Only Seduction Will Do

by Jenna Jaxon

  “My lord?” Barnes raised an eyebrow. “Did you forget something?”

  “Will you send word to Miss Forsythe that I should like to speak to her, Barnes?” If he accepted her to her face, it wouldn’t matter what Braeton did or said. That much he knew about the woman. She would have the last say in who she married.

  “Miss Forsythe is out at the moment, my lord. Shall I inform Lord or Lady Braeton you wish to speak with them?” Barnes waited, as unmoving as a stone.

  Lady Braeton would do him no good, though perhaps she could stop her husband’s headlong flight into the ruin of her cousin. “When will Miss Forsythe return?”

  “I am not certain, my lord. The weather was so cold this morning she postponed her usual ride until the afternoon. I cannot tell you how long she may be.”

  Really, Miss Forsythe had no care for her health. To go riding while in an interesting condition persuaded one that she was reckless and unconcerned for the life of her child. Could he truly go forward with this plan if the woman he would tie himself to for life was so irresponsible? Perhaps it was time someone took her in hand and made her think about the consequences of her actions.

  “Do you know which direction she rode?”

  “Oh, yes, my lord.” Barnes’s face lit up, eager to finally have an answer. “Each morning she and her groom go to Hyde Park. Through the North Gate and around the Serpentine. That’s as far as his lordship allows her to go. They left about ten minutes ago, my lord. Usually they take some time to return.”

  Well, he would see about that.

  “Thank you, Barnes. Will you send word to the stable to saddle a horse for me? I’ll ride to the park to meet Miss Forsythe.”

  “Very good, my lord.” Barnes’s bushy eyebrows seemed permanently raised, but he bowed and scurried toward the corridor beyond the threshold.

  Lord, he might freeze himself, but a single rider could go where a carriage could not. Something told him Miss Forsythe would not stick to the safe paths. Refusing to think of what he was about to agree to, he retreated to a small, deserted reception room to await his mount. Pray God Lady Braeton didn’t wander in. Then there’d be the devil to pay in explanations. Looking out the window, he swayed from side to side, eager to get on with this lunacy. Finally a slow clop-clop sounded and his horse hove into sight.

  He sprinted through the front door, scarcely waiting for the stable boy to dismount before he scooped up the reins and vaulted into the saddle. Heading the horse to the right, in the direction of Hyde Park, Jack set off at a brisk pace. Should have asked if she had particular paths she frequented, but he’d take a quick jog around the Serpentine and hope he got lucky.

  The fresh horse was eager to run, so they shot down the street, startling several intrepid servants running errands in the fresh air. The brisk pace they set got his blood to pumping and soon all was warm save his face. That had frozen early this morning, it felt like. They turned a sharp corner into the park and he sat up, suddenly alert for any sign of Miss Forsythe.

  The chilly air had prevented most people from riding, though a fair number of carriages paraded around smartly. It made his task seem easier—a lone rider stood out, especially one with such striking colored hair. Turning his horse onto one of his own favorite paths, Jack set the borrowed black gelding to a canter and flew down the dirt path, kicking up mud in his wake.

  They swiftly reached the turning and no sight of his quarry. As elusive as the foxes he used to hunt back in Virginia with Kat at his side. He’d not had such a lark since coming to England. Perhaps he and Miss Forsythe would try hunting together once her confinement was done. Something told him that she would enjoy it as much as his sister had, though he didn’t truly know her tastes.

  He pulled the horse down to a walk. Christ. The magnitude of the change about to occur in his life hit him squarely in the chest, almost staggered him. He couldn’t breathe. He was about to become a husband to a woman he didn’t truly know or like and father to a child that wasn’t his. A tall order for a man just about to turn three and twenty. So many things he’d never have time to do because of it.

  A tall figure in a sky-blue riding habit, a black tricorn perched jauntily on a mass of copper curls, sitting atop a huge bay stallion, shot out from behind a hedge. Her mount skidded to a halt, rearing both forefeet off the ground. Miss Forsythe balanced easily and reined in the horse, soothing him with a firm pat on his neck.

  “Easy, easy there, Goliath.” The woman’s touch calmed the horse instantly. “Good boy.” She rubbed his neck once again, then turned her head sharply toward Jack, sending him a wary look. “Lord Manning. What a surprise to see you again so soon.”

  “Indeed, Miss Forsythe. Good afternoon.” Jack’s mind blanked. Not a word could he call to mind. About anything. “I had come to call on you and Barnes informed me of your ride in the park.” Had she come out so she wouldn’t have to witness Braeton’s little interviews? Did she know they were going on at this very minute? He smiled at her, feeling a fool. “I thought it would be a pleasant outing to share.” Good God. The woman had got him tongue-tied in less than a minute in her company. This would not do.

  “A pleasant outing in June, perhaps. In December it might better be described as folly.” She cocked her head, the plume on her jaunty hat fluttering in the sharp breeze.

  “Yet here you are.”

  “Yes, well, I have never been one to allow a little physical discomfort to deter me from the enjoyment of a ride.” Her eyes narrowed. “May I ask why you have come out on such a brisk day, Lord Manning? I had not expected to see you again.”

  The wary look in her eyes gave him no confidence at all. He was here to help the girl out of a lifetime of ruin and she had him on the defensive. Was it a sign he should retreat from this nightmare? “Upon reflection, I came to the conclusion our earlier meeting had not ended as satisfactorily as it might. I…I believe…” Deucedly awkward to propose to a woman atop a horse in a cold breeze while trying to keep one’s teeth from chattering. Her suspicious stare helped not at all. “Shall we go to the folly, just there, for a moment?” He pointed to a small wrought iron and glass structure. “The wind has kicked up a bit.”

  “Should we not return to the house, then?” A quizzical frown rent her lovely face.

  She was likely annoyed with him, but she’d be more annoyed still to find Braeton practically auctioning her off to the highest bidder. “If you would indulge me, Miss Forsythe?” Jack slid to the ground and tossed his reins to the groom.

  “Very well.” She unhooked her leg from the far stirrup and slid off the horse.

  Instinctively, he grabbed her about the waist, surprised when his hands spanned the circumference easily. He’d always noted her height—only a few inches shorter than his own—but never her small frame. As he clutched her to him, she pressed against his front from chest to knees. An unfamiliar warmth exploded through his body. Suddenly he was very glad of the cold air that washed over him. He stepped back from her and the heat within subsided.

  Casting him a leery glance, Miss Forsythe made for the folly, an octagonal structure made of ironwork with thick panes of glass interspersed between the iron frames. The interior boasted several chairs and a low bench in various stages of wear.

  With a conspiratorial glance at the groom, who stayed with the horses, Jack followed her. He still had no idea how to broach this subject to the woman. Having been refused this morning, why should she accept his assistance now? Of course, the four men he’d just left provided ample reason, if she knew what was transpiring this moment at Braeton’s townhouse.

  “Well, my lord?” She stood in the center of the gazebo, her frank blue eyes holding a touch of impatience.

  “Miss Forsythe, I…I—” Damnation. He really should do this properly.

  “Lord Manning, you seem not to be able to summon language past the personal pronoun.” The frown darkening her brow
showed her impatience with his antics. “What matter has brought you to speak to me?”

  “Just this.” Dropping to one knee, Jack grasped her gloved hand.

  Immediately, she attempted to pull it away, but he gripped her fingers tightly, fixing her before him. He gazed up unto a thunderous face, outrage warring with hurt.

  “I have come to ask you to be my wife, Miss Forsythe.”

  Tears started from her eyes and she pulled back so violently she almost dragged him to the floor.

  He managed to hang on to her hand, though he feared the force would break her delicate bones.

  “Stop it. Just stop this idiocy, my lord.” Trying to shake him off had thrown her off balance. She stumbled back and sat hard in one of the wicker chairs. It creaked with the blow. Tears dripped down her cheeks. “Why are you doing this? I didn’t think you a man who would taunt a woman, misuse her so ill, just because she had shown you her desperation.”

  Christ. Of course she’d be suspicious of his motives. After he’d pronounced himself betrothed not twelve hours ago she had every right to be. “I beg your pardon, Miss Forsythe. I have begun this badly.” He fished in his pocket, drew out a handkerchief, and handed it to her.

  After wiping her streaming face she took a deep breath. “Thank you.”

  “N’tall. Please allow me to begin again.” Jack drew a deep breath of his own and plunged on. “Miss Forsythe, after due consideration of the honor of your request of me last evening…um, this morning, I have altered my obligations to the impediment in my life that made me unable to accept your proposal. I am now unencumbered and fully willing to accept you if you are still willing to become my wife.”

  Miss Forsythe grew pale and still, her hand cold despite her gloves. “But you said you were betrothed, my lord.”

  “And so I was, this morning. I have since broken with the lady, to our mutual satisfaction.”

  “But how—”

  “Believe me, Miss Forsythe, the lady will not suffer in any way from this parting. Indeed, she seemed quite relieved to be rid of me.” He chuckled at the memory of Miss Carlton’s vehement insistence that Lord Trevor allow the betrothal to be broken.

  “But how could anyone wish for you to jilt them, my lord?” The horror and disbelief in her eyes told its own tale. This was why she had come to him with her proposal.

  “I believe the lady’s true affections lay elsewhere. In any event, she has released me from my promise to her and made it possible for me to offer you the protection of my name. Unless someone else has come forward to champion you?”

  “No.” The denial came out a croak. She cleared her throat and the hand he still claimed loosened its grip. “No one else has been contacted to my knowledge.”

  Damn Braeton. Well, when she found out about the other offers, it would be too late. Not that he believed she would have accepted any of that lot.

  She stared at him with eyes the color of a bleak day. “I will say, however, that my cousin does not always inform me of what he does on my behalf. There could be an army of suitors awaiting my return this instant.”

  “Then shall I steal a march on these phantom suitors, Miss Forsythe? I do have the prior claim.” He turned on her a smile as engaging and boyish as he could make it.

  “May I ask a question first, my lord?”

  Intent on her face, he nodded.

  “Why break with the other lady when you owe me no loyalty at all?” Her eyes searched his face, seeking honesty, perhaps.

  Or, it suddenly dawned on him, a hint of affection?

  The pieces of Miss Forsythe’s puzzling behavior fell into place with a suddenness that made his heart skip a beat. Miss Forsythe had developed a tendre for him.

  “Lord Manning?”

  He jumped. How long had he been staring at the woman? This situation, if what he suspected was true, had just become even more impossible.

  “I beg your pardon, Miss Forsythe. As you say, I owe you no special loyalty. However, by making me privy to your situation, you have placed an obligation on me to assist you in any way possible.” Wildly improvising, Jack pulled his scattered thoughts together.

  Best tell the truth as that usually served to one’s advantage.

  “After I left you this morning I began to weigh the circumstances in your case and in that of the other lady in need. Without a doubt, your predicament is the direst.” He rose and sat beside her. A more dignified if less romantic pose, though he did continue to clasp her hand.

  She ducked her head. “I see.”

  “As there was no affection between myself and the other lady, beyond my utmost respect for her, and, as I stated, I believe her heart was engaged elsewhere, I determined that you needed my assistance and protection more than she.” He paused to send her a searching look. “Am I wrong to think so?”

  Squirming in her seat, Miss Forsythe turned bright crimson. “I can scarcely speak to that, my lord, having no particulars about the other lady’s circumstances.” She closed her eyes, whether in misery or to avoid his gaze he couldn’t tell. “I do know that my circumstances are, as you say, dire. I will have to marry or attempt something desperate.”

  “Desperate?” He seized on the word, certain that this woman would be capable of almost any act of desperation. She had a strength of will few men possessed. It would be a challenge for them to live together. Their temperaments were strikingly similar.

  “Let us say I have contemplated several options should no man be persuaded to marry me. They would be actions undertaken only under extreme duress.” Staring into his face, she convinced him, with her resolute visage, that she meant every word, no matter the consequences.

  “You will not, however, need to resort to those actions, Miss Forsythe, for I am prepared to return to Braeton and offer for your hand this instant. Think of it as you will—a gallant gesture, the rescue of a damsel in distress, or simply a gentleman’s duty to a fair lady. Whatever the reason, I will be honored to make you my wife.”

  Her gaze sharpened, boring into him, searching again for something she could not find. Would not find, for it did not exist. Her lips tugged the edges of her mouth downward, resignation replacing hope in every feature. “Very well then, Lord Manning. I accept your proposal, or your acceptance of mine.” A wan smile flitted across her face. “I agree to marry you.” The mask slipped, the frightened woman behind the tower of strength breaking through. “And thank you from the bottom of my heart for saving me. I well know this is a sacrifice you are making for my honor. I vow I will not make you regret it.” She raised her chin and firmed her jaw. “I will make you a good wife, my lord, and a countess you will be proud of.”

  Jack raised her hand and brushed a kiss across the gloved knuckles. “I believe you will, Miss Forsythe. I do believe you will.”

  Chapter 7

  Scarcely half an hour later, Alethea found herself and Lord Manning seated in the small receiving room so recently filled with suitors, sipping hot tea and telling Eithne and Braeton about their betrothal. Unreality washed over her each time she glanced at Lord Manning, sitting beside her, his firm jaw and smiling mouth making her heart pound and jerk by turns. Was she actually betrothed to him? At one point in the conversation she surreptitiously bit her knuckle to assure herself she was not dreaming.

  “I wish you’d have made your intentions clear this morning, Manning.” Braeton frowned and rose, making a beeline for the sideboard and its decanter of whiskey.

  “My pardon on that to both you and Miss Forsythe.” Jack nodded at her, then followed the earl. “I had to set my affairs in order.”

  “Wasted a damned good morning looking for a husband for the girl, when one was there all along.” Braeton held out a tumbler generously full.

  Alethea turned her back on the men and gripped her cousin’s arm. “I cannot believe it is true, Eithne. I think I’ve fallen into a fairy story,
like Cinderella.”

  “Best make the most of the situation if it pleases you, my dear.” Eithne sipped spicy oolong tea, shooting her an arch look. “If he’s agreed to take you in your state of disgrace, you should thank God above and try very hard to curb your willful spirit and make him the best wife you can.” Peering at the gentlemen, she fluttered her handkerchief at her husband before returning her full and very outspoken attention to Alethea. “You do realize Lord Manning is quite the catch of the Season? You will not have made any friends by bringing him up to scratch. Many of the matchmaking mamas will likely curse you for absconding with him.” Eithne leaned in toward her and whispered, “Be quite sure you satisfy all his appetites once you are wed. Do not give him an excuse to stray.”

  Sighing, Alethea leaned back in her chair and picked up her cup, brooding. “I certainly will try my best, cousin. However, it is scarcely a love match. Not on the earl’s part at least. It may be difficult to hold him if he falls in love with someone else.” That would be devastating.

  “He obviously was not in love with this woman he just jilted.” Eithne sniffed and sipped more tea. “Perhaps there is no one upon whom he has affixed his affections.”

  “Not at the moment, it would seem. Otherwise why would he marry me? What are you looking for, my dear?”

  Her cousin’s green gaze roamed over the room, definitely in search of something. “I am merely thinking, Alethea. Can you seduce Lord Manning? Make him burn for you night and day?”

  “Eithne! Lower your voice for pity’s sake.” Stricken, Alethea sent a terrified look toward Manning, fortunately deep in conversation with Braeton. Thank God they had not heard her cousin’s outrageous suggestion. “Of course, I will try my best to make him fall in love with me, but I can hardly expect much measure of success while I am carrying another man’s child.”

  “That is unfortunate, I grant you,” Eithne clucked under her tongue, “but you must try, nevertheless, to be a model wife to him. Be agreeable, Alethea. Do not bandy harsh words with him. Do not contradict him.” She glared at her cousin with an unblinking eye. “Do not argue with him.”