A Warriner to Seduce Her

by Virginia Heath

‘So you are a spy?’

  ‘You’re a spy!’ Joe was flabbergasted.

  ‘That’s the long and short of it, yes.’

  There was a painful beat of silence while they all digested this, and then, of course, came the narrowed eyes. ‘What skills?’ Because Jack knew he possessed few and frequently lamented his lack of attempting to acquire more.

  ‘My way with the...ah...ladies.’ Saying it out loud made him feel like a doxy for hire, only it was the crown, not a client, who left the money on his nightstand.

  ‘You lucky devil!’ Joe threw his head back and laughed. ‘Only you would land a job which allowed you to be horizontal most of the time.’ He slapped him on the back jovially. ‘All these years we’ve nagged you about being a rake isn’t a career and all the while it was! That’s priceless. You’ve always had the luck of the devil.’

  ‘I wouldn’t call myself lucky. I hardly had a choice as to whom I...’ Oh, good grief, this was painful. For years he had told himself he was pleased with being a rake. He got to enjoy women without any of the messy complications, but now he felt sordid—a shameful philanderer, just as Fliss had first said.

  ‘The young lady upstairs, I take it she is one of your assigned conquests?’ Jack didn’t appear the slightest bit amused at his confession.

  ‘Yes. No!’ Jake ran an angry hand through his hair. ‘It’s complicated. I was sent to seduce her. Her uncle was involved in a major smuggling ring which we believe is funding Napoleon’s supporters. We had been trying for months to get deep into his inner circle and I was drafted in when they dragged Fliss into the mess.’

  ‘Fliss?’ Another cocked eyebrow. ‘How very cosy. Does she know you bedded her on the King’s shilling or are we expected to help you perpetuate the charade?’ As the devoted father of four girls, Jamie’s stormy expression conveyed his outrage at such a situation perfectly.

  ‘I haven’t bedded her and, if you must know, at this point in the proceedings I am highly unlikely to.’ Getting her to actually talk to him would be something. He and Fliss hadn’t exchanged anything other than essential words in days. It was as if she had erected an invisible yet impenetrable wall around herself, one which let most people in except Jake. This morning she had barely looked at him and the widening chasm between them was killing him. ‘She currently loathes me because she learned about the King’s blasted shilling. I wish I knew what to do to fix that!’ Three pairs of dark eyebrows rose at his frustrated tone and Jake wished he couldn’t speak fluent eyebrow, or that the world would suddenly be completely eyebrow free and thus spare him from reading the meaning of one ever again. Embarrassed, he went on the defensive. ‘Anyway, whether or not I bedded her is by the by. She’s in danger. Grave danger and it’s all my fault!’

  They listened intently as he told them all about Rowley, the murderous Londoner and the mysterious and ever-elusive Boss. Jake left nothing out of the whole sordid story, knowing that each of them deserved to know the full truth because he was bringing that danger to their door. Their families. His family. To their credit, none of his brothers passed comment when he told them how he had sought Fliss out, how he had teased information out of her or how he had allowed her to walk alone into the lion’s den after he had promised her he would help her. Three awful truths where he wished with all his heart he had behaved more honourably—as the three of them would have undoubtedly done in his shoes. By the end of the tale, he hoped he had adequately and dispassionately conveyed the seriousness of the situation. ‘If you want me to move her, I completely understand. Just let us rest here for a few hours because I am dead on my feet and I can’t protect her properly if I am not on my game.’

  Everyone looked to Jack to make the decision, just as they had always looked to Jack their whole lives, and he made them wait while he considered all the ramifications. ‘This affects you all. Jamie’s and Joe’s houses lie within the walls of Markham Manor.’ Both men nodded slowly. ‘If we do this—and it’s a big if at this stage—then I think it’s safest you all move back into the main house until the danger is past. It might also be prudent to attempt to convince the ladies to move away temporarily. For their safety.’ The second nod was less decisive as all three knew there was little chance of dislodging their devoted and determined spouses. Especially if they banded together, as they were prone to do, and dug their heels in. More silent seconds ticked by until his eldest brother pinned Jake with his stare. ‘Give me one good reason why we should invite trouble to our door for a stranger.’

  ‘Fliss is...she is...’ Emotion clogged Jake’s throat.

  ‘You love her.’ It was a statement, not a question.

  ‘With all my heart.’

  All three sighed in that matter-of-fact way he also loved about them and regarded him with pity. Joe and Jamie simultaneously wrapped strong arms about his shoulders while Jack huffed out a deep breath. ‘Then I suppose we need to start the preparations for a potential siege. Jamie, dust off your arsenal, I fear we might need it, and then we’ll tackle the ladies. I suspect your smugglers might be easier to defeat.’

  Chapter Eighteen

  Around the dinner table at Markham Manor, eating Letty’s traditional Foul à la Braise

  ‘Could you pass the salt?’ Too late Fliss realised it sat next to his hand. Jake smiled and passed it to her, but in her clumsy hurry to grab it as quickly as possible, their fingers brushed and she ended up yanking it away as if she’d been burned. Which she had. The instant warmth zinged up her fingers and bounced around all her nerve endings before blooming into an embarrassing blush on her cheeks. A blush she willed away by concentrating hard on sprinkling a few grains of the dratted salt over her potatoes. Good gracious, she had never felt so awkward, but then again she had never before sat down to a dinner with three strange women who had recently seen her blubbing like a baby and a scoundrel who had kissed her and made her fingers zing without trying and his entire family. It was beyond unnerving, yet apparently only to her. Nobody else appeared particularly fazed.

  According to her generous hostess, whenever there was a significant occasion, good or bad, the Warriners gathered together and ate chicken. It was a tradition and one which gave them strength, apparently, so Fliss found herself very much the centre of attention around their giant dining table. All the adults, aside from her vexing rescuer, were unsubtly watching the peculiar atmosphere between her and Jake.

  She had done her best to reassure the ladies after her bath that she and Jake were merely acquainted through circumstances and that she was nothing more than a mission to him. She was grateful for his rescuing her, of course she was, but that was the full extent of their brief and odd relationship. But then, when she had related everything which had happened to her in the last few weeks, her uncle’s treachery and the threat to her life by the Londoner, Fliss had conveniently left out how she had welcomed, then come to depend on, Jake’s friendship. In her story, they happened to collide. They never danced, or ran away and spent the day laughing at the Tower, and they certainly never shared an earth-shattering and inappropriate kiss in a hackney.

  In glossing over the truth she had hoped to maintain her dignity—the last thing she wanted was them knowing that most of those noisy tears had been shed because she was heartbroken. The constant knot in her chest she had carried since she had discovered he had been lying could be nothing else. And if she was brutally honest with herself, which of course she always was, she couldn’t be heartbroken unless she had given her heart in the first place and somewhere in a ballroom, or in Hyde Park or in the worst hackney in the world, Fliss had given Jake hers and he had stepped on it repeatedly—just as she had his feet during their one and only waltz. If only he wasn’t a professional liar and if only she had not been stupid enough to ask for salt! Her silly cheeks were still glowing crimson.

  Joe, the nearest brother in age to Jake, seemed to find the spectacle highly amusing and was making no attempt to dis
guise the fact he was studying their behaviour, much like an ornithologist would scrutinise rare nesting birds in the wild. Jack and Jamie were making a better show of uninterest, but even they had smiled at the salt incident. The wives put on a good show, but then they’d had a hand in placing her purposefully just opposite their untrustworthy brother-in-law and then distributed themselves specifically to get the best view, so that hardly counted. They all had their suspicions and she sincerely hoped Jake the Snake had been discreet in his own explanations. Surely he owed her that much?

  The other end of the table was worse, so Fliss tried her best to avoid glancing left. Daphne and Cressida, already pickled in several glasses of wine, were openly grinning at her gauche and guilty reactions and Jake’s feeble attempts to appear normal as he picked at his food. Periodically, though, his eyes would lock with hers and all manner of inappropriate emotions were visible in those intense swirling-blue depths. Each one of them doing strange things to her heart, which she was determined to harden against him and was failing to do with alarming frequency. Past him, several sets of identical bright-blue eyes were openly staring at her. All of them under the age of seven.

  It didn’t help that the nieces and nephews had insisted on sitting close to Jake, because he was a charmingly doting uncle with a wonderfully patient way with children. The sight of him so obviously affectionate and paternal was making her womb ache and her mind wonder. Damn him for being a natural father! Jake didn’t need any more points in his favour. That one was now noted alongside fiercely protective, quick witted, intuitive, devilishly handsome, always there when she needed him and a splendid kisser. Her heart wanted to add beautifully contrite and tortured in his remorse, but if she relented and added those then she would have to allow her sensible head to believe his sweet and heartfelt declaration of love was real when he had resolutely refused to meet her eyes when he said it, which meant she was doomed to surrender and he would have won. Although doomed didn’t seem half as bad now as it had a few days ago and a growing part of her was coming to hope he might give up his womanising ways if the right woman came along. Was she the right woman?

  Clearly, Fliss was now suffering from the blind naivety that had afflicted many of the wayward girls, Sister Ursuline and her own beloved mother, if she believed that nonsense, and she knew full well how all those liaisons had turned out.

  Badly.

  She had to be strong. Rise above her biological urges and uncharacteristic romantic tendencies. Ignore the persistent knot in her chest and the urgent call of her womb. Call of her womb! Biology was quickly becoming her least favourite science. He had not looked her in the eye and, deep down, she knew that meant he was probably lying. ‘How long do you think it will be before I can return home to Cumbria?’

  Jake’s head snapped up because they were the first words she had directed towards him since they had sat down half an hour ago. ‘I suppose that depends on how swiftly the Londoner decides to tie up the last remaining loose end.’ And there it was again, that fierce, protective gleam in his eyes. ‘When he is standing on the scaffold—unless he meets his maker before.’

  ‘What happens if you can’t find him?’

  ‘We’ll find him.’ Certainty. Roiling hatred on her behalf. ‘Until then, you are safe here. You don’t have to live in fear, Fliss.’

  ‘Can I call you Auntie Fliss?’ The eldest son of Letty and Jack asked this with the innocent face of an angel.

  ‘You may call me Fliss, as that is my name and we are friends now.’

  ‘But when you marry Uncle Jake you will be my aunt, won’t you?’ There was an audible hiss as the entire table collectively breathed in.

  Fliss didn’t dare look up. ‘I’m not marrying your uncle, poppet.’

  ‘Mama says you will. If Uncle Jake apologises properly.’

  Her eyes flicked to Letty, who had the good grace to look sheepish at the end of the table before she glowered at her son. ‘I did not say that, Jonathan!’

  ‘Well, if you didn’t Papa certainly did. I heard him discussing it with Uncle Jamie. He said it was about time the notches on his bedpost had finally caught up with him.’

  The eldest two Warriners’ eyes widened as they struggled to find the words to apologise. However, young Jonathan was far from finished turning the screw.

  He tugged on the now-furious Jake’s sleeve. ‘Why do you have notches on your bedpost, Uncle Jake?’

  Letty shot to her feet. ‘Right, I think it’s past your bedtimes, children. Come along!’ She sent a mortified glance at Fliss while everyone else stared at their plates, except for Joe, who watched Cressida frantically chase a lone pea around her plate with her fork.

  Fliss did the same, but found tears prickling her eyes. Tears she would never allow him to see. ‘I think I shall retire, too. It’s been a trying couple of days... Goodnight, everyone.’

  She scraped her chair back too loudly and the sound reverberated around the dreadful silence like a hammer on an anvil at the crack of dawn. In her hurry, her skirts got tangled and she almost stumbled as she tried, and failed, to glide like a swan out of the room with the last vestiges of her dignity holding her ramrod straight. So straight she feared her shoulder blades might snap.

  They all knew what had happened.

  With her innate skills at reading people, she could see it written plainly on every face. The straightened brows, the chewed bottom lips, the downcast eyes, their irises brim full of pity. Because they knew. He’d told them. How she’d almost become another one of those silly notches. Every hideously shameful detail had been shared with his family, because he was lucky enough to have the luxury of one.

  Suddenly all those intuitive and identical Warriner eyes bored into her soul and stripped it bare and she had to get away. She didn’t look at any of them as she swept out of the dining room. Alone, Fliss could curl up into a ball and cry. She heard more wood grinding against floor and purposeful footsteps behind her, and picked up her pace as she reached the staircase. The dratted tears fell regardless, silently and miserably, spurring her onwards.

  ‘Fliss, wait!’

  ‘Leave me alone, Jake.’ At the top of the stairs she forgot about pride or propriety and simply ran towards her bedchamber. With his longer legs he was right behind her as she reached the door.

  ‘We need to talk. Please.’

  ‘You told them, didn’t you? I’m so humiliated! Do they all know you were paid to kiss me?’

  ‘Fliss—it wasn’t like that—’

  She cut him off by slamming the door in his face and resting her back heavily against it.

  ‘Don’t make me talk to the door.’

  ‘Go away. I honestly have nothing to say to you. Just g-go away.’ Fliss hated that her voice cracked. ‘I wish I’d never met you, Jake Warriner! I hate you!’

  That comment was met with silence, but when she craned her ears she could still hear his soft breathing outside. To her horror more tears fell, when she had never been one for crying. Silent, devastated tears of self-pity. For everything. Her situation, the danger, Jake’s lies and the humiliation of knowing the last vestiges of her dignity now lay in tattered and public ruins at her feet.

  ‘If it’s any consolation, I hate myself, too.’ His voice was a muffled whisper, as if his face was also laid against the door. ‘I can’t eat. I can’t sleep. My mind keeps rolling, searching over everything and suggesting a hundred different ways I could have done this or that. I loathe myself for hurting you and for lying and for letting you go back to your uncle. I wasn’t there when you had to escape and I hate myself because you had to deal with that all alone. The danger you are in now is gnawing at me, too. I keep running through every scenario and imagining you hurt, and I blame myself for that, too. If you hadn’t escaped, you would have been murdered that night just like your uncle. I can’t get that image out of my mind. If I’d said no to Leatham and taken you straight b
ack to Cumbria like I promised then you’d still be safe and none of this would have happened.’ His voice sounded choked and her heart went out to him.

  ‘That is my uncle’s fault, Jake, not yours.’

  ‘I could have stopped it.’

  ‘Could you?’ Without thinking, she traced her fingers over the wood his voice hid behind. ‘Who’s to say my uncle wouldn’t have tripped up somewhere and those men still would have headed north to tie up loose ends? I would have been all alone, unsuspecting and unguarded. Maybe fate intended this to happen all along.’

  ‘You don’t believe in fate.’

  ‘But you do.’ Or at least he had claimed to when he had been tasked with seducing her. Her hand dropped back to her side and she felt betrayed all over again. ‘When it suits you. It’s impossible to separate the pretty lies from the facts.’

  She heard him exhale slowly. ‘You seem to always have my measure, Fliss, and that terrifies me because I’m stripped bare before you. You’ve always seen through the charm and the bravado, but actually I do believe in fate. That is a fact. I believe that sometimes we have no control over things even when we try with all our might to direct them. The honest truth is I’m painfully aware of my own failings. I always have been. My brothers are right. I’ve spent my entire life avoiding emotional entanglements and responsibility.

  ‘Growing up, I watched it destroy my parents. They both loathed and loved each other to the exclusion of all else. My father couldn’t handle responsibility either and sought his solace at the bottom of a bottle for all the mistakes he made. My mother lived in the past and resented the life he had dragged her into. They were always arguing, often violently, and that constant battleground slowly killed both of them.

  ‘My mother committed suicide. Or at least that’s what the world believes. In reality, she was always threatening to harm herself in order to get my father’s attention and it always worked. She would cry and he’d come running, then the pair of them would fight and then lose themselves in passion, then the toxic vicious circle would begin all over again.