The Seduction of His Wife

by Tiffany Clare

  She tried to duck under his arm, but he stepped closer to her. Her attempt to escape his hold was a wasted effort. He’d not let her leave until he was done talking to her. He wrapped one soft curl of her hair tightly around his forefinger, liking the silkiness against his rough hands.

  Her skin would be soft to touch, too.

  “I planned to come and go from this establishment quickly,” she hissed under her breath.

  “You cannot expect an answer like that to suffice. The last place I wanted or expected to find you was in a bawds’ den.” He kept his voice low, intimate. “I’ll not have you traipsing around London looking for lovers.”

  Good God, how had she turned into such a beauty? She’d been pretty enough when they had married all those years ago, certainly not the nymph teasing him now with her demure glance. Would he have left for parts of the world unknown had they married when they were both more mature? He couldn’t say. And would definitely never know.

  “How dare you accuse me of any such thing. You’ve no right!”

  “I have every right when my wife shows her face in a house for whores.”

  She cheeks flushed in anger.

  What did she expect him to say? She dared to come to a place where any man had free license to approach her. He’d never desired her before—she’d been so young when they’d married. But now that she was in his arms, and quite grown up …

  Couldn’t he do everything running through his mind? It would be easy to push her up against the wall, nibble at the exposed bits of flesh: her neck, her shoulder, her breasts. So very tempting.

  He blinked and shook his head to pull himself from the trance she’d put him in. What in hell had come over him? He had more important matters to look after while he was in London. And yet, he’d thought of nothing but bedding his wife since the moment he’d seen her.

  Her seductive eyes stared back at him in question. He swallowed against the desire burning a firestorm through his body.

  “How did you recognize me, Richard?”

  With his free hand, he skimmed his fingers over the lacy edge of her décolletage. “Your lackluster choice in costume for a whorehouse was a clear enough indication you didn’t belong.” Actually, he never forgot a face, no matter that she had been a mere child of fifteen when they’d married.

  She hissed in a breath at his crude language, or perhaps at his daring stroke. Wanting to know which had caused her reaction, he traced his finger lower. Her skin was as soft as he had imagined. He wanted to touch all of her. Massage every bit of feminine skin while he peeled back the layers of her modest dress. Pulling the curl he held around his finger straight down, he watched it unravel, then bounce back into place.

  “I’m expected somewhere,” she snapped and pushed at his shoulder.

  She tried to sidle out from beneath his arm again. He didn’t give her the opportunity to free herself just yet. He stepped even closer, so close their bodies touched from breast to thigh, and he did what he’d desired since getting her into this position. He ran his knuckles over the swell of her soft breast.

  She hissed in a ragged breath. So, she was not completely unaffected by his touch. Good. Because he didn’t know what in hell had come over him. He was supposed to be scaring her away from this establishment, not trying to seduce her into the nearest bed.

  The problem was, he didn’t want to let her go now that he’d caught her. Where the doxy had failed to amuse and arouse him, his wife had little problem. Interesting predicament this put him in.

  He was definitely rising to the occasion.

  Even so, this was not the right place or time for this kind of reaction. He didn’t believe in coincidence. His wife’s sudden appearance here, at the only brothel he ever visited in London when he needed a safe place to stay for a night or two, was some sort of trick.

  Someone was trying to lure him into a madman’s game of life and death. Why they would include Emma was anyone’s guess. He hadn’t spoken to her or seen her in a dozen years.

  He stared down at her. Up to this point she’d always meant nothing. And that had remained true until this very moment. Damn it. He didn’t need any distractions right now.

  With much reluctance, he dropped his hand from her breast to her tucked-in waist, and held on to the enticing curve of her hip. She was so small in his grasp. He wanted to cradle her protectively into his body, to take her out of this hellhole so no other man dared to lay eyes upon her.

  He wasn’t thinking clearly. Not at all.

  Angrier with himself now than her, he snapped, “Your decorum is sorely lacking. Your boldness in finding a suitor leaves a bad taste in my mouth. Is it time I paid you a visit?”

  Visiting her was not part of his agenda. On the other hand, he’d not let his wife traipse around London entering other places like this one. Or allow her to have an affair right under his nose.

  Emma hissed in another breath and tilted her head back to regard him with nothing short of fury. “You’ve never seen fit to do so before.”

  She stepped away from him, back to the wall, so he’d have to reach for her if he wanted to touch her again. The little minx was challenging him. He jerked her back to him, aligning their bodies. She was warm and soft. Supple and exactly what his body wanted to sink into. But now was not the time to be led by his cock.

  “Don’t think we won’t discuss this lapse in judgment, Emma.”

  This wasn’t the safest place to speak of his planned whereabouts in the coming days. And he knew without doubt his plans now included a visit to their shared town house. Damn his wife for stepping foot in this place.

  “So be it,” she said, doubt lacing her voice.

  Before she could push past him, he blocked her once again.

  “I let you leave not because you will it, but because you should never have set foot in such a place.”

  “Your high-handedness falls on deaf ears. You cannot control me any more than I can control you, Richard.”

  He didn’t know how else to act toward her. Not when he wanted to push her back into the room she’d come from and take every imaginable advantage he could. She took away his ability to think straight about the things that were most important right now.

  Whatever happened to the meek girl she’d been when they’d courted?

  “I will see you in due course.” He stepped away from her and inclined his head.

  She did not return the parting gesture with a curtsy. Instead, she left in a flounce of irritated skirts. She couldn’t leave fast enough. Not once did she turn her head as she proceeded toward the stairs that led back outside.

  Richard sagged against the wall, his strength finally giving out. A quick look about the room revealed no one watching their exchange or her hasty exit. Pressing his hand lightly to his side, his fingers came away slick.

  Damnation.

  He’d been doing fine until she’d shown herself. Exhaustion blanketed his mind, numbing his limbs at a rather alarming rate.

  Dante, his longtime business partner and friend, was suddenly there, studying his bloodied side. “You need to take care of that.”

  Richard waved him off. “Follow the lady to her carriage. Make sure she’s not accosted by anyone on the stairs or in the street.”

  With a scowl, Dante left to do as bid.

  Glancing over the guests, Richard searched for the mistress of the house. When their eyes clashed, he called her over with a nod. She was putting him up as a favor tonight.

  He’d be moving back to his town house tomorrow.

  It was the perfect place to go. He needed to lay low for a few weeks, long enough for things to settle down in the East with his business dealings. Long enough for his and Dante’s shipping empire to trade hands.

  Dante had traveled with him to England after the attempt on Richard’s life. He’d known the man for eight years, and Dante was the last business associate he could trust at this point. The man was loyal to a fault.

  Marietta, the mistress of the hous
e, was at his side, her ample bosom on display with ruched trimmings lined with a neat row of beads and feathers drawing the eye of any man within her vicinity. Her plump face, with her rouged lips and kohl-lined eyes, gave him a commanding expression.

  “You shouldn’t be up and about yet, your lordship. I’ll not have you pulling out my fine stitchwork.”

  That had been the other reason he’d come to Madam Purforry’s. She had a steady hand and didn’t faint at the first sight of blood. She’d had him cleaned, his side sewn back together and patched up within an hour of his arrival.

  “Stitches still feel tight. I’ve just stretched the skin.” Cocking a grin at the mistress, he pushed slowly off the wall, impressed that he didn’t fall over when he suddenly felt light-headed. “I’m embarrassed to say, I need your support.”

  Marietta put her shoulder under Richard’s arm.

  “No need to dally with the flashy types coming through here,” she tsked. “I’ve got plenty of pretty innocent-looking girls if that’s what you seek. They’ll sit on your lap and do all the work.”

  Didn’t he know that for the truth.

  Marietta wrapped her arm around his middle, mindful of the blood-soaked patch on his shirt. Her voluptuous figure barely held his tall frame upright. “Juliet wasn’t pleasing enough? I can send up another girl. Someone to take your mind from the pain.”

  “No company tonight.”

  He couldn’t take her up on that offer now that he’d seen his wife. Emma looked the same … only grown up. As well as he could tell with that flimsy mask that did nothing to conceal her features. Her high cheekbones, her slightly freckled nose, those blonde curls of hers that looked and felt as smooth as the finest silk. He’d wanted to unravel her hair from all those pins and spread it out beneath him.

  There his thoughts went again. Strange how he’d not spared his wife a thought since their wedding night and now his mind almost seemed consumed by her.

  Arm tight around Marietta’s shoulders, he made his way up to the third-floor landing out of view of the other patrons. Dante followed, having completed his task. The man wore a scowl that could kill. One that said, I didn’t save you for you to bleed out because of stupidity in a whorehouse.

  “I’m well enough, Dante. Just get me in my room so I can clean this up.”

  Dante hoisted him up with his shoulder, and Marietta retreated, promising to send up a repast. When he was finally sitting on the bed, he pulled his shirt off, hissing in a sharp breath.

  Dante mumbled something that sounded a lot like “whore of a mother’s son.”

  Taking the wet cloth from Dante’s hand, Richard patted at the blood. “I’ve only pulled a stitch.”

  Dante retrieved a roll of linen, set in the room for the purpose of cleaning the deep slash in his side, and started ripping it into strips.

  “We shouldn’t be here. There are too many people here to notice our presence in London.”

  No, it wasn’t an ideal place, not now that he figured someone had sent his wife here. Just so happened to be the last place in London he felt he could hide without drawing undue attention to himself. Seemed he was mistaken in that notion.

  “We don’t have a lot of options open to us. I can’t really fight off anyone should they try to get the better of me right now. I’m pretty much useless like this. And until I’m on my feet again and at full strength, we have to stay to ground.”

  “Whores jumping about your lap is not a good way to do that,” Dante grumbled.

  “I wasn’t about to slight the proprietress. She sent the girl, and I let the girl do what was asked of her.” He held the strips of linen out to Dante. “The wound has to breathe. I don’t want it turning septic.”

  Dante took the linens and set them out on the tall chest of drawers. “We should leave for your town house tomorrow.”

  “We will.”

  A light rapping of knuckles sounded at the door. Dante pulled a knife from somewhere on his person, a lethal-looking piece of curved metal that had to be ten inches long.

  “Calm yourself. It’s sure to be the meal Marietta promised.”

  Of course Dante never liked to be careless. He held the knife behind his back and cracked the door open enough to see who was on the other side. The door swung wide the next moment, and a servant came in carrying a covered tray.

  She gave a pretty curtsy after setting down the tray on the round walnut server. Her cleavage spilled over the low-cut bodice, revealing her rouged areolas at the line of her gown.

  “Will that be all, my lord?”

  Another enticement. He would have laughed if it wouldn’t have insulted the girl. Instead, he said, “Quite enough. Tell Marietta I do not wish to be disturbed until tomorrow.”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  When the door shut on her retreat, Dante threw the bolt in place and checked over the sandwiches neatly stacked on a plate. “Do you think she’s poisoned it?”

  “Marietta has no reason to be done with me. For the time being, our arrangement is mutually beneficial.”

  Leaning his head back to the wall, Richard closed his eyes and pictured his wife with her little mask and prim clothes.

  “Who was the woman I followed down to the street?”

  “My wife.”

  There was a pause.

  “Was she looking for you?” Dante’s expression was carefully absent of emotion, and his tone even.

  No one could be more shocked by his wife’s presence than Richard himself.

  Cracking one eye open, he answered, “I doubt it.” He’d not elaborate that she might have been here for an assignation. That was no one’s business but his own.

  Dante sat in the chair and picked up one of the sandwiches. “Curious that she happened to walk into this establishment as opposed to the thousands of others in this city. Someone knows we’re here. We’re being watched.”

  Richard nodded his agreement. “I’ll talk with Marietta in the morning. I’m sure she’s aware of the situation that brought my wife here.” Probably knew who Emma was to meet with, too.

  “We should leave tonight.” Dante bit into the bread.

  “Keeping out of sight will have to be enough. If someone wants me dead they’ll have to get through Marietta’s muscle. I wish them luck. I’ve never met a man who could get past them. Women, yes, but not just any man is going to get through those doors.”

  “We are like sitting geese.”

  “Whoever our foe is, they’ll not get a noose around our necks.” Richard let out a frustrated sigh. “Stop fussing and let me sleep. What we do will depend upon the information I get from Marietta. Once we start finalizing the deal with Heyworth, the waters will calm.”

  “Nothing has been easy in the sale of our business. I don’t expect it to get any easier.”

  “Whoever is trying to make the deal fall through may get bored with this game of cat and mouse they’ve devised.”

  “I hope you are right,” Dante mumbled.

  Richard didn’t respond. He hoped he was right, too. Or, despite all his careful planning, they might still end up dead before the deal could be finalized.

  Chapter 3

  Your father tries his best to keep my spirits up, knowing I long for word from you whenever a letter arrives. But there is never word for me.

  Emma went directly to her painting room as soon as the sun had come up. She could spend most of her day painting. It let her think about nothing except the picture she was working on. Her marriage and Waverly were the farthest things from her mind. At least for now.

  Setting her freshly cleaned paintbrush down on the lip of the easel, Emma stood back and studied her latest work.

  The lighting was off. The position of the dark-haired woman sitting on a chair, holding nothing but a sheer orange scarf, did not evoke the erotic image that was clear in her mind. Her form, she supposed, was pleasing enough, the breasts high and overly generous in size, her waist narrow, her hips with the slightest flare. The dark-eyed beauty
was missing a twinkle in her eye, something that promised naughty intentions. All in all, it wasn’t bad. But it would need a great deal more tweaking before it was just right.

  With a heavy sigh she plopped herself into the cushioned rocking chair.

  A shame she’d not found a more lady-like hobby over the years. She’d once found a painting in the attic at her country estate of a woman erotically splayed across a bed. It had grasped onto her imagination like a lure reeling in a helpless fish. From that point forward, she couldn’t rest until she had painted the female form just once.

  That first painting had been her own form, since she had been too afraid to ask another woman to sit for her. Too afraid to share her secret with anyone at the time. She had sold it in a fit of anger on her twenty-third birthday. She’d been furious that her husband had ignored her for another year. That he had wanted nothing to do with her. It had been her only truly rebellious act against the unjust life she had been given.

  She hadn’t told her friend Nathan, the Duke of Vane, that the painting was a likeness of her. He was the only person aside from her sisters who knew of the erotic portrayals she spent so much time perfecting. In fact, he’d known about them before her sisters were privy to the information, as he was the one who sold the pieces for her.

  She remembered the day she’d delivered the painting to him; a deal had been secured at that point. That had been the only time she’d ever seen Nathan angry. His words had been colorful as he’d reprimanded her for selling something no man had a right to see. But the deal had been struck and could not be undone. Nathan had made her promise never to paint another nude of herself. She’d agreed not because he’d exacted the promise from her, but because she wished she had thought long and hard about releasing that painting to the public.

  With that thought, Waverly came to mind. He had been a friend to her and her sisters for the past year. Waverly would not get away with treating her so poorly. She’d make her feelings clear to the man. That she wanted her painting returned, and that none of the Hallaway women would have anything to do with him in the future. If that didn’t work, she’d ask Nathan to retrieve the painting by other means.