An Invitation to Seduction

by Lorraine Heath

  “Oh, no,” Montague interjected. He blushed, his gaze darting between Richard and Farthingham. “It’s only a first write. I still need to polish it a bit more.”

  “When you’re comfortable with it, then, I’d like to read it,” Richard said. “I trust Farthingham’s opinion.”

  “Thank you, Your Grace. I will be incredibly honored to have your opinion of my work.”

  Richard sipped his port.

  Smiling, Farthingham took a seat, lounged back, and crossed his legs. “So what brings you to my door?”

  Richard shrugged. “I thought a visit was in order.”

  Farthingham’s smile faded. “You can speak candidly in front of Freddie.”

  “Very well. I wanted to speak with you about Miss Robertson.”

  “My goodness,” Montague piped up. “I’d forgotten that I have an appointment. I must be off.” He came to his feet. “It was a pleasure to see you again, Your Grace.”

  “I was serious about reading your play once you’re comfortable allowing me to see it.”

  The man looked inordinately pleased. “Thank you, Your Grace. I shall be certain to get a copy to you.”

  “He’ll stay up all night writing it out himself,” Farthingham said.

  Montague laughed self-deprecatingly. “I am but a poor playwright.”

  “I understand that even Shakespeare died a pauper,” Richard said.

  Montague’s eyes widened. “I would not dare compare myself to so great and gifted a man.”

  “Freddie is planning to move to America before the year is out,” Farthingham explained. “He thinks he might have more success selling his plays in New York.”

  “I wish you the best in your endeavors then.”

  “Thank you, Your Grace. Now if you’ll excuse me, I really must be off.”

  As Frederick Montague disappeared through the door, Farthingham shook his head. “I do not envy those who seek to make a living through creative endeavors. It seems a terribly difficult road to travel, and yet I have the utmost respect for those who possess that gift. If I had the means, I’d serve as patron for every writer, artist, and musician in London.”

  Farthingham downed his wine, got up, and poured himself another glass before returning to his chair. “I assume you’re here to tell me that your night at the opera went splendidly.”

  “I’m here to ask you to consider not marrying Miss Robertson.”

  “After spending a harrowing month with the solicitors and her father working on the settlement, I think the possibility of not marrying her is extremely remote.” Leaning forward, planting his elbows on his thighs, Farthingham studied the liquid within the goblet he held between his hands. “Although I’m pleased you enjoyed her company, I must admit to being quite fond of her myself.”

  “Fondness is not love. You’ll destroy her, Farthingham.”

  Farthingham’s head came up abruptly. “Don’t be so melodramatic.”

  “She is a passionate woman who needs a man who can love her passionately.”

  Farthingham dropped back, extended his legs, and cradled his chin in his palm. “You deduced all this from a single waltz, a game of lawn tennis, and one night at the opera?”

  Richard’s friendship with Farthingham had weathered many storms, so Richard did not hesitate to confess, “Before all that, our paths crossed near Drummond Manor.”

  “I should have guessed. I thought I detected a definite undercurrent at Ravenleigh’s ball. Did she ask you to speak with me?”

  “No. She wants nothing to do with me.”

  Farthingham laughed. “Oh, that’s rich. Still, you’ve decided to save her from me.”

  “I truly don’t believe you can make her happy.”

  “And I truly believe that I can.” Farthingham came to his feet, walked to the window, and gazed out on the garden. “As I said, I’m very fond of Kitty. I would never harm her. I enjoy her company and take great pleasure in spending time with her. I find her beautiful. I will remain faithful and never give her any cause to doubt my devotion.”

  “I do not doubt your willingness, but rather your ability to carry through on your plans. A man’s past often speaks loudly of his future.”

  Farthingham turned and held Richard’s gaze, his face deadly serious. “And yet there comes a time when a man must set his past aside and embrace his future whether he wishes to or not. As a firstborn son, you know as well as I that our lives belong to England, that we have a duty to those who came before us and to those who will come after—to provide a good financial foundation and an heir, to be honorable, to put our wants and needs last. Whatever my life has been, once I take Kitty as my wife—” he shook his head as though he needed time to regain control of his commitment—“I will dedicate myself to her and her happiness.”

  Richard came to his feet. “Farthingham, I have always admired and respected you. I know you possess a profound sense of duty and an understanding of obligation that exceeds most men’s grasp, but I beg of you, do not take Kitty as your wife. She deserves so much more than a marriage based on duty and obligation. You cannot bring to your marriage the passion for her that I could.”

  Farthingham shook his head slowly, his smile one of sadness and—Richard dared not acknowledge—pity as well. “Still have a driving need to control everything, Weddington, to believe you and you alone know what is best for everyone? You’re not God, man. You can’t know what one’s life will hold.”

  “I don’t profess to have some omniscient power or gift, but I feel strongly that she is not the one for you, nor you the one for her.”

  “Do you love her?”

  Richard lowered his gaze. “You know I don’t.”

  “You speak of passion when you cannot love. Not even yourself. You hold yourself responsible for your father’s death, and you’ve never forgiven yourself for it. I can think of a thousand reasons why marriage to you would make Kitty unhappy. I, on the other hand, love myself and everyone who surrounds me. I shall make her laugh, I shall bring her joy.”

  “If I ever determine that she is not the happiest woman in all of England, I’ll do everything in my power to free her of you.”

  “You’ve never been one to do things in half measures. I’m surprised you’re not doing everything now.”

  Richard grinned. “Who’s to say I’m not?”

  Farthingham laughed. “Who indeed! I suppose now is not the most opportune moment to ask you to stand as my best man when I exchange my vows with Kitty.”

  Richard decided he was a glutton for punishment. “Now is as good a time as any.”

  “Because the answer is no.”

  “Because the answer is yes. We have been friends far too long for me not to feel honored by the request.”

  Farthingham swirled the wine in his glass. “You hold within your grasp the power to very easily turn her away from me.”

  Richard made a move to leave. “I don’t wish to turn her affections away from you, Farthingham. I merely wish to turn them toward me.”

  Kitty loved the intimacy of small, friendly gatherings, preferred them actually. Although she adored balls and elaborate dinner parties, she also found them extremely taxing. To always have to worry about how one was presented and perceived. Within Farthingham’s home, a home that would soon be hers, she usually felt comfortable and safe.

  Tonight, however, sitting at the dining table with Farthingham to her left and Weddington directly across from her, she was acutely conscious of Weddington’s stiffness and formality. She could hardly blame him. She’d not sent a written thank-you acknowledging receipt of his lovely flowers. On his arrival with his sister, she’d done nothing except awkwardly greet him.

  Lady Anne sat beside her brother and across from Freddie Montague. Kitty had read a few of his plays. She thought they were well done, but she was always surprised by the hard edge she detected in his work. He had such a boyish face that she expected his writings to reflect what she knew of him: youthfulness, charm, innocence. But h
is biting humor made her often wonder if perhaps he wanted to strike out at a world that he thought unfair. Surely a writer’s words reflected some part of him.

  “If America is so wonderful, then why are so many ladies seeking out our lords?” Lady Priscilla asked.

  Apparently one of Lady Anne’s dearest friends, she sat on the other side of Freddie and obviously thought he was the most fascinating of men. Since her arrival she’d hardly taken her eyes off him. She was clearly not happy with Freddie’s announcement that he was planning to move to America.

  “Good question,” Farthingham said. “Why do you think that is, my sweet?”

  “America is wonderful,” Kitty admitted, her gaze darting around the table, staying the briefest amount of time on Weddington. “But I think it’s only now beginning to achieve the refinement England has held for so long. It takes a while to recover from a civil war. I would have thought your own history would have taught you that.”

  “She has you there, Prissy!” Farthingham crowed.

  “Oh, bugger off.”

  Farthingham laughed. “Such unladylike talk for the daughter of an earl.”

  “I think we all get tired of being on show,” Lady Priscilla said. “Don’t you think, Freddie?”

  “As the fifth son of a viscount, I’ve hardly ever been on show.”

  “I didn’t know your father was a viscount,” Kitty said.

  Freddie blushed, and Farthingham provided, “He’s rather the black sheep of the family, my sweet. A man trying to earn his keep in the world—as a playwright, no less—is hardly behavior befitting of an aristocrat’s son.”

  “Your family doesn’t approve?” Kitty asked.

  “They don’t approve of a great many things about me.”

  Kitty wondered if it was that disappointment that she saw reflected in his writings. “It’s their loss, Freddie.”

  “You are too kind, Miss Robertson.”

  “Come, come,” Farthingham said with a generous wave of his hand. “No formalities tonight. We are friends among friends, free to be ourselves. Why do you think I did not make us sit according to Debrett’s?”

  “Quite honestly, Farthingham, I assumed it was because you did not yet have a wife to sort it all out for you. By the by, when are you going to make a formal declaration? People are beginning to doubt the integrity of my gossip,” Lady Priscilla said.

  “Kitty has asked me to wait until the end of the Season to announce our betrothal,” Farthingham said.

  Kitty lifted her eyes to Weddington for only a heartbeat, but it was long enough to recognize that he wondered if perhaps her desire to wait had anything to do with his request that she delay the announcement. She lowered her gaze to where Farthingham had wrapped his hand around hers, watched as he lifted it and kissed the back of her hand.

  “I am more than willing to do whatever my lady desires in order to keep her happy.”

  “Hear, hear,” Freddie said. “Allow me to offer a toast for happiness to the both of you.”

  The toast was acknowledged by all present, glasses lifted, sips taken. Kitty felt as though her stomach were tightening into a knot. She had no doubt she would be happy with Farthingham. Yet she could not seem to ignore the presence of the man sitting across from her. While everyone else seemed to be on the fringes of her world, he seemed to be ensconced directly in the middle of it. She found that acknowledgment extremely unsettling.

  She wished he’d say something. Anything. He’d spoken so little since his arrival that she was beginning to wonder why he’d bothered to come at all, and even as she thought it, she knew, because he’d known he’d find her there.

  He wasn’t using a walking stick, but neither did he move with the fluidity she’d seen on the rocks. She somehow sensed that he was still experiencing discomfort, but fighting to mask it.

  “How is your back, Your Grace?” she asked quietly.

  His jaw tightened. “Much improved, Miss Robertson. Thank you for your concern.”

  “My God, Weddington, must you be so formal?” Farthingham asked.

  “Unlike you, Farthingham, I have no desire to imitate the masses.”

  Farthingham chuckled. “Then you’ll absolutely adore what I have in mind for entertainment later.”

  “Whatever is wrong with your back, Your Grace?” Lady Priscilla asked.

  “He injured it while trying to beat Kitty at a game of lawn tennis,” Farthingham said before Weddington could respond.

  “I did not try, I succeeded in winning,” Weddington said tartly.

  “How unsporting,” Lady Priscilla said. “What sort of gentleman are you, Weddington, not to allow a lady to win?”

  “A gentleman who—” Kitty and Weddington began at the same time, stopped simultaneously, and looked at each other.

  Weddington angled his head. “Who recognizes a worthy opponent,” he finished.

  She’d been on brink of saying he was a gentleman who disliked losing a wager. Kitty felt the heat warm her face under his perusal, and she hardly knew what to do with her confusing thoughts. She studied him. “What if there had been no wager, Your Grace?”

  “I would have fought just as hard to win, Miss Robertson.”

  “Fought?” Farthingham asked. “Good God, Weddington, you weren’t at war.”

  “I disagree, Farthingham,” Weddington said, holding Kitty’s gaze. “It was a battle of skill. One does not dishonor one’s opponent by retreating before the decisive blow is delivered.”

  “It’s little wonder you’ve yet to marry,” Farthingham said. “I, for one, recognize that a woman is a delicate creature and must be handled as such. I would not deign to hurt her fragile feelings by actually striving to beat her at lawn tennis.”

  “Instead you insult her,” Kitty said.

  Farthingham jerked his head around, his blond brows raised in shock. “Pardon?”

  “When we play, you never try to win.”

  “Of course, I don’t strive to win, my sweet. I want you to have the honor of winning.”

  “But it isn’t winning if you didn’t try. Nor is it an honor. Rather it’s a hollow victory.”

  “I should think that would be better than no victory at all.”

  “You wouldn’t beat her,” Weddington said.

  She did not need his endorsement or his support, and yet she found herself warmed by both. Although she’d lost to him, she’d savored the game like none she’d ever won previously.

  Farthingham blinked and released a strangled laugh. “I jolly well would if I set my mind to it.”

  “I’ll wager you won’t win,” Weddington said.

  “What will you wager?” Farthingham asked.

  “What do you want?”

  Farthingham leaned back with a triumphant smile. “The Fair Lady.”

  “Done.”

  “And if Miss Robertson wins?” Lady Anne asked.

  “She won’t,” Farthingham said with confidence.

  “She will,” Weddington said. “Then you must pay a forfeit. Whatever I choose, at the time of my choosing.”

  “I accept.”

  “Farthingham, don’t be a fool,” Freddie warned. “You don’t accept a wager without knowing exactly what is at stake and when it will be paid.”

  “Whatever he desires is a moot issue, Freddie, because I will win, without a doubt.”

  Stunned, Kitty had watched the exchange as though she was of no consequence, a mere ball played on a court she didn’t understand, lobbed back and forth without care. “Have I no say on the matter?”

  “None whatsoever,” Farthingham said, beaming. “You wanted me to play you to win. Now I shall.”

  But she didn’t want her victory to result in Weddington gaining anything, and she saw by the way he was studying her that he knew it. Now it might be she who wouldn’t play for all she was worth. But honor would dictate that she must. What an unconscionable position to find herself in.

  She opened her mouth to insist she wouldn’t partake in a gam
e when such a ludicrous wager was at stake, saw the gleam of triumph in Weddington’s eyes, and snapped her mouth closed. They were battling on another level: she and he. He was challenging her to accept, expecting her to retreat.

  She squared her shoulders. “What is the fair lady?”

  “One of his yachts,” Farthingham said. “She’s a beauty. I know how much you like to sail, my sweet. This wager will give me the opportunity to take you out on the seas in my own vessel. Not your father’s.”

  Dear God, she wanted to weep. Because Farthingham did resent taking what he so desperately needed from her father. Because Weddington placed such faith in her ability to win that he was willing to risk losing something of such immense value.

  “It’s a game of lawn tennis, gentlemen. Wager something a bit more reasonable,” she urged.

  “I’m content with the wager as it stands,” Weddington announced.

  “As am I,” Farthingham said.

  “You are both insane.”

  “Don’t fret so, my sweet,” Farthingham said. “Weddington can well afford to replace it.”

  “That’s not the point, Nicky.”

  “If you’re so concerned about his giving up his yacht, don’t lose.” He grinned and leaned toward her. “But don’t experience a single moment of guilt when you do.”

  “You truly believe you play tennis with more skill than I do?”

  He nodded quickly. “Afraid so, my sweet. I’m really quite good.”

  He’d certainly never even given a hint of any talent at all when they played. That knowledge angered her almost as much as the thought that Weddington would benefit should she win. Would pride insist she win? Or would dislike for the man sitting across from her force her to lose? Not knowing what would influence the way she played was almost as challenging a dilemma as playing Weddington had been.

  She shrugged nonchalantly as though she couldn’t have cared less when in fact she couldn’t have cared more. A part of her was bothered that Farthingham had never considered her a worthy enough opponent to apply himself wholeheartedly toward beating her. “All right. If you insist, I’ll play you.”