How the Scoundrel Seduces

by Sabrina Jeffries

  “Oh, but that’s impossible!” she burst out.

  When his suspicious gaze swung to hers, she cringed. Why must she always speak the first thing that came into her head? No matter how she tried to behave as Mama had taught her, sometimes her mouth just said what it pleased, and to hell with the consequences.

  She winced. Not hell. Ladies didn’t so much as think the word hell, not even ladies whose papas used the word regularly while teaching their daughters how to manage the estates they would one day inherit.

  Sucking in a breath, she added sweetly, “I can’t imagine that the famous Duke’s Men would forget an appointment. Perhaps they came in the back.”

  After the risks she’d taken to meet with them, the thought of being thwarted because they were all out investigating made her want to scream.

  He sighed. “Wait here. I’ll see if anyone’s in.” He darted up the stairs like a spider up a web.

  As soon as he was out of earshot, Ralph grumbled, “Still don’t see why you want to consult with investigators. Your father would gladly find out whatever you wish to know.”

  Oh, no, he wouldn’t. She’d already determined that. “Don’t worry. It’s nothing that will get you into any trouble.”

  It was only the entirety of her future, but she couldn’t tell Ralph that. None of the servants could ever know of this.

  The door opened behind her. “Well, well, what have we here?”

  She froze. She would recognize that voice anywhere. Oh, botheration, why did it have to be him?

  Steadying herself for battle, she faced Mr. Bonnaud . . . only to be struck speechless.

  This wasn’t the Mr. Bonnaud she’d encountered in the woods near Kinlaw Castle, when she’d extracted her promise from the Duke’s Men. That fellow had been barrel-chested, thick-waisted, and rough-looking, with a floppy hat and a beard that hid most of his face.

  Oh, right, supposedly he’d been wearing a disguise.

  It had been most effective. Because the man before her now wasn’t remotely burly or bearded or badly dressed. He was lean and handsome and garbed almost fashionably, if one could call a sober riding coat of dark gray wool, a plain black waistcoat, tight buff trousers, and scuffed boots fashionable.

  Not that any woman would care about his clothes, when his broad shoulders and his muscular thighs filled them out so well. Heaven save her.

  Then he removed his top hat of gray beaver to reveal a profusion of thick black curls worthy of a Greek god, and she stifled a sigh. The combination of his aristocratic nose and finely crafted jaw with that hair was stunning. Absolutely stunning.

  No wonder his name was so often linked to beautiful actresses and dancers. With those fierce blue eyes and that seducer’s shapely mouth, he probably spent half his time in bed with willing females.

  The images that rose in her mind made her curse her wild imagination. Ladies weren’t supposed to think about that either.

  He looked closely at her, and recognition leapt in those splendid eyes. “Lady Zoe,” he said, bowing.

  “Good afternoon, Mr. Bonnaud.”

  He crooked up one eyebrow. “Finally decided to call in your favor, did you?”

  With a furtive glance at Ralph, who avidly watched the exchange, she said, “I wish to consult with you and your companions, yes.”

  Just then Mr. Shaw returned. “Ah, there you are, Mr. Bonnaud. Is Mr. Manton with you?”

  “He’s tying up some loose ends, but he said he’d be along shortly.”

  “I understand. As usual, ‘Time shall unfold what plighted cunning hides.’ ” Mr. Shaw nodded to her. “This lady claims to have an appointment with the . . . er . . . Duke’s Men.”

  The Shakespeare quote threw Zoe off guard. Had Mr. Shaw guessed that she was hiding something?

  She watched Mr. Bonnaud warily, preparing herself for anything. So when he had the audacity to wink at her, it surprised her—and sent a little thrill along her spine that was too annoying for words.

  “She does indeed,” he said, eyes agleam, “a rather long-standing one. Don’t worry, Shaw—I can see you’re impatient to be off to rehearsal. I’ll take care of her ladyship.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Mr. Shaw said, then rushed out the door.

  “I take it that Mr. Shaw isn’t as fond of his butler duties as his acting ones,” she said.

  “Precisely. A point illustrated by the fact that his real surname is Skrimshaw, but he insists upon being called by his stage name.”

  “Oh! That’s a little strange. Though I can’t say I blame him. He’s an excellent actor. He’s wasted in this position.”

  “As he is very fond of telling us, I assure you.” Mr. Bonnaud gestured to the stairs. “Shall we adjourn to the office?”

  Ralph jumped up, and Zoe said hastily, “Wait down here for me, Ralph.”

  “But milady—”

  She handed him her hat and cloak. “I’ve already met Mr. Bonnaud and his fellow investigators, and I promise they can be trusted.”

  Some of them could, though it looked as if she was stuck with the one she wasn’t sure about. Not that it mattered. She was desperate enough to settle for Mr. Bonnaud.

  Lifting her skirts, she headed for the stairs, feeling the man fall into step behind her. Only when they were past the landing and well out of Ralph’s hearing did she say in a low voice, “I prefer to wait until the head of the Duke’s Men is also present before proceeding.”

  “Do you?” he drawled. “Then let me give you a piece of advice. If you want to get on Dom’s good side, stop calling us ‘the Duke’s Men.’ He hates when people refer to the business he built himself as if it were an extension of His Grace’s empire.”

  How odd. “One would think he’d relish his connection to a duke.”

  Mr. Bonnaud snorted. “Not everyone is as enamored of your sort as you might think, my lady.”

  The contempt in his voice irritated her, especially given her reasons for being here. “Is that why you tried to shoot me the last time we met?” It still rankled that he’d not only managed to rattle her, but had kept rattling her even after it had become clear he was no threat.

  “I didn’t try to shoot you. I only threatened to shoot you.”

  “Three times. And the first time, you waved your pistol in my face.”

  “It wasn’t loaded.”

  She paused on the stairs to glare down at him. “So you deliberately put me in fear for my life?”

  He smirked at her. “Served you right. You shouldn’t have been galloping after men who were reputedly in pursuit of a thief.”

  The heat rising in her cheeks made her scowl. She had nothing to be embarrassed about, curse it! “I had good reason.”

  He took another step up, coming far too close. “Do tell.”

  Staring into his eyes was only marginally less alarming than staring down the barrel of his pistol months ago. Good heavens, but he was tall. Even standing two steps below her, he met her gaze easily. It did something rather startling to her insides.

  She tipped up her chin. “I’m not saying anything until your brother is here. In case you threaten to shoot me again.”

  Amusement leapt in his gaze. “I only do that when you’re interfering in matters beyond your concern.”

  “You don’t understand. I had to—”

  “Quiet,” he ordered, cocking his head to one side.

  Just as she was about to protest his arrogance, she heard sounds of conversation below.

  “Dom is here.” Mr. Bonnaud nodded toward the top of the stairs. “So unless you want him to think we’re dallying in the staircase, I suggest we continue up.”

  She blinked. “Dallying? Dallying, mind you?” She marched up the last few steps. “As if I would ever in a million years dally with you.” She wouldn’t. Really, she wouldn’t!

  His low chuckle behind her put the lie to her words. “Never say never, my lady. A vow like that is sure to come back to bite you in the arse. Which would be a shame, given that you have su
ch a fine one.”

  Oh, Lord, he was staring at her bottom.

  How dare he stare at her bottom? Not to mention, refer to it as an . . . an arse.

  The second they moved into a long hallway, she turned to give him a firm set-down. Then she froze at the sight of his smug expression. He was deliberately trying to provoke her, the sly devil, just as when he’d threatened to shoot her.

  This time he wouldn’t succeed. She cast him a pitying smile. “And here I’d heard that you were so witty and charming toward the fair sex, Mr. Bonnaud. How disappointing to discover you have only the coarsest notion of how to compliment a lady.”

  Though his mouth hardened a fraction, he still skimmed her with a blatantly impudent look. “The operative word is lady. And since you seem to be a lady in name only, given your penchant for sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong—”

  “Lady Zoe?” Mr. Manton appeared at the top of the stairs.

  Oh, thank goodness he was here, and she didn’t have to deal with his infuriating half brother anymore. She offered him her hand. “Mr. Manton. How good to see you again.”

  Sparing a veiled glance for Mr. Bonnaud, he shook her hand. “Under much better circumstances than last time, fortunately.”

  All too aware of Mr. Bonnaud’s gaze on her, she smiled brightly. “I was delighted to hear that you and your fellow investigators routed the true villains eventually.” There, that sounded perfectly cordial and ladylike and all the things Mr. Bonnaud said she wasn’t. “I was also pleased to learn that they received the justice they deserved.”

  “Indeed they did. We appreciate your discretion in that matter, I assure you.”

  Her pulse pounded. “So you remember your promise.”

  “Of course. What’s more, I’m pleased to honor it.” He gestured toward an open doorway. “Why don’t we discuss the matter in my study?”

  “Thank you.” As he led her into the room, she felt his brother fall into step behind her, no doubt staring at her “fine” arse again.

  Let him stare. Now that she knew he only did it to provoke her, she refused to let it annoy her. It wasn’t as if he meant anything by it. He did, after all, have a string of beauties trailing after him throughout London, and she wasn’t widely acclaimed a beauty herself.

  Oh, men flirted with her, but that was to be expected. She was rich, after all, with a substantial inheritance to come. She would much rather they flirted with her because they found her interesting, but barring that, she wouldn’t mind being admired for her feminine attributes.

  Unfortunately, English gentlemen weren’t generally attracted to olive-skinned women with foreign-looking features, no matter how much Mama had always praised her “exotic” appearance. And her aunt, Mama’s sister, despaired of her clothing choices, claiming that they had a bit too much dash for good society.

  Zoe sighed. Even if by some chance Mr. Bonnaud didn’t mind any of that and actually found her attractive, it made no difference. He hardly seemed the marrying sort. And she had too much at stake to be interested in the other sort—scoundrels and rakes and rogues. No matter how handsome and daring they were.

  “So,” Mr. Manton said as he gestured to a chair and took his own seat behind the desk, “what do you require of Manton’s Investigations?”

  Having circled around to lean against the wall nearest the desk, Mr. Bonnaud leveled an enigmatic stare on her.

  She looked at Mr. Manton, and the enormity of what she was about to reveal hit her. For half a second, she reconsidered her decision. If the Duke’s Men ever let slip even a tenth of what she was about to tell them, her future would be over, and her family’s estate, Winborough, would be lost forever.

  “My lady?” Mr. Manton prodded. “Why are you here?”

  Then again, it might be lost forever if she didn’t involve them. Truly, she had no choice.

  Gripping her reticule in her hands, she fought for calm. “I need you to find my real parents.”

  2

  TRISTAN GAPED AT the woman, then burst into laughter. When Dom and Lady Zoe glared at him, he quipped, “Oh, you were serious, were you?”

  She looked down her pretty little nose at him like the pampered aristocrat she was. “Perfectly serious, I assure you.”

  Dom shot him a quelling glance. “Perhaps you should explain, my lady.”

  Tristan crossed his arms over his chest. “If you can. Last I heard, your ‘real’ mother was dead, and your ‘real’ father lived at his Yorkshire estate. Though I suppose he’s at his London town house now, given that you’re here plaguing us with your nonsense.”

  God save him from silly young ladies of rank. With nothing better to do than attend balls and flirt, they created dramatic tragedies in their lives to make up for the fact that they were bored.

  When she bristled, Dom murmured, “Tristan, do attempt not to be rude.”

  “I’m merely stating facts. Thanks to her ladyship’s recklessness, we now have to waste our time satisfying her ridiculous favor.”

  He could ill afford the time, too. Ever since Dom and the duke had engineered his safe return to England, Tristan had been itching to wreak his vengeance on George by finding something to ruin the arse. Having discovered nothing in London, he needed to investigate near Ashcroft and Rathmoor Park. And perhaps search for Milosh, since the horse trader had hinted years ago of some secret about George.

  “We promised Lady Zoe that we’d help her,” Dom pointed out.

  “On an obviously frivolous wild-goose chase,” Tristan said in a hard voice. “What she wants will tie us up when we already have more cases than we can handle. Well-paying cases, I might add.”

  “If this is about money,” she put in, “I do mean to pay you.”

  That arrested them both.

  “Then . . . er . . . how exactly is this a favor?” Dom asked.

  She arched one silky brown eyebrow. “Do you generally do investigations for unmarried young ladies, paid or otherwise, without the knowledge or consent of their families?”

  “Not usually,” Dom admitted.

  “That’s the favor.”

  Tristan exchanged a glance with his brother. That altered matters, making this both more palatable and infinitely riskier.

  “Still,” Dom said, “my brother does have a point. Have you any legitimate reason to believe that your parents are other than Lord Olivier and his late wife?”

  She sighed. “Sadly, I do. It’s a bit complicated, and I hardly know where I should start.”

  “At the beginning, Lady Zoe,” Dom said gently.

  “Good idea,” Tristan said, less gently.

  Dom was generally the one to handle clients, because he considered Tristan’s approach to be . . . problematic. Since men of rank were invariably hiding something and Tristan had no patience for liars, he liked to provoke them until they revealed the truth. It had always worked for him as an agent for the secret police in France.

  But aristocrats had little power there. Here, they were petty tyrants. Which was why Dom’s more circumspect approach was infinitely more politic.

  With Lady Zoe, however, Tristan didn’t care about being politic. She’d played a dangerous game by blackmailing them, and she was damned lucky that they were gentlemen. It had been madness for a fetching filly like her to make demands of a group of armed men.

  And God help her, she was fetching, despite the unusually busy pattern of her red wool gown. Nipped in at the waist to accentuate her lush figure, it fit her very well—too well for his sanity.

  Then there was her generous red mouth that made him think of raspberries, juicy and sweet to the taste. Not to mention her thick coil of chestnut hair garnished with a fringe of ringlets about the face. He had an errant urge to unwind that coil just to see how far it would fall.

  He scowled. What was wrong with him? So what if she was pretty? She was also an innocent. An annoying, incredibly reckless innocent, to be sure, but he drew the line at ruining innocents, no matter how reckless.

&
nbsp; Eyeing him warily, she drew in a deep breath. “A few years ago, before Mama first fell ill, Mama’s sister—my aunt Floria—and Papa took it into their heads that I should marry my cousin Jeremy Keane.”

  “The American artist?” Dom asked.

  “You’ve heard of him?”

  “Who hasn’t? My new brother-in-law, the duke, can’t stop talking about Keane’s upcoming exhibition at the Society of British Artists in Suffolk Street. I understand that the king himself has acquired two of his historical paintings for the palace, and Max is determined to buy one himself.”

  “Yes,” she said irritably, “apparently my cousin is very good at what he does. But that doesn’t mean I wish to marry him. I’ve never even met him, for pity’s sake! Besides, what could he possibly know about running an estate or serving as my representative in the House of Lords or—”

  “Wait a minute,” Tristan interrupted. “You’re a woman. What have you to do with the House of Lords?”

  “Ah yes, old boy,” Dom put in, “I don’t suppose that’s something you’d be familiar with. Lady Zoe is that rare thing in England—heiress to a title in her own right. When her father dies, she will become the Countess of Olivier no matter whom she marries. Or even if she marries.”

  That stunned him. He’d never heard of such a thing. But perhaps he’d misunderstood. “If she gets her own title, why can’t she sit in Parliament like the other lords?”

  “You said it yourself,” she cut in. “I’m a woman. And even women with titles aren’t allowed to sit in Parliament. I would need a representative.”

  “Like a husband.” Dom stared at the young woman. “You are first in line for the title and the estate, I take it?”

  She nodded. “Mr. Keane is my second cousin; he would be next if something happened to me.”

  “It’s not unusual for a father to want his daughter to marry the male heir if he has no sons,” Dom said. “But in your case—”

  “There’s no need,” she finished. “Since I inherit regardless of my choice of husband, I ought to be able to marry whomever I please.” A frown knit her brow. “That is, assuming there’s no challenge to my bloodline.”