Seducing the Single Lady

by Maya Rodale

What cursed luck!

  Susannah strolled through the ballroom, fan fluttering before her face, her heart still beating at a rapid-fire pace and felling as it had for one rare, strange and slightly magical moment from years ago.

  Damien, being an idiotic young boy, had, just for his amusement, pushed her into the lake that bordered their neighboring properties. She had emerged from the cold water with her hair dark and wet, hanging in perfect tight curls instead of their usual frizz. Her ill-fitting white dress had been plastered against her newly developed curves.

  For one long awkward, confusing moment they had stood, riveted. She could still feel the warm sunlight on her cool skin and the weight of her wet dress tangled around her legs. The way his eyes had darkened and his lips had parted was the same then as tonight. On both occasions her heart started to thud fast and hard, like a series of fireworks explosions in her chest. She also remembered the hot flush of mortification when she realized that he could see…everything…everything…

  She felt that again tonight, like déjà vu.

  But she hadn’t seen any of the charming, rakish rogue all the stories claimed him to be. Those qualities were apparently reserved for his collection of lovelies on the continent. The Damien who had returned was a tongue-tied gentleman who issued the least romantic proposal in the history of the world.

  We ought to marry. It is time, he had said, apropos of nothing, in the middle of Almack’s.

  Susannah was deeply glad to have refused him, though she suspected it would not be the last she’d hear or see of him. In fact, she was aware of him for the rest of the night.

  She waltzed and flirted and laughed as she always did, and pretended she was a young heiress out on the town without a care in the world.

  Chapter 2: Déjà Vu

  Everywhere Susannah looked, she saw Damien. She stayed at the ball until late into the night—or early into the morning—helplessly comparing all her other suitors to him. Upon a few occasions, she was convinced that she had seen him in a darkened corner. She bit her lip to keep from calling his name.

  The following day she took a stroll through the park and again, everything reminded her of Damien. The way a gentleman glanced at her and did not set her heart aflutter made her think of him. Any broad-shouldered gent drew a second look. When she came to the Serpentine, she remembered, again, the day at the lake and the one instance—save for last night—when he really looked at her.

  She couldn’t help but reminisce. She pushed the thoughts away.

  Even though she did not want to see him, and even feared another confrontation, Susannah found she could not go anywhere without thinking she saw him.

  Later that afternoon she returned home for calling hours. They were always a lively affair, just as she liked it after all those lonely years. Because they were so full of her beaux, other marriage-minded mothers brought their own daughters, thus creating quite a scene full of all manner of matrimonial dreams and schemes.

  Except for Susannah’s, of course. She had thought perhaps to take a lover, for companionship and affection. But she had every intention of remaining unwed. Never again would she put her fortune and freedom in the control of another. It made her feel trapped and desperately dependent upon the whims of others.

  But Damien’s return from the dead most likely put an end to that plan. So long as she was bound by it, she would not be free to marry another if she were so inclined. Damien had made it clear that he would not release her from the obligation. Oh, she could evade his proposals and no one could force her to marry him. But she was not truly free.

  Would he listen to her wishes? Take away her choices?

  Damien was older, more mature, more grounded than the wild boy she remembered. Perhaps he’d hit his head sometime between quitting the country and his rumored death.

  But there was no doubt that Damien was Damien, and not some desperate pretender. He was not dead. Which meant she was still betrothed to him. Which meant her suitors would vanish in due course. Why waste their attentions upon her when they had no chance of profiting from her favors?

  “What do you say, Miss Grey?”

  Susannah blinked, pasted a smile upon her face and peered around her drawing room to see who might have spoken. Obviously she had just missed a lively conversation. Already Damien was driving her to distraction!

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Woolgathering, are you?” Stanford murmured.

  “You must be quite distracted by the return of your betrothed,” Lady Crowden gushed and everyone heartily agreed with her.

  Susannah noticed then that her drawing room was more crowded than usual today. Of course, news of Damien’s return traveled fast and the ton would be expecting A Scene. They had presumably gathered here to witness it. She would not deliver it to them.

  “It was quite unexpected,” she replied.

  “Of course! We all thought he was dead!” Lady Montague declared.

  “One would think he would call upon his fiancé,” Lady Hastings added. “It would be the right thing to do.”

  “Especially one as sought after as you, Miss Grey,” Miss Everleigh said kindly.

  Susannah smiled, her stomach turning a flip-flop or two.

  “Speaking of fiancés, how are your wedding plans coming along, Miss Everleigh?”

  “Oh, I’d much rather hear about yours, Miss Grey,” the young girl replied, in spite of Susannah’s hopes to change the topic of conversation.

  Susannah considered declaring there would be no wedding.

  The questions persisted until Susannah became rather cross with her callers and wished for solitude. This wish intensified when Viscount Bedford was announced and a buzz of excitement erupted and swarmed around the room, thus dashing her hopes that anyone would leave. A mother and daughter, who had just bid everyone a goodbye, mentioning an urgent appointment, sat right back down.

  “Look who has returned from the dead to grace us with his presence,” Susannah declared.

  “Miss Grey.” The way Damien said her name, all low and slightly rough, sent a shiver racing right up and down her spine.

  “Damien. What a surprise.”

  “That a man should call upon his betrothed?”

  “A first, for you,” Susannah replied, forgetting her manners and forgetting her audience entirely.

  Lord Sommerly moved aside, and Damien took the man’s chair, which put him right next to Susannah. She was vaguely aware of the audience, silent and rapt, in her drawing room.

  She was keenly that he was exceedingly handsome. The intensity of his gaze warmed her.

  “We’ve taken tea together before, Miss Grey.”

  “Upon that occasion I do recall you smashing my tea set to bits,” she replied. “My lovely white china tea set, painted with the daintiest pink roses. It had been a gift from my mother on my sixth birthday.”

  “I’ll try to restrain myself this time,” he remarked with a grin and her cursed guests tittered with amusement.

  “Do. Though now I am now in a position to afford a replacement, I’m rather fond of this set. Is it not lovely?”

  Murmurs all around on the loveliness of her tea set, this one a pale buttercup yellow with gold leaf trim. Another gift from her mother, though one she had inherited upon the occasion of the lovely woman’s passing on.

  “Lord Bedford, we are all eager to hear of your adventures, for adventures they must be!” Lord Sommerly declared, to the hearty assent of everyone.

  “It’s not everyday one returns from the dead.”

  “Last we heard, you were having more fun on your Grand Tour than anyone ought to, then we heard you had died, tragically, and now here you are.”

  “To our delight,” Lady Crowden added.

  “Speak for yourself,” Susannah muttered.

  “Do tell us what has transpired,” Lady Bellande cooed.

  “I had been enjoying my Grand Tour,” Damien began.

  “A journey that usually takes one year and which you
had stretched into a remarkable nine-year endeavor,” Susannah clarified. Nine years in which he had avoided and abandoned her.

  Damien turned, locked his gaze with hers and said in a low, rough voice, “I like to be thorough in my pleasures and explorations.”

  “Do go on,” she muttered, her cheeks warm and probably very pink.

  “After stops in Paris, Florence, Venice and other great cities, I found myself in Greece where I amused myself with the local sights while becoming acquainted with the local inhabitants and avoiding the worst of the war.”

  No one in the room had any illusions as to what he meant by acquainted. His emphasis on the word left only one salacious conclusion to be drawn.

  “After a particularly lively evening, full of excellent wines, charming company, and high-stakes games of cards, I was persuaded that it was tragic that a collection of British officers stationed nearby were unable to participate in such revelry, as they served under a particularly strict commanding officer.”

  An attentive silence reigned over the drawing room as Damien told his story. Even Susannah caught herself leaning forward, captivated by his tale and his voice.

  “We got a tad carried away, as one does during that hour just before dawn,” Damien said and the men nodded knowingly while most of the women looked desperately curious. “Just before the sun rose we had concocted an inspired plan to switch places with the officers for one evening, when their commanding officer was required elsewhere. We’d don their uniforms and have a sober night in whilst they could don our civilian attire and amuse themselves in town.”

  “What a risky endeavor! You might have been hurt!”

  “Unfortunately, the officer impersonating me was gravely wounded. The enraged husband of a local woman with whom I’d enjoyed a particular friendship had decided that night to seek his revenge. He and I had never met, so he knew not to hold his fire until he found the right man, deserving his vengeance.”

  The men’s expressions turned grim whilst the ladies gasped and shuddered.

  “I had sought only to provide an evening of entertainment for the unfortunate soldier. Instead, I feel I have cost him his life for he will certainly never walk again.”

  Damien seemed to have something in his eyes. As did Susannah. Others wept openly. She glanced at him, and there was no denying the damage that had been done to him. There was no doubting the intensity of his resolve to reform and live a good, honorable life. He had to, if he were to have a prayer of redeeming himself after this awful, awful accident.

  “Our scheme was then discovered and all hell broke loose,” Damien continued. “I had the devil of a time explaining the situation. The commanding officer was livid, my companions were terrified and awash in guilt. In the midst of all this I had the impossible task of extricating myself from the local authorities, reclaiming my papers, making amends with the townspeople, regiment and others. Then my journey from Greece to England was a slow one, for I encountered a frustrating number of delays due to inclement weather, thievery and illness. I returned a few days ago only to discover that gossip twists the facts and travels much faster than a man and that rumors of my death preceded me.”

  “How happy for you to be back home, and safe.”

  “Though how terrible for you to learn that your father had passed.”

  “Indeed.” Damien’s tone turned grave. “I wished for him to see that I am a changed man, one determined to follow the noble and honorable course he’d set for my life. After some business in town, I intend to take up residence at Bedford Hills and see to ensuring the future prosperity of the estate.”

  There was no mistaking his meaning as to his business in town. All eyes in the room shifted to her. Susannah smiled wanly and sipped her tea, which had gone cold.

  Bedford Hills bordered her own estate, Highland Park but she was determined to spend her time in the grip of London’s glittering social whirl instead of rusticating in the old stone house surrounded by acres of fields and forests and nothingness.

  “If you all don’t mind, after so much time apart, I would love to catch up with my beautiful fiancé,” Damien said with a smile and gleam in his eyes. “Privately.”

  With that, all her callers fled.

  ******

  It was inevitable that Damien would have to regale the ton with the story of his rumored death and subsequent resurrection and reformation. The crowd of callers had only just left and he would have wagered a fortune that they were now telling highly embellished versions in clubs and drawing rooms all over London. That is, if he were still a wagering man.

  He was reformed. Except for that one last wager with Watson.

  I’ll marry her within the week.

  Had it only been yesterday that’d he been so confident of his reception? She had not thawed toward him at all. In fact, he was aware of a cold, furious glare from her deep blue eyes.

  “Darling,” Damien murmured, placing his hand atop hers. His heart was pounding, for he was going to propose to Susannah. Again. He had come prepared this time, with a sapphire and diamond ring in his pocket. It was a Bedford family heirloom.

  “Don’t darling me,” she said, snatching her hand away before standing and starting to pace, revealing her restless, nervous energy. “Whatever are you about with such tall tales?”

  “The story is true, Susannah,” he answered, standing as a gentleman must.

  “And that ridiculous notion of being a changed man, eager to suddenly become the man your father wanted?”

  “I had to grow up sometime,” he said plainly. “Already I am too late. There is blood on my hands because of my childish, idiotic notions of life and living that involved far too much wine and outrageously stupid behavior.”

  “This is true. Better late than never, they say,” she replied plainly. “And I suppose it is preferable to being dead.”

  “Indeed. Though I am not the only one who has changed,” he said, and he allowed his gaze to settle upon her, taking in her dark auburn hair with flame-colored highlights revealed by the midday sun glinting through the windows. Her figure was the stuff of sensual dreams and desperate fantasies—generous curves and a seemingly endless amount of pale skin. He was struck, too, by the fire in her eyes.

  “Shall I take that as a compliment upon my appearance?”

  “Were you always this beautiful?”

  “No,” she said flatly. “You know very well I was a scrappy brat.”

  Damien felt the same burn of shame and remorse he always experienced when he thought of those careless words. The regret had set in as soon as he uttered them. Especially to such a despicable specimen of humanity as Dudley. Damien wasn’t surprised to find them in the gossip columns the very next day. Nor was he surprised when his father roared at him and ordered an apology.

  He sincerely regretted the words. What Damien realized now was that their childhood relationship had been typical. Of course he, an older boy, hadn’t wanted to be plagued with the nonsense of a younger girl. Especially one whose curls were always tangled, whose dresses never quite fit, and who forever scowled at him.

  He had not wanted to marry her. Not at eighteen, when there were lusty tavern maids and beautiful courtesans awaiting his pleasure.

  He hadn’t wanted to marry Susannah even after he’d caught a glimpse of her that did not at all make him think scrappy brat or Christmas am.

  He’d been too young. Too hotheaded. Too wild.

  “I think you might have been this beautiful,” he said truthfully. “Remember that day by the lake, Susie?”

  The memory of her wet, shivering and cloaked in an utterly transparent white dress was seared into his brain.

  “When you pushed me in, ruining my one nice gown? I do. And here you are ruining everything again.”

  “Ruining everything? Do you not want to marry?”

  “I do not. I hope I shall die unwed,” she said dramatically. After some consideration this morning he had decided that she would need some time to become accusto
med to him again. He had not considered the possibility that she didn’t want to wed at all.

  “You do not? Never?”

  “Why should I? For the first time in my life, I am finally my own mistress. I have my inheritance, this lovely house, a circle of friends. I am free to do whatever I wish, with whomever I wish.”

  “What of companionship, affection? Or children?”

  “Perhaps I will take a lover,” she replied with a maddeningly delicate shrug of her shoulders. A hot flare of anger coursed through him. No, it was jealousy. No, it was a surge of possessiveness.

  “Susannah…” he growled.

  “Oh, now that you have decided you want to be a dutiful son, I am supposed to cast aside my wishes to serve yours?”

  “It’s not like that,” he said. But it was. He hadn’t considered it.

  “Have you wondered at all how the past nine years have been for me, Damien?” She advanced toward him. He swallowed hard as this beautiful woman approached with fury in her gaze. “My parents died, leaving me at the mercy of a succession of greedy relatives. I starved whilst they availed themselves to my fortune for their own stupid frivolities. I was ignored, at best.”

  “Oh, God, Susannah,” Damien whispered. He hadn’t known. He recalled, faintly, one letter riddled with spelling and grammatical errors, which rendered it nearly impossible to read. Then a bottle of wine had spilled, ruining it completely. But he hadn’t heard from her otherwise and just assumed everything was fine. He had attributed her silence to her dislike of him.

  He had taken her for granted. Just assumed she would be waiting and willing.

  “Now I find that I would like to spend my money upon fripperies for myself. I would like to enjoy the delights of town. I would like to do whatever I wish. And I do not wish to marry you.”

  “I would like to marry you, Susannah,” he said. There were other words to add: he wanted to make amends. And since he set eyes upon her the other night at the ball, he wanted to know her.

  “Have you not heard a word I just said? I don’t want to end up back at Highland Park or Bedford Hills, in turns ignored and plagued by you.”