A Dangerous Seduction

by Jillian Eaton

  “Not yet.” Frustration tightened the corners of Grant’s mouth. “I always seem to be one step behind the bugger, but he’s bound to make a mistake sooner or later.”

  “Better make it sooner. I’ve got Lord Munthorpe breathing down my neck. He wants his wife’s diamond necklace returned.”

  “Cheap bastard,” Grant said with a snort. “As if he couldn’t afford to buy her a dozen more.”

  “Some nonsense about the necklace being a family heirloom. Either way, see to it. This has gone on long enough.

  “I agree.”

  Both men were quiet for a moment.

  “Is there anything else?” Owen asked abruptly. Under normal circumstances he would have appreciated Grant’s company, but these were hardly normal circumstances. The only thing he wanted to do was pour himself another snifter of brandy and be alone with his thoughts. Something that was rather difficult to do when his second-in-command was looming over him.

  “No.” Grant’s shoulders lifted and fell in an absent shrug beneath his elegant waistcoat.

  Unlike the other runners who wore plain trousers and dark gray overcoats like the one thrown on the back of Owen’s chair, Grant was always impeccably dressed, a residual effect of being born and raised into one of England’s wealthiest families. “The boys and I are going for a pint at The Pony. Care to join us?”

  Owen’s gaze slid to the window. The rain had finally stopped, leaving a rolling blanket of mist over the entire city. A sliver of golden sunlight was struggling to squeeze between the clouds but it wasn’t having much luck. Such was London in early spring.

  “Maybe later,” he said brusquely. “I’ve a few correspondences to finish.”

  “Well if you change your mind we’ll keep a stool warm for you.” With a tip of his head Grant finally left. Owen waited until the echo of his footsteps had retreated down the stairs before he poured himself one more glass of brandy and sat back down behind his desk.

  Stretching an arm behind his head he closed his eyes and tilted his head back, ordering his mind to focus on anything other than the way Scarlett had looked in her pale green dress with her silky hair pulled back from her face and her smoky gray eyes – eyes that could lure a man to sin or slice his heart wide open depending on her mood – gazing up at him.

  But memories fed on silence and before he could steer his thoughts in a different direction they veered down a path he’d closed long ago. A path that led to a water fountain and goldfish and the kiss that started it all…

  Chapter Seven

  “Quick!” Scarlett squealed. “Get that one before he swims back round!”

  Water splashed up in Owen’s face as he lunged forward and tried to scoop a fat goldfish into his net, but the bloody creature was too fast for him. With a taunting flick of its bright orange fin it sped away and disappeared around the other side of the fountain. Biting back a curse that would have made a sailor blush, Owen jumped out of the water.

  When he’d agreed to help Scarlett catch the goldfish swimming around in the fountain he’d never anticipated the little buggers would be so damn fast.

  ‘It will only take a moment’ she’d said, her gray eyes all big and soft and imploring. ‘We will be leaving for London at the end of the summer and I do not want them to freeze to death.’

  That had been nearly an hour ago. Since then Owen had managed to catch exactly two goldfish out of the dozen that were quite literally swimming circles around him.

  Cheeky little bastards.

  “You almost had that one!” From her safe – and dry – perch on the curved edge of the fountain Scarlett gave him an encouraging nod and clapped her hands together. “You will get him next time. I’m sure of it.”

  “I would have had the damn thing this time,” Owen snarled, “if you weren’t screaming in my bloody ear!”

  She pursed her lips. “I was not screaming.”

  “Then what the hell would you call it?”

  “Talking loudly?” she suggested.

  “Which is the same thing as screaming.”

  “It certainly is not. Here, give me the net. I will show you how it’s done.”

  Owen handed over the net and watched, arms crossed and brow furrowed into a scowl, as Scarlett slipped off her shoes, stripped off her stockings, and eased into the water one foot at a time.

  “Oh!” she said, slanting him a surprised glance over her shoulder. “It’s quite cold, isn’t it?”

  “You don’t say,” he bit out sarcastically.

  “The trick,” she said as she waded deeper into the fountain, holding her skirts bunched in one hand and the net high in the air with the other, “is not to frighten them.”

  His eyes rolled. “They’re fish. What the devil do they have to be frightened about?”

  “Oh, lots of things. Birds. Cats.”

  “Crazy females with large nets,” Owen muttered under his breath.

  “I heard that,” Scarlett said mildly. She’d disappeared behind the fat stone cherub standing in the middle of the fountain and only the top of her bonnet was visible. It bobbed up and down as she splashed through the water.

  “I meant for you too.”

  “Do you always say what you think, Mr. Steel?”

  “Yes.”

  More splashing.

  “I rather thought so. I like that about you.”

  “You don’t say,” Owen responded, only half-listening as he wondered how much longer this was going to take. When he’d set off this morning to deliver the three dozen scones he never imagined he would end up catching goldfish in a fountain. Although where Scarlett was concerned he was quickly learning to expect the unexpected.

  “Indeed. Not many people do. Say what they think, that is. I find it a refreshing quality.” When Scarlett finally made her way around again there was a large goldfish wiggling in her net and a smug smile on her face. “As I said, the trick is not to frighten them. The silver pail, if you please.”

  Owen fetched the bucket and held it up. Wading over to him Scarlett carefully flipped the net inside out and the goldfish fell into the pail with a ker-plop.

  “Three caught,” she said with a satisfied nod. “Nine to go.”

  “What are you going to do with them?”

  “That is a very good question.” Her head canted to the side as she considered the answer. “I am not entirely sure. Find a large glass bowl or vase to keep them in over the winter, I suppose. Do you mind catching the next one? My legs are getting rather cold.”

  Owen couldn’t help but glance down at her legs as she hopped out of the fountain. Her calves were long and slender, her ankles gracefully rounded, her toenails like soft pink seashells against the green grass. Goose pimples dotted her ivory skin, filling Owen with the sudden urge to kneel down and rub her silky calves until they were warm again.

  “Here you are.” Oblivious to the direction of his gaze Scarlett held out the net. With a quick jerk of his chin Owen dragged his eyes away from her coltish limbs and grabbed the net with more force than was necessary, earning himself a reproachful glare.

  “What?” he said defensively.

  Scarlett’s lips thinned. “If you do not want to help me, you need only say so.”

  “I’m holding the bloody net, aren’t I?” He jumped into the fountain, splashing water onto Scarlett who shrieked and leaped back.

  “You did that on purpose!” she accused, pointing her finger at him.

  “And?” One dark brow shot up in silent challenge. “What are you going to do about it?”

  Her bonnet fell to her shoulders as she gave a haughty toss of her head, revealing thick blond curls drawn up in a coiffure that was far too elaborate for someone of her age. In the sunlight her hair glittered like gold, causing Owen to suck in a sharp breath as he imagined running his fingers through the soft curls. He would yank out the pins that bound them one by one until her hair tumbled down into his hands. Then he would pull her head back, not quite hard enough to hurt, and slowly lower his
mouth…

  No.

  Owen’s jaw hardened. What the devil was he thinking? Scarlett may not have been acting very much like a lady but that did not change the fact that her blood was as blue as the sky. For that – and for that alone – he could not trust her.

  Part of him acknowledged that he was too young to be so bitter, but it was hard to be anything else after he’d held his sister’s trembling body while she sobbed into his arms. Scarlett might not have had anything to do with the lord who had planted the bastard child in Lydia’s belly, but she was cut from the same cloth.

  They all were.

  “What is it?” Scarlett asked quietly. Her gray eyes searched his face. “What’s wrong? Have I done something to upset you?”

  “You haven’t done anything,” Owen growled. Which of course was part of the problem. If Scarlett behaved as she should have – cold, arrogant, disdainful – then surely he wouldn’t be fighting against a flame of attraction that was burning brighter with every wayward glance in her direction.

  He had been attracted to other women before. He was a young man, after all. But this… this was different.

  Owen had first felt it when their gazes met at the market. It – whatever it was – had hit him like a hard punch to the gut, leaving him breathless and dazed. For the rest of the day he hadn’t been able to get her out of his mind, leaving him so distracted he’d put salt in a batch of muffins instead of sugar.

  His ears were still ringing from his father’s blustering reprimand.

  Catch the damn fish and be done with it, he told himself as he stomped around the far side of the fountain, sending water splashing up over the edge. Be done with her. She isn’t for you.

  He could feel the cherub’s unblinking gaze on the back of his neck as he unsuccessfully tried to snare one goldfish after another. They always managed to wiggle free at the last possible second, their glittering scales mocking him as they darted away.

  “Damnit!” Throwing down the net in frustration, Owen folded both arms across his chest and glowered down at the water. His reflection shimmered up at him: a dark-haired boy with flashing blue eyes and the devil’s own temper running hot through his blood. “This is impossible. Just give me the ten shillings for the scones and I’ll be on my way.”

  Scarlett walked over to him, leaned over the edge of the fountain, and plucked the net out of the water. Giving it a good shake, she flipped it over her shoulder and regarded Owen with a stern frown that made him feel all of two feet tall. He knew he was acting like a bloody child, but damned if he wanted to be made to feel like one.

  “Nothing is impossible,” she said firmly. “The only limitations we have are those we set upon ourselves.”

  “Easy for you to say,” he muttered with a derisive glance at their opulent surroundings. What would Scarlett know about overcoming limitations? She’d been born with a spoon shoved so far into her mouth it was a wonder her teeth weren’t stained silver. She did not know what it was like to want for the simplest of things.

  A hot meal.

  A warm coat.

  Shoes without holes.

  He was struggling to put food on his family’s table and her greatest problem was catching goldfish. If that wasn’t a clear illustration of how vastly different their worlds were, Owen did not know what was.

  “Ten shillings,” he said, holding out his palm.

  Scarlett’s gaze dropped to his hand. “No.”

  “No?” he repeated incredulously. “What do you mean, no?”

  “You promised you would help me catch the fish.”

  “I never promised–”

  “Do you want them to freeze to death?”

  His nostrils flared as he exhaled. “Of course not. But I never–”

  “I suppose I will simply have to tell their brothers and sisters that they went to a better place,” she said with a sad glance at the pail where the three goldfish they’d managed to catch were splashing about.

  “Of all the bloody… give me that,” Owen snapped, reaching for the net.

  Scarlett’s dimple winked as she handed it to him. “Here you are.”

  He knew he was being played for a fool, but what else was he supposed to do when she looked up at him with those big gray eyes? She was twisting him up in knots and he didn’t have the foggiest idea how he was going to untie them.

  Blast her and blast her bloody fish, he thought silently as he skimmed the net through the water. It would serve the little buggers right if they did freeze to death. He was only trying to help them and in return they were making him look like a bumbling idiot.

  “Why don’t we work together?” Scarlett suggested. “I’ll chase them towards you and you just stay there and scoop them up.”

  “Fine.” At this point, he was willing to try anything.

  Picking up her skirts, Scarlett stepped into the fountain with all the grace of a young queen climbing onto her throne. She really was a sight to behold with her cheeks flushed a pretty pink and tendrils of golden hair curling around her heart-shaped face.

  Not that Owen was looking.

  Well, not that he was looking very much.

  He wasn’t blind, was he? And surely there was no harm in sneaking a peek here and there. It reminded him of when he’d stood outside the sweet’s shop as a young boy, utterly transfixed by all of the sugary treats displayed in the window. He’d known he couldn’t afford anything on the other side of the glass, just as he knew he couldn’t have Scarlett.

  Not to say he wanted her.

  Because he didn’t.

  Not in the slightest.

  But if that was completely true, why could he not stop thinking about her?

  “Bloody hell,” he muttered under his breath.

  “What?” Scarlett’s head popped out from behind the cherub, pale brows knitted together.

  “Nothing.” His mouth pinched as he scowled at her. “Are we going to catch the damn fish or not?”

  “I was waiting for you.”

  “Well I was waiting for you.”

  Her smile as sweet as the sugary confections he’d so desperately wanted all those years ago, she said, “On the count of three then. If you are ready, that is.”

  “Just get on with it.” Owen knew he was being a short-tempered bastard, but it was his only line of defense against Scarlett’s dimpled smiles and silky white calves and misty eyes.

  “I am going to start chasing them towards you!” she called out.

  Owen gave a short, clipped nod and readied himself to catch the little bastards once and for all. When the goldfish came swimming straight at him he managed, by some small miracle, to scoop them up in the net all at once. Stepping carefully out of the fountain, he shook them out into the silver pail one after another, taking enormous satisfaction in the small ker-plop sound they made as they hit the water.

  “Did you catch any?” Scarlett was breathless by the time she reached him. Peering over his shoulder she let out a squeal of delight when she saw how many goldfish were in the pail. “Oh! You got them all!”

  And then, before he could fully grasp what was happening, her arms were around his arms and her chest was pushed and his chest, and her lips were on his lips.

  The kiss was unexpected, but instead of pulling away – as he should have done – Owen pulled Scarlett closer, his enthusiasm making up for his inexperience. The scent of honeysuckle flooded his nostrils as he explored her mouth. When he accidentally nipped her bottom lip she released the tiniest of moans. The mewling sound fueled the fire coursing through his blood and he scraped his teeth across her plump bottom lip again, harder this time.

  “Oh,” she sighed. “I quite like that.”

  As their passion rapidly escalated he leaned her back against the fountain, supporting her slight weight in one arm while the other braced against the cherub’s chubby thigh. He felt the sun beating down on the back of his neck, but it was nothing compared to the heat burning inside of him.

  Her hands sank into
his hair, knocking his cap off. It fell to the ground, completely forgotten as the kiss deepened. Owen ran his tongue across the seam of her lips and her mouth fell open, allowing him to taste her sweet nectar.

  Only when he found himself reaching for her soft breast did the reality – and the repercussions – of what they were doing sink through the haze of lust that had temporarily stripped him of any and all common sense.

  Bloody hell.

  What was he thinking ravishing the daughter of an earl in broad daylight? Better men had been hanged for less!

  “We shouldn’t have done that,” he gasped as he finally forced to turn his head to the side, effectively ending the kiss. Hoping Scarlett wouldn’t notice the hard bulge in his trousers he tilted his head towards the sky and dragged some much needed air into his lungs.

  Stupid, stupid, stupid. He’d never done anything so stupid and reckless in his entire life.

  “No, we shouldn’t have.” Scarlett’s gray eyes lit up. “Care to do it again?”

  Chapter Eight

  The parade of callers began just after one o’clock in the afternoon. Scarlett received them in the parlor, already dressed for mourning in a deep purple muslin gown – the darkest color she had on hand – with a black crepe overlay. As she would be expected to wear black for the next six months she’d already sent half of her dresses away to be dyed along with a handful of shawls, ribbons, and two of her least favorite pelisses.

  Her hair was completely hidden beneath an ebony bonnet with a short lace veil that covered the upper half of her face. Those present assumed she was wearing it to hide her tears, when in fact she was doing the exact opposite.

  Scarlett felt sad Rodger had died. But she would not shed any more tears over him, nor would she allow herself to romanticize their marriage. She hadn’t loved Rodger any more than he had loved her, which was to say not at all. But she would still honor his memory if only for the sake of his family who had always held him in a higher regard than he deserved.

  He had left behind his mother, whose husband had died three years past, and two sisters, neither of which had ever married. Clustered together in the middle of the parlor they were alternating between hysterically crying and loudly lamenting the loss of their dear, beloved ‘Rodgie’. To preserve her sanity Scarlett had offered her condolences and then retreated to the furthest corner of the room. She would have escaped all together, but with Rodger’s body set up for viewing in the drawing room there was nowhere else for her to go without arousing suspicion. So she stood by herself sipping a cup of tea and occasionally dabbing at the corners of her eyes with a black handkerchief; the perfect image of a bereaved widow mourning her husband’s untimely death.