he found his wife with one of his gardeners s
carce a month after the wedding. And when she died, she was with one of her lovers.”

  “My Lord.”

  “Exactly. And I could tell you more. Suffice it to say, he acted the gentleman far longer than most men would have. Do you feel better now?”

  “Enlightened certainly. But it isn’t only gossip about his marriage. He was notorious both before and after.”

  “He hasn’t found the right woman yet.”

  “Not from lack of looking …”

  “With all the women in pursuit, Miss Ionides, he doesn’t have to look. Now, you could prove an antidote to that pattern of sameness.”

  She didn’t pretend not to understand. “Even were I inclined to serve as antidote to the sameness of his life, it wouldn’t be for long, I’m sure. The transience of his connections is legend.”

  “You’re interested in permanence? Are you looking for a third husband?”

  Alex immediately waved her hand in denial. “No, no. I’m quite content alone. On the other hand, I don’t wish to find myself added to the viscount’s list of casual conquests.”

  Lillie’s brows rose. “But then, there’s no guarantees in amour, Miss Ionides. Who of us know how long we’ll be amused? When you ended your affair with Mr. Baring, you broke his heart, he said.”

  A pink flush rose on Alex’s cheeks. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “Surely you must have known. Harold isn’t a Lothario by nature.”

  “I’m embarrassed to say, you’ve made your point, Miss Langtry.”

  “While I didn’t in the least wish to embarrass you.” She patted Alex’s arm. “I’m just asking you to keep an open mind about Sam. You’d enjoy him immensely.”

  Alex’s gaze held a new directness. “Do you speak from personal experience?”

  “Does it matter?”

  “Perhaps.”

  “The answer is no. Is that better?”

  Alex grinned. “It shouldn’t be, but it is.”

  “Good. Then I wish you much pleasure.”

  After Miss Langtry left, Alex smiled to herself. Ranelagh had actually been faithful to his wife. A charming quality she’d not thought possible in a man of his stamp. Perhaps she’d misjudged him. Or perhaps she was simply looking for a reason to have misjudged him….

  “I’m sorry.”

  The voice at her ear was without guile and soft with apology, and when she looked up, she saw Ranelagh as penitent, his expression so wholly innocent, she wondered for a moment if she should give him high marks for acting.

  “I could send you my card tomorrow and flowers—something small and not too personal. A book perhaps … do you like Ruskin?”

  “You don’t look the type, Ranelagh, to observe the conventions.”

  “I could if you wish.”

  “Why?”

  He shrugged infinitesimally. “Reparation—a peace offering for having offended you?”

  “Are you and Miss Langtry accomplices this afternoon?”

  “What did she say?”

  “She extolled your virtues.”

  He grinned. “I didn’t know I had any.”

  “So I told her.”

  “And she disagreed? Perhaps she’s trying to repay me for my help in placing her winning bets. But she needn’t have. I can speak for myself.”

  “I don’t doubt you can.”

  “From that tone of voice I perceive you still have reservations.”

  “I do.”

  “About?”

  “Your reputation for dalliance.”

  “You have one as well and I’m not taking offense.”

  “We hardly compare, Ranelagh.”

  “I’d be happy to discuss that matter of degree in any locale you choose.”

  “What if I said my parents’ drawing room tomorrow morning?”

  He swallowed before he spoke, but his tone was unruffled when he said, “That would be fine.”

  “You don’t mind meeting my parents?”

  “If you wish me to, I will. Don’t, however, expect a reciprocal meeting with my parents. We don’t get along.”

  Alex grinned. “Oh, dear, when I was so hoping to meet your mother.”

  A hint of amusement gleamed in his eye. “I can see you’re going to be a great deal of trouble.”

  “If I allow it.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he agreed with such deference, she surveyed him with a measuring glance.

  “Are you always so amiable?”

  “Always.”

  And she felt a flutter where she didn’t wish to feel such a flutter. “I should turn you off.”

  “Don’t.” His voice was husky and low, his dark gaze half-lidded.

  She felt a mild heat begin to warm her blood, a familiar, tantalizing, insistent heat too long ignored. But her dilemma was compounded by their audience, the viscount’s disquieting assurance, and her disinclination to join the large company of women discarded by the man towering above her. “Would you like to take me to the Academy exhibition?” she abruptly asked, her invitation a means of pleasing herself without plunging in completely—a compromise, as it were, between principle and irrepressible feeling.

  “Now?”

  “Do you have something else to do?”

  Several something-elses—most having to do with beds and the naked Miss Ionides—but sensible of the delicacy of the moment, he smiled and said, “I’ve nothing I’d rather do. I’ll make our excuses to Bertie.”

  “I’ll come with you.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “I see you’re anticipating some vulgar male response from Bertie. We’re going to the exhibition, my lord, that’s all. And if either you or Bertie think otherwise, I’ll be there to clarify my position.”

  “He’s not always … shall we say, well mannered.”

  “I know Bertie very well. And if he’s not courteous with me, I’ll point out his deficiency.”

  “How well do you know Bertie?”

  “How well I know him is none of your business.”

  He shouldn’t care, but curiously, he found he did. “You’re highly provoking, Miss Ionides.”

  “And?” Her gaze was the most ravishing purple, and edgy.

  His nostrils flared, but his smile an instant later was enchanting. “And I look forward to understanding you better.”

  “Understanding?” The single word was uttered softly, insinuation in every syllable.

  Sam held out his arm. “Let’s get the hell out of here.” He was back on familiar ground.

  Chapter 6

  In short order, they were seated side by side in Sam’s carriage while the driver navigated the crowded road from Ascot. The viscount was in superb good humor with the object of his pursuit in proximity. Alex was more conflicted, her emotions in flux, and even as she experienced intoxicating desire, she still debated whether she would act on it.

  The viscount, more focused, only contemplated the logistics of time and his nearby race box. “Do you actually want to go to the exhibition?” Well bred and courteous, he could have been asking her to partner him in croquet.

  She didn’t answer at first, struggling against her perception of the viscount and his profligacies, wondering how many times he’d done this before, chiding herself for caring, reminding herself she was a liberated woman unconcerned with prudish propriety. Was she not capable of making a decision based on her own wishes and needs?

  “If you’re unsure … about—” Sam started to ask.

  “Going to bed with you?”

  His brows rose. “I was going to say about the exhibition hours.”

  “The show’s open until nine.”

  “Ah … plenty of time, then,” he said affably.

  “For what, my lord?”

  “Don’t get prickly, darling. For whatever you wish.”

  “I’m not your darling. You already have dozens of those. And I don’t do this as a rule and I’m uncertain if I will now, and Lord almighty, Ranelagh, I don’t know what I’m doing here. I ju
st met you yesterday.”

  “If it’s any consolation, I told myself the same thing when I couldn’t sleep last night—” Her piercing glance stopped him.

  “Don’t bamboozle me; I didn’t keep you from anything last night.”

  “Au contraire, Miss Ionides. It was a matter of saving face. And I shouldn’t have gone.”

  “Really.” Leaning into the corner of the seat, she pursed her mouth and contemplated the folly of believing she’d disturbed Ranelagh’s debauch. Even for a night.

  Sprawling in the opposite corner, he stretched out his long legs, offered her a surly look, and said, “Really. And I’m wondering why I’m even admitting to such foolishness. I don’t know you.”

  “It’s lust, I suppose.”

  He shook his head. “Lust I know. This isn’t precisely it. And that’s the problem.”

  “Does it have to be a problem? Surely, we’re both adults.”

  “So a fuck is a fuck,” he said gruffly.

  She smiled. “Am I supposed to be shocked?”

  He smiled back. “Later maybe.”

  She acknowledged his remark with a faint lift of her brows. “So our problems are swept aside?”

  “I can do so if you can.”

  “Actually, I’m not sure I’m so cavalier. I’ve had much less practice.”

  “Any woman who poses nude for the world to see is beyond cavalier, Miss Ionides. I’d say you’re capable of dealing with most anything.”

  “Including you?”

  “I certainly hope so,” he answered. “Now, are we going to the exhibition first or afterward?”

  “Will there be time … afterward?” Her voice was calm despite the provocation in her query.

  “Not if I can help it.” He smiled. “I was being tactful.”

  Her gaze was examining. “Are you really as good as they say?”

  “If you’re ready, why don’t we see? You have my permission to grade me.”

  “I don’t need your permission.”

  “But you need something else I have.”

  His grin was infuriatingly cheeky. “Damn you, yes, and I wish I didn’t.”

  He shrugged. “I dislike the intensity of my feelings as well.”

  She suddenly laughed at their mutual equivocation of everything save desire. “This should be interesting at least.”