The Duelist's Seduction

by Lauren Smith

  Martin’s face paled. “Companion? You mean he actually…”

  “Yes, I was that sort of companion. He ruined me, as he put it.” She did not spare him anything. After his lack of responsibility, it was time Martin understood what price she’d paid for him.

  “I should have shot him,” Martin cursed.

  Helen flashed him a vicious look. “No, you shouldn’t have. He was kind to me, more than kind. I wanted for nothing and…” Helen stopped before she said something she’d regret.

  “And?” Martin prompted, his eyes suddenly sharp, seeing something in her reaction that she hadn’t meant to betray. “Don’t tell me you fell in love with him.” Martin stared at her.

  Helen blushed, more from anger at herself than anything else. “It wouldn’t matter if I did. He didn’t want me. He let me go.”

  “Helen, the man only let you leave because I had a pistol on him. Bullets can be very persuasive. He cares for you—” Her brother’s features were blurred with confusion, as though he was sorting something out in his mind.

  “He doesn’t.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because I do,” Helen snapped. There would be no way to unhear the words he’d spoken in his study when speaking with Ambrose. He’d never marry her. If he loved her, marriage wouldn’t have been a problem. It was that simple.

  “Well, you didn’t see his face when he was lecturing me on how I failed you. He loves you. He practically shouted at me that he loved you. I may be terrible at cards, but I’d wager my very life that he would marry you if he thought he deserved you. If you love him, I won’t stand in the way.”

  Martin stopped his horse abruptly, forcing Helen to do the same. The skies shook with distant thunder.

  “Hurry, Martin. We’ve a long way to go before nightfall.” Helen’s response held a note of irritation.

  “Helen, perhaps you should go back to him. If he loves you…and you love him…well, it’s that simple isn’t it? I’d rather you were safe and happy, that you were loved, than suffering with me.”

  Since when had he ever given her happiness a second thought?

  “I’m serious, Helen. At least think about it. I saw his face. He cares deeply for you. How can you turn your back on that?”

  She peeped up at him from under her lashes. For the first time in years, she felt that old connection to him, as twins, return to her. He was thinking of her again, about how she felt. He hadn’t done that in a long time. It made her consider his words more carefully. Could she return to Gareth? Would he take her back if she threw herself upon his mercy? Did he care enough about her that they could make a go of it? Did he truly love her?

  “What about you?” she asked softly. If she returned to Gareth, she’d be leaving Martin to fend for himself.

  Her brother flashed her a winning smile. “I’ll get by. It is time I took care of myself.”

  Helen stared at him for a long time, wondering if he could. His face was solemn and his eyes were hard with determination, a look she’d never seen before. Had her leaving him changed him for the better? Perhaps he realized she was not a crutch he could lean on.

  “I mean it. I am done with the gambling hells. I’ll apply for clerkship positions with some of the local barristers starting first thing tomorrow. Father still has a few friends here, and I know which men to call upon for employment.”

  The tightness in her chest eased and she knew he meant it. Martin would be fine, and she could be with Gareth. Everything would be all right. It had to be. She would fight for her happiness and Gareth’s.

  Finally, she turned her horse back to face Gareth’s home—her home—if he would still have her.

  “What the devil are you waiting for? Go back to him!” Martin reached forward and whapped her horse’s flank with his crop. The horse jumped into a slow gallop back down the road. Helen clung to the reins and dug her heels into the stirrups to remain astride.

  By the time she reached the house, she was soaked to the bone. A groomsman ran out to catch her horse’s reins and help her down. She breathed a quick thank you to him and went inside. Mary, lecturing a servant on tracking mud through the house, froze when she saw Helen.

  “Where is he?” Helen asked her.

  “In the garden. Determined to catch his death in this weather. He was muttering about climbing trees. I couldn’t stop him. He’s in one of his moods,” Mary replied grimly.

  Helen headed toward the door to the gardens. Through the small window, she caught a glimpse of a pair of fine legs in black trousers vanishing up between the branches of a tree. Helen opened the door and strode out to the tree, trying to figure out what she was going to say.

  She looked up to see him resting on a familiar branch, his eyes gazing into the distance. He didn’t seem to hear her approach. She waited a long moment, burning him into her memory in case he sent her away again. His shirt was wet and clung to his muscles, their fine lines so vivid in her memory that her body shivered at the ghost of lost passion. Gareth’s hair was nearly black with the rain as it curled slightly at the ends.

  “Shall I have the head gardener fetch you a ladder, Master Gareth?” She mimicked Mary’s voice.

  “No Mary, that won’t be nec…” His head dropped as he peered down at her. His eyes were wide, his lips parted as though stunned to see her.

  “Helen?” He scrambled quickly back down the branches, sending a storm of leaves around her head. He dropped to the ground in front of her.

  Helen’s momentary coyness evaporated. She felt a wave of desperation to beg him to let her stay.

  “What are you doing here?” He sucked in a breath.

  “I had to come back…” When he didn’t say anything, she wondered if she had to justify her staying. “I could work for you. I can be a maid…whatever you want. It doesn’t matter, just let me stay. I’ll earn my keep.” Helen tried to make her voice steadier, but she still sounded terribly desperate.

  “Earn your keep?” Gareth looked like he was trying not to laugh.

  Helen’s eyes burned with tears of shame. “I can learn to clean. I may not be good at it, but I’m sure that Mary could teach me the proper way.” Helen started to reach for him but stopped and wrapped her arms around herself instead.

  “Please, Gareth…” One brave tear fell down her check, and all the merriment in his eyes died.

  He took two slow steps toward her, cupping her face in his hands as he gazed into her eyes. “I won’t let you stay on as a servant, Helen. You could never be a maid.”

  “But…” Her voice constricted with panic, but he silenced her with his lips.

  He kissed her in a strange mix of fierce passion and aching emotion. He had never kissed her this way before. It felt like the first time he’d kissed her in the drawing room, yet it seared with the passion of the meadow and warmed her soul like when he’d first made love to her. It was a kiss that would never end, a promise that they would remain this way forever. When he finally freed her lips, he rested his forehead against hers, keeping them close.

  “Stay here because you love me, because you’ll make me happy again,” he whispered.

  “I will, even if you don’t love me. If you care enough to want me even a little, I’ll stay.”

  “Care for you? Helen, I not only care for you, I love you. I want to marry you, if you’ll have me, the black-hearted monster that I am.”

  “You want to marry me?” It couldn’t be true, he couldn’t love her that much… The idea was too wonderful to be true.

  “Will you marry me, Helen?” Gareth’s hands slid from her face down to her shoulders.

  “Of course!” She stood up on tiptoe to kiss him. He happily obliged.

  “Could Martin visit us?” she gasped suddenly, remembering her brother and how he and Gareth hadn’t been friendly towards each other.

  “Devil take it,” Gareth muttered. “As long as he stays clear of the card tables, he is welcome to visit or even stay here. There is plenty of room, and he’d
be one more person for Mary to happily fret over. Perhaps I can offer him a better example of how a gentleman should conduct himself. It is time he learned.”

  “You would do that?” Helen’s brows rose in astonishment.

  “For you, I would do anything.” The husky timbre of his voice had her trembling. His words rocked her to her very core. It was the words she’d always longed to hear from a man she’d someday hoped would love her. She trembled in his arms, overcome with awe of his love and hers.

  “We should get inside before we freeze,” Gareth said, aware of Helen shivering in his arms. He wrapped his right arm about her waist and they began the short walk back to the house. He paused as they reached the door.

  “You know, we’ll have to come up with a story as to how we met,” he said pensively.

  “You don’t want to tell people that you blackmailed and seduced me over my brother’s gambling debts?” Helen smiled devilishly at him.

  “That, I would happily own up to. It is the part where my wife nearly kills me in a duel which is the most disturbing part of the tale.” He grinned.

  “But I rather liked that part! It makes me sound very brave.”

  “You were brave, my darling.” His laugh reverberated through her as he held her tight against his chest.

  “Say that again,” she begged.

  “That you were brave?” He raised his eyebrows, his eyes crinkling with silent laughter.

  “No, the other part,” she breathed.

  “My darling.” His lips brushed hers in a fiery prelude to his kiss.

  The Seduction Continues…

  WICKED DESIGNS

  THE LEAGUE OF ROGUES BOOK ONE

  LAUREN SMITH

  An exclusive excerpt of Wicked Designs, The League of Rogues Book 1

  © Lauren Smith 2014 - Published by Samhain Publishing

  League Rule 4

  When seducing a lady, any member of the League may pursue her until she has declared her interest in a particular member, and at such time, all pursuits of the lady by others must cease.

  Excerpt from The Quizzing Glass Gazette, April 3, 1820, The Lady Society Column:

  Lady Society was quite entertained earlier this week, when she was witness to yet another wicked scheme perpetuated by a member of London’s notorious League of Rogues. His Grace, the Duke of Essex, was seen to have been seducing a most attractive widow in the midst of a musicale hosted by Viscount Sheridan.

  It seems the duke has truly broken with his long time paramour Miss Evangeline Mirabeau. For all marriage minded mamas, there is a collective sigh of sadness that His Grace is a determined bachelor with no intent to marry. Shame upon His Grace for not being a gentleman that mothers could safely marry their daughters to and indulging in his wicked lifestyle.

  Lady Society will continue to watch the League with the keenest interest…

  WICKED DESIGNS

  CHAPTER ONE

  London, September 1820

  Something wasn’t right. Emily Parr allowed the elderly coachman to help her into the town coach, and the queer look he gave her made her skin crawl. Peering into the dark interior of the vehicle, she was surprised to find it empty. Uncle Albert was supposed to accompany her to social engagements and if not him, certainly a chaperone. Why then was the coach empty?

  She settled into the back seat, her hands clutching her reticule tight enough that the beadwork dug into her palms through her gloves. Perhaps her uncle was meeting with his business partner, Mr. Blankenship. She’d seen Blankenship arrive just before she’d gone upstairs to prepare for the ball. A shudder rippled through her. The man was a lecherous creature with beetle-black eyes and hands that tended to wander too freely whenever he was near her. Emily was not worldly, having only just turned eighteen a few months earlier, but this last year with her uncle had enlightened her to a new side of life and none of it had been good.

  Her first London Little Season should have been a wonderful experience. Instead it had begun with the death of her parents at sea and ended with her new life in the dusty tomb of her uncle’s townhouse. With an insubstantial library, no pianoforte and no friends, Emily had started to slide into a melancholy haze. It was crucial she make a good match and fast. She had to escape Uncle Albert’s world, and the only way she could do that was to legally obtain her father’s fortune.

  A distant cousin of her mother’s held the money in trust. It was a frustrating thing to have a man she’d never met hold the purse strings on her life. Uncle Albert despised the situation as well. As her guardian he was forced to give an accounting to her mother’s cousin, which thankfully kept him from delving too deeply into her accounts for his own needs. The small fortune was the best bargaining chip she had to entice potential suitors. Though the money would go to her husband, she hoped to find a man who would respect her enough not to squander what was rightfully hers. But arriving at the ball without a chaperone would damage her chances in husband hunting, it simply wasn’t done to show up alone. It spoke lowly of her uncle as well as their financial situation.

  As relieved as she was to not have her uncle or Mr. Blankenship escorting her, her stomach still clenched. She recalled the cold way the elderly driver smiled at her just before she’d climbed inside. The slickness of that grin made her feel a little uneasy, like he knew something she didn’t and it amused him. It was silly—the old man wasn’t a threat. But she couldn’t shake the wariness that rippled through her. She would have been thankful for Uncle Albert’s presence, even if it meant another lecture on how costly she was to provide for and how kind he’d been in taking her in after her parents’ ship was lost.

  The driver was engaged to bring her to Chessley House for the ball, and nothing would go wrong. If she kept saying it over and over, she might believe it. Emily focused her thoughts on what tonight would bring, hoping to ease her worry. She would join her new friend, Anne Chessley, as well as Mrs. Judith Pratchet, an old friend of Anne’s mother, who’d kindly agreed to sponsor Emily for the Little Season. There was every possibility she would meet a man and catch his interest enough that he would approach her uncle for permission to court her.

  Emily almost smiled. Perhaps tonight she would dance with the Earl of Pembroke.

  Last night, the handsome earl had smiled at her during their introduction and asked her to dance. Emily had nearly wept with disappointment when she informed him that Mrs. Pratchet had already filled her dance card.

  The earl had replied, “Another time, then?” and Emily nodded eagerly, hoping he would remember her.

  Perhaps tonight I shall have a spot of luck. She desperately hoped so. Emily wasn’t so foolish as to believe she had any real chance of marrying a man like the Earl of Pembroke, but it was nice to be noticed by a man of his standing. Sometimes that attention was noticed by others.

  The coach halted sharply a moment later, and she nearly toppled out of her seat, her thoughts interrupted, her daydreams fleeing.

  “Ho there, my good man!” a man shouted from nearby.

  Emily moved toward the door, but the vehicle rocked as someone climbed onto the driver’s seat, and she fell back in her seat again.

  “Twenty pounds is yours if you follow those two riders ahead and do as we ask,” the newly-arrived man said.

  Having regained control of her balance, she flung the coach curtains back. Two riders occupied the darkened street, their backs to her. What was going on? A sense of ill-ease settled deep in her stomach. The coach jerked and moved again. As she had feared, the driver didn’t stop at Chessley House. He followed the riders ahead.

  What was this? A kidnapping? A robbery? Should she stick her head out of the window and ask them to stop? If robbing her was their intent, asking them what they were doing might be a bad idea… Why would they take her when there were so many other heiresses, ones more lovely than her, having their first come out this year? Surely this wasn’t an abduction. Her mind reeled as she struggled to cope with the situation. What would her father have done i
n this situation? Load a pistol and fight them off. Having no pistol, she’d have to think of something clever. Could these men be reasoned with? Unlikely.

  Emily worried her bottom lip as she debated her options. She could scream for help, but such a reaction could worsen matters. She could open the door and throw herself out onto the street, but the clatter of hooves behind the coach erased that idea. She’d be lucky to survive the fall if she tried, and the horses behind were too close. She’d likely be killed. Emily fell back against the seat with a shaky sigh, her heart racing. She’d have to wait until the driver stopped.

  For what seemed like an hour she kept nervously glancing out the windows to assess what direction the coach was going. By now London was far behind her. Only open country stretched on both sides of the road. A rumble of hooves heralded an approaching rider, and a man astride a sleek black gelding galloped past the window. He was too close and the horse too tall for her to get a good view of him. The moonlight rippled off the horse’s shiny coat as it rode past.

  She knew by the close proximity of the rider and the determined way he rode in the saddle that he was involved with this business. Who in their right mind, except perhaps that foul old man, Blankenship, would kidnap her? He’d be the sort to engage in such a nefarious activity.

  The other evening he’d come to dinner at her uncle’s house and when her uncle had turned away for only a second, Blankenship had twined one of this thick, stubby fingers around a lock of her hair, tugging it hard until she’d nearly cried out. He’d whispered horrible things in her ear, nasty things that made her sick as he told her he planned to marry her as soon as her uncle had approved. Emily had stared back at him, stating she’d never marry him. He’d only laughed and said, “We’ll see, my sweet. We shall see.”