Seduce Me Please

by Nichole Matthews

  In fact, he was repulsed by her outrageous behavior, her shrill voice, and her nakedness.

  At that precise moment, Lady Caroline’s talons raked over his coat sleeve sending chills down his spine.

  Brusquely he pulled away from her, looking at her for a long moment before shaking his head. “Not tonight, my dear.” He gave her a tight smile. “I’ve made other plans.”

  ……………………………………..

  The guests scattered as he plowed through the masses. His stormy countenance was enough to keep even his closest friends at bay. Not one of them attempted to stop him when he stomped out of the ballroom. They only followed his departure with curious stares, some with noticeable amusement.

  He was surprised that Wells, his aging butler, didn’t scurry from the foyer the minute he slammed open his front door.

  Handing over his coat and other accoutrements for the evening, he hastily made his way to the library. The sedately appointed room covered with deep mahogany walls and furnishings eased his spirits tremendously. His haven, his sanctuary, his secret vice.

  Retrieving a glass and a decanter of his best brandy, Graydon sprawled in his favorite over-stuffed chairs situated comfortably before the low burning fire and methodically breathed, rolling his shoulders to ease the tension apparent there.

  “My lord? Another message was delivered. I thought you would want to read it before morning.” Wells handed over the paper, then stepped back. “Is there anything else I can do to make you comfortable, my lord?”

  Graydon rolled his head back and forth against the back of his chair. “I’m sorry old friend. My attitude is unforgivable.”

  “Not at all, my lord.” Wells bowed. “Have a pleasant evening.”

  Graydon reached for the book lying atop the low table. Frankenstein, how fitting. He snorted derisively. He started reading at the page he marked earlier.

  I, the miserable and the abandoned, am an abortion,

  to be spurned at, and kicked, and trampled on.

  Slamming the book closed, he tossed it uncaringly to the floor. Reaching for his glass he finished the drink in one mouthful, wasting no time in pouring another.

  Remembering the note left atop the end table, he unfolded the square and read.

  Rockwell,

  There is nothing you can do to stop me.

  W.

  Son of a bitch!

  Who was W?

  Fifteen minutes later he was well on his way to forgetting the note and to being comfortably numb.

  Why must he be suddenly consumed with such deep reflections? It was what it was. Or so his mother felt compelled to remind him at each one of his visits.

  He hated the way he must always be on guard. Why must he be endlessly wary of each person that attempted to breach the walls he had intentionally built around his heart?

  And he was hopeful that someone would truly be brave enough to do so.

  Did no one else notice the wit that lay beneath her blue eyes? Shaking his head, he swallowed another healthy dose of brandy.

  Where had that thought come from?

  He was clearly becoming sentimental in his old age. He sighed, raking a hand through his hair. Thirty. Why did that suddenly feel so old? And when did he start turning down well-endowed, lusty young widows for a night of bed sport?

  Graydon surged to his feet, pushing back his chair with such force that it almost toppled over, rocking precariously for several seconds before settling on all four legs. Swaying slightly, he struggled to maintain balance in his inebriated state. “It’s her,” he muttered in exasperation to the empty room, closing his eyes to stop the spinning. His mother must be getting to him. Her constant chatter about marriage was seeping into his brain. He rolled his eyes with exaggerated fear. Life was so complex.

  Graydon sat down again with a thump as the brandy induced fog swirled warmly through his veins. He raised his glass high above his head and spoke loudly to the same empty room; a sloppy grin spreading across his face. “A toast to Graydon Morgan, one poor, deluded bastard.” He downed the remainder of his brandy before throwing his glass against the stone fireplace, watching raptly as shards of glass splintered over the carpet. He watched as colorful prisms of light danced happily over the wall, brought to life by the glow of the dying fire.

  The last thought that flittered through his muddled mind was the difficulty of removing brandy stains from a rug. It was quite expensive, after all.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Tonight I’m going to find out what the men do that is so much more exciting than us mere females.

  I’ll do practically anything to have the best club in London.

  Piper’s journal

  1 July

  “AGNES, YOU ARE THE ONLY OTHER PERSON THAT KNOWS OF MY PLANS, besides Chester.” Piper raised her brow challengingly at her best friend, watching Agnes’ fretful pacing, back and forth at the foot of her bed before she finally halted before her.

  “Only you would believe it reasonable to ask me to choose between the stocks or sneaking into a men’s literary club.”

  Piper’s smile was calm and serene. “Aren’t you doing it a little too brown?”

  “Have you forgotten who my father is?”

  “He will only know of our plans, if you find it necessary to tell him.”

  “I can’t believe you are putting me in this predicament.” Agnes groaned. “What if you’re caught?”

  “Well, just hide.” Piper glanced around the room. “All you are doing is pretending to be with me for the night. No one but you and I will know any different.”

  “I suppose I can hide in the nursery and read for the evening,” Agnes responded.

  “It’s not as if you are going with me.” Piper smirked. “Of course, you can still change your mind if you want. Think how much fun we could have going together. What an adventure!”

  “No thank you.” Agnes laughed. “I’m not going to be sent to the country for the remainder of the season or even possibly my life.”

  “You exaggerate.” Piper snorted.

  “Tell that to my father when he catches me in trousers.” Agnes quipped tartly, linking her arm through Piper’s and dragging her from the room.

  …………………………………..

  Piper chewed nervously on her bottom lip as she stared up at the imposing red brick structure. Considering the massive wood door before her, she almost turned and ran in the opposite direction. How hard could it truly be? She drew out a long breath, she could do this. They would walk in, sit down and just listen. It could be construed as scientific research. Nothing more, nothing less. Doubtless, Parker would see her locked away if he became aware of her adventures for the evening.

  “I can’t believe that you talked me into this!” Chester paced agitatedly in front of the townhouse. “Ash is going to kill me. He’s going to kill me for sure!” He kept a white-knuckled grip on his ruby tipped cane as it tapped a distressed beat along the pavement. “Everyone will know right off that you are a woman! You are one of the most beautiful women in the ton. I don’t know why I thought this would be a good idea. You are magnificent even as a man and that makes me feel very uncomfortable to say aloud. This was such a bad idea!” He groaned, looking her up and down. “It’s so obvious that you’re a woman.” He pinched the bridge of his nose in defeat. “I’m a dead man.”

  Piper closed her eyes, wanting to laugh. “Parker will never know that we were even here, unless you say something to him.” She huffed loudly, jabbing her finger into his chest. “I cannot quit this now, Chester,” Piper whispered fiercely, a flush of anticipation stole into her cheeks. “I must know what occurs at this gentlemen’s literary club. I’ve heard it’s the best one in London. How else am I to produce one of my own to rival the men? For goodness sakes, it’s only a book club.” Her hands planted firmly on her hips. “You act as if I am marching into a brothel or gambling hell. Besides, I have already chopped my hair,” she said with an adorably crinkled nose. �
��There’s no backing out now.” Her lips pursed smugly.

  “Oh Lord, I cannot breath.” Bent at the waist, Chester covered his face with his hands and moaned loudly. “I’m going to have to flee to the continent! Who told you to chop your hair anyway! Ash is definitely going to kill me.” Her reluctant escort groaned. “This was an ill-conceived idea. Nothing good will come from it.”

  “Chester,” Piper hissed through clenched teeth. “I insist you straighten immediately. You are drawing undo attention our way.”

  “You’re supposed to be the reasonable twin,” he hissed back while straightening his waist coat. “What is wrong with you? You are obviously bored because Poppy is married now and you are no longer able to be her mother hen.” Chester huffed. “Please, I beg of you! Do remember when we get inside you are a distant cousin from Devonshire. And make certain you don’t talk too much.” He shook his head in frustration. “Everyone will know you’re a lady if you do. Do you remember the name we picked out?”

  “Chester!” Piper’s jaw tightened. “I’m not a dunderhead. You don’t have to repeat yourself a million times over.” She rolled her eyes heavenward. “George Smith. How difficult can it be to remember the name George Smith?” She scowled at him. “Your lack of creativity is astounding. If anything, that ridiculously common name you’ve chosen gives this charade away.” She straightened with a determined set to her shoulders. “I’m going to be twenty in a few months and I’m tired of being the reasonable twin. I’m going to take what I want, no questions asked.” With narrowed eyes she looked intently at Chester. “If you can’t handle it, leave now. You can still make your club for some delicious beefsteak and port.” She tapped her foot on the pavement. “Now in reality Chester, wouldn’t you rather be here? Protecting your favorite cousin? Making sure she doesn’t get herself into any serious trouble?”

  Chester grumbled. “At the first sign of trouble I am dragging you home. Is that clear? And try to remember that I had to call in favors to be invited to this club tonight. Everyone knows I am not the intellectual type.”

  “Quite right,” Piper muttered under her breath. Rubbing her sweating palms on her legs, she relished the freedom afforded by the men’s trousers. With one last apprehensive glance at the daunting structure, she began her slow march up the steps.

  Chester reached around her to swing the brass knocker. “Blast! Let’s just get this over with,” he stated grimly as they entered the foyer. “Quit fidgeting.” He huffed. “Only ladies fidget,” he muttered his tone one of immense irritation. “I’m going to be killed. I’m going to be killed. I’m going to die,” he chanted. “I didn’t even get to meet the new opera dancer.” He puffed out a frustrated breath. “You could have at least waited until after we had been introduced.”

  “I hadn’t realized how bothersome you could be. Quit muttering and whining! If you whine like this all the time, that opera dancer wouldn’t give you the time of day anyway,” Piper gritted out. “You’re the one that is going to ruin this masquerade.” She poked him in the rib with her ivory handled cane. “All you can think about is your manly appetites.” Unexpectedly she chuckled. “What about my manly appetites?” She laughed outright at her humorous observation, strutting around with her chest puffed out.

  “I shouldn’t even be talking of such…things with you.” He scrubbed a hand over his face. “How do you manage to make me forget you are a woman half the time?” He had a puzzled look on his face.

  “You sure do know how to make a girl feel special, Chester.” She bit back a grin and pretended to frown. “That is surely why I am practically on the shelf. All the gentlemen forget that I am a woman."

  A liveried footman opened the door and bowed them through. Piper removed her hat and unconsciously smoothed her pomaded hair. Hopeful that she would not be recognized, she quietly began scanning the crowd. Her heart thudding loudly in her ears as this was one of the most daring things she had ever done. A whirr of excitement flowed through her veins, reverberating throughout her entire body.

  Both released their hats, gloves and canes to the waiting butler and walked into the parlor where rows of seats sat facing a large wooden podium. A large nest of gentlemen holding books flocked together talking, smoking, and imbibing in too much alcohol.

  Just as she expected, men have no self-control.

  Piper allowed her bespectacled eyes to thoroughly scan the crowded room when all of a sudden her eyes came to a crashing halt. Blast! Not ten feet away stood the dramatically golden figure of Lord Rockwell. His familiar face had been imprinted on her mind. She dreamed ne fantasized about him all the time. Rockwell was everything she envisioned a man to be when she lay awake alone at night. He was manly perfection personified, tall, broad and absolutely perfect.

  Lately, she hadn’t even been able to keep up with her reading that thought alone made her cringe. She still had three new books stacked high upon her night table. She hadn’t even cracked open their covers yet. Rather appalling, now that she thought on it.

  She felt invigorated and frightened at the same time. Luck most definitely was not on her side tonight. She groaned aloud as she quelled a tiny shiver. Grabbing Chester’s arm she hissed worriedly, “You didn’t tell me he attended this club.” A nervous fluttering increased in her stomach. “Why didn’t you mention he would be here? You know how I feel about him.”

  “Who?” Chester asked his confusion obvious as he glanced around the room.

  “Him!” She jabbed him in the side with her elbow and motioned with her head towards one of the middle rows of seats. Groaning loudly, “What am I going to do?” She forced herself to exhale.

  A flicker of surprise showed in his face. “How was I to know he would be here? I’ve never been here before. I daresay he won’t even recognize you,” Chester said. “What does it matter if he is here anyway?”

  “You are such a wet goose sometimes, Chester,” Piper muttered, “You know what I’m talking about!” Her eyes devoured him from across the room. “Had you any idea he wore spectacles?” she mused aloud. “I had no idea he wore spectacles.”

  Please God, let her fool everyone. This could very well turn into the biggest disaster of her life. Earlier Chester pointed out that she looked more like a young woman, now that she was dressed as a man. Just this afternoon she had chopped all of her hair with the help of her maid, Bridget, who almost had an apoplexy. She had applied a horrid smelling pomade to tame her unruly curls and now she stood in a room fool of men who hadn’t a clue a woman had infiltrated through sacred meeting. Piper wanted to laugh.

  Pulling down on her apple green striped waistcoat, she took a deep, steadying breath before they sat down a few rows behind Rockwell. She grinned at Chester and whispered, “This is so exciting, isn’t it?”

  “No, ‘tis not! Piper, please stop smiling,” Chester ordered with a scowl as he witnessed her dimple peeking out. He groaned into his hand. “This will never work! Let’s just turn around and go home.” He tugged his snowy handkerchief from his jacket pocket and mopped hurriedly at his sweating brow.

  She tried to hold back the wide grin that threatened to spread across her face to no avail. “No! And why won’t it work? I’m already having a grand time!” Piper practically bounced in her seat as she attempted to lessen the smile on her face. “I have never done anything this dangerous in my life!” She leaned close. “It’s all so very exhilarating. I can understand why gentlemen enjoy being spies, slithering around in the dark of night. It gets your blood pumping.”

  Chester rubbed the bridge of his nose again and hissed, “It won’t work because you are acting like a woman.” He rolled his eyes. “Sit still!” he said through gritted teeth, glancing at her beseechingly. “‘Tis not as dangerous for you as it will be for me the minute Ash finds out! You may be locked in your room, but I will be dead.”

  “You’re such an old stuffed shirt, Chester!” Piper grinned delightedly again. “The only way Parker will find out is if you go and blabber to him. You have al
ways been terrible at keeping secrets.”

  Glancing around the room again, she tried to keep her eyes off of him but she couldn’t. Her efforts were all in vain. How was it not known that Rockwell belongs to a literary club? She pondered, her eyes moving curiously around the room. There are several important men in this club. Why hasn’t it been bandied about Town? Was there some kind of code? Could it be the spectacles? Perhaps he was not recognized? Impossible! My, he does look quite attractive in spectacles. A beautiful specimen of manliness. Golden. He practically glowed. Tall, large, lean, well-muscled and golden. Sensation upon sensation streaked through her and her heart beat faster with each glance in his direction.

  She deliberately sprawled in her chair just as she had witnessed her brothers do numerous times and watched, wriggling around for a moment to make herself more comfortable. She watched Rockwell that is, her gaze never leaving his profile.

  She noted how he sat with his ankle crossed over his knee with one arm slung casually over the back of the chair. How he intently considered the book open in his lap. She sighed. Her fingers twitched with the need to brush back the golden lock of hair that fell lazily over his forehead. She could almost feel the silken tendrils sliding through her fingers. She sighed audibly once again. Normally he was so meticulously put together from hair to boot, it was quite intriguing to see him this way; relaxed and mussed. She noticed his hand flung over the back of his chair, a Cabochon ruby ring glinted on his pinky finger. She could almost see the tiny golden hairs on his extremely masculine hands. Such large hands. She shivered. Her scalp tingled. She was doomed. She was infatuated more with him than ever. This was going to be a long season.