Shayla Black

by Strictly Seduction

  “Dear cousin Madeline,” boomed a deep male voice from across the room.

  Maddie spun around to find Cropthorne standing in the door, wearing an immaculate burgundy coat and biscuit breeches.

  Despite her anger, Maddie noticed that Gavin’s face looked much the same, wide forehead, dark eyes, slashing nose, firm jaw. Still, she sensed a change since their childhood. Nothing about this man could be considered warm.

  “Cousin Gavin.” She inclined her head in greeting. “How good of you to see me.”

  “I’m glad you’ve come. We haven’t spoken more than a handful of words since our nursery days.”

  “Indeed. We have my father to thank for that.”

  All trace of expression vanished from Gavin’s face. “Your father spoke the truth about my esteemed sire’s scandals, and my father simply refused to hear it. And as duke, he had the power to ruin your father, so he did.”

  Taken aback, Maddie stared at her cousin. He painted a black picture of his sire, indeed. But family history did not occupy her today. “It’s the past. I’ve actually come to talk to you about something more recent.”

  Gavin cocked a brow at her, and she knew she had roused his curiosity. Now she could get on with ruining that manipulative blackguard Brock Taylor. She very much hoped that in less than five minutes, revenge would be hers.

  “Shall we sit?” Gavin asked.

  Keen to get on to the matter at hand, Maddie sank into a thick cream velvet-covered chair and watched as Gavin did the same with an innate grace few men possessed, especially those of his unusual height.

  Once they were settled, Gavin peered at her as if dissecting her. “I mean no offense, but you look out of sorts.”

  Squaring her shoulders, Maddie put on a regal face. “Indeed. I’m given to understand you plan to invest in a London to Birmingham railroad with Brock Taylor.”

  He sat back in his chair and studied her further. “And that distresses you? I’m only doing so because Taylor has proven he’s capable of making large sums of money nearly overnight. I know he was once your father’s servant, but—”

  “Has Brock Taylor told you that every necessary parcel of land for the railroad is secured?”

  Now keenly interested, Gavin leaned forward in his chair and placed his elbows on his knees. “He is due to provide me an update in a few days, but at last discussion, no. There is one, he said, that was left to a woman by her father. If we could buy it outright we would, but apparently it was left in right of any husband this woman might take.”

  “That is true. Has he given you the identity of this woman?”

  Gavin scowled. “Does it matter? Taylor said a man was courting the woman and that she should be soon wed. Why all this interest in my investments?”

  At her cousin’s revelation, Maddie felt a scream tear up her throat. How like Brock to arrogantly assume she would succumb to his proposal. He had been so confident of his persuasion and her stupidity that he had even lied to his partner.

  Clenching her fists, Maddie reined herself in. She must remain calm. “The woman’s identity matters very much because I am that woman.”

  Cropthorne bolted to his feet and stared down at her with nothing short of shock on his face. “You? Your father had land in Warwickshire?”

  “He bought it before I was born, apparently. He wished to keep it in the family, but did not think I was capable to seeing to its upkeep on my own.”

  A dry humor curled his lips. “Ah, because you’re a woman, naturally incapable of intelligent decisions.”

  More because she had proven irresponsible and uncaring by giving her virginity to a servant and getting with child. But Cropthorne needn’t know that. “Exactly.”

  Gavin’s black brows slashed down to meet in a V above his nose. “And you have no such suitor?”

  “Oh, I have one. Mr. Taylor himself.” She let the surprise show on Gavin’s face before she continued. “He’s asked me to marry him, more than once actually. I’ve only learned today why he’s been so eager to get me to the parson.”

  He rose, paced. “I must say I’m damned stunned.”

  “Well, let me assure you now, Brock Taylor is the last man I would ever consent to marry. He merely wants my land and will contrive some affair of the heart to get it. He is both deceitful and despicable. Do yourself a favor and withdraw from this project. Without my land, it cannot happen.”

  Gavin nodded. “And this affair of the heart? You must have reciprocated the feeling in some fashion, else you would not be quite so angry.”

  Maddie felt a hot flush charge from her shoulders, to her neck, her cheeks. She ignored it with a proud toss of her head. “I do not like being played for a fool.”

  Anger hardened his expression. “Nor, cousin, do I.”

  #

  It was early that evening when Brock reached Ashdown Manor. Agitated, he vacillated between panic and fury. He paid scant notice to the orange sunset, the chirping crickets, or the spring dusk. He felt only the anger roaring in his temples. How in the hell had Maddie learned about his interest in the railroad and his need for her land?

  Flinging himself from his mount, Brock stalked toward the door. He wasn’t entirely certain what he could say to Maddie. While it was true he must have her land to build the railroad, that wasn’t his sole interest in her. As he hated to admit it, even to himself, Maddie was the fever he could not shake. The woman he wanted to shelter and protect. But after last night, after feeling her slick, silken flesh enclose him, after hearing her jagged sighs and sharp cries of passion, he wanted more. Everything. And he wanted her now, regardless of the fact he was furious with her.

  Damn, what an idiot he was.

  Why had she gone to Cropthorne with her newfound knowledge, rather than taking it to him? And why couldn’t he get her out of his blood?

  Raking his tense hands through his hair, Brock sighed, doing his best to forget both his lust and his last uncomfortable interview with Cropthorne. He’d managed to retain the duke as a partner—barely. Brock had had to talk fast, convince the man that he hadn’t purposely omitted the truth as much as kept a personal matter as personal as he could. He’d hinted that he and Maddie had quarreled. Cropthorne had given him one month to persuade Maddie to marry him. Otherwise, he and his money would find another investment.

  Damn! In the previous month, he’d made precious little progress in gaining Maddie as a wife. He hoped like hell he could accomplish much more in the next four weeks.

  As Brock stood before the solid oak door, he did his best to compose his thoughts. He had to turn her anger around and convince her to marry him—somehow—using any means at his disposal.

  He knocked. Within moments, her ever-present butler Matheson bowed and greeted, “Mr. Taylor.”

  “Hello, Matheson. Is your mistress at home?”

  “No, sir. Shall I tell her that you called upon her?”

  Double damn! He must find Maddie, talk some sense into her, make her see why a marriage between them would be good financially—and sexually. She had to know that. If she didn’t, Brock would be more than happy to demonstrate that fact for her again.

  “No,” he said to the butler. “I’m sure I shall find her soon.”

  Matheson bowed his graying head. “As you wish. Good evening, Mr. Taylor.”

  “Mr. Taylor?” called an older woman’s spry voice beyond the portal.

  A plump, wrinkled hand grabbed the door and shooed Matheson away. Then she peeked her head around the door to peer at Brock. Graying curls framed a round face. Atop her head, she wore a silly hat topped with angels dancing in a field of flowers.

  Despite his anxiety, Brock found he had to repress a smile.

  “So, you are the Mr. Taylor? My, what a handsome devil you are. Well, don’t stand there. Come in. Come in.”

  The woman opened the door wide and waved him inside. He had no idea who she was, but if she lived with Maddie and could give him information, he would follow.

  He trail
ed her down the familiar, shabby foyer with its fading blue paint and carpets, into the parlor in which Maddie always greeted him. He scanned the comfortable room, disappointed not to find Maddie about. He’d half hoped she’d instructed Matheson to lie.

  “Oh, where are my manners?” quipped the older woman. “You must think me gauche. I am Mrs. Bickham. Maddie’s mother was my sister.”

  When the elderly lady thrust her gloved hand toward him, Brock took it and bowed. “A pleasure, Mrs. Bickham.”

  “The pleasure is mine, dear boy. This morning when Maddie arrived home, she told us all about the manner in which you helped bring about Aimee’s safe return. I cannot tell you how grateful I am, we all are.”

  “I did very little—”

  “You are far too modest. Reuniting a mother and child; that is far more than nothing, I tell you.”

  Before she even finished speaking, Brock became aware of Mrs. Bickham’s shrewd blue gaze sizing him up and down. Clearly, she was a woman with something on her mind. The question was, what?

  “A pity we did not meet sooner,” she went on. “I was in India with family when you resided at Ashdown. But we can rectify all of that now. Come to dinner Tuesday next. Yes, that will do quite well.”

  Dinner? Mrs. Bickham invited him to join the family for a meal? Did she know he had once labored here?

  “You look confused, you dear boy. May I be plain?”

  Brock found himself all but gaping. “Please do.”

  “Maddie has been alone too long and needs a good man to care for her. That despicable Sedgewick—oh, the things I would do to that impertinent rogue if he still lived! A nasty tongue and a nasty temper that one had. But Maddie must put all of that behind her now.”

  Brock stared at the older woman in surprise. So, she had disliked Sedgewick? Excellent. Dare he hope she encouraged himself as her next husband? She sounded as if she did. An ally close to Maddie would be most helpful.

  “Indeed,” he agreed non-committally.

  “She says you have offered her marriage.” Again, that shrewd glance took his measure. She smiled as if she liked what she saw.

  “More than once.”

  Mrs. Bickham positively beamed. “Excellent! Wait until I tell Vema,” she squealed. Then as if realizing her error, she cleared her throat and tried her best—without success—to look firm. “So you’ll come Tuesday next? I’m quite certain that Vema, Matheson, and I will be much too busy after supper to visit for long. Maddie will simply have to entertain you herself.”

  Brock was certain now that Mrs. Bickham indeed encouraged his suit of Maddie. And if the older woman wanted to offer him an advantage, he would take it. He would see Maddie before then, but another opportunity to persuade, cajole, ramrod, or seduce the lovely redhead to the altar was an opportunity he would never refuse.

  He smiled at the older woman. “I would be delighted.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Brock paced the carpeted floors of the Paddington cottage in long, angry strides, alternately cursing and pacing. An hour past, he’d removed his coat and cravat. They lay discarded and wrinkled on the garish pink sofa. His tense fingers had raked a well-used path through his short hair. When would she come so they could talk?

  Brock yanked his pocket watch from his waistcoat, but the dark of night pressing through the windows told him the hour grew late indeed. Damn it, Maddie hadn’t answered his summons. With every moment that passed, he feared she had no intent to reply with anything but silence, forcing him into an action he had yet to decide upon.

  Even if she appeared in the next few minutes, Brock wasn’t entirely certain what he would say. He did need her land—desperately. But she was in his blood now. He ached for her. He wasn’t letting her go.

  The click of the cottage door sent him skidding to a stop. He whirled about and strode, hell bent for the door. Maddie stood there in her usual disguise. But the shapeless woolen cloak could not hide her lush body from his hungry gaze. He remembered far too well every soft curve and provocative swell. Damn! Concentrating on his explanation would gain him far more than thinking about the feel of her breasts in his hands.

  Brock watched Maddie remove her widow’s hat and veil. With dim firelight at his back, he had no trouble discerning the taut curves of her mouth and the firm line of her jaw—or perhaps it was the chill in her gray gaze—that bespoke her fury with terrible, perfect elegance.

  His fingers made the familiar trek through his hair again. “Now that you’ve come, we must talk.”

  “That is not so,” said Maddie, removing the cloak and draping it across the nearby banister. “I will talk, and you will listen.”

  Apparently she’d come to fight; Brock was ready. “I hold your promissory notes.”

  “I can ruin your little railroad.”

  “You damn near have,” he snarled.

  Maddie approached on silent feet, her smile as cold as her eyes. “No, I merely forewarned my cousin to steer clear, particularly since that land will never be yours. The Times, however, might be most interested in hearing all about your attempts to press a poor widow into marriage by the most dastardly means of seduction.”

  It was Brock’s turn to smile as he approached Maddie and walked around her in a slow circle. “Really? Wouldn’t those same readers be interested in your scandalous agreement to meet me at midnight every night? Though it’s a long time between now and the year Aimee will want a husband, the ton tends to remember such tidbits, don’t you agree?”

  Maddie’s face flared with fury. “You bastard! I have no trouble believing you would do that.”

  “If you intend to ruin my name without listening to my reasons, then yes. You leave me no choice.”

  Maddie’s sharp inhalation and the stiff arms she thrust across her chest told Brock she was defiant and angry. It bothered him. He tried to ignore it. He tried hard. This was supposed to be business.

  True, but Maddie had never been just business, and he knew it.

  Despite his best resolve, he softened and grasped her shoulders with a sigh. “I do need the land; I cannot deny that. However, the other reasons I gave you for wanting you as my wife still stand. Your social placement will help my business, open doors for me.”

  “You might have told me about the land,” she bit out.

  “If I did, I knew you would defy me on principle alone.”

  Maddie nodded, conceding that fact. But her glare didn’t stop. “You think I am the means to an end, your pot of gold?”

  He didn’t. Brock knew he should probably hold back a confession of anything more. But he couldn’t. And if the truth affected Maddie as he hoped, his admission might work in his favor.

  “I want you far too much for that.”

  Maddie tensed, gray eyes hard. “You want money.”

  Brock leaned in close, until he could smell her, nearly taste the plump moistness of her lips. His concentration blurred in a rise of heat and awareness.

  “I want everything. I especially want you—every sweet, flushed, aching inch of you. Every day, every night, in every way imaginable.”

  Maddie gave a soft gasp, her eyes widening.

  Fingers clasped around her shoulders, Brock brought her against him, until their mouths were a breath apart. Maddie’s tense stance didn’t change, but her eyes... yes, they darkened, dilated. Her breathing quickened.

  Brock bent his head to close the gap between their mouths. With a cry, Maddie wrenched away.

  “I want nothing to do with you,” she declared, chest heaving with a deep breath.

  The rush of denial and anger her avowal created only fueled his resolve. He would not give up. He would marry her. He would taste her again and again.

  “I can change that, Maddie.”

  “No! You have made my life hell for the past month. I will not be your convenient means to fortune. I will not be used.” She clenched her fists at her side. “Get out of my life and leave me be!”

  He sauntered closer to her again. “I c
an’t do that, Maddie. I won’t.”

  Maddie heaved a sigh of frustration. “What do you want, my blood? Do you want to own me? Or do you simply enjoy making me miserable?”

  Brock felt her anger climbing, but where was all his resentment of her and her marriage to Colin Sedgewick now? Gone, he feared, in a single night of straining kisses, needy caresses, and tender lovemaking. He had yearned for her every day they’d been apart. He’d masked his unfulfilled longing with anger, animosity. Now, all that had burned away and he only felt desire and need.

  Frustration mounted. “I presented you with a sincere offer of marriage. Regardless of whether you like or believe my motives, I require an answer.”

  Maddie glared at him, fury shimmering from her. “Go to hell.”

  “I’m there, sweet girl,” he shot back. “You went to my chief investor and nearly managed to convince him to withdraw his funding. You’ve made your contempt for me known at nearly every moment this last month. As far as I’m concerned, we are even. It also leaves us back at the beginning of our recent association. You owe money to me. So I will ask you once more, do you wish to become a wife or a debtor?”

  She glared at him, full mouth curled in a triumphant smile. “Neither, you blackguard. I have no intent to marry you. And though you may be mostly heartless, I believe last night shows that you will not send Aimee or me to the Fleet. Therefore, I shall pay you as I’m able and ask you to never darken my door again. Goodbye, Mr. Taylor.”

  Maddie whirled away, her stride purposeful. Her soft scent lingered. Brock caught her arm and pulled her back, until she rested flush against him. She struggled, and he put his other arm across her waist to subdue her. The hammer of her heartbeat knocked against his arm, matching the rhythm of his own.

  She had called his bluff. He panted, his mind racing. Damn, now what?

  Though Brock wanted to deny the truth, Maddie was right—he could not send her and Aimee to the Fleet any more than he could send his own father. He didn’t want to see them suffer.

  But how to keep her close? How to persuade her marriage was the best course? She had already turned down the lure of money and security. He had no family name to recommend him. Bloody hell, why did others wed?