Then Comes Seduction

by Mary Balogh

  Bewildered.

  Herself again. Though not quite that. Not yet.

  She turned over onto her side, facing away from him. She needed to get herself back. She needed…

  She was aware of him turning onto his side too— away from her.

  Why had peace given place so soon to turmoil? To two separate solitudes?

  Because peace had been without thought? With out … integrity?

  How could she have felt like that without love?

  Was love essential?

  Did it even exist—the love she had dreamed of all her life?

  If it did, it was too late now for her to find it.

  Must she make do with this instead, then?

  Only this?

  Pleasure without love?

  Despite the troubled turmoil of her thoughts, she finally fell into a sleep of sheer exhaustion.

  Jasper did not sleep. He lay staring at the door leading into their private sitting room. It stood slightly ajar.

  The candles were still burning. He did not bother to get up to extinguish them.

  He had known that she lied—duty rather than desire, indeed! He did not know why he had even asked the question. Just to see if she would be honest with him, he supposed.

  And then she had challenged him with just the sort of defiant spirit she had shown at Vauxhall. She had challenged him to make her desire him.

  He half smiled despite the fact that he was feeling very far from amusement.

  It was something he was good at, something he excelled at—making women desire him, that was. He ought to excel at it—he had had enough practice, by God.

  And so he had made her desire him until she was mindless with need. He had not had to use all his skills, either, or even nearly all. Which was just as well—they would simply have shocked her and killed her desire. But he had used enough. He might even say that he had gone coldly about arousing her, except that it had not been cold at all. He had aroused himself too. Or, to be more fair, she had aroused him.

  He had worked on her until she had admitted that she wanted him, until she had begged.

  Please…

  And then he had taken her slowly and thoroughly— all the way to completion. He had surprised even himself over that. He had never before had a virgin. He had heard that it was impossible to bring a virgin to the ultimate completion her first time.

  He had done it with Katherine.

  And he had proved a point. He had vanquished her just as he might have done at Vauxhall if he had chosen. Despite all her scruples and misgivings about him and her marriage to him, she was like clay to mold in his hands when it came to sex.

  Which made him one devil of a fine fellow

  His peers would clap him on the shoulder, slap him on the back, roar with mirth and appreciation if he could only tell them.

  Monty, the ultimate Lothario.

  He stared relentlessly and sightlessly at the door.

  But Katherine Finley Baroness Montford, had a mind of her own and a morality of her own—and dreams of her own even if he could make her temporarily forget all three with his lovemaking.

  He had felt her withdrawal as soon as he drew free of her body. And she had turned onto her side to face away from him just as he had been about to slide his arm beneath her head, amuse her a little with some nonsense to make her chuckle, and tease her into admitting that her wedding night had been the most enjoyable night of her life.

  As soon as he was sure she slept—it was a dashed long time—he folded back the covers on his side of the bed and eased himself out so as not to wake her. He went to stand naked at the window

  If he was at Cedarhurst now, he would have gone out for a brisk gallop on his horse, darkness be damned. But he was not there, and it would be considered more than a trifle odd if he were to abandon his bride to go can tering off into the night—he stayed here often enough that the innkeeper had realized that she was his bride.

  He would not expose her to the ridicule that was bound to follow such a move. Not to mention the fact that he would be the laughingstock.

  Damnation! And devil take it! He would not forgive Clarence for this even if they both fried in hell for a thousand years and the only way out was through forgiveness.

  And then he stood very still.

  Either she had not been deeply enough asleep when he got up or he had made more noise than he realized getting out of bed. She had made no discernible sound or movement, but there was a quality to the silence that made him realize suddenly that she was awake, and sure enough, when he turned his head to look, he could see that her eyes were open.

  “The candles are still burning,” she said. “You must make a pretty sight for anyone who is out there looking up.”

  There were a dozen answers he might have made. Instead he made none but reached up and jerked the curtains closed. He made no move to cover himself. And she made no move to look away.

  “I suppose,” he said, “you believe there ought to be more than lust.”

  It came out as a bad- tempered accusation.

  “And you do not,” she said, neatly turning the tables on him. “It is a fundamental difference between us, my—Jasper. It is a difference we must learn to live with.”

  It irritated him no end that his name did not come naturally to her lips, that even after marriage this morning and sex tonight she still had to stop herself from addressing him as my lord.

  “Or not,” he said.

  She gazed at him.

  “Is there an option?” she asked him.

  “If I cannot bed you without feeling the necessity of loving you first and wooing your love,” he said, “and if you cannot enjoy the aftermath of a bedding when it has been simply lust, then pretty soon we are going to be sleeping in very separate beds, Katherine. Probably in different houses since my appetites tend to be healthy ones. Though probably in your vocabulary that would be unhealthy ones. I enjoy sex.”

  “Yes,” she said. “I do not doubt it.”

  He sat down on the chair where she had been sitting asleep when he came into the room earlier. It was unlike him to be bad-tempered with a woman. To accuse and complain. This was a fine way to start a marriage.

  He tried again.

  “I find that I like you,” he said, “that I enjoy your company and your wit, that I admire your beauty and desire your body. I am even prepared to attempt affection and fidelity. But I cannot offer what you call love because I really do not know what the word means in the context of a relationship between a man and a woman. And I certainly cannot expect you to love me or even to like me particularly well. Not after what you have been forced into and with whom. This whole marriage business is looking to be impossible, in fact.”

  Not a great attempt. Worse than before, except that his voice sounded less like a petulant grumble.

  “I have just realized something about you,” she said. “It is something I had not even suspected until tonight, and it is a complete surprise. You do not really love yourself, do you? You do not even like yourself particularly well.”

  Good Lord! He stared at her transfixed, his fingers drumming on the arm of the chair.

  “What poppycock are you speaking now?” he asked her, and irritability was back in a heartbeat.

  “And I never expected to hear the word impossible on your lips,” she said. “A workable marriage is impossible? Love is impossible—on both our parts? I thought, Jasper, that it was a matter of supreme pride with you to win a wager.”

  “It is kind of you to remind me of the only one I lost,” he said.

  “You did not lose it,” she said. “You chose a more courageous and honorable outcome—which you, of course, interpreted as a humiliation. But it is not of that wager I speak.”

  He laughed softly.

  “The one I made at Lady Parmeter’s ball?” he said. “Thatwas no wager, was it? A wager of one with no takers, no prize for a win, no forfeit for a loss, no time limit?”

  “Those facts di
d not deter you before we were embroiled in scandal,” she said. “You were quite determined to make me fall in love with you. It is why you pursued me so relentlessly after that waltz. And you do have a taker—me. And there is a prize—me. And a forfeit too—the loss of me. And a time limit—the end of the house party.”

  He gazed at her, speechless for once. But he felt good humor clawing its way back into his being. Trust Katherine not simply to be tragic.

  “I will wager against you,” she said. “I say it cannot be done, that you can never persuade me to love you, that it is indeed impossible. That it would be a waste of your time to try. But you are the man to whom all things are possible, especially those things that seem quite out of reach. Well, I am out of reach. Totally Make me love you, then.”

  Tempting. But there was a problem.

  “I would have nothing to offer in return,” he said. “Not anything that would be of value to you, anyway. I am not a romantic, Katherine, and if I ever pretended to be I would simply make an ass of myself.”

  “That,” she said, “is something for you to work out for yourself.”

  They stared at each other for a long time. The candles began to flicker. They had almost burned themselves out.

  He felt a smile nudge at his eyes and tug at his lips. He could never persuade her to love him, could he? It would be a waste of his time to try, would it?

  “But one thing,” she said. “If the wager is to become a real one, then we will raise the stakes.”

  He raised his eyebrows.

  “No love,” she said, “no sex.”

  “Forever?” he asked.

  “Until after the end of the wager,” she said. “And then we will see.”

  A month of celibacy? And a new bride only once tasted? That was raising the stakes sky- high.

  But the smile took possession of him. Impossible, was it?

  An impossible wager.

  They would see about that!

  He got to his feet and moved toward her, his right hand extended.

  “Agreed,” he said.

  And she set her hand in his and they shook on it.

  “The couch in the sitting room had better be as comfortable as it looks,” he said.

  “Take a pillow,” she advised.

  He did so and then turned and walked out of the bedchamber.

  The candles flickered one more time and died just as he was closing the door behind him.

  The couch had been very comfortable to sit on. But it was too narrow and too short for a bed. He lay wedged against the back, his feet elevated over one arm, his head propped over the other.

  It was not a position conducive to sleep even if the wheels of his mind had not been turning at breakneck speed—mostly with the same unwelcome thought.

  He was, by God, going to have to offer something in return for her love, which he would, of course, win. And he very much feared that only one thing would do. Devil take it, but he was going to have to fall in love with her. And he might as well tell himself quite firmly now that it was impossible or he would never feel challenged enough to do it.

  It was impossible.

  There!

  Now it would be done. He would fall in love.

  Lord, how the devil could he ever have thought this couch comfortable?

  … heart of my heart, soul of my soul…

  He grimaced.

  Devil take it! Were there bricks in this pillow?

  He was going to fall in love with her.

  His own private wager with himself.

  Impossible?

  Of course.

  But doable?

  Of course!

  And then he had an inspired idea. He moved off the couch, lay down on the floor with the pillow beneath his head and his coat over his arms, and addressed himself to sleep.

  Comfort at last.

  His legs were cold.

  16

  “A N D one more thing,” Katherine said just as if they were in the middle of a conversation, when in reality they had been traveling all afternoon in virtual silence.

  He was lounging at his ease across the corner of the carriage seat beside her, one booted foot propped on the seat opposite, his arms crossed over his chest, his eyes closed—looking indolent, but not asleep. Indeed, she suspected that he was watching her, though how he could be doing that with his eyes closed she was not sure—except that he was a man who scorned impossibilities.

  He was also a man who had made no move whatsoever all day to woo her love and win his wager. She had got up this morning and steeled herself for a day of blatantly seductive wiles. Instead he had talked pointedly about the weather for a time during the morning, had remarked finally that if he could not coax a smile out of her he might as well get some sleep since he had had precious little last night, had folded his arms, and had closed his eyes.

  He looked wondrously attractive, of course, all relaxed, slumberous male, though he was not sleeping. He was taking up more than half the carriage interior. She had to keep her feet and knees tight together and hold her legs rather stiff to avoid brushing his knee when the carriage swayed, as it did almost every moment.

  She had ignored him. Though she could draw no real satisfaction from doing so while he pretended to sleep. She wished he would wake up so that he would know himself ignored. Of course, she had stopped herself from laughing over some of his more absurd comments on the weather. She spoke in order to wake him, though that, of course, involved not ignoring him.

  He opened his eyes.

  “And one more thing,” she said again.

  “Another?” he said. “Is this one more thing to add to the one more thing you mentioned a few moments ago? Two more things, in fact?”

  She looked reproachfully at him.

  “Charlotte is thrilled at our marriage,” she said. “And I do not think it is just because now she has someone to sponsor her come- out next year and no longer has to fear that she will be sent to her aunt. She genuinely loves you and wants you to be happy. She thinks you will be happy with me. She thinks we are in love.”

  His eyes half smiled at her. It was really quite dis concerting the way he could do that without moving a muscle in the rest of his face. His eyes, she thought suddenly, could very well be her downfall—if it were possible for her to fall, that was, which it was not.

  “That is one thing,” he said. “ Is there another?”

  “Yes, there is,” she said. “I come from a close- knit family We all love one another dearly. We rejoice in one another’s joys and grieve with one another’s miseries. It is of great importance to my sisters and brother to see me happily married, to see us in love with each other. Yet at the moment they are full of doubts. They fear that we do not love each other and never will.”

  “That is two things,” he said, his voice lazy, as if he really had just woken up from a deep sleep. “Interesting things. Things to give me all the incentive in the world to win my wager and you all the reason you need to capitulate and let me do so.”

  “You did not hear me clearly,” she said. “I said that it is important to our families that we love each other— both of us, not me adoring you, and you proceeding with life as usual.”

  “You want to make it a double wager, after all, then, Katherine?” he asked her, his smile catching at the corners of his eyes and curving his mouth upward. “You want to make me love you? I may even give you a sporting chance of winning.”

  “What I do want,” she said, wishing he would sit up properly so that he would look less… less… Well, less something, “is that we put on a good show for the weeks of the house party That we convince Charlotte and Meg and Stephen that ours really was a love match—or is, anyway. For we love them as much as they love us. I know you love Charlotte even though you deny being capable of any such emotion. And I owe more to Meg than I can ever say and love her more than I love anyone else in the world. I love Stephen dearly too. He is a good brother. He might have drifted from us in the past few yea
rs and concerned himself only with the pleasures life has to offer a wealthy, privileged young man.”

  “As I did when I left home?” he asked.

  “I will not be distracted,” she said. “Though of course, if the boot fits, then it ought to be worn. But we must agree to make them all as happy as we possibly can while they are at Cedarhurst with us. We can do that by appearing to be happy with each other.”

  “And after Miss Huxtable and Merton have returned home?” he asked. “We will keep up the charade for Charlotte, will we? Until she marries or for the rest of our lives if she does not?”

  That was the weak point in her plan, of course. Pre tending to an affection for each other for two weeks, while the house party was in progress, ought not to be impossibly difficult. But after that?

  “We will think of that when the time comes,” she said.

  “We will not need to worry our heads over the problem if there is no problem by that time,” he said. “You must work diligently over your half of the wager, Katherine, as I am working diligently over mine.”

  He looked sleepy again.

  “I do not have half the wager,” she protested.

  “Then what is the point of me winning my half?” he asked her. “Why would I want you in love with me if I do not love you in return? Why would you want to love me if I do not love you?”

  “I do not want to love you,” she said.

  His eyes moved lazily over her and she felt suddenly as naked as she had been last night in the candlelight— something she definitely did not want to think about today.

  For she had realized something this morning—well, last night after he had withdrawn to the sitting room, to be more accurate. She had realized that in cutting him off from the physical side of their marriage for a whole month, she had cut herself off too. And she had been rather dismayed to discover that it was not a pleasant prospect. It ought to be. There should be no lust in marriage—only love.

  There could be love if she took up half the wager and won—and if he won his half.

  How absurd! She felt thoroughly cross.

  “I think, Katherine,” he said, “you just told a whopping fib. But perhaps you do not even realize it yet. Of course you want to love me—I am your husband. And of course you want me to love you—you are my wife.”