by Emma Wildes
After she left, Rebecca quickly locked her door and retrieved the book. She settled back against
the pillows and cautiously reopened the slender volume, turning straight to the chapter Brianna
had suggested.
Never Forget You Know What He Wants More Than He Does
My dear reader, do you doubt the interest of the man whom you have decided to favor with your
attention? If so, you will find this segment enlightening. There are a variety of ways to gauge the
attraction of a specific man to your charms, if one is but aware of them. A glance caught from
across the room, his perusal of your bosom, a certain heated light in his eyes. Those are the subtle
nuances, of course, but a more practical test can be performed.
For this experiment you will need three essential elements. The first is your intellect. The second
is your femininity. The third, and most obvious, is a moment of privacy with the object of your
interest.
In short, you need to plan, to be as beguiling as possible, and to secure a clandestine spot to
conduct your test of his possible affection for your person.
It is necessary also, to decide ahead of time your level of determination. What is it you want from
this gentleman? Do you wish to become simply his lover? Do you wish for him to take you in as
his mistress, shower you with gifts, and satisfy your desires? Or is your plan of a more permanent
nature?
The latter, depending on the male involved, is the most difficult—but rarely impossible.
Heavens, Rebecca hoped the woman was right. She turned the page, even the sound of the
rustling paper making her look around the room with guilty perusal. As much as Colton might
disapprove of Brianna having purchased the book, Rebecca knew her parents would faint dead
away if they found it in her possession. There would be no way to explain it. None at all. They
would be outraged, and with good cause, considering the tidbit she’d read earlier. At least this
chapter seemed less outrageous.
The circumstances of how you secure his undivided interest are up to you, but you must get him
alone. Then the dynamics are in your favor. Should he choose to seize the moment and attempt a
seduction, you’ve achieved your goal very easily. If he doesn’t, you must be inventive and
convince him that he wishes to seduce you. Do not be shy about using your charms to gain
control of the situation. After all, when a man meets a woman, her appearance is the first thing he
notices about her. This does not mean you must be beautiful to capture his attention, but honesty
compels me to remind you that the basic fact he is a man and you are a woman is what drives you
together. It is a matter of logic.
Men desire women. Oh yes, women also desire men, but we are much more understated in our
approach. Where they pursue, we feint. Where they grasp, we touch. Where they need, we want.
What a beautiful dance of nature it is, and the civility of our age only adds to the intrigue of it.
We mask our steps of seduction in politesse and meaningless protocol, but no one is truly fooled.
It is basic, it is inevitable, and it is all to our advantage as women of our time. Honorable men
cherish us, and it is up to us to decide to which level to elevate their regard. Once you know a
gentleman is interested, do not wait for him. Take charge at once. After all, you know what he
wants.
Women of our time?
Rebecca lowered the book, more than a little surprised. She’d always equated her position in life
with having very little freedom, but perhaps the author was right. Robert knew full well he
couldn’t dally with her in a casual way. So she needed to somehow convince him that a dalliance
of the permanent sort would be to the advantage of them both.
If she didn’t do something, she would find herself wed to another man.
Here she’d been waiting for him to make the first gesture, but why must it be so?
Apparently she needed to get him alone and just see what might happen. The night in the garden
he was just being helpful in her escape from Lord Watts, but on the terrace after dinner last night,
she’d felt something different in him. A certain tension under his usual effortless charm,
especially when they’d stood by the balustrade, talking.
. . . a certain heated light in his eyes . . .
It was possible she’d seen that very light.
Rebecca was beginning to allow herself to hope it was true. After their performance this evening,
he’d avoided her. She’d fully expected him to find her afterwards and say something about the
music or the duet. Everyone else had—but he hadn’t. It was out of character in a man who was
usually so smoothly polite.
A good sign, surely, if he didn’t trust himself to talk to her in front of other people. What would
happen if they were alone?
Lady R, as Brianna called her, might just be brilliant.
Chapter Thirteen
It is my belief that women love more deeply and men more fiercely. What is the difference? I am
not sure how to define it.
From the chapter titled: “The Mystery of It All”
This was a poor time to be coming down with an illness, Brianna thought in dismay as she lay in
bed, watching the sun pour in across the room. Even the smell of the fresh flowers in the vase by
the side of the bed was cloying and overwhelming. Of course, the party was almost over and the
guests would leave tomorrow, but today was Colton’s actual birthday and tonight she planned to
give him his surprise gift. Not a good evening to have a touchy stomach.
This queasy feeling wasn’t conducive to romance.
“Just hot tea and some toast,” she told her maid, sitting upright against the pillows piled behind
her, her smile wan. “And I’d like to bathe.”
“Of course, Your Grace.” The girl bobbed a curtsy and hurried off.
It was a relief when an hour later she felt much better. The toast stayed down, but it was doubtful
for a while until the tea seemed to settle her nausea. Though she had considered abandoning the
idea of a morning ride near the river and the picnic she had so carefully planned, she donned her
new riding habit after all. It was her husband’s celebration, and if she’d planned all of this in his
honor, she was determined to not only enjoy the day, but to make sure it all went as she intended.
Especially this evening.
If she dared.
Lady Rothburg had been a font of wisdom so far, so even though it sounded more than a little
wicked to follow her suggestions, she was willing to give anything she thought Colton might
enjoy.
Brianna adjusted her hat, gave her appearance a look of approval in the mirror—for the midnight
blue of her riding habit suited her eyes—and went downstairs. To her surprise, Colton was at the
stables, conversing with one of the lads, his sleek, huge horse saddled and ready.
He turned as she approached, his chestnut hair slightly ruffled by the breeze, his azure eyes
assessing her. Approval? She wasn’t sure. Her husband’s formidably impassive expression was
never easy to read.
Brianna always thought him attractive—but this morning he was strikingly so, dressed like a
country gentleman for riding with no cravat, his white shirt just open at the throat, his coat a dark
blue that nearly matched her habit, his chamois breeches fitted
and tucked into boots that were
well worn but still highly polished. Flustered for some reason, she said breathlessly, “Good
morning.”
“Good morning.” He glanced over her attire. “You look lovely as always, my dear.”
There it was again, the same look he’d given her a few times lately. She found it puzzling, almost
as if he was deliberately making some judgment, and she wasn’t sure what it could be. “Thank
you,” she murmured. “I admit I didn’t expect you to join us.”
His smile was merely a quirk of his lips. “Riding out on a beautiful morning such as this is far
preferable to capturing errant and indignant caterpillars and collecting sticks. Besides, it is my
birthday, and I had a feeling my wife might scold me if I stayed in my study all day.”
Uncertain, because of the tone of indulgence in his speech, Brianna bit her lower lip. Most of the
guests were already mounted and she turned to ask for her mare, a little surprised when one of the
stable lads led out a sedate older horse. Colton said in a bland tone, “You weren’t feeling well
this morning, I understand. Hera is a little spirited. I requested a calmer mount.”
She blinked, surprised he knew she had been indisposed. She hadn’t even said anything to her
personal maid other than to order the blandest breakfast possible. How the devil would he know
what she ate unless the cook or her maid ran off to tell him after every meal—and that seemed
absurd. Surely her husband wasn’t that controlling.
He extended his hand and looked at her expectantly. “Brianna?”
“Yes.” She put her gloved hand in his and let him draw her forward and then lift her into the
saddle. Gathering the reins, she looked down at him, still a bit puzzled. The solicitude wasn’t
precisely out of character, for he was polite always, but his appearance for this ride and the
glimmer in his eyes set her aback.
“You are sure you feel well enough?”
“To ride a horse?” She smiled and shook her head. “Of course. My goodness, Colton, what has
you so concerned?”
“I’m always concerned about you, my dear.” He swung himself gracefully into the saddle,
reminding her of the honed body under those well-fitting clothes. “Shall we?”
He led them across the park and down several scenic country lanes, naturally athletic and easy on
his mount, conversing with Lord Emerson but all the time aware of her.
How did she know it? She wasn’t sure. Brianna could feel it. He watched her even as she rode
next to Arabella.
Because Brianna sensed he was paying more attention than usual, she kept her voice low.
“Rebecca declined to come along because she wished to practice for this evening. Or so she said.
I think she’s in the music room, but she’s not playing. She’s reading.”
Arabella stifled a laugh behind a gloved hand. “You are a bad influence, Bri.”
“Or a good one. You and I are lucky, for we married men of our choice.”
“True.” Her friend gave her a sidelong glance. “Both of whom look quite handsome this morning,
if I may say so. Did you expect the Duke?”
“No,” Brianna admitted. “I was sure after sacrificing his morning yesterday, he would be too
busy. I didn’t even mention the picnic to him.”
“Yet he apparently invited himself.” Arabella’s eyes held a hint of mischief. “Simply because he
wished to accompany us. I think he might be enjoying the festivities after all.”
Brianna hoped so, but it was, as always, hard to tell with Colton.
There were only eight of them, most of the guests having chosen to sleep late or take a stroll in
the unusually warm fall weather. Brianna walked her horse, not discontented with the sedate
pace, but surprised. Colton was usually in a hurry to get back to his ever present duties. She was
actually embarrassed she hadn’t invited him personally to the picnic. There was no part of her
that thought he’d accept, and pressuring him into the hunt yesterday had only worked because his
grandmother was so pleased.
But he’d come on his own. That alone was enough to buoy her spirits, and when they all arrived
at the designated grassy spot for lunch, her enigmatic husband lounged next to her on the
provided blanket, relaxed and apparently content.
Colton? Content out of his study and in a group of people having a picnic at midday?
It really was unusual, but she was delighted.
Two footmen had been sent ahead with linens and the food. Under a spreading oak, they served
sliced cold chicken, meat pasties, several different types of cheeses, ripe pears, and crisp apples.
Chilled white wine and champagne lent a festive air to the informal meal, and Brianna was
grateful the clear weather, unusual in England for so many days in a row, held. Besides herself
and Colton, Lord Emerson and the oldest Campbell sister had joined the party, also Damien, Mrs.
Newman, Arabella, and her handsome husband, the Earl of Bonham. Brianna found she was
famished after having eaten so little for breakfast, and when she asked for a second meat pie,
Colton’s eyebrows went up a little but he obligingly passed the plate over.
“They’re delicious,” she said defensively, but also laughed. “You see? This proves I am quite
recovered.”
“Apparently so.” He sipped his wine, watching as she inelegantly licked crumbs from her fingers.
A half smile lifted the corner of his mouth and his azure eyes were shaded by lashes too long to
be wasted on a man. It was warm enough that most of the men had removed their coats, even
him, and the casual look of a white, fullsleeved linen shirt, breeches, and boots emphasized his
uncharacteristically relaxed state.
He looked happy, Brianna decided, watching the dappled sunlight slide along the clean line of his
nose and jaw. No, perhaps that was going too far, but he looked content certainly, and more at
ease maybe than she’d ever seen him except in the aftermath of lovemaking. Brianna considered
another apple, decided against it, and said, “That was unexpectedly delicious. Maybe it is all the
fresh air that makes it taste so good.”
“Perhaps.” Colton reached over and with one long finger, brushed the corner of her mouth in an
unexpectedly intimate gesture in front of other people. “A stray crumb, my dear. We can’t have
everyone knowing about your fondness for pork pasties.”
“I ate too much as well,” Belinda Campbell said. She was a pretty young woman with sparkling
dark eyes and a curvaceous figure. “I think I’d better take a walk.”
Lord Emerson could scarcely take his gaze off her as he scrambled to his feet and extended his
hand. “A capital suggestion. Shall we?”
Arabella poked her husband in the ribs, making him give a small grunt. “Let’s walk over to the
stream. Today is so glorious, and winter is approaching. I hate being inside for months, so I
refuse to let this opportunity pass.”
“Then by all means we should walk, lest you injure me in the meantime.” Lord Bonham rubbed
his torso theatrically.
Damien and Mrs. Newman decided they would ride back to the house, and in moments, Brianna
and Colton were relatively alone. It was impossible to believe, but she realized she was sleepy
again. Perhaps it was all the food; maybe it was the wine, though she hadn’t drunk much at all.
“I
think I must be staying up too late, or maybe it is just that the party is winding to a close and so
I am not quite so anxious over every little thing,” Brianna murmured. “I slept late this morning
and I still swear I could nod off at any moment.”
“By all means, if you wish a nap, take one. Here.” Colton rose in one lithe movement and shifted
position, so his back rested against the tree. “May I offer you a comfortable place to sleep, my
lady? My shoulder is available as a pillow.”
Brianna looked at his outstretched arms, not quite able to believe it. Her austere husband did not
believe in public displays of affection, and while the middle of Rolthven Park was not precisely a
busy street in central London, it wasn’t the privacy of one of their bedrooms, either.
Still, how could she refuse the gallant gesture, even if he was acting oddly? She moved, scooting
over so she could crawl onto his lap. His muscled shoulder actually made a very nice pillow as
she nestled against him and his arms cradled her. He smelled wonderful, slightly spicy: a woodsy
scent to match the surroundings of grass and trees. A breeze whispered overhead and she let her
eyes close, wondering if she deserved such happiness. A beautiful day, the clasp of her husband’s
strong arms, and that wisp of a cool fall breeze.
Heaven.
Colton was coming around, she thought drowsily.
And promptly fell fast asleep.
“I hope I am not keeping you from your regular schedule.”
In answer to Colton’s question, his grandmother gave what sounded like something close to an
unladylike snort, though he would never dare to describe it in those terms. “Please, Colton, you
are the one forever buried in estate affairs and political agendas and whatever else it is that
requires your constant attention. I suspect this audience is keeping you from something, not the
other way around.”
It was. The morning ride and picnic had taken up hours of his day, but he really wasn’t concerned
at the moment. He chose the one chair in his grandmother’s delicate sitting room that didn’t look
too fragile for his height and weight, the feminine surroundings all pastel colors. A Gainsborough
portrait of his grandfather hung over the mantel, the stamp of the family features recognizable.
