An Invitation to Seduction

by Lorraine Heath

  And just as quickly it collapsed.

  I’m soon to be married, she’d said.

  Yet, he’d read no announcement of her betrothal in The Times. Not for a Miss Kitty anything.

  Although the announcement could have been made months before he was searching for her name, months before he knew she existed, before she’d stumbled into his life. He’d taken a chance coming to London, hoping if she was an American there for the Season that she would travel in the same social circles as he. And he was probably a fool for holding out any hope at all that he could entice her away from her betrothed—whoever he might be.

  A man and woman, both elegantly dressed, walked behind her. An older couple. His initial thought at their proximity to her was that they were her parents, but although both were turning silver, it was obvious that at one point their hair had been dark. They seemed to belong with Kitty, so he supposed it was possible that Kitty’s coloring could have come from a relation a generation or so back. Certainly not unheard of.

  Evidently of good breeding, she would make an outstanding duchess. His mother would be tremendously pleased. Anne as well. Perhaps she could borrow some of Kitty’s gowns—if she did indeed have two hundred stuffed in her wardrobe.

  Not that any of the qualities he’d touched upon just then truly mattered to him. He’d decided by the seashore that he would have her. Had he not seen her at this affair, he would have prowled every soiree in London. As Anne had mentioned, he was one of England’s most eligible bachelors, and that status provided him with invitations into every home of prominence.

  Gracefully, Kitty strolled away from her hostess and began to make the rounds. It quickly became obvious to him that she was known to a good many people, that she was not new to the social scene. He cursed himself for tacitly avoiding his social obligations as long as he had. It was quite likely that he could have claimed her before another had captured her fancy.

  I’m soon to be married.

  How soon? To whom? And what would it take to undo it?

  Two years had passed since Farrer Herschell had introduced a resolution in the House of Commons to abolish lawsuits involving breaches of promise regarding marriage. The exception being where money was involved. Richard had yet to hear of a marriage between an American and an aristocrat that did not involve money, a complication that would make his pressing his suit that much more difficult. But then he’d never been one to turn away from a challenge. Truth be told, he preferred it when winning was not too easy, because he tended to appreciate the victory that much more.

  “Good God! Weddington, is that you?”

  With a great deal of reluctance at the intrusion to his thoughts, Richard turned his attention from his quarry and presented a broad, glad smile to his friend of many years. “Farthingham. How have you been?”

  “Well. Very well indeed. I can’t quite reconcile the idea of your being here. I suppose your mother must be quite beside herself with hope that you’ll take a wife this Season.”

  Richard gave a slight shrug. “If she has hope, it is only because she’s heard the rumor that you are to marry.”

  Farthingham gave a devilish grin. “I daresay it is not rumor but fact.” His smile evolved into one reflecting pride. “She’s lovely, Weddington. I have to confess to considering myself quite fortunate that she favors me. She could have her choice of gentlemen, don’t you know.”

  “So, it is not money alone that draws you to her?”

  Farthingham grimaced. “I hope that rumors regarding my financial straits aren’t going about as well.”

  “Does she not know?”

  “Of course she knows. She’s not only lovely beyond belief, but damned smart. Her father made his wealth in railroads and banking. Our solicitors have been hammering away at the settlement for close to a month now.”

  “I’ll admit to being surprised to hear you were to wed.”

  Farthingham averted his gaze, seeming to take great interest in all the goings-on surrounding them. “I have the regrettable misfortune of being the firstborn son. What choice do I have, except to take a wife? The family coffers are empty. It is my duty to see after the welfare of my family and provide an heir. My only hope of avoiding my obligations is to die and allow my younger brother to inherit.”

  “And that alternative has certain disadvantages.”

  “Decidedly so.” Farthingham’s face suddenly lit up. “Here comes my salvation now. I do believe you’ll find her to your liking.”

  Richard turned, and everything within him stilled at the exact moment that the joy in Kitty’s eyes transformed from actuality to pretence. All the poise seemed to drain out of her.

  “Kitty, my sweet,” said Farthingham. “Don’t let my friend’s stern visage put you off. He’s not nearly as frightening as he appears.”

  Richard was suddenly conscious of the fact that he did not have Farthingham’s aristocratic features and blond coloring. Richard was as dark as a storm, his face weathered by the sea and regret.

  “Kitty, allow me to introduce His Grace, Richard Stanbury, the sixth Duke of Weddington. And, Weddington, it is with even greater pleasure that I introduce to you Miss Mary Ellen Robertson. Her dearest friends call her Kitty.”

  Mary Ellen. He could have easily overlooked her announcement in the newspaper. He bowed. “Miss Robertson.”

  “Your Grace.” She curtsied, a rosy hue working its way up her face.

  “I believe I’ve mentioned the duke on occasion, haven’t I?” Farthingham asked.

  Her gaze darted between Richard and Farthingham. Had he never seen her smile at dawn, he might not have realized how forced her smile was now.

  “Yes”—she nodded quickly—“you mentioned him.”

  “I hope he was not too unflattering,” Richard replied.

  “On the contrary, Your Grace, Nicky thinks most highly of you.”

  Nicky. She’d wrapped a wealth of warmth around the name. A name Richard had never heard applied to Farthingham, not even in his most intimate circles. No doubt her pet name for him.

  “I can understand now why he considers himself a man of fortune,” Richard said.

  A fire sparked within her eyes. “If one does not measure fortune by its weight in gold.”

  “Which I assure you I do not,” Farthingham interjected.

  “I meant no offense,” Richard assured her. “Perhaps you’d honor me with a dance later in the evening.”

  She angled her head triumphantly. “I fear, Your Grace, that my dance card is already filled.”

  Sharp disappointment rammed into him, while Farthingham laughed, the resounding chuckle ringing with gratification.

  “It seems I am not the only one who is won over by Kitty’s charms. Surely one dance is available,” Farthingham said.

  She shifted her gaze to Farthingham. “I’m afraid not.”

  “Then scratch someone’s name off your dance card, my sweet, someone of a lesser rank.”

  “That would be rude. I won’t make another gentleman feel less worthy by casting him aside.”

  “No one will be offended, no feelings will be hurt,” Farthingham assured her. “Weddington is a duke—”

  “Which means nothing in Texas and absolutely nothing to me.”

  That sentiment was a complete surprise, but then Richard was coming to realize she was a constant source of astonishments.

  “Miss Robertson, do you mean to imply that your interest in marrying Farthingham is not dependent on his title?”

  Her delicate nostrils flared, and he saw the fury ignite her lovely green eyes. “I would marry Nicky if he were a pauper.”

  “I am a pauper, my sweet.”

  Regret washed over her features, as she touched Farthingham’s shoulder with slender gloved fingers. She smiled softly. “Not to me.”

  He grinned. “Do you see why I adore her?”

  “Indeed I do,” Richard said quietly.

  “Allow Weddington to have my first dance, Kitty.”

&nb
sp; She released a delicate bubble of laughter, an echo of incredulous disbelief. “Don’t be absurd, Nicky. Rumors abound that we are only days away from announcing our betrothal. People will expect my first dance to be with you.”

  “When have you ever cared what people expected?”

  “I have always cared a great deal.”

  Farthingham winked and gave her a gentle nudge. “It’s more important that I dance the final dance with you. Be a sport. Weddington is a close friend. He’ll no doubt serve as my best man once I get around to asking him. I want you to get to know him, and he you. Now come along. Your dancing with him will please me greatly.”

  With perfect timing, the orchestra filled the ballroom with the strains of a waltz. The gentlemanly part of Richard knew he should make an excuse and tactfully retreat. The baser side that sought to control the sea held out his gloved hand. “Miss Robertson, if you’ll grant me the honor of a dance.”

  She gave Farthingham a brittle smile before placing her hand in Richard’s. He was surprised to find it trembling as though she’d only just emerged from the cold waters off the Cornish coast.

  He led her onto the dance floor, grateful when he reached its center that he could at last take her into his arms. When he looked down on her, fury met his gaze.

  “You did not tell me you were a duke.”

  “You did not ask.”

  She scoffed. “I’ve never met a man of rank who did not wrap himself in it like a shroud.”

  “You sound as though you disapprove of the nobility.”

  “I disapprove of you—pretending to be what you are not.”

  Within her eyes, he saw hurt mingling with the fury, battling and winning.

  “I never pretended,” he assured her. “I might have omitted some facts—which I believe I am within my right to point out that you did the same…until the moment you dashed away, I was not aware that you were already spoken for.”

  He heard his own fury lashing through his voice.

  “I did not expect to see you again. I did not want to see you again.”

  Again, the sharp prick of disappointment that he did not mean to her what she had come to mean to him. “Smile. Farthingham is watching, and he is too clever by half. I would not want him to wonder why you look as though you are on the verge of weeping.”

  It was an amazing transformation to watch, as though she buried every emotion she currently felt and replaced it with the fine veneer of civilization. He was so incredibly aware of her: the warmth that seeped through her gloves, her sweet flowery perfume that wafted between them, the rapid beat of her pulse at her throat. She was graceful gliding across the dance floor within his arms, and he was loath to think of her lying in Farthingham’s bed. While she’d angled her head and was smiling as though she was glad to be with him, her gaze failed to meet his, but seemed to have settled on his chin.

  “Why didn’t you tell Lord Farthingham that you’d already met me?” she asked quietly.

  “Why didn’t you?”

  She lifted her gaze to his, her smile faltering. “I didn’t wish to hurt him. As you said, he’s clever. He would have asked questions that I have no desire to answer.”

  “Farthingham and I have been friends for a long time. I have an enormous amount of respect for him, and I know him extremely well. He is not the man for you, Kitty.”

  Although she stiffened, she continued to waltz with grace, but fire had returned to the green depths of her eyes. “Of all the arrogant…to presume to know who is and who isn’t right for me—”

  “I do not who is. I only know that he is not.”

  “You insufferable lout. You call yourself his friend, and here you are questioning his judgment—”

  “Not his. Yours.”

  She made a motion to move away from him, and he tightened his hold on her, keeping her in place. “You and I need to go someplace where we can talk in privacy.”

  She shook her head. “No, we don’t. You’re right to question my judgment, but not where Farthingham is concerned. Rather where you are concerned. I showed extremely bad judgment in returning to that cove where I’d spotted you the morning before, worse in remaining once I realized you were there. Our time on the rocky coast is best forgotten. Farthingham is my future.”

  Unfortunately for him, the final strains of the waltz drifted on the air, shimmered through the room, ending any opportunity he might have had to argue in his defense, leaving him with no excuse to continue holding her. As a gentleman, he had no choice except to release her and step back.

  Because too much remained to be said, neither spoke as he escorted her back to Farthingham, who was grinning as though he’d recently won the America’s Cup.

  “By Jove, you two hardly stopped chattering. Bodes well for a friendship developing, I should think,” Farthingham said.

  “The duke and I have little in common,” she said softly, her attention on Farthingham.

  “On the contrary. You should see his yacht. Kitty loves sailing, don’t you, my sweet?”

  “I’ll love being your wife more.”

  Farthingham beamed at her response, and Richard could hardly blame the man. Her devotion was quite convincing, and a part of him feared that it might also be quite honest and true.

  “If you’ll excuse me,” Richard said, “I need to make the rounds.”

  “Quite so,” Farthingham said. “It was good to see you again, Weddington.”

  “And you.” He bowed slightly. “And it was my absolute pleasure to meet you, Miss Robertson. Thank you for honoring me with a dance.”

  “I believe you owe your appreciation to Nicky.”

  It didn’t escape his notice that she neither thanked him nor admitted it was a pleasure to have waltzed with him.

  He made his excuses again and wended his way through the crowd, barely acknowledging those who acknowledged him, making certain not to make any motion toward anyone that would serve as an invitation to begin conversing with him.

  He hardly knew the woman who had danced in his arms, who proclaimed her love for Nicholas Glenville, the Marquess of Farthingham. What a fool he was to have thought she was of a passionate nature. Elegant and lovely, but as were all American ladies, she was in want of a title. Willing to lie and pretend favor in order to achieve one.

  Surely she would not have sought him out that morning by the sea if she truly loved Farthingham. But if she did not love him, why settle for him?

  Perhaps because she did not know that she could marry Richard and become his duchess. He imagined her at his side forever.

  It was where he wanted her. He had little doubt that she would be his easiest conquest yet. And beyond any doubt, she would be his most rewarding.

  Chapter 5

  With the draperies drawn so none of the glow from distant streetlights could enter, Kitty sat curled in a chair beside the window in the darkness of her bedroom, contemplating her wedding.

  Her wedding to Farthingham. In whose arms she felt safe. Gazing into his blue eyes did not start a slow melting of her bones. His fingers closing over hers did not create a sensation of butterflies fluttering beneath her ribs. Waltzing with him did not cause her knees to weaken or her mind to wander toward forbidden thoughts of unclothed bodies writhing on satin sheets alternately cooled by the night and heated by passion.

  Tightly wrapping her arms around herself, she fought to stem the trembling that she’d somehow managed to keep contained throughout the evening until she’d returned home, until she’d prepared for bed, until she’d dismissed her maid. And then she’d been engulfed by violent tremors that threatened to loosen her teeth.

  Her gentleman from the sea. She’d thought, hoped, prayed that she’d never set eyes on him again. He tempted her with the forbidden, and it took all her strength of character not to give in to the temptation. She knew at the center of her being lurked a dark core lured by sin, a part of her that craved a man’s touch, that enjoyed the sight of the bared human form. Primal. Uncivilized. Uncu
ltured.

  A part of her that she’d inherited from the woman who’d given birth to her. A woman who had dared to fornicate without the benefit of marriage. A woman who had been alone when she’d given birth to Kitty, alone with no family standing beside her, no husband worrying over her. Without benefit of funds or a husband, she’d given her daughter up for adoption only hours after she was born rather than suffer the shame and humiliation associated with her own unacceptable behavior.

  Kitty had been forced on several occasions to tolerate the woman’s presence. Jessye Bainbridge. Now married. With three daughters who did not have to endure the embarrassment of having been born out of wedlock. Illegitimate, ill-conceived, suspicious origins. Bastard. Kitty had spent years scouring the dictionary, trying to find a word that didn’t hurt like a knife being stabbed through her heart, a term that could give a favorable slant to a terribly unfavorable start in life.

  No such word existed, and nothing had the power to alter her perception of her beginnings. Not even Madeline Robertson—Kitty’s true mother, the woman who had nurtured her and sheltered her and taught her right from wrong. A woman who Kitty was certain had gone to her marital bed on her wedding night untouched.

  Kitty had always been determined to follow Madeline’s example. To be purer of heart, purer of body, purer of soul.

  The warmth of a heated memory embraced her, shattering what little peace remained to her. How close she’d come to sharing her flesh with a man without the sanctity of marriage vows. On the coast, without shelter, without locked doors. With nothing except the sun, the wind, and a man, and she’d barely been aware of the sun and the wind.

  Always believing Jessye to be weak, without morals, Kitty suddenly felt her foundation shaken to its core and in danger of crumbling. She’d thought herself superior, stronger of will, capable of resisting temptations of the flesh. Now she feared she might have inherited Jessye’s propensity toward wanton behavior. Kitty’s training and preparations to become an exemplary wife would all be for nothing if she slipped into the quagmire of lust as the woman who’d given birth to her had.

  Thank God for Farthingham. Farthingham whom she loved. Farthingham who never stirred to life such unwanted passions. Farthingham with whom she was always comfortable.