Seducing the Single Lady

by Maya Rodale

  “It wouldn’t be like that. We are not children any longer,” he said. Her figure made it impossible to even consider her thusly. “If you’d like we can spend time in town for the season as well.”

  “It’s more than that, Damien,” she said impatiently. “I want to enjoy my freedom. I want to…roll out of bed in the morning and dress and go off and have adventures. Think of all the adventures you have had—drinking beer with your mates, chasing after girls, doing whatever you wanted, and never being confronted for it.”

  She had summed up his past nine years so perfectly that she also summed up her own: bound by propriety, the wills of others, long bleak days of nothing.

  “Perhaps I would like to have that experience…as if I were a boy! I could cancel calling hours and have the butler tell everyone I’m not at home whilst I indulged in all sorts of amusements. Much as I enjoy the social whirl and my pretty dresses, they are a choice. But with a man—a husband—I shall have to serve him first, maintain a proper reputation out of concern for any scrappy brats we may have and how it reflects on him. Always, him.”

  Damien understood her perfectly. She was just as he was, nine years earlier, having had her first taste of freedom. The craving for more was so strong neither hell nor high water would stand in the way of satisfying it.

  “I have my own fortune and no minder,” she told him. “There is nothing to stop me.”

  “Except for me.”

  The truth was plain and it was marked with a silence falling over them.

  Damien could not be the man his father wished him to be—or the man he now wanted to be—without Susannah’s consent. All his life, his father had praised Susannah and her family and expressed his dearest wish that his son would marry her and unite their estates. The contracts were done. He only needed her to agree to actually go through with the wedding.

  But she could not have the happiness and freedom she craved if she wed.

  They were at an impasse, each one destined to fail.

  “Unless…” he murmured. Unless he gave her exactly what she wanted. Then, perhaps, she might see that as her husband, he would not stifle her to the degree that she feared. And then, perhaps, she might consent to give him exactly what he wanted: her hand in marriage.

  “Unless what?” She tilted her head curiously.

  He smiled cryptically and strolled toward the doorway. She followed him so closely her skirts swirled around his ankles. He turned, grinned, tugged one of her curls and said, “You’ll see.”

  Chapter 3: If I Were A Boy

  A package arrived for Susannah very first thing the next morning. Very first thing being the ungodly hour of six o’clock, after she’d been attending a party until at least two o’clock.

  “Later,” she mumbled at her maid, Abigail, who fearfully took the unusual measure of waking her mistress before noon.

  “I’m told it’s urgent,” Abigail said apologetically.

  Susannah eyed the large box wrapped with a pretty ribbon that her maid carried. Well, for a present she could wake up. With a yawn, Susannah broke the wax seal and read the accompanying note:

  I shall call upon you at seven o’clock. Wear these things. Yours, Damien.

  “The devil you will, you overbearing male,” Susannah muttered as she set the paper aside and fixed her attentions upon the gift. She tore off the ribbon, lifted the lid and pushed aside the rustling sheets of paper.

  She pulled out a man’s white linen shirt, followed by a pair of buff colored breeches. Next, a blue silk waistcoat and a dove-gray jacket in soft wool. All were of a smaller size for a woman, for her.

  “Mr. Bates to see you, Miss Grey,” Abigail said.

  “Who in the world is he?”

  “Viscount Bedford’s valet,” Abigail explained. “He’s here to help you with the cravat. I’m to see if I can help you with the rest of it.”

  “Confound it all…” Susannah muttered.

  But she was intrigued by the strange garments and curious how it would feel to stride through the world without a tangle of muslin and silk around one’s ankles.

  How would the ground feel beneath strong boots rather than satin slippers? Would she wear her corset beneath the loose linen shirt or, for once in her life, move freely and breathe deeply?

  One thing not up for debate: she would wear these clothes and she would accept Damien’s call to see what he was about. Susannah expected it had something to do with her dramatic outburst yesterday and reluctantly had to conclude that the man listened to her, which would be lovely if she were not determined to despise him.

  The breeches fit perfectly. The sleeves of the shirt were not too long. The jacket spanned her shoulders, proving to be neither too tight nor too loose. The boots were a little large, but easily remedied with stuffing in the toe. The waistcoat did not quite allow for a woman’s breasts, so some slight alterations were required there, but really, the man could not be faulted for that.

  Overall, the perfect fit of each garment begged the question of how he had known her dimensions. Had he blackmailed her modiste for the information? Or had he made a study of her? The thought of Damien carefully observing and imagining the length of her limbs and other her intimate aspects of her person sent a wave of heat coursing through her, though she tried to tell herself it was actually the result of the warm, soft wool coat in a beautiful shade of deep blue and lined with an exquisite pale gray silk.

  Susannah was dressed like a perfect gentleman when Damien called upon her at the ungodly hour of seven o’clock.

  “You look…” His speech faltered, but his gaze did not.

  She had taken a long look at herself in the mirror this morning, rather impressed and even aroused by the transformation. She looked stunning, devilish, and ready for adventure.

  Especially now as one errant auburn curl tumbled out from the simple queue she’d tied at the nape of her neck. Especially given the way she was grinning mischievously at Damien. She could feel the smile on her lips and the joy in her heart. Adventure. Freedom.

  “I think I look like a rogue,” she supplied. Truth be told, she took a great pleasure in having rendered Damien speechless, too, and obviously captivated by her.

  Scrappy brat indeed.

  “That may be true. But you don’t make me…that is to say, I feel…” Damien stammered.

  “What you are trying to say, I suppose, is that even though I look like a rogue you still have a desire to ravish me. This perplexes you.”

  “That. Yes.” Damien nodded, his gaze still fixed upon her.

  “Well, it was your idea,” she replied. Her heart began to beat faster, delighted by this inconvenient attraction.

  “No, it was yours. I am merely honoring the lady’s wishes.”

  “How noble of you,” she replied, but there wasn’t any malice in her tone. It was wonderful to have someone honor her wishes for once (other than someone whom she paid to do just that).

  “Are you ready to go?” Damien inquired. When she nodded yes, her butler stepped forward to hand her a gentleman’s cap and gloves.

  “Where are we going? It must be someplace unsavory if I am dressed like this. After all, you couldn’t take a young lady dressed as a boy to a haute ton breakfast soiree.”

  ******

  This was a terrible idea. Yesterday, when Susannah had gone off on a tangent about all the freedoms she wished to pursue, the wicked part of his brain had started scheming—in spite of his intentions to reform and behave with the utmost propriety.

  When the fantastic idea of giving her all the freedoms of a boy just as she had asked occurred to him, he could not shake it.

  Reformation would have to wait.

  He’d have to play the rogue for just a bit longer for the noble purpose of winning her hand.

  She’d have a taste of the wild adventures she longed for and then, her appetite sated and aware that he wasn’t some domineering ogre who wanted to constrain and control her, she’d agree to marry him. He could then pr
oceed with becoming the sober, reflective, thoughtful, steadfast gentleman his father had wanted him to be. A man worthy of the Bedford name.

  Damien eyed Susannah’s long shapely legs and delectable bottom as revealed by the perfectly fitting breeches that luckily clung to her every curve. A very bad idea, indeed. And it was only about to get worse.

  A groom stood outside holding the reins of two horses, Damien’s stallion, Scout, and a spirited mare named Jessie for Susannah. Damien felt an ache of longing when he noted the slick uptick of her lips as she put two and two together. The breeches, the early hour, the horses…they were going to ride as ladies were never permitted to.

  Damien had remembered her always loitering around the stables whilst he had his lessons. He also recalled her requests to “ride like Damien” rather than with “her stupid sidesaddle.” The poor groom hadn’t known what to do with her.

  This groom handed her a riding crop made of supple, cognac-colored leather. With some assistance, she landed atop the mare and took a moment to settle in. As if sensing her excitement Jessie whinnied and shimmied a few steps back, eager to be off of an adventure. Damien grabbed the reins of his own horse, mounted quickly and led the way.

  Once in the park, they approached Rotten Row. In a few hours’ time it would be a fashionable mob scene of painfully slow moving carriages and gossipy conversations. But now, with the day still early, the long stretch of road was desolate. They picked up the pace to a brisk trot, which lasted all of one two three seconds before Susannah dug in her heels and Jessie took off at a fast canter.

  “Susannah!” Damien called after her, knowing it was pointless. He could just imagine her face, radiant with an expression of pure exhilaration and unbridled joy. More than anything, he wanted to witness it. See the sparkle in her blue eyes and her cheeks pinked from the wind. Spurred on by this desire, Damien urged his stallion to a gallop.

  Horse hooves thundered, matching the pounding of his heart.

  She glanced over her shoulder and gave him a wicked grin. Come get me. Then she leaned forward, twining her fingers in the horse’s mane and the mare went faster. He imagined her fingers threading through his own hair…or his fist closing around a handful of her luscious reddish curls, then pulling her close for a kiss.

  “C’mon, Scout,” Damien urged. “Can’t let the girls win.”

  A sudden gust of wind forced Susannah’s hat off her head, and blew it straight at him. At the last second, he ducked and the black felt skimmed over his head to tumble on the sandy path behind them.

  Her horse began to slow as the path drew to an end, and Damien thundered past, leading the way through fields tall with wild grasses and through a thicket of gnarly old oak trees. Their horses leapt over small streams and low hedges. They terrified flocks of geese, which squalled loudly and flew off. Squirrels were sent scurrying. The world got the hell out of their way.

  Damien was keenly aware of Susannah and Jessie right behind him. She didn’t fall, she didn’t balk, she didn’t call out for him to slow down. Everyone once in a while he glanced over his shoulder and saw her face, not just as he’d imagined it—radiant with joy—but…more. Only out of self-preservation did he manage to wrench his gaze away and focus on guiding his horse through obstacles at a breakneck speed.

  Eventually, Damien urged Scout to slow. He could feel the horse breathing hard. They all were gasping for air after the exertions and thrill of their hell-for-leather dash through the empty park.

  Susannah’s horse fell in step beside his.

  “I shall never ride sidesaddle again,” she declared, breathlessly.

  “You’ll cause a scandal.”

  “Making it all the more delightful. Damien, you should know that I don’t think I’ll be returning these clothes. I do think they suit me.”

  “Yes.”

  “Yes?” she asked with a laugh.

  “They suit you. However, being a man, I don’t want to encourage a conversation on clothing, unless its a detailed discussion about removing it. Though even that would have it’s frustrations.”

  “The rumors of your rakishness are true, then.”

  “But I am trying to be good.”

  “We’ll see about that. Already we have broken at least a dozen rules before breakfast!”

  ******

  They walked their horses at a leisurely pace on streets she did not recognize, chatting about the houses and shops and people they passed. Damien had given her his hat to wear, as part of her disguise, and she stole glances at him as they rode.

  It was a pity he was so handsome, for it made it very difficult for her to look away from him. A lock of his chestnut-colored hair fell stubbornly into his green eyes. His shoulders were broad and well-muscled. His movements easy and assured. She imagined his strong arms around her…and then banished the thought.

  She was determined to refuse and resist him. She would not lose her freedom over some fleeting bout of lust. But it was complicated by the fact that he alone knew her wishes and he alone was considerate enough to honor them.

  What other gentleman would take her riding astride? Lord only knew what else he had in mind for the day. But a moment later she learned it would involve a stop at the Queen’s Head Tavern.

  Damien dismounted and flipped some coins to a young lad, ordering him to watch the horses. Susannah took a moment to consider how she’d get off the horse.

  “Swing your right leg over and slide down. I’ll catch you”

  He did, oh he did. He clasped her waist. She slid down facing the horse, and given how close Damien stood to her, she also felt every inch of his hard chest and abdomen on the way down. Her breath quickened.

  Even with her boots firmly on the ground, Damien still had his hands on her waist. She found herself unable to move.

  The lad looked at them oddly—reminding her that she was dressed as a boy. Oh, how they must look!

  “I hope no one knows us here,” Susannah said softly. She’d be able to enjoy herself all the more away from the watchful, judgmental eyes of the ton.

  “It’s an out-of-the way place. I doubt we’ll encounter anyone of our acquaintance. Didn’t think it would be good for my reformed reputation if word got out that I was squiring around a young lad to less fashionable parts of town.”

  “You have just given me an idea for blackmail.”

  “I’ll take you down with me, Susannah.” He leaned over to whisper the words in her ear, making the threat seem all the more dangerous.

  “Not very gentlemanly of you.”

  “Old habits…” he murmured, pressing his hand on the small of her back in a pleasantly possessive gesture. They stepped into the dim tavern and she held back allowing Damien to lead the way through the scattered rough-hewn tables right up to the bar.

  Tucking her hat down low over her face, Susannah dared to peek at the other people in the tavern. While a few looked up no one really paid much attention to her. Usually she reveled in the attention of onlookers, which she deliberately courted with daringly cut gowns in sumptuous jewel-colored silks and satins, ostentatious coiffures and fascinators with feathers and jewels dangling from her ears, her neck, her wrists. All of it declared she was A Person Of Consequence. All of it dared them to ignore her.

  Never again did she want to be that unfortunate, overlooked girl she’d been as a young woman. Ignored, save for the occasional pitying or despairing glance.

  No one paid her much mind here and it was fine. She felt free. She didn’t feel lonely, with Damien here. She didn’t feel judged or appraised. They all just glanced at her, categorized her as boy and went back to their hearty breakfasts.

  But then she set eyes on the barmaid.

  Or rather the barmaid set eyes on her. It was a look Susannah recognized from her male suitors. It was the look of lust. Desire. Intrigue. It inspired odd flutterings of excitement in her belly. This look told her that her disguise was working and she appeared to be a very fine-looking young man.

  “Hell
o there. Can I get you anything?” The barmaid’s voice had a breathless quality to it. She was young, perhaps Susannah’s age. Her hair was an angelic shade of pale gold and it curled in the sort of perfect ringlets that women spent hours with a hot iron pressed to their heads trying to acquire. Her lips were red and full. Her wide eyes were blue and fringed with dark lashes.

  She was pretty. Very pretty.

  Susannah, not trusting her voice to not betray her, gave a little smile and let Damien do the talking.

  “Two pints,” he said. The girl glanced at him, back at Susannah, and just gave a dreamy smile and a sigh.

  Damien smiled patiently at her. Susannah smiled as well. Smiles, all around. Strange currents of attraction swirled.

  “Frannie!” an older and more buxom tavern maid hollered, jolting the lovely girl out of her reverie. “Hurry with their drinks or I’ll help the gentlemen myself.” Susannah understood from her hungry look at Damien exactly what kind of help she would be happy to provide.

  Was that a flare of jealousy she felt? No, of course not. Definitely not when Damien, like the rake he was reputed to be, gave the woman a wink.

  “Are you flirting with her?”

  “Hardly. I merely had a twitch in my eye.”

  “You winked! Flirtatiously!”

  “A man does what a man must do in order to get a drink,” Damien counseled. “If you are to act as a man, you ought to learn that.”

  “I cannot believe you are flirting with another woman in front of me.”

  “As far as anyone knows, Susannah, you are a just a tall young man who hasn’t yet had his voice change or grown hair on his face. Or elsewhere…”

  “Oh dear lord,” she muttered, with an unmanly blush heating up her cheeks. “It seems my disguise is so convincing that you have forgotten that underneath this shirt and these breeches I am very much a woman. A lady. ”

  “Oh, I can assure you I have not forgotten,” Damien said, leaning against the bar, close to her. “In fact, I’m shocked that you have managed to convince everyone else that you are a boy.”