Seduce Me Please

by Nichole Matthews

  “She practically had a stroke.” He took a long swallow from his tumbler. “She took to her bed for over a month milking it for all it was worth. My sisters are still young enough that they haven’t heard the entirety of the rumors, but they knew something was wrong. Mother practically stayed in her suite of rooms the entire summer.”

  “Ever the doting son I see, but pardon me for saying so, your mother confining herself to her room? I would think that could be construed as a favorable outcome.” Parker looked at him from under raised brows with one corner of his mouth curved in a smirk.

  “For most I’m sure it is, but not when you’re the one being summoned regularly to attend to her delicate nerves throughout the day.” Graydon shrugged one shoulder. “She is doing well enough, I suppose, other than her overly dramatic swoons. She felt it fitting compensation to spend an obscene amount shopping the moment our wheels hit the cobbles of London.” Graydon smiled, lighting a cheroot and taking a long pull, then blowing the smoke high in the air. “She is afraid that she will never be a grand-mére. She’s not very happy that I escaped parson’s noose, no matter how it would have been accomplished. She’s forever hounding me of my duty to the family and the title.” He chuckled bitterly. “I’m supposed to be searching for a bride this season. I’ll be turning thirty-one.” He rolled his eyes comically. “She believes I’m already in my dotage. What about you?”

  “I would be infinitely better if someone would stop dredging up those blasted rumors about me.” Parker frowned. “I’ve been trying to shelter Piper and Poppy.” He swallowed thickly. “Luckily Poppy married Hawk. He can watch over her now. But I pray that Piper avoids being hurt by the gossips. But knowing her, she would simply call someone out for defaming my good character.” He chuckled. “I can see her at dawn on the field of honor with a brace of pistols; I fear she would not stop at first blood.”

  “Remind me to watch myself when I’m around her. I saw your sisters briefly last season, I believe, but I’ve never been formally introduced. They are twins?” Graydon probed. “I can’t quite remember which is which. Is Poppy the blonde or the brunette?”

  “Yes, they’re twins. Poppy is the little blonde. Piper is the little brunette; she’s here this season.” Parker’s lip quirked. “Hopefully I can marry her off this year,” he said. “Then all I have to do is watch after Peyton. He’s going to be the death of me. Do you know he has set his mind on becoming the wildest rake in all of England’s history? Fancies himself a member of his own private Hellfire Club. The funny thing is, this whole summer he was moping around Rosebriar like he lost his best friend. I cannot make heads or tails of it.”

  “I would have thought he would be at his country estate. I hear he has become quite the host. If the rumors I hear are true, he is well on his way of superseding even our dissolute reputations and truly earning that title.” Graydon’s gaze met Parker’s. “What is the name of his so called ‘club’?”

  “The Wicked Wastrels or some equally inane name.” Parker chuckled.

  Graydon threw back his head and laughed. “Say it isn’t so?”

  “I don’t remember us having a silly name. Am I mistaken?” His brow furrowed as he searched his memory. “I just remember being called a hellion by multitudes of Society matrons.”

  “Hmmm...what is he, only twenty-four or twenty-five?” Graydon asked. “He’s still testing his mettle. We all did, if you but take a moment to remember.” He glanced knowingly at Parker. “We definitely did. I thought our debaucheries would remain legendary for generations and generations.”

  “I guess you’re right. Peyton is just sewing his wild oats like we all have.” A look of mock despondency flittered across Parker’s face. “Unfortunately, it looks as though we have been retired.” He poured himself another tumbler of bourbon. “Yes, I fear that I have become a staid, respectable old man since my father died. The funny thing is, he’s acting more like a man in love instead of a man trying to sew his oats. But whenever I ask him, he won’t tell me anything.”

  With his brows raised, “You don’t say? Maybe he is in love. It happens to the best of us.” Graydon shrugged his shoulder as he looked over the top of his glass. “So you said Piper’s the dark haired twin, right?” Graydon inquired casually taking a sip of his brandy.

  “Yes, she looks like me. She and Poppy look nothing alike except in size. They are both tiny little things though, amazing to me since Peyton and I are so big. I’m sure you must have met her, if only briefly.”

  “I’ve seen her.”

  “Piper is a little quieter, more bookish.” Parker grinned. “She believes herself a bluestocking. I have to admit she looks adorable when she walks around in her little gold-rimmed spectacles. Thinks it makes her look smarter.” He laughed. “But she’s definitely a handful as well. Very opinionated.” He chuckled. “She is actually trying to start up a ladies literary club herself.” He glanced at Graydon. “She could give you a run for your money with your literary pursuits. Probably knows as much or more than you.”

  “Hmmm…interesting,” Graydon grunted, his eyes narrowed. “I don’t recall her wearing spectacles when I met her?”

  “Of course she doesn’t actually wear them in public. I actually gave her an extra pair for her birthday gift last year. Silver frames instead of gold. You would have thought she died and went to heaven.” He chuckled. “You actually have quite a bit in common.” He smirked. “You both have on occasion immersed yourselves so deeply in a favorite book that you have forgotten the world still spins.”

  “How amusing you are finding yourself today.” Graydon sipped his drink. “I should cancel my appointment for the theatre tonight and allow you the opportunity to entertain me in its stead. I must admit that your amusing accounts seem to have improved over the summer.”

  Parker snapped his fingers. “Hey, I have a brilliant idea. Perhaps you can turn from your dissolute ways and marry Piper, then I won’t have to worry about her any longer.” He laughed loudly.“

  “You’re a riot Ash!” Graydon placed his elbows on the table and leaned forward. “Surely you are not attempting to pawn your sister off on me? I have a horrendous reputation, just ask my mother. It’s the only way I know how to live. I have no desire to make any significant changes at this juncture in my life.” Graydon snorted, allowing himself a small smile. “There is still too much depravity for me to enjoy. I have no interest in marriage. Not for a long, long time,” he finished, swallowing the rest of his bourbon in one gulp. He had remained celibate for the last few weeks by choice, but obviously it was beginning to wear on him. That’s probably what his problem was. He just needed a warm, willing woman, a good fuck. Why else would he be fixated on a girl dressed up as a boy? There’s got to be something wrong with him? He quickly asked, “Do you know George Smith, Portland’s cousin?”

  Parker’s brow furrowed for a moment in concentration. “No, I’m not acquainted with a George Smith, but of course I’m not acquainted with everyone on Portland’s side of the family.” Parker replied his lips compressed. “Why do you ask?”

  “I met the lad yesterday at my literary club.” Graydon hid a smile. Parker was one of the few people who knew of his literary proclivities. “He looked quite young, reminded me of you for some reason.”

  “I suppose there is a possibility of a slight resemblance, but I am generally thought to favor my father’s side not my mothers. They are mostly blond.” His dark brows furrowed, he glanced at Graydon askance, “Are you sure he said he was from Portland’s side of the family?”

  “Absolutely positive.” He still tread a tad cautiously, he wasn’t trying to get anyone into any real trouble. “Portland introduced him to me as his cousin from Devonshire.”

  “Hmmm…Oh well, If I think about it, I will ask Portland next time I see him. I know he’ll be at the Wrothingham ball.”

  …………………………….

  In the darkened room, Graydon lay with his hands behind his head as the young and newly widowe
d Lady Caroline Carleton lightly ran her hand over the golden dusting of hair on his well-muscled chest.

  With a throaty purr, “Whatever is the matter with you tonight, Rockwell?” Her fingers continued to slowly trace the trail of hair that led towards his presently flaccid manhood. Their enthusiastic romp between the sheets had currently sated his animalistic need for release, but that was all. He felt nothing else, except indifference for her. She served a purpose and that she did well.

  He couldn’t seem to get out of his mind the girl from the literary club. He closed his eyes at the memories. How can a little bitty thing dressed as a boy occupy so much of his time. He would be a laughing stock if any of his cronies knew he was fantasizing about a girl in spectacles and trousers. He must be extremely bored or too cynical if the voluptuous form of Caroline could no longer hold his attention. He had always assumed that experience trumped innocence, but he was beginning to change his mind. Because no matter how hard he tried tonight, all he could think about were the bluest eyes, the color of the clearest summer skies looking up at him.

  Shaking his head, the sardonic lines of his mouth deepened. “Nothing my dear.” He slid a sideways glance her way. “My mind is preoccupied with matters of business.” But lord, he had never seen such a fine arse in trousers before. Tiny was not normally his style, but the intrigue was almost too much. His hunger for her stirred his arousal which caused a familiar delicious heaviness to settle in his groin. He was a man after all, how wrong could it be for him to ease this terrific ache?

  A wolfish smile suddenly covered his lips. Rolling over to his side, he ran his hand down her side over the generous curve of her hip and back up again. “Maybe you should try and distract my mind from all of this mundane unwanted business.

  “I would be delighted to my lord,” Her hand already wrapped around his rapidly swelling erection as she slowly kissed her way down the same path.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Tonight is the Wrothingham ball.

  Lady Wrothingham is famous for her balls, always one of the most extravagant balls of the season. She always decorates lavishly. Very entertaining indeed. Last year she held an Italian themed ball with ices and gondolas. Very ingenious.

  Parker was asking me about Chester’s cousin, George Smith. I almost fainted. I’m sure I rambled for five minutes. It was all so horrible. I hope he doesn’t have a clue. At least it kept his mind off of my hair. He hasn’t even mentioned that I chopped it off. Thank goodness!

  I hope Rockwell attends and I fear it at the same time. I long to see him again, I’m having a hard time concentrating on anything but him. The sweep of his hair, the width of his shoulders, his spectacles! It is all so very intriguing to me. Incredibly so…

  Piper’s journal

  9 July

  GRAYDON SMILED, SITTING BACK, HOLDING HIS CUP OF TEA. His long muscular legs stretched out before him covered in tight buckskins, his feet encased in well-polished top boots. “Mother…” He was never able to get a word in edge wise with his mother present. She felt she was obligated to remind him incessantly of his duty to provide an heir.

  He had a standing appointment for tea with his mother at least three days per week, but she was swiftly making these visits seem more like a chore. A few years ago he had purchased his own private home on Curzon Street which left his mother and sisters free to do as they pleased in the Rockwell townhome on Berkeley Square, allowing him a few moments of peace when he was in Town.

  Annabelle Morgan, barely in her early fifties, was still an attractive woman. He had always wondered why she never remarried, especially with his two younger sisters still at home. He knew for a fact that his parents’ marriage was not a happy one. It had been strictly for money and title. He got the distinct impression that his mother had felt nothing but relief when his father died. It wasn’t as if he had given her anything to be happy about. She constantly had to grit her teeth and smile through all the gossip. And based on the plentiful rumors he was surprised that his father didn’t have a multitude of by-blows running around the country seeking entrance into Society.

  “Graydon, darling,” His mother sat wrapped in one of her expensive shawls. She lifted her fine bone china, hand painted with country roses and gold trim, and took a dainty sip of her tea. “‘Tis well past time that you took a bride.” Her gaze ran over his broad shoulders encased in Bath superfine, pleased that her son was such a fine example of manhood. “It shouldn’t be difficult. Just pick one.”

  Her well-rehearsed admonishments over his lack of a bride washed over him without incident. “Mother, you’re asking me to choose a bride with less care than I choose my cattle.” Graydon grimaced, but his eyes had softened.

  “Of course not.” She snorted. I’m just asking you to choose sooner rather than later.” She paused to take another sip of tea. “You’re not getting any younger, darling.”

  “I’m not yet one and thirty. There is no need for me to rush into an unwanted marriage, Mother.” He grimaced at his now lukewarm tea before placing it on the side table. “I’ve not stuck my spoon in the wall yet.”

  “I don’t know why I bother talking to you.” She harrumphed and then took another sip of her tea. Sitting her cup down, she folded her hands across her lap.

  “Because you love me,” he said candidly, winking at her. Wishing all the while that he could somehow escape his mother’s persistent badgering without causing her undo pain. He sat quietly, his gaze not wavering from his mother’s piercing stare.

  “Can you at least pretend to be searching instead of spending all your time with that widow?” Her lips pursed as she pierced him with one of her haughtiest stares, “I cannot believe you would want the title and everything that goes with it to pass to some beastly distant relation,” she said with a dismissive wave of her hand.

  “Mother, you are hopeless.” He chuckled as he stood and walked to the bow window that overlooked the street. “Have I no secrets from you?”

  “Not when you insist on flaunting them publicly.” She looked anything but pleased.

  He snorted. “When can I expect Esme and Olivia to come to Town, Mother?” Turning back to her with an amused expression, he leaned against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest.

  “I wish you would take this seriously.” She sighed. “Your sisters will be here in a fortnight. You know very well that they arrive in time for the Sotherland’s garden party every year. You are fully aware that they expressly enjoy the boat rides. You are sorely trying my patience, Graydon.” Lady Rockwell smiled benignly. “And I expect you to accompany us and insist that you help me entertain your sisters.”

  “Indeed, Mother.” Graydon was always prepared for his mother’s mandates and he generally indulged her fancies without question. He had always felt that his father treated his mother most appallingly. He never bothered to hide his insatiable appetite for gambling and mistresses. His father’s desire to publicly humiliate his mother had always been a sore point for Graydon. He couldn’t think of a single human being that mourned the loss of James Morgan, including him. In fact, his death was probably a relief for most who had known him. His jaw clenched, his fingernails bit into his palms just thinking of his father.

  He took the few steps necessary and plopped back in his chair, tensing at it ominous creaking. He propped his ankle on his knee, taking a calming breath. Staring at his cup, he scrutinized each intricately painted detail in the light of his mother’s parlor attempting to dwell on the mundane in order to make the important seem irrelevant.

  “Would you care for some more tea, Graydon?”

  “No, thank you, Mother.” He stood smoothing his coat.

  “You are escorting me to the Wrothingham ball tonight, aren’t you darling?” She asked with her cheek lifted to receive his farewell kiss.

  Walking over to the gold brocade settee, he leaned down and kissed her lightly rouged cheek. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” He smiled, giving a faint bow before exiting the house.

&n
bsp; ………………….…………….

  Piper looked at her reflection in the gilt-framed mirror. Her ladies maid, Bridget, was arranging her new short curls. “I think my short hair is growing on me,” She chuckled at her bon mot.

  “Oh, you are being a silly girl.” Bridget scrutinized Piper’s hair, her gaze serious. “I do believe I am beginning to like your short hair as well, miss,” Bridget said, applying brilliants to her perfectly arranged curls. “It certainly brings out your eyes. Others will be envious of your curls. No curling papers can do what this cut has done for yours.”

  Piper turned her head to the left, then the right in an effort to view the style from all angles. “Do you truly think so?” Piper frowned. “As long as Parker doesn’t notice, I believe I will be all right.” Grinning. “Much easier to deal with, don’t you agree.”

  Chuckling softly, Bridget nodded her head in agreement. “Much easier, miss. You will be all the rage for the remainder of this season. I’d wager on it.”

  Piper stood and smoothed her hands over her white satin gown with gauze overskirt. She stood still for a moment as Bridget fastened her Amethyst pendent about her neck. It had been a gift from her father to her mother on their wedding day. She always felt more confident when it circled her neck. It’s the very necklace her mother wore in her final portrait that hung above the mantel in the Rose Room at Rosebriar.

  She patted the pendant then slipped on her long white gloves. Turning in front of the beveled glass that stood in the corner, she raised her eyebrows in question, staring ruefully at her reflection before turning. “Thank you, Bridget.” Piper grinned brilliantly. “You have worked your magic once again.” She spun enthusiastically in a circle unable to hide her enthusiasm. She was going to see Rockwell tonight. She could feel it in her bones.