A Season of Seduction (11 page)

Assuming that she would agree to marry him, Garrett had already investigated Jack. Becky let out a nearly silent hiss of annoyance.

Keeping his hand in a solid clasp over hers, Jack gave an easy shrug, but his smile did not reach his eyes. “You are more than welcome to look into my private affairs as thoroughly as you wish. I will cooperate with all your requests.”

Garrett returned his gaze to Becky. “There was a scandal that forced Fulton to leave England for several years.”

“I am aware of that. He told me all about it.”

“Did he?”

She glanced at Jack, grateful they’d talked about this last night. “Mr. Fulton was falsely accused of a crime but the charges were dismissed, and in their embarrassment and ambition, his family sent him away in the hope that society would forget the scandal.”

“Did he tell you
why
he was implicated in the murder of the Marquis of Haredowne?”

“Yes, he told me that as well.”

“Did he tell you he was in love with the marquis’s wife?”

“Well…” She slid her gaze toward Jack. “No.”

“That isn’t exactly accurate,” Jack said, his tone flat. He released her hand.

Garrett’s icy blue gaze settled on Jack. “The lady’s name was Anne Turling. She’d married the Marquis of Haredowne less than a year earlier, and you made it known that you objected to the marriage and wanted the lady for yourself.”

Becky licked her lips and breathed steadily, in and out. Jack hadn’t exactly told her
that
.

Jack’s mouth tightened. He didn’t answer.

“So when the marquis was shot, all eyes turned to you.”

“But he didn’t do it.” Becky clenched her hands over the pamphlet in her lap. The page was still open to the caricature, and she tried not to look at it.

“No, he didn’t,” Garrett said, still staring Jack down. “The marquis was murdered outside his club in Chesterfield Street, and Fulton was at a bawdy house in Drury Lane at the time.”

Becky sat very still. He hadn’t told her he’d been visiting a whorehouse, either. But then again, why should he? It was none of her business that he was at a whorehouse, only that he hadn’t been present at the murder. He was a young rake. That was what all young rakes did, though they attempted to hide such things from the innocent ladies of society. She shouldn’t be shocked at all, for she was no innocent. She was a woman with experience far beyond her years, and she was aware of the profligacy that abounded in men of their class.

Garrett turned his gaze to Becky. “He was arrested, but there wasn’t a trial. The charge against him was dismissed on the grounds that a man cannot be in two places at once.”

Becky brushed her palms over her skirts as if to wash her hands of the matter. “I’ve no idea why we’re discussing this. He wasn’t guilty, and that’s what is most important. In any case, it’s irrelevant to the topic at hand.”

None of it should concern her. Not the fact that Jack had visited whorehouses, not the idea that Jack had been besotted with Anne Turling,
especially
not the revelation that Jack had wished to marry the woman. It was twelve years ago, for heaven’s sake.

“Lady Rebecca is right,” Jack said. “It is irrelevant. Those events occurred many years ago, and I’ve spent many years trying to forget them.”

Garrett leaned back in his chair. “The time after that unpleasant affair is somewhat of a blank, since you were at sea and no one could know anything of what transpired there besides the other sailors. However, when Tristan and I visited the docks this morning, we were able to locate a retired seaman from your ship, the
Gloriana
.”

“Were you?” Jack said without intonation.

“He described you as knowledgeable but quiet. Seems that while you were well liked, you kept to yourself, for the most part. He did mention a few episodes of onshore debauchery, but that signifies nothing.” Garrett shrugged. “I’d have been more concerned if there were none.”

“Are you finished?” Jack said tightly. Becky glanced at him. A dark bronze had suffused his tanned cheeks. She couldn’t blame him. No one liked having his privacy invaded, and Garrett was neither delicate nor subtle.

“These are things I already knew.” She waved her hand in dismissal. “Well, for the most part, in any case. They don’t affect my opinion of Mr. Fulton in the least.”

“I want you to know about the man’s past before we go forward, Rebecca.” Garrett clasped his hands atop his desk. “Despite the scandals and the debauchery, I don’t believe his intentions are malicious.”

Well, if that wasn’t a glowing recommendation from Garrett, Becky didn’t know what was. She didn’t believe Jack’s intentions were malicious either. Yet…

Jack locked his gaze to hers. “The past is over. I’m only looking toward the future.”

“How do you see your future, Jack?” she asked quietly.

“I see it here, in England. I want to make a home here, in the land where I was born.” He paused. “And I want to do it with you.”

“Why?”

“It’s not only because of the scandal. That was just the catalyst. I would have offered for you eventually, but it took what happened last night for me to open my eyes to the truth.”

Garrett shifted uncomfortably, but Jack ignored him. He slid off his chair and knelt before Becky, gathering both her hands in his own and squeezing them tight.

“I want to make things right. I want this. Please marry me. Please be my wife.”

He looked so adamant, so honest. His words were a silvery lure, a promise of something bright and shining, something she hadn’t thought herself worthy of since William’s death. Hope. Happiness. Love. All of it real, and even safe. For a glimmer of a moment, she believed she could open her heart, reveal her soul, lower her hard-won shields, and be safe with this man.

The temptation was nearly overwhelming. She sat silent for long moments, locked in a battle between heart, conscience, and common sense.

Yes
was on the tip of her tongue. It hovered there precariously, three little letters on the verge of tumbling out and sealing her fate forever.

She could stop the scandal. Salvage her reputation, and, more important, save her family from society’s retribution. She could do the right thing, what everyone expected, what her lessons from childhood taught her was the only acceptable resolution.

She gazed at Jack. His dark eyes and sun-kissed brown hair that grew to a subtle peak at the middle of his forehead. The structure of his bones—strong chin, straight nose, eyes slightly turned up at the edges. The shallow lines that feathered from their corners. The rounded curve of his bottom lip. Last night, she’d touched her tongue to that lip, tasted it. She’d taken it between her teeth and nipped it. Lord, how she’d wanted him. Still wanted him.

Yet his face—it was the face of a stranger.

She stared down at their entwined fingers. His hand was so much larger than hers, so much darker. So masculine, so different.

So foreign.

Common sense was a trait she hadn’t possessed four years ago. Without it she’d been lured into a miserable match with an evil man. Perhaps Jack wasn’t evil or even deceitful, but could she throw herself into another marriage so recklessly? Would she end in the same endless mire of loneliness and misery she’d felt after she’d married William and realized he’d never love her?

Jack squeezed her hand, hard, and her gaze snapped up. His lips—lord, those beautiful lips—thinned. “Becky?”

“I…” She shook her head.

He hissed out a breath.

Oh, Lord. Perhaps it made her selfish beyond endurance, but she couldn’t. She wouldn’t ruin her life yet again. Not even to show the world that she could hold her head high and take responsibility for her sins. Not even to end a scandal. Not even because this man could give her a life-altering orgasm with just a few strokes of his fingers.

For years, she’d believed herself incapable of loving again. And the truth was, she didn’t love Jack Fulton. How could she? She didn’t know him.

He didn’t love her, either. She saw the gentleness in his eyes. The admiration he felt for her. Certainly he possessed the desire to protect and care for her, even to make her happy. For some reason he truly believed he wanted to marry her. But he didn’t love her.

Maybe it was true that society viewed marriage as a transaction rather than a means of joining two compatible people who loved each other. But that didn’t make it right, or acceptable—not to Becky. Another woman of her class might go forward with this without a qualm, but long ago, Becky had realized she was different from most women.

As handsome and desirable as Jack Fulton was, no matter how he made her feel, she couldn’t marry him. She couldn’t ruin her life again. She couldn’t traipse into a marriage knowing she had no in-depth understanding of the man she shackled herself to.

“I… don’t know.” She sucked in a breath. “I need… I need time.”

Time was something Jack didn’t have.

“How much time?” he demanded.

She shook her head. “I couldn’t say.”

Panic welled in his gut. He couldn’t speak for a long moment.

Finally, he raised his head and stared at her. His voice was very quiet. “Why?”

“I told you before,” she said. “I don’t know you. Not well enough for—” She tore her hands from his and they flailed in a wild, all-encompassing gesture. “This.”

Jack ground his teeth from the effort not to shout that they’d gone over this already, that he’d already told her she knew as much about him as was important to know.

God, he wanted this woman. He lusted after her. He wanted her in his bed like no one he’d ever seen. Those mad primal urges to make her his, to protect and care for her, to
love
her, merged with his pressing need for her money. Together, they were more than enough to make him go to any lengths to win her.

“There is a deeper explanation,” Calton said. Jack looked over his shoulder at the duke as he continued, “Rebecca’s first husband was a blackguard, and not only that, he was insane. He was out to ruin me and steal her money. And those were the least of his sins. My sister’s hesitancy is completely understandable.”

Like a punch in the gut, it struck Jack how similar he was to Becky’s first husband, and he rocked back on his heels. He wasn’t out to ruin the Duke of Calton, but God knew he wanted—no,
needed
—Lady Rebecca’s money.

Yet he was different. He’d be damned if he would hurt her like the first bastard she’d married. She’d never need to know about the blackmail. He would make sure she didn’t, because if she found out, she’d see the similarity to her first husband. She’d see it as a betrayal. It would hurt her, and Jack didn’t want to see her hurt.

“I’m not that man.”

“No, you’re not him,” she agreed. “We didn’t know William at all and we gave him our trust, much to our detriment.” Becky offered him a faltering smile. “I have since learned that most people are good. It is a rare man indeed who can live up to the standard of treachery set by my first husband.”

“If you believe I’m not like him, then why do you hesitate?”

“I—” She bowed her head. “I just don’t know you well enough. As much as I believe in you—feel in my heart that you cannot be anything like him—I cannot take the risk.”

She sat more stiffly now, her hands clasped tightly in her lap, resting on that goddamned paper that made him want to go out and wring the smug little artist’s neck. The caricature infuriated him even while it played perfectly into his plan. Yet apparently, it hadn’t been enough.

He addressed the duke. “We agreed that marriage was the best course of action.”

“Yes,” Calton agreed. “But the choice is ultimately my sister’s.”

She exhaled a breath of relief, and for an instant, the devil in Jack regretted the fact that Calton gave her free choice in the matter.

“I told His Grace last night that I’ve no wish to see you suffer because of this, Becky,” Jack said, looking meaningfully at the pamphlet. “I don’t want anyone else to suffer, either.” He rested his hands on his knees as if he had nothing to hide. “And I want you. God… You must know how much I want you.”