An Improper Seduction

by Quill, Suzanne

  “I am sorry, my lady. Your father was clear and wants you immediately.”

  “Very well. Tell him I will be there shortly. Geoffrey, please stop this swing.”

  Thomas left through the veil as Geoffrey said, “One moment, my angel.” He walked under the swing as he gave it one last push and turned to watch her. Her red-gold hair flew free in the wind, the pins lost with her ride. Her face was a blush of color. Her eyes were alight. How he wanted to take her now.

  “Jump, Angeline. Jump into my arms.”

  “Don’t be silly, Geoffrey. I would kill the both of us.”

  “Nonsense. You are but a feather. Jump! Trust me. I will catch you.”

  “Geoffrey.”

  “I promise, my angel. I would never let anything hurt you.”

  “All right. Are you ready?”

  “Now, Angeline. Now!”

  She released her grip, finished the arc of the swing then started her decent. Geoffrey backed up to position himself for her fall. He braced his legs.

  She fell toward him. Fell. Fell.

  Then she was in his arms. He let his knees give way a little to cushion her landing then eased her derrière onto the grass. He took one hand to brush her hair away from her glowing face.

  “Angeline,” he said in a rough voice, “you look like you’ve just been made love to.” His mouth came down hard on hers as he devoured her. His tongue tangled with hers. She arched into his kiss. His hand fell to stroke and squeeze her breast gently. His body hardened and he ached to have her.

  Finally she pushed him away. “Geoffrey, Papa is waiting. I must go.”

  Reluctant and aroused, he said, “Then take a moment to straighten your hair. It’s in shambles.”

  Angeline ran her fingers through the wild locks then twisted the richly colored tresses at the nape of her neck. She felt round her head until she located a few remaining hairpins, pinned the bun in place and returned her gaze to him.

  Reluctantly he stood to offer his hand. Once on her feet, he tucked her hand within the crook of his elbow and pulled the leafy veil aside.

  Chapter 19

  At the door of the library, Geoffrey tugged at Angeline’s elbow. She turned toward him, wondering about his hesitation. “We don’t know why he wants to see you. I’ll wait here. You can call me if I am needed.” He placed a chaste kiss on her cheek then let her go.

  The library, always one of her favorite rooms because of its coziness, was warm despite the windows thrown fully open. The breeze entering barely moved the navy blue, velvet draperies at the sides or the sheer batiste curtains over the windows.

  Her father sat behind his desk in his leather chair. He looked calm enough, his head back, his hands on the armrests. His face, however, was inscrutable.

  In front of the desk sat a man of large size with greasy looking hair.

  Lord Hexford.

  Her stomach soured.

  “Come, stand beside me, Angeline,” said her father as he rose and their gazes met. Furrowed brows and his stern look let her know this was a serious matter. She strolled toward the left side of his desk desiring to put as much distance between herself and the infamous viscount. Hexford turned his head to leer at her but did not bother himself to rise.

  “Papa,” she said respectfully when fully beside him. He placed an arm round her, gave her a quick squeeze and a peck on the cheek.

  She would have to start turning the other cheek or that one would be worn away.

  “You can see we have a guest,” Angus said nodding to the viscount with disapproval.

  “Hardly so. What are you doing here, my lord? Both my father and I gave explicit directions to turn you away at the door.”

  Hexford said nothing as a smug smile crossed his face. It was her father who answered as he sat back down.

  “Would you like a seat, my dear?” At her nodded decline, he continued. “He sent a note. After reading its contents, I thought it best I should see him. During our visit he has explained your circumstance and his intentions. I then thought it best you were present, so I sent Thomas to fetch you.”

  “I have come to make an honest woman out of you, Angeline.” Hexford’s voice was all arrogance.

  “I beg your pardon. I have no need of such chivalrous attentions from you.” It was Angeline now who was sneering.

  “My dear,” her father interrupted, “It seems the viscount here feels you have been compromised. On the night of his ball, he claims to have taken unfair advantage of you and has a witness to prove it. He wishes to do the right thing and requests your hand in marriage.” Angus’s voice was amazingly even given the present circumstance but his face was still hard. “I have questions. Though you left the affair suddenly, you seemed quite recovered the next day. Why would you be so scornful if his claim is true? And, knowing the viscount’s reputation, why is he so intent on saving you from disgrace?”

  “Papa, I will not marry this profligate, deceiving, debauched, demeaning cad. Even if what he said was true, and it is not, I would rather die than be wedded to him for the rest of my days.” Angeline spat the words at the viscount who now leaned forward in his chair then rose up.

  “You really have no choice, Angeline. The damage to your reputation has been done. I am only trying to save you further dishonor.” The smug look had returned to the viscount’s face.

  “The hell you say,” Angeline, bile rising from her stomach, was ready to jump over the desk and scratch his eyes right out of his head. “You are still after my fortune and willing to do anything to have at it.”

  Angus, comprehension dawning on his face, reprimanded, “Angeline! Your language. He is still a viscount.”

  “A title too high for the likes of him, Papa. You cannot possibly believe a word he says.” She looked at him, surprised to find doubt in his eyes. “Can you?”

  As a throat cleared, the three of them nearly jumped in unison.

  “I fear I must interrupt.” Geoffrey, blast him, had snuck into the room. Well, really he had just walked in but he was so quiet of foot and they were so well-absorbed none of them heard him.

  Angeline had the pleasure of watching Viscount Hexford’s face drain to white as his Adam’s apple danced around the huge gulp of air he had just taken in.

  Hexford, straightening up, leaned back as if afraid to step backwards and show cowardice yet smart enough to know his safety was in doubt.

  Once the marquess was directly in front of the viscount, he turned to stare him straight in the eye. Hexford, at least four inches shorter than Geoffrey, had to look up to make eye contact.

  Geoffrey stood before the viscount, a negligent comparison. His green tailcoat was of the finest paduasoy in the color current fashion periodicals were calling spring. It made his eyes all the greener and hard to ignore. Perfectly tailored across his broad back, there were no shoulder pads nor need of them. Beneath the jacket, a velvet waistcoat with gold buttons covered his shirt, white and starched, his cravat simply but perfectly tied. His buckskin breeches stretched against taut muscles into his immaculately polished Hessians, not a scratch on them.

  He was magnificent to behold and to be held by. Her heart lurched as she thought of all that man beneath all those clothes and what he felt like between her thighs.

  Hexford could only be described as slovenly. His jacket was a faded blue, of a cut neither flattering nor fashionable. The shoulders padded, the viscount took on the look of an overstuffed pig due to his waistline girth. The worn edges of his waistcoat could not distract from his linens. Limp and grey, his shirt was less than presentable; his cravat sloppily hanging in a knot of no discernment. Gaiters covered most of his boots but did not hide the dirt and wear there and on his knee breeches.

  What woman in her right mind would care to marry this boor?

  Ge
offrey, held at his full height, was ominous and imposing, indeed. Angeline could swear she saw a fine line of perspiration on Hexford’s upper lip and a droplet was definitely running down from his temple.

  “I doubt this matter happened as you explain it, Hexford.” Geoffrey’s face was hard, his voice terse. “Especially since I was there when it all occurred.”

  “You were there, your lordship?” Angus seemed most relieved the marquess had entered the fray.

  “Of course. I had not seen Angeline for some time so I went looking for her. I found her in this bounder’s library, the door closed but unlocked. The man had lured her with a vague note then pinned her down on his desk. He was surely ready to do whatever it took to bring her to heel.

  “He was not expecting me, however. So when I dragged him off of Angeline, he was seriously incensed. I did not see the person he had been expecting to discover the two of them in compromising circumstances. But, he must have obviously seen at least some of the activity if he is still willing to back up the viscount’s claim. It is either that, or the viscount has bribed him well.”

  “I did no such thing,” denied the viscount vehemently. “And what are you doing here anyway? This is no business of yours.”

  “Au contraire, Lord Hexford. The Hartleys have become good friends to me of late. I could not possibly stand by and let someone try to take advantage of their good graces.”

  The marquess leaned in toward Hexford. Hexford made what sounded like a squeak. If it were possible, the viscount turned paler still.

  “I have had about enough of this obsessional quest for Lady Angeline’s hand. She has made it clear to you in both words and actions she will not consider your troth under any circumstances. I, for one, applaud her discretion.”

  Not intimidating enough, Geoffrey raised his hand to take Hexford by his grungy neckwear. He jerked him up straight as he pulled him forward onto his toes. Nose to nose, Geoffrey spoke softly, the danger there palpable.

  “This is truly your last warning.” His eyes hard with intent, glowed like emeralds. “If you dare insert your presence into this household again, if you say more than a casual greeting to Lady Angeline in passing, if you dare to sully her name in any way, shape or form, I will call you out. If you fail to show at the appointed time, I will hunt you down and have you shipped to the Australian Colonies for the rest of your lifetime. If, per chance, you have the ballocks to attend the duel, be assured I will shoot you dead on the spot and have absolutely no compunctions about it. The world, in fact, would be richer with one less rotter such as you.”

  Geoffrey released the viscount with a slight shove sending him reeling backwards. It was only with effort the viscount remained on his feet.

  “How you gathered the ballocks to approach Lord Hartfield and ask for his daughter’s hand under such unsubstantial circumstances, I will never know. Now, get out. You still bear the bruise I inflicted from our last confrontation. Get out before I lose my tethered temper and blast you in the face once again.”

  Hexford gathered himself up to his full height and walked, albeit hurriedly, from the room.

  Angeline heard her father heave a heavy sigh then give Geoffrey an approving nod. “I had wondered about that bruise, Geoffrey. And the goings on last Friday night. The two of you left hurriedly, without ceremony.” He leaned back in his chair as Geoffrey took a seat in front of him.

  Tired of standing, Angeline decided to perch on the arm of her father’s chair. His hand came to rest upon hers and patted it paternally.

  Geoffrey’s face now became inscrutable as her father’s softened with a knowing smile. “I had no idea Hexford would have the audacity to pursue his plan despite being found out,” said the marquess.

  “No doubt he expected he could force the issue and have everything settled before anyone, especially you, Geoffrey,” Angus’s smile was warm, “was the wiser. Once the promise was made, it would be difficult to break. Needless to say, Hexford would not have let Angeline back out once she was committed.”

  “I do not comprehend this whole situation, Papa. Your estate will legally be in trust to me and under my control. Marrying me would still get him nothing.”

  “It can become much more complex than that, Angeline,” Geoffrey looked over at her, his green gaze fixing upon hers. He sat back in his chair, long legs extended and crossed at the ankles. “It is well known any man can get at a woman’s income once they are wed. You would bear an heir. If he were not in too much of a hurry, he would try to beget a second son in case of later need. Then, when your use was pretty well finished, he would have you declared mad and send you off to Bedlam. For a generous fee, many a solicitor would do it.”

  “Good God, say that is not possible.” Angeline popped up from her seat. She could feel the heat rise to her face.

  “No matter your desire, a man still has the upper hand as the laws are written. Hexford would never be able to dispose of the property without signatures from you. But, he would have complete access to all funds taken in from the holdings and would have control of paying those funds out. If he chose, he could use the monies any way he wished and let the lands and their tenants rot.”

  “Yes, Geoffrey,” put in Angus nodding his head in agreement, “it was fortunate you were here. We avoided a disaster that would be hard to correct once the wheels were set to motion. As much as I would not wish to force Angeline into a marriage she would not desire, I would not want her to be shamed through the countryside.”

  “Oh, Papa, you worry too much. I am a spinster now. What care the likes of the locals about my reputation?” She sat back down on the arm of her father’s chair.

  Angus took her hand in his own as he looked up warmly into her face. “You are a lady, Angeline. Married or not, you must present yourself as one so you may receive the respect you deserve. That will be even more important when you are left alone to attend the estates yourself. How can you expect things to run smoothly if those under your care do not take you seriously? Do not respect you?”

  “On that note, I must leave you both.” Geoffrey rose from his chair. “I have things to be tended and it sounds as if the two of you may need further discussion. Angeline, you may want to give your father all the details of Friday night’s adventure just in case Hexford has put some rumors about.” Angeline started to protest but Geoffrey went on. “If he is fool enough to do so, I will take care of the matter but your father should not suffer ignorance if confronted by others.”

  He bowed to Angus. “Angus, until I visit again.”

  Angeline stood with her father, as he said, “Always a pleasure, Geoffrey. Why not come by for dinner?”

  Angeline schooled her features knowing her lover would decline.

  “Unfortunately, I have matters to attend. Maybe for luncheon tomorrow.”

  “As you wish,” said her father.

  “Let me walk you out, my lord,” Angeline said as she moved round the desk. “Papa, I will return shortly.”

  Placing her hand on his arm, Geoffrey walked out the front door. At the bottom of the steps, he took the reins of Zeus from the groom as he turned to her.

  Their eyes met but he said nothing until the groom was well away.

  “Let me know, my angel, if Hexford bothers you again. I do not care how slight the imposition.” He raised his hand and cupped her cheek. She felt the warmth flow through her, leaned into his heat and body.

  Geoffrey lowered his lips to hers. As her lids lowered, fireworks flared behind them, her body became aroused as she leaned against his. Only the solid wall of his chest kept her from falling.

  When he released her lips, he brushed his over them once, twice again. “Tonight at the cottage, Angeline. I have thought of a new delight for you.”

  His voice was deep and raspy. Her heart beat quickened further.

  “As you wi
sh, my lord.”

  Releasing her, he mounted Zeus and rode toward home. As Angeline turned back toward the house, she saw her father standing at the window. How long could she maintain this charade?

  Graham opened the door with a slight bow as Geoffrey strode in. “The post has come, my lord. I have placed it on your desk.”

  “Excellent. Round up my gardeners and have them come to the library. I want them all, Graham. And have them be quick about it.” He strode down the hall as Graham gave another brief bow and murmured, “Yes, my lord.”

  Once settled in the chair behind his desk, Geoffrey slashed the envelope with the sterling letter opener. His eyes perused the page as he felt his brow furrow. It seemed The Fates had returned to dally with his destiny.

  His hand was to be forced once again.

  And, he did not like it at all.

  The knock at the door and Graham’s voice had him setting the missive aside.

  “Enter.”

  In moments, three men of varying ages and physical soundness stood before him. The Nash men had been keepers of the Colburn grounds for well over one hundred years.

  William had been old when he was a lad. Or so Geoffrey had thought when the gardener had married the current housekeeper. With a full shock of white hair, his stooped back belied the tanned and weathered face, the eyes that still held a twinkle.

  His son, Liam, was taller, if only because he was straighter. Brown hair was turning grey at the temples, his face a replica of his father’s right down to the lively brown eyes. He had wed a milkmaid from another estate and lived in one of the tenant houses. She must keep the cows contented for the household never ran out of the white liquid, nor butter, nor cream.