Only Seduction Will Do

by Jenna Jaxon

  The trip to Dalbury’s townhouse sped by as though they were in a race. One minute they were leaving the Braetons; the next it seemed they were pulling up in front of Dunham House. Perhaps it was a godsend, for she might have gone up in flames had the ride taken any longer. Her acute awareness of Lord Manning’s presence beside her on the black leather seat made the warmth of him seem to penetrate her cloak and gown despite the fact that he sat some six or eight inches apart from her. As a result, she radiated heat like a small sun.

  Snow was falling by the time they arrived at Dunham House, one of the most handsome residences in London. Lord Manning sprang to the ground, handed her down carefully, took her arm and led her into the imposing building. An air of disbelief surrounded her. Could this truly be happening? Wet snowflakes on her cheeks said it was, as did the staid butler who took their cloaks and escorted them down the corridor to a pretty little reception room furnished in warm reds and golds. In her gold gown, she looked as though she were made to be part of the room.

  Lord Dalbury rose, a handsome and darkly forbidding gentleman with whom she’d danced several times in the spring of last year. Golden blond hair and brown eyes had intrigued her as had his reputation as a horseman. She always looked for that in a gentleman. He’d shown no true interest in her, however, and his sudden marriage to the woman who now sat next to him explained why.

  The Marchioness of Dalbury had copper tresses and skin as pale as her own. A fleeting resemblance at best, though the determined set of the woman’s chin persuaded Alethea they likely had more things in common than not. The marchioness smiled kindly. However, her eyes were guarded. She’d likely reserve judgment on her brother’s betrothed until after tonight’s dinner. As Lady Dalbury rose it became obvious that she too was increasing. Would that prove to be in Alethea’s favor or not?

  “Welcome, my dear.” Lady Dalbury grasped her hands and bussed her cheeks. “We are so pleased to meet Jack’s betrothed.”

  “Yes, Miss Forsythe.” Lord Manning stepped forward hastily. “I daresay you are already acquainted with my sister and her husband, Lord and Lady Dalbury.”

  “I am pleased to say yes.” Alethea curtsied to them. She’d met the lady at several entertainments last Season and had thought her most friendly and pleasant at the time. Now her deep blue eyes were wary even as she welcomed Alethea to her home. It would be no small feat to wrest approval and acceptance from this woman.

  “Shall we go in to dinner? There are only the four of us to dine tonight,” Lady Dalbury said, taking her brother’s arm.

  Startled, and somewhat bereft, Alethea turned to the marquess who offered his arm. “I see we are both left in the dust. May I escort you, Miss Forsythe?”

  Although she’d known Lord Dalbury only a little longer than the others, the deep tone of his voice soothed her, his presence somehow comforting. She nodded and twined her arm around his. “Thank you, my lord.” What must he think of their new situation? “I am not certain how much Lord Manning may have told—I know the sudden nature of our betrothal is singular to say the least.” Keeping her gaze straight ahead, Alethea feigned a calm she certainly did not feel. Had Lord Manning kept his word—and her secret?

  The marquess chuckled and led her into the dining room, a dark paneled chamber with a long, polished table that could easily seat twenty, containing four place settings grouped toward the far end. “Our family is noted for its hasty betrothals of late. Yours and Manning’s will hardly be remarked upon. At the moment all the gossip circulating in the ton surrounds my sister and her husband.”

  “Lady Juliet? I hope she is well. We were firm friends by the end of last Season. I hadn’t heard of her marriage.” Alethea sat in the chair Dalbury indicated next to him. His wife was seated at the end, her brother to her right.

  “Yes, well, she is from home at the moment.” Lord Dalbury shot a questioning look at his wife, who raised an eyebrow and shrugged. “A long-standing question about her marriage to Mr. Morley must be straightened out.”

  “I am sorry. I hadn’t heard. I have been…ill much of this Christmas Season and have heard little in the way of news from my cousin, Lady Braeton.” Of course, Alethea didn’t wish to pry, but she’d heard only one intriguing comment in passing from Eithne about Lady Juliet.

  “You may be the only person in London who does not know then, Miss Forsythe.” He shook his head as he took his seat, his face a bitter mask. “Suffice it to say that my sister is accused of being married to two men at once. She has gone into seclusion until the truth can be ascertained.”

  “My goodness.” With another such scandal swirling around the ton, perhaps her hasty betrothal would be accepted as a matter of course or at least overlooked. The less attention anyone paid to her circumstances, the better off she and Lord Manning would be. “I am very sorry for Lady Juliet’s troubles, my lord. I wish a swift solution to her problems.”

  “Killing her false husband would be the swiftest method.” Lord Dalbury glowered as he laid his napkin in his lap.

  “True, my dear,” Lady Dalbury turned from her brother to her husband, whose conversation she had apparently been following. “However, it would be one more scandal and that is one too many for this family. It has been quite a trying time since Christmas, Miss Forsythe, when Juliet was suddenly taken by the villain we assume to be her false husband.”

  “Gracious.” Alethea sent a sharp look to Lord Manning. He’d said nothing of this to her, so he apparently could be trusted with secrets of a delicate nature.

  “He is a French count of ill-repute I’d love to meet with sword in hand.” The marquess growled and sipped his wine.

  An icy chill rippled down Alethea’s neck. The very thought of dueling turned her blood cold. “I hope it will not come to that, my lord.”

  “Oh, Duncan is simply spoiling for a fight these days,” Lady Dalbury said with a chuckle. “He’s not had a proper contest for months, although I do urge him to continue to practice at Angelo’s. You and Jack should meet, my love. He’ll put you through your paces until I am able to do so once more.”

  “You mean to say you use a sword, my lady? To fight?” Alethea looked from the marchioness to the marquess to Lord Manning. None of them seemed to be jesting.

  Lady Dalbury’s chuckle became a laugh.

  Lord Manning joined her, his eyes merry. “Yes, my dear,” he said, sobering. “My sister is a first-class swordsman. I taught her myself when we were younger and at home in Virginia.” He gazed approvingly at Lady Dalbury. “An apt pupil, if I do say so myself.”

  Trembling as though a cold wind blew through her, Alethea slipped her napkin into her lap and forced herself to ask, “Would you wish for me to learn such skills, my lord?”

  “Yes!” Lady Dalbury sat up suddenly, shooting her hand out toward Alethea.

  Dear God, she had allied herself with a family of blood-thirsty cavaliers.

  “I would love to have the teaching of you, Miss Forsythe.”

  “No.” Lord Manning’s deep voice overrode his sister’s excited chatter. “That will not be necessary, my dear.” His brows lowered as he shot an angry glance at his sister. “Kat wished to learn because she found it a challenge to try to best me. Besides”—his glower turned into a grin—“she had little patience with other more womanly pursuits.” He turned back to Alethea, his gaze softening. “I would not have you undertake such a rigorous sport unless you truly wished it.”

  Relief poured through her so profound she might swoon. “Then thank you, my lord, but I will continue my riding instead. For that I do have a very great passion.”

  “Excellent, my dear. As Kat and Dalbury share swords as their passion, we have our own shared pastimes in horses and riding.” Her betrothed’s smile made her go weak, as though all her bones had disappeared.

  “We do indeed share that interest, my lord. Perhaps we can indulge in it more often once our marriage
is settled.” Pray God that shared interest would lead them toward closer intimacies. Watching Lord and Lady Dalbury speak and laugh so easily together, Alethea had become jealous of their obvious fondness for one another. They had had almost as brief an acquaintance as she and Lord Manning—the brother and sister had arrived from Virginia only in February—which gave her hope that proximity after their marriage would lead to a deeper affection between them. Could such a miracle take place? She’d pray it did every evening.

  * * * *

  After dinner, Alethea repaired with Lady Dalbury to a richly furnished drawing room, masculine in tone despite the robin’s egg blue walls and delicate French-style furniture.

  “Please have a seat, Miss Forsythe. I’ll ring for tea.” Lady Dalbury indicated a long gray silk sofa before slowly moving to the bell pull. “I hope the gentlemen will not join us too soon. I should like to become better acquainted with the woman my brother is to marry.”

  Clutching the arm of the sofa, Alethea forced herself to calm. She had no notion that Lord Manning had not kept his word about the circumstances surrounding their betrothal. His sister could be seeking only general information about her. Slowly, she loosened her grip.

  “Jack tells me you are increasing as well.”

  Fire shot into her cheeks and Alethea ducked her head to hide it, her mortification complete. Lord Manning needn’t have informed the marchioness of her shame. Perhaps he did not care who knew. Or he readily announced it because he wished it believed to be his child. Taking a deep breath, Alethea raised her head. “Yes, my lady, that is true.”

  “Please call me Katarina or Kat. As we will soon be sisters I see no reason for such formality.” The woman with hair only a shade darker than her own grasped her hand and smiled encouragingly.

  “Thank you, my lady. I would be honored if you would call me Alethea.” Breathing became a little easier. Lady Dalbury…Katarina seemed kind. A better reception than she probably deserved.

  “I believe Jack said you will be brought to bed somewhat later than I.” Katarina rubbed her hand over her extended belly. “We will retire to Merrywell by the end of January so he can be born on the family estate. Duncan was born there as well.” Continuing to trace circles over her protruding belly, she smiled dreamily. “He should be born in March and not a moment too soon. I am constantly being kicked, as though he thinks I am a stubborn horse.”

  Alethea laughed, hope rising. Katarina’s easy conversation suggested she welcomed her sister-in-law to the family. “I have a ways to go before I can claim the same problem. I am scarcely three months gone.”

  “And when will you tell Jack who the father is? He declares he does not know.”

  Alethea’s throat closed as though a phantom hand gripped it. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think past Lord Manning’s betrayal. He had agreed to her secrecy, yet he had told his sister everything. That the woman would still speak to her was astonishing. The room wavered, going black around the edges. From a distance she could hear Katarina speaking, then she was coughing as the awful scent of sal volatile filled her nose.

  “Alethea? You seemed about to swoon.” Katarina waved a small fan before her face.

  “I am sorry…”

  “No, my dear, I am to blame.” Katarina slowed the fan, her blue gaze searching Alethea’s face, lines of concern deepening on hers. “I should not have been so blunt in my speech, but I am used to speaking my mind as Jack will tell you.” Laying the fan aside, she sat back and took Alethea’s hands. “He told both Duncan and me your circumstances last evening—well, early this morning actually. He wanted advice, and for us to give it, we had to understand the situation.”

  “Then you know…everything.” Tears threatened to spill from her eyes. Why had she believed Lord Manning would keep her confidence? Others would have to know her shame regardless of his oath. “How can you even look at someone as ruined and wretched as I?”

  “Ruin is a sword that lies above every woman’s head. God or the Fates determine when and where it falls.” Katarina paused as the door opened and a footman set the tea tray on a low table near her. “Thank you, Thomas.”

  The footman bowed and left.

  “I do not judge such things, Alethea. But for the grace of God I might have been ruined in a far worse manner than you.” Katarina poured tea into delicate china cups emblazoned with dark pink and gold roses.

  “Worse than…” Alethea peered at her hostess, calmly pouring milk into her cup. “How could it be worse than ending up increasing and unmarried?”

  “That is a tale for another day, I think, my dear. Tonight we must talk of your coming marriage and why, of all the gentlemen of your acquaintance, you chose my brother to propose to.” Katarina’s sharp gaze pierced Alethea’s heart.

  This woman was made of steel, with a fierceness Alethea had never seen in a woman before, not even Eithne. Did Lord Manning possess the same strength of character? She had certainly thought so. Her affection for him had grown from observing his dealings at ton affairs, where he had ever comported himself honorably, save the once.

  Covering her eyes, Alethea gathered her thoughts and launched into the explanation she’d told Lord Manning this morning. By the time she came to her acceptance of him in the gazebo, Katarina’s gaze had softened.

  “So you have told him all save the villain’s name?”

  Alethea nodded, suddenly too exhausted to speak.

  “Then my brother has done an honorable thing in full knowledge of the circumstances. I must say I am not surprised.” She smiled fondly. “Jack is a stickler for honor. He learned it at our father’s side and I have never known him to act less than honorably in any facet of his life.” She took Alethea’s hands once more. “Am I correct in assuming you chose to ask Jack not only because you knew him to be honorable, but also from an affection for him yourself?”

  Squeezing the marchioness’s hands, Alethea nodded.

  “That is good, my dear.” Katarina released her hands and sat back, a satisfied smile on her lips. “I had hoped Jack would marry for love. He has instead chosen to marry for honor. But perhaps between the both of us, we can bring him to a love match as well.”

  “Do you truly think so?” Alethea crossed her arms over her chest, squeezing hard to stop the shivers that suddenly wracked her. “He…he never seemed to notice me when we would meet at balls or parties. He has danced with me, of course, and we have walked about together in company, but he never…” She sighed. In no instance had he ever been the one to approach her. Either she or Eithne had always suggested an activity. Never had Lord Manning once made an advance toward her.

  “Do not let that weigh upon you, my dear.” Katarina offered more tea, a sparkle in her eyes. “I have it on very good authority that given the right circumstances, even the most reluctant of partners can become the most ardent of lovers.”

  “You truly believe so?” Holding her cup suspended before her, Alethea allowed hope to creep into her heart once more.

  “I know so.” Katarina beamed at her. “But, as I said, that is a tale for another day.”

  Chapter 9

  Smoothing her very best gown, the cream and royal blue stripe, for the hundredth time, Alethea peered toward the altar in St. George’s Church from the last pew. The towering ceiling served only to make her feel small and insignificant on what should be the happiest day of her life. Too late for second thoughts. She must pray she was doing the right thing.

  At a signal from Mr. Moss, the rector, Lord Braeton offered her his formal superfine-clad arm. With trembling fingers, she slipped her hand through the crook and they started the long, decorous march toward Moss, Lord Dalbury, Lord Manning and a huge, unnerving painting of The Last Supper.

  Of the small group of witnesses gathered today, only her cousin and soon Lord Braeton, would sit closest to her, on the end of the pew. She’d written to Miss Carlton, hoping fo
r one more friendly face in the crowd, only to be told she’d moved from her lodgings in early autumn. No one knew where. Further down, representing the groom sat a sprinkling of guests filling the rest of the pew. Lady Dalbury, of course, and Mr. Morley, and Lady Juliet, both smiling so widely they might be mistaken for the bride and groom. Lord Manning had given her to know that his sister-in-law’s woes had resolved themselves and she was now known to be blissfully married to only Mr. Morley.

  The final gentleman, seated next to Katarina, was a slightly older man who she’d introduced as a distant relation of hers and Lord Manning, a Mr. Reginald Matthews. Apparently, Mr. Matthews, currently a Bow Street Runner, had hopes of becoming a magistrate there in the near future. He had seemed nice enough, with kind eyes and a quick smile, but Alethea couldn’t help looking over her shoulder from time to time, waiting for some villain to burst in the door in search of the man.

  No such theatrics occurred, thank goodness, and Lord Braeton swiftly reached the altar with her in tow. When she finally stood beside her husband-to-be, however, Alethea scarcely knew where to look. The rector beamed at her while Braeton eyed her with a relieved air. The Christ from The Last Supper seemed to peer down at her with a doleful expression. When she finally plucked up the courage to look at him, Lord Manning’s expression was pleasant but reserved. As though he was thinking of something or someone else. Did he now regret his decision to marry her even before their vows were spoken? Would he in fact refuse to say them?

  A violent trembling seized her and she fought valiantly to keep everyone from seeing it. Which did she fear more, marrying a man who didn’t want her or being jilted by him? She forced air into her lungs as Lord Braeton placed her hand into Lord Manning’s large one and Mr. Moss began the service. Whatever would happen now, she must go forward.

  Her hand clasped in Manning’s ice-cold grip, Alethea suddenly wondered what he truly thought of this charade. Theirs was a true marriage of convenience and whatever he did or did not feel for her, he would take her as his wife and responsibility until death did them part. For that act of chivalric honor she owed him her respect, loyalty, and obedience. Love she would freely give to him, but even if he accepted that and gave her naught in return, she would still strive to be the very best wife, the best countess he could ever want. If she could make him never regret his decision to save her, she would consider her life well lived even without love. Respectability would have to be enough.