The Rules of Seduction

by Madeline Hunter

  “It has over twenty chambers. My brother will soon find one better for his bride, but that one will be adequate for now. Miss Welbourne says so.”

  Hen’s face reddened. “It is my house, may I remind you.”

  “But you will allow them to live there, won’t you? Because of all the kindness Hayden has shown you. And as a special favor to me.”

  Hayden tilted his head toward Alexia and spoke quietly. “Do you want that? If not, speak now.”

  “It is my home,” she whispered. “I would be happy to remain there.”

  Hen did not miss the danger in the silken tone Easterbrook used. She tried to swallow her dismay and looked miserable in the effort. “I suppose we can all manage together for a few months.”

  “I think you and Caroline had best leave,” Christian said. “If my brother wanted relatives underfoot, he would have accepted my offer that he and his bride live here.”

  “Sir, that is not necessary,” Alexia said. “I do not want to live there if it puts your aunt out in any way.”

  Christian called for more wine. He gazed at his full glass for a long minute. “My aunt will not be put out without also being accepted in. You and Caroline will live here, Aunt Hen.”

  He might have announced the French had invaded. Everyone stared at him.

  “We will? Oh, my, now I am truly undone. You are too good, Easterbrook. Why, this will make Caroline’s season an untold success. And she will have the chance to really know both you and Elliot. I cannot express my emotions—”

  “Yes, yes. Well, I am glad it suits you.”

  Oh, it suited her. Hayden saw the triumph beneath Hen’s tears of gratitude. No more glares went Alexia’s way. The governess was no longer a fallen woman getting better than she deserved but an accomplice whose strategies had achieved the impossible.

  Christian ignored Henrietta for the rest of the meal. He would get a lot of practice at that now.

  CHAPTER

  THIRTEEN

  The ladies from Hill Street alighted from the coach in front of St. Martin’s Church. Alexia looked up at the portico. This morning its columns looked dirty and the shadows behind them appeared menacing.

  “Why don’t you and Caroline go ahead,” she said to Henrietta. “I will take some air for a minute, then follow.”

  Caroline grinned. “A little unsettled, are you? I have heard that some girls bolt, just run away. There was that one two years ago who—”

  “That will be quite enough,” Henrietta said. Her cheeks sucked in and her lids lowered. “I am very sure that Miss Welbourne is neither unsettled nor afraid and has no thoughts of running away. She merely wants some air. Come with me.”

  They walked up the stairs, getting ever smaller until the portico’s shadows ate them.

  Alexia’s gaze darted from spot to spot on the steps and street, hoping to see what her heart knew would not be there.

  She had written to Rose and Timothy a week ago, two days after the supper with Easterbrook. The letter had been difficult to compose. The logic for accepting this marriage seemed less rational when she tried to pen the words.

  However, she had also denied the impulse to beseech their forgiveness. Hayden had wronged the Longworths most grievously, but her acceptance of his proposal had complicated her loyalties. If she was going to marry the man, she should not damn his character in a letter she wrote after her engagement.

  Instead of the long outpouring of excuses, she wrote a brief letter that explained her decision in a few sentences. She asked them to attend the wedding and for Timothy to give her hand in marriage. She offered to send a carriage for them. She even promised to find them a place to stay in town for a few days.

  No reply came. No request arrived for the carriage. By the fourth day she accepted they would not even acknowledge her marriage. All the same, as she prepared this morning she had listened for their familiar voices in the house, hoping they would surprise her at the last minute.

  The vacant steps, the empty portico, showed that had been a childish fantasy. She would do this completely alone.

  She tried to bury her sorrow beneath the other emotion overwhelming her. Unsettled did not do justice to describing her state today. Panic swelled whenever she thought about the step she was taking. Bolting was not out of the question.

  A figure appeared between the columns above. A man walked down to her.

  “Would you allow me the honor of escorting you, Miss Welbourne?” Elliot asked.

  “Yes, I think so.”

  They began to mount the steps. Halfway up, another figure slid into place beside her. Elliot glanced over at the billowing black drapery and flowing red hair, then looked again, longer.

  Alexia paused and accepted Phaedra Blair’s embrace and kiss. Phaedra and Elliot examined each other while Alexia introduced them.

  “Your cousins could not swallow their anger, I see,” Phaedra said.

  “No, and I am all the more grateful for your attendance.”

  “If I do not approve of such matches, that is my own view. I accept that my path is not suitable for most women. Well, let us do it, then.” She took Alexia’s hand and urged her forward.

  “You intend to give her hand?” Elliot asked.

  “What an interesting idea. The symbolism would be preferable to that of the usual practice. However, I will only walk with her, if that is acceptable to you. She comes to this church dependent on no man, so no man should presume to give her to another. She will relinquish her freedom by her own judgment, for good or ill, and it is a pity the church is not full of people to see the truth of it.”

  Elliot retreated into bemused silence. Phaedra marched alongside, her garments floating back in the breeze like a Nike of the night.

  Easterbrook, Caroline, and Henrietta waited within the church with a small group of guests. Hayden stood near the altar, alongside a young man whom Alexia did not know.

  “My, my,” Phaedra whispered. “The Earl of Chalgrove has come up to town to stand by your fiancé’s side. And that foppish, tired fellow with the gold hair is Viscount Suttonly. The guest list may be a short one, but the blood of your witnesses is very rich.”

  As she walked down the aisle between her escorts, Alexia’s heart pounded. Her mind raced through a final reckoning.

  She might be making a terrible mistake, one that all the security would never outweigh. What did she know about the man waiting there ahead? He had shown her some kindness and warmth, he could make her moan with pleasure, but she had also seen his coldest cruelty. The latter might be waiting for her in the future.

  Phaedra and Elliot left her standing alone at the end of the aisle. The priest took his position. Hayden came to her and offered his arm. She grasped it too hard.

  “You look frightened,” he said.

  “Not frightened,” she lied. “Just too aware, too alive.”

  “When I was a boy, I would sometimes deliberately venture down an unknown road, not knowing where it would bring me. The sense of adventure was similar to what I experience today.” He guided her toward the priest. “I think that we will be good companions on this journey, Alexia. I promise that you will be safe with me.”

  * * *

  They departed from Easterbrook’s house after the wedding breakfast. The coach did not carry them to Hill Street but to a property that Hayden owned in Kent.

  “Your aunt was already packing yesterday,” Alexia said as the coach rolled into the country. “Caroline is very excited by the change in residence and promised to work very hard at her French and dancing while I am gone.”

  “My brother expects Henrietta to effect the move in two days, now that she has her victory.”

  “Easterbrook was very kind to give it to her. I think he is an interesting person. One senses something within him. A silent center that watches and waits. Yes, that is it. He is waiting for something. It is palpable.”

  She looked charming, her expression serious as she picked through her memories and attempted to un
derstand the cipher that Christian presented. In naming the source of Easterbrook’s darkness, she had also succeeded where for years Hayden had failed. Christian’s eternal distraction was much like that of someone who waits for news.

  She wore the carriage ensemble ordered from Madame Tissot. Its cerulean blue complemented her fair complexion. Her dress for the wedding had come from that small wardrobe too. She would need to commission a much larger one when they returned to town.

  She had appeared so fearful, so unsure as she came toward him in the church. Questions had shimmered on her much as the light had glossed over the silk she wore.

  Her vulnerability had touched him and also crystallized his own questions. He felt more the seducer in that church than he had in the attic, luring her with wealth and jewels away from a self-possession that had given her strength.

  “I am glad that when we return to town it will be to that house,” she said. “My life and my circles will probably change much in the months ahead. It will be reassuring to return at the end of the day to familiar chambers and passageways.”

  He was happy she would be comfortable, but he wondered if their choice of home was wise. There were ghosts in that house, and more memories than he knew about. It might have been better to let a hovel in a rookery.

  “Did you inform your cousins of the wedding?” He poked a stick into the river to judge its depth and current.

  The old tightness flexed through her. A false passivity claimed her expression. “I wrote. There was no response. It will be as I predicted, I think. Perhaps, with time…”

  He took her hand and pulled her toward him. He grasped her waist and set her on his lap. The bonnet’s brim poked his face, and he untied the ribbons and cast it aside.

  He lightly traced the side of her face. Alexia Welbourne, cousin to the Longworths, remained distant from him, but his touch awoke a different woman, one who existed for him alone. The hunger to totally possess her simmered within his desire, but he would settle for less.

  “We will help your cousins as they will permit,” he said.

  Little fires ignited in the eyes gazing up at him. A wise man would retreat, on this of all days.

  She spoke no accusations, but they were there all the same.

  “There is more to your cousin’s ruin than you know,” he said, responding to the impulse to douse those fires even though he never could.

  She frowned. “What more?”

  “It is not for me to tell you. I only say that it was not all as it appeared.”

  “That is conveniently vague, Hayden. I think if there is more to it, you would have told me by now.”

  He kissed her, silencing her skepticism, abandoning the futile urge to remove her inner anger. He prolonged the kiss, tasting and claiming, luxuriating in his building arousal, until he sensed her trembles submerge the old resentment.

  “We will not speak of it now,” he said. “I cannot command your forgiveness, but when I kiss you I do not want your bitterness between us. I want you to leave the Longworths outside the door when you and I meet in bed.”

  She appeared to ponder his demand. Her fingertips slowly skimmed his face. The small touch tantalized him to the point of senselessness.

  “I think of nothing much at all when you kiss me, so I may be able to forget my cousins during the times that I do my duty as your wife.” She paused. “All of my cousins.”

  He kissed her deeply to ensure that she did. He unfastened her pelisse and caressed her breast, determined to prove that in the pleasure she belonged to him alone.

  She had not meant it as a challenge, but he reacted as if she had. The slow, long kisses, the devastating touch on her body, deliberately drove her to madness. Even the rocking of the coach became sensual, a rhythm that echoed the throb of arousal that built with each mile.

  He did not try to undress her further, but she wished he would. Her breasts became so sensitive beneath the subtle play of his fingertips that she wanted to tear off the garments that shielded her skin. Her awareness constricted to the sensations. They slid down her body in titillating streams, pooling between her legs, awakening again the physical yearning for completeness.

  He kissed her neck, her chest, her breast, his ardor restrained but its power palpable. Memories of the pain became insignificant.

  His touch grew less gentle, reflecting the strain she sensed in him. His caress handled her breast possessively, demanding more from her. Arrows of fire shot to her vulva and her mind.

  More. The relentless hunger intensified so badly she wanted to whimper. Her body ached from the exquisite torture, and her mind screamed from frustration.

  He pressed his hand against her swaying hip, stopping both the rhythm and the vague relief it gave. “Are you feeling dutiful, Alexia?”

  “If you would like.”

  His hand slid to her stomach, its firm pressure over her womb. “I did not ask if you are ready to do your duty in this coach, but if you felt merely dutiful.” He turned his gaze to her. His expression made her breath catch. “It will not be duty you bring to me. That is one lie we will not live. You will accept me because of this.” He pressed gently, and a wonderful warmth shuddered through her loins. “And this.” He bent and kissed her breast.

  He caressed lower, pressing down her thigh and leg, then up again, below her skirts. “And this.”

  The feel of his hand on her bare skin mesmerized her. The confident fires in his eyes, the sensual hardness in his face, left her breathless. Her body knew at once what he meant and began pulsing with anticipation. His slow, upward caress ruthlessly teased.

  She bit back a moan when he touched her, but a cry shrieked through her whole body. The intense sensation repeated again and again, sending her into abandon.

  He shifted her hips onto his thigh. “Spread your legs.”

  She did not obey. The need was almost painful. Her madness frightened her.

  He pressed against her knee, in command and encouragement. “Do as I say.”

  Her legs parted without her choice. She felt his touch better then. Too well. Long slow strokes made her tremble. Short rapid ones teased at a spot of unbearable sensitivity. A darkness closed in on her, one that obscured him and herself and all of her body except where his caress focused. The chant for more turned into a rising, desperate demand.

  Pleas entered her head. She lost control of body and mind and did not care. She was going to die anyway, so she gave herself over to the wonderful anguish.

  A warmth pressed her temple. His embrace tightened, supporting her. The caress changed, making it worse, better, frightening, excruciating. She plunged further into pleasure’s insanity. Suddenly the sensation increased tenfold in an instant. It reached a crescendo of awesome perfection, then snapped and split and showered through her in a rain of beauty.

  The release awed her. She accepted it in stillness, amazed by the unearthly rapture of such a physical experience. She kept her eyes closed and dwelled on its last remnants as they sparkled through her limbs.

  She finally opened her eyes. Hayden held her closely, her head tucked to his shoulder. The sensual tautness had not left him. He appeared incredibly handsome, gazing nowhere with fiery eyes. His strength dominated her size and spirit all the more because her stupor left her weak.

  He looked down in frank acknowledgment of what he had done to her. Her fluttering tremble responded. That had always been between them, from the start, even when she gave him the house tour.

  She doubted she would ever be able to look at him again and not feel it.

  She never fully recovered from that touch. He held her the rest of the way. Their conversation was casual, aimless, pointless. Sensuality drenched the air. He occasionally caressed her. The slow, languid path of his hand kept her aroused just enough that delicious anticipation licked at her. The chant for more only whispered now, but it did not disappear.

  Their arrival at his home meant they had to part. As she composed herself on the opposite seat, she peered a
t the house they approached. She was not surprised by its classical derivations, but it displayed them with a purity not normally seen. The six columns arrayed in front of the entrance did not stand atop stairs but close to the ground. The height and breadth did not overwhelm. It did not appear to be an especially large house, yet its perfect proportions gave it a majesty that the biggest pile would lack.

  “It was completed not long ago,” he said.

  “Then you built it.” She could see him in the design. Every measurement had been carefully calculated. This structure possessed a clarity, a legibility in how it was put together, however. Hayden the man did not have that. At least, not to her. “Was it your design too?”

  “No, but the architect was of similar mind and amenable to my suggestions.”

  The servants waited to meet the new wife. Hayden instructed Mrs. Drew, the housekeeper, that his bride should be settled into her chambers before receiving a tour of the property.

  Her apartment was strung across the back of the house in a series of chambers full of light and air and decorated in saturated summer hues of yellow, blue, and green. She gazed out a window in her sitting room. It looked down on a large garden surrounded by other wings of the building. The house was deceptive in its size. The rest of it, forming a square around the central garden, made it very large indeed.

  Joan, the girl assigned as her lady’s maid, began unpacking in the dressing room. Alexia did her best to move them past the initial awkwardness. The trunk was almost empty when a side door opened and Hayden entered. Alexia spied a narrow passageway that she assumed led to his apartment.

  He smiled kindly at Joan in wordless command. Swallowing a giggle, she abandoned the trunk and scurried away.

  He did not say a word to Alexia either, but she understood why he intruded. The sensuality of the carriage ride returned with him, and desire deepened the blue of his eyes.

  “It is a beautiful house,” she said as they strolled into the bedroom.

  “I am glad that you like it.”