Seduced

by Pamela Britton

  “Did you sleep well, my dear?” he asked as he came up next to her.

  They were outside the inn awaiting their carriage, people scurrying about, even at this early hour, lampposts with baskets of flowers hanging beneath them casting pools of light at their feet.

  “Indeed I did,” Elizabeth answered, turning away. A vegetable vendor across the street lost an onion on the ground, the little man stopping to pick it up and toss it back in his cart, but the smell of it lingered in the air before being replaced once again by flowers. “ ’Twas you that no doubt slept ill,” she added, despite the evidence to the contrary. “I imagine the floor was most hard.”

  “ ’Twas not the hardness of the floor that kept me awake.” She darted him a look, the feather in the regal blue hat she wore tickling her face. Crude, rude, and vile man, for she knew exactly what he meant. He purposely tried to make her blush. Well, it wouldn’t work. Not this morn. For the first time in her life she refused to squelch the unladylike urges that overcame her from time to time.

  “Indeed,” she drawled, her expression filled with mock sympathy. “I hear that can be quite uncomfortable. You have my pity. Though I do hear there are ways for a man to relieve himself of so uncomfortable a problem. Feel free to engage in such an act, though I feel sorry for the sheep.” And with that she turned away—triumph filling her at the shocked—and dared she say stunned?—expression on his face.

  Take that you nasty man, she thought. I can be just as crass as you.

  ’Tis not something to be particularly proud of, said the prim and proper side of Elizabeth.

  Who bloody cares? said the Elizabeth who suddenly realized there was no point in being ladylike when one was married to the duke of Ravenwood.

  She had the pleasure of watching him have to snap his mouth closed before he said, “Where in the devil have you heard about men relieving themselves in such a way?”

  She colored. “Lucy.”

  The duke considered her response, a myriad of emotions flitting across his face. “I see,” he said.

  “There is much Lucy taught me.”

  “Indeed?” he asked. “And what other things would that be?”

  Elizabeth knew she was in way above her head, and yet she refused to back down. She shrugged, deciding to brazen it out. “Different positions one can be in. Different methods of gaining a man’s pleasure. Things of that nature.” She tried like the dickens not to blush.

  His grace appeared to consider her words. Elizabeth decided it was quite worthwhile to say such brazen and crass things if it meant the duke would be quiet.

  Alas, he wasn’t for long. “And where did Lucy learn about such things?” He held up his hands. “Never you mind. I do not need to know the answer.”

  “She had a book,” Elizabeth answered anyway. “A Hundred Ways to Seduce a Man. I was quite scandalized when she began to read me passages, but when one is aboard a ship, there is little else to do but read.”

  “Ah. The ship,” he said.

  “Yes, the ship,” she echoed.

  He stared at her for long, long seconds.

  “You would have been interested in it, too, I wager, for it dealt in gaining a man’s release. Rather an interesting subject.”

  He blinked. She smiled bravely. His eyes glowed in an odd way as he said, “Perhaps you could show me some of what you learned later tonight.”

  “I wouldn’t wager upon it, Ravenwood,” she said, watching as a groom led the coach and four toward them, his red-and-purple livery nearly as colorful as the flowers that hung above them. Then she added, “Has anyone told you that your servants’ livery looks like a bruise?” As a way of changing a subject she had no desire to explore.

  “Alas, no. I don’t believe so.”

  “Well, it does.”

  “What a charming observation.”

  “I was merely thinking of what I’d like to do to your face when the idea came to mind.”

  He chuckled. Just a single bark. Like a seal. “Indeed, how very bloodthirsty you sound. It quite makes me wonder if I should share the breakfast I had packed for us.”

  “Only if I’m allowed to poison your portion of it.”

  He laughed again. “My, my. Such barbs this morning. Did we sleep on the wrong side of the bed, my dear?”

  “I would wager I slept better than you. Or perhaps you’re used to sleeping on the floors with the other dogs.”

  He lifted his hands. “Enough. You quite outdo me with your bloodletting words. I surrender.”

  As ill-natured as it might have been, she felt moderately better. Sometimes, one needed to vent on any hapless male who came by. That this hapless male happened to deserve it made her feel even more vindicated.

  She stared at the carriage that stopped before them, at the splendid dappled gray horses that pulled it, and even though she despised Ravenwood, she couldn’t help but notice he had magnificent cattle. It was a weakness of hers, this penchant for horses. Unfortunately, her family only ever rented vehicles, for Elizabeth would have loved to own even a swaybacked nag.

  Something of what she felt must have shown on her face because he said, “You like horses,” in such a way as to make it a statement.

  “I do,” she admitted.

  “We’ll have yours brought up from London.”

  “I don’t have one.”

  He looked at her like she’d said she didn’t have a leg.

  “Why ever not?”

  She straightened, refusing to let him see her humiliation. It wasn’t her fault that her family didn’t own horses. Lots of families didn’t own horses. Just not noble families.

  “Your father couldn’t afford them.”

  She turned to him, prepared to lie and say she was allergic to them, or some such nonsense. But then he said, “I’ll purchase one for you when we get to Raven’s Keep.”

  “You’ll purchase one?”

  “Yes.”

  “No.”

  “A duchess should have her own horse.” He lifted a brow. “You do know how to ride, don’t you?”

  She didn’t answer. What could she say? It was hard to become an expert equestrienne when all you had was a stick horse.

  “That well, eh?”

  “I rode at my friends’ homes. During the summer. Whenever I was allowed to visit.” Which hadn’t been often since her friends were, in her mother’s words, “beneath you.”

  “I see,” he said. “Well, we’ll just add that to the list of things you need to learn how to do, right underneath your strumpet walk.”

  Her gaze darted to his. “Strumpet walk?”

  He smiled at her, his green eyes sparkling like he hadn’t a care in the world. And likely he didn’t. “Do not try to bamboozle me, my dear. I saw what you attempted to do last eve. You were trying to walk like a member of the demimonde.”

  “I was not,” she cried. Horrors, had she been that obvious?

  “Indeed you were, only you were too engrossed in your acting to realize that your attempt fell rather flat.”

  “It did not fall flat,” she denied, then blushed upon realizing she was supposed to deny it.

  “Yes, it did, my dear,” Ravenwood contradicted, ignoring her blunder. “You looked like a whore with gout.”

  “A whore with gout!”

  The coachman came around the back of the carriage, Elizabeth catching the lifted brow the servant shot at the tiger who’d already taken his place. When the man opened the door for them, Elizabeth tried not to blush. Horrible Ravenwood. Perhaps she could slam the door in his face and make him ride with his servants.

  Alas, it was not to be.

  Ravenwood climbed in right behind her. “You did,” he said, taking the seat opposite. The morning light was a muted gray, but it still allowed her a perfect view of his twinkling, obnoxious eyes. “And your nose was so high in the air, I’m surprised you were able to see where you were walking.”

  Ooo. Insufferable man. She lifted the aforementioned nose, hoping she gave him a
good look up her nostrils. “I have no idea what you’re speaking of.”

  He chuckled. Elizabeth’s gaze narrowed. He laughed again. Laughed.

  “Yes, you do. And if you’re honest, you will admit you know you were a failure.”

  She was about to admit no such thing, but something, something she couldn’t identify made her sink back against the seat, made her lower her nose, made her stop glaring. The fight just seemed to drain out of her. Mayhap it was his offer to buy her a horse. The chance at a lifelong dream must have weakened her mind. “Was I horribly bad?”

  He leaned back, too, a look of surprise coming to his face. The carriage whip cracked. The coach sprang forward. The duke nodded. “You were.”

  And from nowhere came the urge to smile. She let the grin slide upon her face, let her eyes give him a look of chagrin.

  “It was, wasn’t it?” she asked.

  “It was, my dear.”

  And then she laughed. It came from nowhere, but Elizabeth delighted in that laughter. Her heart was still sore over saying good-bye to her home. She was still rattled over her marriage, but her laughter helped to soothe the edges of her frayed nerves.

  Ravenwood’s mouth dropped open.

  And that made her feel good all over again, for there was a look in his eyes that made her feel suddenly beautiful. “Did you see the one gentleman duck his head so far he fair dipped his nose into his stew?”

  He seemed to gather his thoughts before he said, “No, I did not, but I would have paid money to do so.”

  Her smile grew. “I thought the poor man was going to beg my pardon for daring to look at me.”

  “I was about to beg your pardon for daring to look at you.”

  She tilted her head. “You were?”

  “I was.”

  “But what did I do wrong?”

  If either of them found it odd that they were conversing like normal people for the first time in their lives, neither mentioned it either by look or deed. Instead, the duke appeared to consider Elizabeth’s words. “You were too priggish.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, for instance, your walk. It seemed as if you’d severed a limb at some point in your past, then had it sewn back on.” He smiled. “Backward.”

  “I didn’t?” she huffed on a laugh.

  “You did.”

  Elizabeth nibbled her lip, wishing she knew what she’d done wrong. How was she ever to attract a man’s notice if she couldn’t even get one to look at her? And she was determined to get them to do so. She refused to be like her aunt, hiding behind her sham of a marriage. She would live life to the fullest. “I had no idea.”

  She felt Ravenwood’s stare, for the first time didn’t feel self-conscious about it. “You need my assistance.”

  The carriage lurched in and then out of a rut. Elizabeth clutched at the hand strap. “I beg your pardon?”

  He smiled at her, that gamin, boyish grin that made Elizabeth not quite despise him anymore. “I shall help you.”

  “Help me with what?”

  “Learn how to seduce a man.”

  “What?”

  He nodded.

  “Why ever would you offer to do such an outlandish thing?”

  But there was no trace of collusion on his face, no glint of deviousness in his eyes. “Because it would amuse me,” he said, and when she didn’t say anything further, he added, “Surely you realize we’ll need something to do while we’re at my home?”

  “I thought you were working on a project.”

  “I cannot work on my project at night.”

  She wondered if he really did have a project. “And so you propose to teach me how to, how to—”

  “Bring a man to your bed,” he finished for her. “Since you so obviously lack the necessary skills.”

  “I see,” she said, trying not to color. “And you would do this while we are in Wales?”

  He nodded.

  Elizabeth just stared at him, thinking surely that he was mad. What type of husband taught a wife to lure men into bed?

  The duke’s type, that’s who, a voice silently answered. For coming from him, the idea did not sound odd at all. Certainly unconventional, but ’twas exactly the type of thing he had a reputation of doing. At least, from what she’d heard about him.

  She looked away from him, trying to gather her thoughts.

  It was madness. Utter madness. She would no doubt be putting herself in his grasp for she was no fool. Ravenwood would use his “lessons” as a way to seduce her himself; after all, he was exactly the type of man her aunt had warned her about.

  And yet …

  Who better to teach her what she needed to know than the master of seduction?

  “Let me think on it,” she said, meeting his gaze again.

  For a second, no more than a heartbeat, really, she saw something flash in his eyes, and then it disappeared. But just that brief glimpse was enough to worry her. What had she seen?

  “Well, do not think upon my offer too long. I am apt to withdraw it if I think too long upon the problems it will cause me.”

  “What sort of problems would that be?” she queried.

  He leaned forward, the carriage walls seeming to instantly shrink up.

  “Such as the fact that in teaching you the fine art of seducing a man, I may well want to seduce you myself.”

  She felt herself shiver. He had voiced her fears aloud.

  “You would have a devil of a time trying.”

  “Is that a challenge, my dear?”

  Be bold, Elizabeth. Do not let him see that your hands shake. Or that your heart pounds.

  “No, it is not.” But she could tell by the look in his eyes that he did think it a challenge. And that he thought she wouldn’t take him up on the offer because of it.

  “Very well,” she heard herself say, knowing that she said the words out of pique more than anything else. “I will accept your offer, Ravenwood.”

  “Lucien,” he corrected. “If I am to teach you how to stuff your tongue down other men’s throats, please call me Lucien.”

  Miserable wretch. He had baited her, but it was too late to back down now. “As you wish, Lucien,” she agreed with a nod. “You may teach me how to stuff my tongue down other men’s throats.” If she were to embark upon such madness, she’d best learn not to mince words with him.

  “And other things,” he added, his gaze unblinking.

  Elizabeth tried not to squirm for his words made her feel … Wicked.

  They made her feel naughty and if she were honest with herself, the sensation was just a little bit nice.

  The Lord Chancellor was taking his tea when he receive the following missive from London’s Attorney General:

  My Lord,

  I feel it my duty to report that the witnesses confirm what was rumored to be true. As such, I fully intend to charge Lucien St. Aubyn, duke of Ravenwood, with the murder of his brother. You may wish to take the appropriate action to alert the peers of the coming trial. I trust, however, that you will wait to do this until after he has been apprehended and charged.

  Yours, etc—

  Robert Peters, Attorney General

  Chapter Eight

  They arrived at the coast of Wales just as the sun began to sink below the horizon, the sky an amazing blend of colors. Dark gray, then abrupt streaks of vibrant orange followed by lighter streaks that faded through a spectrum of colors: yellow, green, white, until settling into the most startling of all blues Elizabeth had ever seen. A few clouds that looked like raw cotton floated overhead, their gray bottoms turned a fiery red. It was, as Elizabeth later thought, a perfect time to gain one’s first glimpse of Raven’s Keep.

  They had spent the day crossing the Marches, passing through towns with Celtic names and a land that still felt mystical, with its sweeping valleys and gently sloping green hills. Edward I had built a host of castles in Wales, and as they approached Raven’s Keep from a tall vista that overlooked a windswept beach
, Elizabeth realized that the duke’s home was one of them. An island castle, she realized, for it sat upon a small patch of land that had long since disconnected from the mainland.

  “The castle was built in the late thirteenth century,” the duke explained. “ ’Twas considered an ambitious project at the time. Nearly twenty men died raising the outer wall alone.”

  Elizabeth simply stared. It looked like it’d been built in the thirteenth century. In fact, it looked like it’d been built before Christ. The fortress rose up from a small, grassy island. A wall surrounded it, and inside that wall was the castle, with what looked to be a courtyard in the very front. A bridge with three sweeping arches rolled out like a tongue to connect the castle with the mainland. Only the building didn’t rise. It sort of … crumbled.

  “It looks …” She searched for the appropriate word, not wanting to insult the duke, goodness knew why.

  “Dilapidated,” he supplied drolly.

  She swallowed. “I was going to say old.”

  He snorted. It took Elizabeth a moment to realize it’d been a choked-back laugh. “That is putting it kindly.”

  And it was, she admitted, for though she’d seen many an old castle, this one looked to be more like a pile of rubble than anything else. The top of the turrets were eaten away, like giant bites had been taken out of them and then spit upon ground. The ocean had eaten at the outer wall, too, the blocks that made it up having long since fallen into the sea.

  “You look a bit frightened, my dear,” he said, and she could hear the laughter in his voice.

  “I’m not frightened, just—” She searched for a word again.

  “Concerned?” he offered. “Afraid you might be sleeping with no roof over your head?”

  For some inexplicable reason she suddenly felt like laughing again. “Yes,” she found herself admitting. “The thought had crossed my mind.”

  He smiled, the setting sun accentuating his bronze skin. And he did look bronzed, she realized, though she’d hardly paid notice to it before. The color turned his skin cinnamon and spice and bleached sienna streaks upon the tips of his hair. She stared, noticing the fine lines around his eyes, the way his mouth twitched when he fought laughter.