The Seduction n-1

by Nicole Jordan

  “How beautiful,” she murmured.

  “Yes, I had forgotten.” Damien sounded almost wistful as he halted his horse beside her.

  “You don’t spend much time here at Rosewood, I understand.”

  His mouth twisted in a grimace. “I try to avoid it as much as possible.”

  “Why?” she asked curiously. “If I had a home this beautiful, I doubt I would ever wish to leave.”

  “My childhood gave me an aversion to the place, I’m afraid. It holds too many unpleasant memories.”

  “What sort of memories?”

  He didn’t answer for a moment. Instead, he slowly dismounted and stood staring off into the distance.

  “My parents’ marriage was a battleground,” he said finally in a low voice. “My father became so obsessed with his mistress that he sought to divorce my mother, and she hated him for it.”

  “Divorce? Isn’t securing a decree difficult?”

  “He had ample grounds under English law, since she was as faithless to him as he was to her. But her family was powerful and wealthy enough to prevent him dragging her through the courts.” Damien shook his head, as if remembering. “She took a procession of lovers-primarily out of revenge, I suspect. But one day she found herself spurned by her beau in favor of a younger beauty, and their marriage turned even uglier… more bitter.”

  “Fortunately for me, I went away to university and was required to return here infrequently. By the time I graduated, I’d come into a substantial inheritance and was able to make my home in London, independent of my father. He lived in the London town house, while my mother retired here to the country. They refused even to share the same house.”

  Damien gave a humorless laugh. “It was something of an irony that they perished together in a carriage accident after a ball Prinny gave. It was the first time in years they had even attended the same function. I can’t say I greatly mourned their passing, to be brutally honest.”

  He glanced over his shoulder at Vanessa. Sunbeams heightened the sharp clarity of his gray eyes, and she could see the pain the dark memories dredged up for him.

  As if recalling himself, he shrugged and came around to help her dismount. When he set her down, she moved a few steps away, unnerved by even so casual a touch.

  “That was when you assumed your sister’s guardianship?” Vanessa asked, not wishing his revelations to end.

  “Yes.” Damien bent to pluck a blade of grass to chew. “I discharged my legal obligations adequately enough, but I never realized until these past few months how greatly I neglected Olivia. She had all the advantages a girl could ask for-wealth, rank, education. But she had to grow up alone. She resents me for that, I know. And I can’t really blame her. I have no excuse for my neglect, other than my complete unsuitability for raising a young lady.”

  “Perhaps you should try to talk to her.”

  “And what would you have me say?”

  “I don’t believe she knows how much you care. You might tell her of your regrets, how unqualified you felt to be her guardian. She probably never considered you might actually be inept at something.”

  Damien smiled faintly. “And you expect her to forgive me?”

  “I think she will, yes. My guess is that she wants you to be a real brother to her. You’re her only family, but she’s never really known you. She’s felt intensely lonely… ignored by you, isolated from society by her straitlaced governess. Her loneliness is doubtless what allowed Olivia to be led astray-” Vanessa bit off the words “by my brother,” and instead added, “And now she feels trapped by her chair. She needs you now more than ever, Damien, even if she doesn’t see it at the moment.”

  He grimaced wryly. “She most certainly doesn’t see it.”

  “Have you ever simply asked her what she wants?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The other day she remarked about the unfairness of being female. Men can ride out into the world in search of adventure, but girls must remain at home, waiting to be courted. And you said yourself that her home was often like a battleground. You were able to escape, but Olivia wasn’t.”

  His brow furrowed with skepticism, but Vanessa suspected he took her advice quite seriously.

  He was still deep in thought a short while later when he helped her remount her horse, and he seemed not to notice that Vanessa flinched at his touch. She could only chastise herself for her lack of control.

  Yet it was startling how effortlessly he affected her senses and was not in the least sensible that she’d begun to crave his company.

  She found herself eagerly anticipating his nightly visits and the roses he brought her, each a different hue and size, from tiny, delicate buds of yellow, to lush, ripe blooms of palest pink, to elegant blossoms of wine red.

  Those midnight’tete-a-tetes were ripe with sensual intimacy, even though he rarely physically touched her.

  A few nights later they sat as usual before the fireplace, although Damien had lit a candle to augment the waning moonlight. He sipped brandy while Vanessa buried her nose in this evening’s rose, which was pure ivory.

  “At this rate,” she murmured, “you won’t have a single bloom left in your gardens.”

  “I doubt there is any danger of depleting my gardens just yet,” Damien responded wryly, his half-smile lavish with the devastating charm she had come to expect from him.

  No doubt that sinful smile had served only to heighten his reputation for wickedness, Vanessa surmised.

  “How did you come to be known as Lord Sin?” she asked curiously.

  His answer surprised her by being unexpectedly thought-fill. “I suppose I was following in my father’s footsteps. I was a wild young blood, with no one to curb my excesses or set limits. And London held a treasure trove of forbidden delights for a green youth.”

  “And later, when you grew older? You were no longer a youth when you established the Hellfire League.”

  Damien shrugged. “A gentleman must have some diversions. When it was new, the League provided an excellent remedy for ennui.”

  “And now?”

  “The novelty has long since worn off, I’m afraid.”

  Silence fell between them while they both became lost in thought. Vanessa suspected Damien suffered from much the same complaint as her brother-too much license and too little serious occupation. Her late husband, too, had turned to gaming and wenching to fill his time, especially in London, where the opportunities for vice and iniquity were so much greater.

  “I don’t much care for London,” she remarked, changing the subject a little.

  “No?”

  “It holds… unpleasant memories for me. Most of my marriage was spent there. And I became a widow there.” She shuddered, recalling that terrible time. “I remember that day so vividly. A friend of my husband’s came to tell me Roger had been killed, and then his body was brought home… The time afterward is a blur, though. Thankfully my brother was there to support me. He took care of the details of my husband’s estate, dealt with the tradesmen and moneylenders-” With a start, Vanessa recollected what she was saying. “I’m sorry, I agreed not to talk about Aubrey.”

  “Surely your memories of London aren’t all bad,” Damien said, ignoring her slip.

  “Not all. I might have enjoyed it under different circumstances.”

  “I wager I could have shown you a more pleasurable side of the city.”

  She smiled. “I doubt I’m licentious enough to qualify for entry into your realm.”

  He cocked his head, surveying her skeptically. “Have you never wanted to do anything wicked?”

  “Perhaps, although my definition of wicked and yours are entirely different matters. There were any number of times when I was sorely tempted to flout society’s conventions. I remember a certain ball when the Duchess of Salford made a particularly vindictive remark… I nearly threw my cup of rack punch in her face.”

  “That is wicked indeed.” He gave her that soft fallen-angel smile
that could ensnare a woman’s heart.

  She flushed and averted her gaze, staring into the fire. “Why do I always tell you such personal things?”

  “Because I tend not to be judgmental, perhaps?”

  It was true, Vanessa realized. She never felt as if he was sitting in judgment of her.

  “In any case,” Damien added lightly, “turnabout is fair play. You’ve made me bare my soul often enough.”

  Yet it wasn’t simply that the intimate atmosphere of their midnight exchanges lent itself to confession, Vanessa suspected. Lord Sinclair was deliberately trying to draw her out, to learn her secrets so that he might better lure her to his bed.

  His strategy was succeeding, at least in part. She had lost her intense wariness of him. And yet she found it harder to maintain an air of composure when he was near. He could make her quiver with a glance, render her breathless with a simple touch.

  Perhaps it was her dread of what was to come that so unnerved her. Damien had been exceedingly patient with her reticence, not demanding so much as a kiss from her. Vanessa felt certain, however, that the situation couldn’t remain that way. Before long he would require her to become his mistress in truth.

  One night during the beginning of her third week at Rosewood, the conversation turned even more personal- deeply, disquietingly so. Again they were sitting before the fire in the warm glow of candlelight. At first Vanessa remained undisturbed when she felt his heavy-lidded gaze lingering upon her. She’d grown accustomed to his lazy, searching perusals.

  Yet she was not prepared for the question that broke the pleasurable silence between them.

  “How long has it been for you?” he asked softly.

  She could have pretended to misunderstand. Could have refused to answer such an intimate, intrusive query. But candidness had been a hallmark of their relationship from the first, and she had come to value it, despite how unsettling such honesty often could prove.

  “Two years.”

  “So long?”

  She had to look away from the intensity in his observant eyes. “You have misjudged me,” she replied, a tremor in her voice. “I told you the truth. I am not experienced in carnal matters. I haven’t had countless lovers. Only my husband.”

  “And you didn’t enjoy that,” he said, low and hushed.

  “It… was not pleasant.” She flushed, ashamed that Damien had managed to draw such an admission from her.

  “Let me guess,” he continued, keeping his voice quietly modulated. “He never took the time to arouse you. Instead he sought his own pleasure without considering yours. You lay beneath him, tense and unresponsive, expecting pain and dutifully receiving it.”

  The stark picture he painted struck too close to the truth. Vanessa bowed her head, reliving the dark memories. “It was my duty, but he… hurt me.”

  “You may trust me never to hurt you, Vanessa.”

  Slowly she raised her gaze to his, searching his face. Trust was not a word she would use with Damien Sinclair. But, startlingly, she did trust him. Why else would she have so readily revealed her secrets to him? She should have deplored his insistent probing and her own intimate confessions; but, in a bewildering way, she was almost relieved to have her private shame exposed.

  His eyes captured hers and held them. “Carnal relations needn’t be unpleasant for a woman. Indeed, they should not be.”

  “He thought me cold… unfeeling. Because I couldn’t bear his touch.”

  A swift spark of anger flickered in the storm-silver eyes. “He was a damned fool.”

  She stared at Damien, wanting to believe the firm conviction in his pronouncement.

  He kept his voice soft and even when he continued. “Vanessa, your dislike of physical intimacy stems from a cruel experience. While you might be lacking in education and experience, I doubt you are cold or unfeeling. I would wager my entire fortune that inside you is a warm, passionate woman yearning to break free.”

  Against her volition, her throat constricted with emotion. For so long she had lived with the shame and guilt of her inadequacies. If she had been a better wife to Roger, perhaps he would not have sought other women’s beds. He might even have moderated his wild and reckless lifestyle and never met an ignominious end with a bullet through his heart on the dueling field.

  The possibility was like balm to a raw wound, and Vanessa was absurdly grateful to Damien for suggesting a reason that she had never responded physically to her husband.

  “You… think me passionate?”

  He was watching her, his eyes half-closed yet so sensual, so compelling, he made her heart ache. “I’m sure of it. I could show you, if you would put your pleasure in my hands.”

  Her lips parted, but no sound emerged.

  With unhurried deliberation then, he set down his glass and rose from his chair. “Shall I show you what it is like to feel wanted, desired?”

  Moving slowly, Damien reached down and drew her to her feet. Immobile, she stared up at him, seeing the flames warming the depths of his eyes. His closeness stirred a pleasurable spark that flickered along the ends of her nerves.

  “I do desire you, angel. More than you could possibly imagine.”

  “Damien…”

  “Hush. Don’t fear me. I will allow you to take the lead.” He took her hand and pressed her palm to his cheek. “Just touch me.”

  He guided her hand, letting her fingers trace slowly over his features. With a breath of a sigh, Vanessa closed her eyes, exploring the planes and angles of his beautiful face, learning the masculine shape, the unique contours, the subtle flex of flesh and bone.

  The sensation was new to her, and yet somehow heart familiar. In her dreams she had touched him like this, savoring the warmth of his skin, the faint rasp of stubble that shadowed his jaw, the flow of his breath when her fingers sketched the pliant curve of his mouth.

  “What do you feel?”

  What she felt was a stirring of heat deep within her, a softening, a melting. What she felt was wonder at the breathless enchantment he wrapped around her so effortlessly. What she felt was longing.

  Her eyes opened slowly, and she stared up at him, dazed.

  The silver eyes were tender and knowing. But he made no further move.

  He knew his power over her, knew how dangerously sensual he was. And yet he was not prepared to take advantage of her, it seemed.

  “No,” he murmured, his voice dropping to the husk of a whisper. “You are not yet ready.”

  Without taking his eyes off her, he brought her fingers to his lips to kiss their pale tips slowly, lingeringly.

  Then just as gently, he released her.

  “I won’t press you further tonight, sweeting. When you finally share my bed, it will seem as right to you as it does to me.”

  The velvet promise in his voice echoed in her mind long after he was gone. Remembering, Vanessa shuddered. She was still quivering from the enchanting fire he had aroused deep within her. Still trembling with the sweet, intimate feelings his tenderness had stirred.

  She looked down, staring at her fingers. Impossibly, she could still feel the imprint of his burning kiss and the brand of his soft lips. But it was the inexplicable yearnings in her heart that frightened her more.

  Chapter Seven

  She had never thought her role at Rosewood would be an easy one, but neither had she expected her emotions to be so conflicted. In only a short time, both Sinclairs had managed to affect her beyond reason-Damien captivating her senses and enmeshing her in his sensual spell, and young Olivia tugging powerfully at her heart.

  Her response to Damien bewildered and disturbed Vanessa most. She didn’t at all like the tender feelings he aroused in her. It was foolish in the extreme to allow herself to become emotionally drawn to him. She had to remember that her seduction was a game to him, driven by revenge, and she was his prey.

  She almost wished he would end the uncertainty. For whatever reason he had given her a stay of execution, holding off the fulfill
ment of their bargain. But Vanessa had nearly reached the point where the prospect of sharing his bed was not as distressing as the strain of waiting for the ax to fall. She could not contemplate the sexual act with anything but dread, nor could she, in the cold light of day, bring herself to believe Damien’s supposition that she might be a passionate woman.

  The sooner they consummated their brazen bargain, Vanessa reasoned, the sooner he would discover the truth about her, and the sooner he would end his tormenting pursuit. Once he saw what poor sport she was, he would tire of his game and of her, perhaps even send her packing.

  Except for the threat hanging over her head, however, her life here was far more pleasurable than she had a right to hope for. It seemed especially strange not to have to constantly worry about making ends meet. For the past two years she’d spent a significant part of each day determining how best to stretch a farthing, but cost was no object to Damien when it came to his sister’s recovery. He agreed readily when Vanessa suggested bringing in a dressmaker and milliner to raise Olivia’s spirits.

  Olivia refused to leave the estate for any reason, even to shop, but Vanessa believed it would be beneficial if the girl could be persuaded to take an interest in her appearance.

  “But I have no need for new gowns,” Olivia protested, showing renewed evidence of a stubborn streak. “I have nowhere to wear them, since I never plan on going out again.”

  “Perhaps not,” Vanessa cajoled, “but my sister Fanny believes there is nothing like a new bonnet to make one feel pretty, and you could do with a shawl or two for our visits to the garden. Besides, you will need a bathing costume for the bath your brother is constructing for you in the conservatory.”

  When the milliner arrived with her wares, proffering bonnets trimmed with ribbons and bows and lace and ostrich feathers, Olivia did find two she particularly admired.

  “I suppose the bonnets sold in London are more elegant than those found here in the country,” she said to Vanessa rather wistfully when they were alone again.