The Problem with Seduction (4 page)

Now when she looked at him, she felt only her own revulsion.

Nicholas waved for her to precede him into her drawing room. Her spine stiffened. “This is my house,” she reminded him, angry that he would attempt to direct her in her own home.

He sighed. His fine brown eyes were weary. “Must you always think I’m out to get you? I merely came to discuss my son.”

She entered the drawing room and turned her back to him while she collected herself.
He’d never loved her. Not even a little.
“He’s not yours,” she lied.

It wasn’t that she wanted to keep Oliver from his father—the very thought made her want to weep, for she’d lived the last ten years of her own life without a word from her own father. But Nicholas had no use for
her,
the mother of his child, any more than he’d had use for her affection when it had been just the two of them. He’d been content to send her out on her ear almost the moment he had Oliver in his possession. He’d not even cared that she’d spent her first week after in a haze of grief, barely able lift herself from the lumpy mattress of a room she’d let above a common tavern. If he knew she’d been forced to return to Celeste’s cottage in Devon and the staff keeping house there, he’d never given an indication. He simply didn’t care about her.

The door closed behind them. It seated like the hollow
thump
in her chest. She didn’t turn to face him. How could she? He’d broken her heart. Taken her son without a single thought for the agony it would cause her—like having her own arm, or her very heart, ripped from her.

“Tell me it’s rubbish.” His voice was low. Not menacing. Hurt, possibly. As if it stung him to think she might have taken another lover—but no. It was because he wanted Oliver. Wouldn’t accept that the boy was not his own. “I believed that cocky little whelp at first,” Nicholas said, “but I’ve had time to think about it. You wouldn’t have strayed. You were in love with me.”

Oh, she
had
been. She’d loved him so much she’d thought she would die from the pain of his betrayal. She waved her hand through the air, turning slowly toward him. “You had no loyalty from me.”

His eyes went cold. “We had an agreement. That included your chastity.”

“You
never
had sole claim on my time.”

She hated the way she sounded. Bitter.

He advanced two steps. “I paid for you. You had a legal obligation to me.”

“Even if you were in
her
arms?” Elizabeth couldn’t keep the bitterness from her voice now. “You thought I would pine alone while you rolled around in some other woman’s bed?”

 “It was my right.” He scowled. “Why else would I pay your rates?”

Because you loved me.
A foolish thought to have. What made it all the worse, however, was that he was right. She
had
lain in her bed, night after night, wishing he would come to her. Hating that he’d taken another courtesan in his arms. Hating herself, for loving a man who could not have given his whole heart to her had he even wanted to.

“I should never have believed you were with him.” Nicholas muttered. He said
him
as though just thinking about Lord Constantine put a bad taste in his mouth. For one brief, stupid second, Elizabeth hoped he was jealous. “You never gave any indication…” He shook his head. He stared at the floor as if the world were shifting beneath his feet. Then his chin lifted until he was looking her full in the face again. What she saw there sent a chill through her entire body.

“That silly fop made me look like a fool in front of everyone. But…the thing of it is,
Elizabeth,
I don’t think he has the brains to have come up with such a devious plot. Lord Constantine is a puppy. A little boy hanging on his brothers’ coattails. You would never have turned to his bed, even if you had wanted to get me back.” Nicholas advanced one more step. It was enough to bring the masculine, heart-twistingly familiar smell of him near. “You panted after me for too long, Elizabeth. I cannot believe you would have strayed, even for one night.”

She held her ground, but allowed her face to reveal all the years she’d spent pining after a man who’d never wanted her. “He was kind to me. I believed he might…”

Nicholas’s condescension dripped from his voice. “Never say you thought he loved you.”

But she’d struck something. He turned away, his broad shoulders sagging a fraction. Enough to make her think she’d drawn his attention to the one weakness that might
have
sent her into the arms of another.

“Of course I didn’t,” she scoffed, though the thought of a man telling her he loved her caused her chest to ache. “A man doesn’t fall in love simply because his prick finds solace. I
believed
he could come to love me, though. It was enough to bring us together…for the night.”

Nicholas froze. Then he drew himself up and faced her. “Was it worth it? Was cuckolding me worth your silly sentiments?”

Her laugh was brittle. “Only a wife can cuckold a man.”

Nicholas’s dark brow lowered as he scowled viciously. “Your tongue is as sharp as ever.”

At least he was no longer talking about Oliver or her heart. She thinned her lips in a satisfied smile. “Thank you.”

“My dearest Beth, what a smart mouth you have.” He bared his teeth in satisfaction when she flinched at his pet name for her. “I think you’re a lying little whore. A brilliant one. It would seem that my hands are tied for the moment. I have no proof that Oliver is my son, but you have thirty men who saw me stupidly accept the idea that Lord Constantine warmed your bed. Even I don’t know what to believe.” He loomed toward her. She didn’t retreat, for he’d only enjoy chasing her. “What could have drawn you to a boy, when you’ve had a man under your skirts?” He grasped her shoulders and pulled her to his body.

She recoiled. He’d taken her
baby.
Brutally, without so much as a good-bye. He’d been crass about his new conquests. Did he not know how thoroughly he’d hurt her with his philandering? Publicly? He’d never given her feelings the least bit of consideration, and now she was to melt into his arms in a state of passion?

Surprise crossed his features. Then they steeled. “Don’t pretend you don’t like it, Beth. I know you better than that. One day, you’ll remember you still love me. And then you will bring my son back. I want you to do it yourself.” With that, he released her and crossed the room to leave. At the door, he stopped long enough to glance at her over his shoulder. “I suggest you start remembering how good it used to be between us, because I
am
going to have my son back. A boy belongs with his father. There’ll be no rest for me until you’ve undone your mistake.”

Chapter Three

CONSTANTINE WENT ABOUT the next few days as though he hadn’t been tossed out of Elizabeth’s townhouse at all. He was the same indolent bachelor he’d always been, and an impoverished gentleman behaved much like a fantastically wealthy one, visiting his coffeehouse, attending luncheons at the homes of friends who had stayed on in the city, and watching the same Drury Lane play each night until he knew the lines by rote. Summer was a decidedly boring time of year in London.

But Devon, and the family seat over which his brother presided, was deathly boring any time of year. The Alexanders preferred Town, and though they must scrape together every shilling required to keep the house they shared here, frugality simply wasn’t worth the boredom of living in the country.

He skipped up the five steps to their door and let himself in to the bachelor residence. Roman, his eldest brother and the marquis, retained a skeletal staff when their mother wasn’t in town. Con preferred that arrangement. He liked to be left alone, and blast it, sometimes he wanted his coat to be right where he left it, draped over the back of a couch or hanging from a chair.

Since their mother
was
in town, however, he tried to appear dutifully chastened when a footman startled from his post and rushed forward. “Good afternoon, my lord. I would have opened the door if…” Alvey shifted his eyes helplessly. He obviously wanted to make amends, but how could he without pointedly telling Con to rap his fist once in a while?

Con smiled and tossed his hat to the beleaguered servant. “Not to worry yourself. The fault was mine.” Then he put his finger to his lips. “But not so loud, if you don’t mind. I don’t need the excitement of being announced.”

The footman nodded his head in vigorous agreement and held out his hand for Con’s greatcoat. Con sighed as he shrugged out of it and turned it over, after all. When he wanted his coat later, he’d have to ask for it back. But there was a certain standard of living expected of a marquis’ household, and Con had enough brothers who insisted appearances be maintained for their mother’s sake to know when an argument simply couldn’t be won.

Thus divested of his outerwear, he sneaked past the front rooms, as he’d done since he was a youth. The problem with having four brothers—
one
of the problems with having four brothers—was the absolute lack of privacy. One would think that a household of males would find each in his own corner, brooding or what-have-you, a glass of brandy in hand, improving his mind in the library, or whiling away the hours playing a solo game of billiards.

He knew better. Four brothers, three older and one eleven minutes younger, meant four men vying to lord over him. A total of five men in the house who each believed they knew what was best for the family. It meant living with four other men whose pride must be protected, or at least considered. It meant being taken to task daily by opinionated fellows who cared more about his goings-on than he did.

He made it to the kitchen without being detected and rifled through the covered dishes in the pantry until he located a hunk of bread and a mug of lemonade. He paused at the table to eat it. Mistake. He heard the footfalls before Tony appeared in the doorway, but it was too late. He was trapped.

Though his older brothers Antony and Bart were also identical twins, from their curling brown hair to their blue eyes and broad-shouldered, military bearing, Con could easily tell them apart. Tony was the one with the stick farthest up his ass. “It’s been a week,” Tony said without preamble.

Con didn’t have to feign bemusement. With Tony, one never knew what he’d done wrong this time. “Since?”

Tony crossed his arms over his chest and proceeded to frown. “It’s worse than I thought if you don’t even remember you have a son now
.
”

Ah, that.
“These things happen,” he replied, taking a drink of lemonade. It should have been something stronger for this conversation. He was up to his elbows in a lie that was beginning to feel like quicksand. What could he do about it?

Tony entered the kitchen with the same sense of purpose he used to take his seat as a Member of Parliament or to approach the water closet. “No, they don’t. Not to us. You’re almost thirty years of age. What possessed you to be so—so stupid?”

Ten thousand pounds, to be precise.
But then he’d have to admit to his older brother that he’d been pennies away from ending up in the gaol, again, and that didn’t seem like a true improvement on this conversation. “She’s very pretty,” he said instead, taking another draught. He couldn’t keep his eyes from flicking to the pantry. Would there be sherry in there, or even a cheap bottle of wine? Not that he was one for over-imbibing, but this little
tête-à-tête
wasn’t going to end well, he could tell.

“Elizabeth Spencer is the daughter of an earl. A lady.” Tony’s blue eyes held steadily, as though he could burn his point into Con’s brain by sheer will.

Con squirmed. “She’s a courtesan.”

Tony’s stare deepened. “And how can you afford a courtesan?”

Con contained a grimace. That was an obvious question he had no answer for. “Not a ‘courtesan’ as in I paid for her services, but I mean she’s good for a tumble or two when she’s feeling blue-deviled, so I don’t see why it matters if her father is an earl.” Blast, that didn’t make him sound heroic, did it?

Tony indicated the breadcrumbs and empty mug with a flick of his gaze. “Let’s go to the library.”

“I’m happy here, thank you for asking.”

Tony ignored his cheek. “We need to discuss this as a family. Or do you not consider your son a family matter?”

Lord, he hated Tony’s superciliousness. What was worse was that he hadn’t actually done anything wrong this time…at least not with respect to fathering an illegitimate child. He did possess
some
scruples.

Not that he could explain that without also explaining he’d lived up to their low expectations of him, again. He’d done this to himself, again. Just thinking about the sum of money he’d owed was enough to cause his forehead to go damp and his stomach to twist. He’d been right on the edge of the clink. Exactly where his older brothers expected him to be.

Not to mention that he’d promised her that he’d never tell. “Must you back me into a corner like that?” he grumbled. “You know I’m cursed if I agree with you and cursed if I don’t.”