All's Fair in Love and Seduction (6 page)

“I wager we will muddle through this well enough.” One way or another.

“You are a true gentleman. Thank you.” Lady Windmere took his hand and gave it an affectionate squeeze. “Things have not been easy for Cousin Margaret these last several years. That’s Elizabeth’s mother. I don’t know how she would handle such a scandal.”

“Where is she from, your cousin?” he asked. He knew practically nothing of her except the taste of her lips, the firm softness of her breasts, how she felt pressed up against him.

“Penkridge. It’s a tiny village in Staffordshire. I’m sure you’ve never heard of it.”

Derek stilled. Not only had he heard of the town but he’d had cause to go there six winters ago. That’s when the past rose up to sully the present. Margaret. That had been the name of the mother. The bank draft had been made out to Mr. Joseph Smith, a local solicitor of meager means and three daughters. He knew only the name of the eldest—the calamity had given him good cause to never forget it—Madeline.

“Her father, what is his occupation?” He strived to keep the urgency from his voice.

The countess shot him a surprised look. She knew him well enough to know he wasn’t the sort to stand on ceremony and was a man who would never judge another by his station in life. “Cousin Joseph is a solicitor. But I don’t believe he retained his practice since he came into the barony.”

For several seconds Derek remained silent, schooling his features as he endeavored not to give any indication of how great an impact what she’d just revealed had on him.

He’d been duped, played for the veriest fool. And the irony did not escape him that he’d been nearly caught in the same trap he’d helped his brother escape years before.

Now the younger sister had him on the hooks and thought to reel him in with the ease of an accomplished fisherman. She told him she’d be ruined if he did not marry her, her family’s name dragged through the gutter that was the
ton’s
gossip mill.

Ruined. For a kiss.

By God, if she was to be ruined, it shouldn’t be over a paltry kiss. No, he’d show her the true meaning of ruin.

Chapter Six

The following day, when Lord Creswell asked her if she’d like to visit Kensington Gardens, Elizabeth was surprised. Flowers, trees and acres upon acres of lush greenery were not the sort of things she’d thought would interest him. But upon their arrival, Missy and James firmly in tow, she’d immediately understood why the viscount had chosen that particular venue. 

This was the sort of public place that offered privacy in the midst of a thriving metropolitan city like London. It made one think of the country.

Large elms surrounded a picturesque flower garden directly in front of the palace where a good two dozen people strolled, the ladies holding their parasols in a death-like grip as if fearing mere word of the sun shining high in the sky would wreak havoc on their pristine white skin.  

Elizabeth peeked up at the viscount. They’d separated from Missy and James a minute ago and he’d been excessively quiet, not that she knew him well enough to make the observation, but somehow she just
knew
.

“Are you, by any chance trying to read me, Miss Smith?” He spoke quietly enough to soothe a child to sleep or quite contrarily cause a woman to abandon every last one of her inhibitions to hear him speak to her again and again.  

She did not have the luxury of abandoning anything. With her reputation hovering on the precipice of respectability, mistakes would not be afforded her. Lady Danvers had seen to that. 

“You have been quiet. I was pondering at the cause.” She could be frank about this. 

The white of his teeth glinted like a pearl catching the ray of the sun as a smile tugged the corners of his mouth upward. 

Elizabeth was immediately short of breath. She wanted to remove her gloves. It had grown overly warm in the past minute. 

“And I was pondering the exact same thought about you.”

He was right in that. 

“So tell me, Miss Smith, where is it you hail from? Cartwright has told me your father recently came into a barony and this is your first Season.”

Personal questions, as inevitable as her next shaky breath, but how forthcoming could she be with him without him guessing the truth? This was a minefield she had to cross with pinpoint precision. One wrong step…

“I live in Wilton.” 

They walked slowly, truly barely walking at all. The wide path meandered through towering Hawthorns and horse-chestnut trees. There were couples and children’s giggles and excited cries off in the distance, all in their own secluded world. 

As were they. Or so it seemed. 

“Wilton you say? I’ve had cause to go there a time or two.” He didn’t expound on his statement and fearing further discussion on the subject would lead them down a far more dangerous path than the one they traversed today, Elizabeth was content to leave it at that. 

“So tell me, Miss Smith, why did you allow me to kiss you if you weren’t hoping to secure a good marriage for yourself?”

He asked it oh so casually, as insouciantly as if society hadn’t been founded on certain moral codes and forms of address.  She should have been offended. And she didn’t know he
hadn’t
meant to offend. There was something today, something different, in his piercing gaze, as if he were measuring her like a tailor did his clients, knowledgeable enough in the subject to accurately guess the breadth, width and length of the cut. 

Had he meant to catch her off guard? Fray her with his candor. 

“I’m certain you know the answer to that? Have you chanced upon a mirror of late? Has no woman before succumbed to your looks and charms? I certainly can’t be the first and I very much doubt I shall be the last. Although, I shan’t tolerate an faithless husband.” 

Such impertinence. But it was best she laid her expectations of marriage bare for him to ponder. 

His black brows rose slowly. He stopped right there in the middle of the path and observed her as if she was a puzzle he was trying to solve. And Lord above, he even did
that
in such a way that caused every nerve in her body to quiver as if touched. 

It was difficult not to be aware of him in that very visceral, basic way, but with his penetrating stare, that awareness was ratcheted up several notches. She was cinched into her corset, her petticoats riffled between her silk walking dress. But for all the fine muslin and silk, she felt bare under his stare. Naked and wholly exposed. 

“To look at you, I would never imagine you could be so…frank.” He spoke softly, almost as if he’d inadvertently uttered his thoughts aloud.  “Are you this frank about everything, I wonder.”

It wasn’t precisely a question, but the way he regarded her indicated he expected an answer. 

“I suppose I am.” Was that her voice, so small and timid-like? Half-truths did rather come out that way, didn’t they? 

“And fastidiously honest?” 

Had he shot her with an arrow, the question couldn’t have pierced her more. But she soldiered on. There would come a right time for that particular confession. Here and now was neither the time nor place. 

“I would like to consider myself so.” Which was not a lie. Up to this point in her life, she had been fastidiously honest. In any case, she hadn’t lied to him. An omission wasn’t precisely an untruth. 

He resumed walking, his long legs encased in fine navy wool, carried him easily and steadily down the path. The infinitesimal pause in his stride she presumed was for her benefit, so could catch up with him, which she did without thought. 

With his attention focused directly in front, he offered her his profile. If she was a painter, she’d like nothing better than to paint him for he had one of those faces. His nose was perfectly shaped for his squared-jawed face; not too large or too small. And dare she even look at his mouth too long, her center would ache, the pulling sort that compelled a body to do something to either satisfy it or make it cease at once.  

She was staring at him rather boldly now. There was nothing not to like about his face. Nothing. 

Aware he was being intently observed, he angled a glance down at her, his eyebrow raised. As if he knew her thoughts and was thusly amused by them.

“Like what you see?” 

A question only the most arrogant man would ask of a lady. 

Elizabeth refused to blush, cooling her cheeks with the force of her will. “If I said that I do, would you think me too forward?”

The path rose to a gentle sloping hill. He didn’t speak until they’d crested the top. The sun dappled the leaves with brilliant white light and skittered across his head making his hair take on a sheen that reminded Elizabeth of newly shined, black Hessian boots. 

“Are you this frank with all the men you meet, Miss Smith, or am I the exception? Should we marry, I would hate to think that my wife can be so easily led by a handsome face, some whispered words and she’d be fair taking for one and all.” 

Elizabeth came to a halt with the jarring suddenness of a wall going up directly in front of her. Her mouth sagged and an assaulted breath expulsed from her mouth. Although, he posed a question, there was no mistake it had been a warning. She took her time forming her response in her mind before speaking them aloud.

“By the same token, my lord, I too hope you aren’t as easily led. Speaking for myself, I know I have kissed only one man…ever. And I have met my share of handsome gentlemen. Can you say the same?
Should
we marry—and it would appear you have some question that we shall—do I need to worry about you taking liberties in the gardens with every woman who strikes
your
fancy?”

Elizabeth had worked herself into a righteous indignation that had her chest falling and rising rapidly. 

In the distance, a child’s playful shriek rippled the air. The viscount waited until silence wafted over them before he replied, “
Touché
. And if it will put your mind at rest, I don’t normally kiss women I don’t know. And I’ve never done so at a ball—at least not since I was much younger. You mightn’t think it, but I’m usually overly cautious in guarding my personal affairs.”

And just like that, her anger died. “Yet you kissed me.” The viscount had taken a big risk kissing her as he had. Which meant
something
did it not? 

“Yes, I kissed you.” His eyes were half-mast now as they focused on the very place he’d kissed. Her mouth. 

But no, she couldn’t permit it. This was her seduction not his. And by the look on his face, his would be carnal lust, scorching kisses and unadulterated passion. The nature of those very emotions would incinerate everything, pull the focus from where it ought to be, which was them getting to know each other. 

“So tell me, my lord, what are you interests? Are you an avid hunter?” Lord, she hoped not. She quite despised it as pure sport, the shooting of helpless animals. 

He lifted his gaze from her mouth and his own curved the barest little bit as he looked into her eyes.
I will drop the subject of the kiss…for now
, his smile seemed to say.

“No, I’m not a hunter. Gave my father palpitations when he realized it. I don’t think he ever forgave me for it,” he said, with a quiet chuckle.

His father had died three years ago. The news had filtered back to her parents in Penkridge, which was how she’d come by the knowledge. Her sympathies had immediately gone out to the viscount and she’d thought of him often in the following months, wondering how he was bearing his grief. 

“No, I’d rather work with my hands.”

She searched his expression for signs of mockery but found none.

“I make things out of wood. Carve them,” he elaborated quickly.

Now this intrigued her. A man who was good with his hands. In other ways.

Miss Smith was good. Very good. If her sister had even half her…charms, it was no wonder his brother had become so smitten with her. But with foresight came the ability to guard himself against whatever spell she was hoping to cast over him. Her interest in him was hardly genuine. She was playing a role the way she was no doubt instructed to play. 

And why he’d even told her about the hobby he taken up as a boy, he didn’t know. So very few of his friends knew of his love of carving. 

“What sorts of things do you make?” 

She was better than good; she could star in her very own play on Drury Lane. But he’d indulge her until he decided just what to do with her.  

 “Animals. Sometimes people if I find them interesting enough.”

She smiled at that, a tiny dimple appearing at the corner of her mouth. He idly wondered what it would be like to kiss her there, taste the soft concave skin with his tongue. He could feel himself hardening, which annoyed him more than a little bit.  

“What kind of wood do you use?” 

“Lime.” 

“Why lime?” 

Since she was making such a good show of it, he’d indulge her a little longer. “Because it is a soft wood, easy to work with and has very little grain.” 

She appeared genuinely pleased by the information as if digesting something of great value. “And are you very good?”

The breeze tangled with the ribbon of her bonnet, sending it rippling languidly over the brim. She batted it away with a gloved hand. 

“Have you seen the Statue of David?” he asked.

“I’ve seen pictures in a book.” She now looked suitably impressed.

“Well I’m not
that
good.”

When she let out a burst of laughter, Derek realized how much he’d wanted to hear that sound. He loved the slight throatiness of her voice, the way her eyes danced and her shoulders shook.  And her smile…captivated him. 

“I would love to see your work one day.” She held the errant red laced ribbon in her grasp to keep it out of her face as she stared up at him. 

He stopped and led her a few feet to stand beneath a horse-chestnut tree whose knotted trunk was bigger than the rear wheels on his barouche. “Would you like some help with that?” he asked, pointing to her ribbon.