Only Seduction Will Do

by Jenna Jaxon

  Alethea shifted in her seat. She had a way of being outspoken. The reason she’d been sent to London to begin with could be laid at the feet of her need to speak her mind. She simply did not hold with a woman remaining mute while her life was bargained away.

  “Even more important, once this child is born, you can make sure it is out of sight at all times.”

  “Eithne, I cannot abandon the child, even if I wished to.” Dropping her hand to her stomacher, she could not imagine the child hiding there. It was her child and, “It may well be Manning’s heir.”

  “Pray, do not dwell on that outcome, my dear. For now you should concentrate on discovering all of his likes and dislikes, in bed and out, then find a way to gratify every whim.” She smiled fondly at her husband, who caught her glance and beamed back at her. “Life is eternally more comfortable when lived with a man who knows exactly what he wants and gets it.”

  About to contradict that sentiment, Alethea instead closed her mouth to ponder the wisdom of Eithne’s words. Once married, she and the earl would pass most days in company. An easy matter, then, to discern his favorite meals, spirits, rooms, a thousand little things that would ease his comfort. She could find those things and be certain they graced Lord Manning’s home.

  “The more you discover about his likes and dislikes, the more you can create a comfortable home for him. One in which you are indispensable to his comforts. You must work to endear yourself to him, so that he cannot imagine life without you.” Eithne glared straight into her eyes. “Marriages have begun based on less than you and Lord Manning share, and have been successful. Please him at his board and in his bed, and he’ll have no reason to stray.”

  Sighing, Alethea sipped her cooling tea, wishing it were something stronger. Life would be more complicated as Lord Manning’s wife, especially as she’d have to navigate the twists and turns of her relationship with him knowing his feelings for her were lukewarm at best. Her major task in the coming months would be to ingratiate herself with him, all the while carrying a child they must pretend was his. Her plan had become a two-edged sword, liable to cut her to the bone if she could not find a way to make Lord Manning fall in love with her.

  * * * *

  Jack stood sipping Dalbury’s best cognac, trying to rid himself of the feeling of dread that had plagued him ever since leaving Miss Forsythe several hours before. He’d done his duty as a gentleman. Even managed to get quite caught up in the moment when he’d proposed. His actions had been the correct thing to do according to the strict code of conduct his father had reared him to live by. Chivalry above all else.

  Now, long after the die had been cast, the situation to which he had chained himself had begun to settle in his mind, causing doubts to bloom like poisonous flowers. He would marry a woman for whom he felt little affection and who had blatantly defied the morals of society by engaging in sexual congress with a man not her husband and getting with child by him. Not the woman he had ever envisioned himself marrying.

  With a sigh, he turned to his sister, who had been speaking for some time. “I beg your pardon, Kat. What did you say?”

  Shaking her head, Katarina grimaced, then laughed. “I will forgive your lack of attendance to me, Jack, as it is not every day one becomes betrothed. Have you been thinking of Miss Forsythe all this time?”

  “Or having second thoughts, Manning?” his brother-in-law chimed in. “Too late for that now. You seldom are allowed to break off an engagement once, let alone twice.” Dalbury shook his head. “I’m afraid you are committed to the lady now.”

  “I know.” Dark amber swirls in his glass mirrored the whirlwind in Jack’s mind. “As a gentleman, I felt I had no choice, given her circumstances, but to ask for her hand. That would have been fine if I hadn’t cared about contracting a marriage of convenience. However, I had hoped, someday, for a marriage more like yours and Dalbury’s, Kat. A love match.”

  Full-throated laughter erupted from his sister, joined almost instantly by her husband. “Lord, Jack, you must have the world’s worst memory.” Kat set her cup down and pressed her hand to the swell of her belly. “Now you’ve made him kick me.”

  Dalbury hurried to her side, placing his broad hand on the place she indicated. “The babe is active, isn’t he?” He gazed into Kat’s eyes, a dazzling burst of devotion shared between them.

  “I think he must want in on the jest, my love.” She covered her husband’s hand and raised her lips to his.

  Rolling his eyes, Jack looked away. Katarina and his brother-in-law were seldom given to acts of affection in public. In private, however, they indulged themselves quite often in demonstrations that made Jack deucedly uncomfortable. “This display is exactly the sort of thing I am speaking of, Kat. You and Dalbury seem to crave one another’s touch constantly, an outward sign of the deep devotion you bear for one another. I, on the other hand, have no hope of attaining such bliss with Miss Forsythe. Mine will be a marriage of convenience for her sake alone. Other than that, I bear no feelings for the woman whatsoever.”

  “Considering that I absolutely loathed Duncan before we married, I’d say you are a step or two further along with Miss Forsythe than we were when we wed.” Kat kissed her husband once more, then smiled at Jack. “You haven’t taken her in dislike, have you, Jack?”

  “No, well, not really.” The uncomfortable feeling he always got when he told his sister half-truths gripped his throat. “I do not have strong opinions about Miss Forsythe one way or the other.” He swallowed hard, his throat threatening to close completely.

  “Now, Jack. Your face is turning that peculiar purplish color it gets when you are being less than honest with me.” Waving a finger at him, his sister made an annoying tsk tsk sound.

  “Damn and blast it.” Jack threw himself into the chair opposite her.

  “You cannot fool me, dear brother. Nor yourself, I fear. What are you not telling me?” Blue gaze resting keenly on him, Kat sat back on the sofa. Waiting.

  Resistance to that azure stare impossible, Jack sighed grumpily. Might as well get it over with. “Ever since we met them, I’ve been under the impression that Lord and Lady Braeton have been playing matchmaker between me and the lady’s cousin. Lady B has always induced me to dance with Miss Forsythe at least twice at every ball I have attended. At their house party in July they contrived several times to leave us alone together, perhaps in hope of some sort of compromise. Miss Forsythe herself has always been very complimentary toward me, very gracious, and very, oh, I don’t know—” He paused, struggling to express the subtle way the woman had seemed to pursue him. “Calculating, I think is the best way to describe it.”

  “Lady Braeton or Miss Forsythe?” Kat broke in.

  “Both, really. I suspect Miss Forsythe has set her cap at me and her cousin is aiding her at every turn.”

  Twining his fingers with his wife’s, Dalbury chuckled. “I believe you will find this is hardly a peculiar occurrence in Society, Manning. Lady Braeton tried the same thing with me and her cousin in April. I, however had another woman on my mind.” He raised their linked fingers to his lips for a kiss. “All matchmaking mamas, or cousins in this case, want to secure the best marriage possible for their charges. What gave rise to Lady Braeton’s hopes for me was my well-known penchant for copper-colored hair.” Studying her head for a moment, he drew an errant wisp of Kat’s bright hair back behind her ear. “Your sister has almost the same shade as Miss Forsythe. Unfortunately for her, I had already compromised a certain Lady Katarina, else she might now be the Marchioness of Dalbury.”

  “Huh.” Kat pulled their joined hands to her lips and commenced kissing each of Dalbury’s knuckles.

  The man groaned and squirmed.

  “That is the other thing that is patently disturbing to me.” Jack gulped the remainder of his drink and set the glass down with a crash. Christ, had he gotten foxed that quickly? Damn, but he could use
another drink, but not if it sank him under the table. “Makes me wonder if I have made a dreadful mistake.”

  “What is that?” Taking a pause from the delightful torturing of her husband, Kat turned her full attention on Jack.

  “Miss Forsythe reminds me too much of you, Kat. Same hair color, same slight frame, though she is somewhat taller. She rides extremely well and astride as you do.” Jack slumped. “It’s hardly decent.”

  “What’s wrong with the way my wife looks, Manning?” Dalbury leered at him, then ogled Kat’s breasts swelling over her gown’s décolletage.

  “Nothing at all. Kat’s a beautiful woman. But what if when you’d met her she had looked like your sister, Juliet? Would you have been so eager to bed her then?”

  Shuddering, Dalbury dropped Kat’s hand as though it had burned him, and looked as if he wanted to crawl off and hide. “Speak no more of that, Manning. I believe I take your point. If this was the case, why did you betroth yourself to her?”

  Jack shrugged, defeated. “I had to do the honorable thing.” In truth, it came down to the simple teachings of his father. Honor before all else. “So any advice you have to offer about this predicament, anything at all, would be helpful in the circumstances.”

  “I confess,” Dalbury said sheepishly, “nothing comes to mind.”

  “My advice, brother, is to concentrate on how she and I differ. Her height, for one thing. Does that not please you? She is quite tall, a striking feature in a woman, especially if she sits a horse well.” Absorbed in her subject, Kat leaned toward him as if eager for his reply.

  “She can almost look me in the eye,” he replied, seeing again the woman’s disconcertingly blue eyes. “Most men prefer to look down upon a woman when speaking or dancing with her.”

  “You are not most men, Jack. And it is still a difference between us. I don’t suppose she fences, there’s a difference you might come to regret if you find yourself with no one to spar with. Then too, Miss Forsythe has a very different style of dress than I do. I’ve noticed she wears bolder colors, despite her hair.” Kat was warming to her sport of matchmaking. “She certainly excels me in the country dances. You are forever complaining of dull partners. I fear I have become one of those at my advanced age.”

  “I believe Miss Forsythe is two years your elder, my love,” Dalbury broke in helpfully.

  “Too, you can hope she does not speak her mind as freely as I have done. You do recall my first official meeting with Duncan, Jack? I gave him the rough side of my tongue, no holding back. I boarded a ship to avoid him.” She gazed adoringly at her husband.

  “If my previous dealings with the woman are any indication of her nature, Kat, then she will match your antics pace for pace.”

  Katarina had a point, however. Every word she had spoken about her early days with Dalbury was mere truth. So if her poor excuse for a marriage could turn in to a great love match, there might be hope for him yet. Could he perhaps persuade Miss Forsythe to dye her hair brown? Just for a while, until he adjusted to her. And there would need to be a period of adjustment. He must speak to the woman about that. They must get to know one another better before they attempted to move into any great physical intimacy.

  “Oh, dear.” Kat grinned. “How wonderful, er, terrible for you.” She laughed, which was promptly rewarded with a kick from within her belly.

  “He or she likes your laugh, Kat.” Jack smiled at his niece or nephew-to-be. “Perhaps it tickles him or her.” Of course, he’d be happier if his wife-to-be’s first child could be his own. But then his bride wouldn’t be Miss Forsythe. What a muddle. How the Fates did dance about in their confounding antics.

  “I believe you must go lie down now, love.” Dalbury assisted Kat to her feet, tense as though ready to sweep her into his arms and carry her up the stairs. “You should not overtire yourself.”

  “I have been lying in bed since Christmas Eve, Duncan, pretending to be unconscious because of the frightful excitement at the ball.” She frowned at him, but he merely laid his hand on the small of her back, and herded her neatly toward the door.

  “And we don’t want to jeopardize Juliet by revealing that subterfuge, now do we? Come, return to your chamber and lie down. I shall come to you as soon as Manning leaves.”

  His brother-in-law’s soothing voice even lulled Jack into a sense of false security. He relaxed further into the sofa and closed his eyes.

  “Why don’t you invite Miss Forsythe to dinner tomorrow night?”

  Bolting up from his seat, wide awake now, Jack stared into Kat’s amused eyes inches from his own. Had his sister gone mad? “Invite her for dinner?”

  “She does take sustenance like the rest of us, does she not?” Katarina pursed her lips, a sure sign he was sliding on treacherous ice. “Of course, invite her. Duncan and I have met her before, of course, but we don’t know her nearly well enough if you are going to marry her.”

  “Dalbury,” Jack whispered, “do something.”

  “Can’t, old chap. Mustn’t upset the happy mother-to-be.” Dalbury grinned at him. Probably in league with his wife all along.

  “I must meet with Miss Forsythe immediately, Jack. I can assist her in her new role as the affianced of Lord Manning.” Spinning in a circle, Kat giggled. “This will be heaps of fun, don’t you think?”

  Dalbury steered her once more toward the door.

  “As long as you are safe and secure, my dear, I will be happy as a giddy man.” Jack kissed her goodnight, a chaste peck on her cheek. “Sleep well. Tomorrow you will have a bit more excitement in your life thanks to me.”

  “Yes, and I can scarcely wait.” Kat turned back toward him.

  Patience run out at last, Dalbury scooped her up in his arms and made off toward the staircase.

  “Dinner at eight, Jack,” she called. “Make certain you and Miss Forsythe are not late.” The faint words drifted down from the upper floor.

  This dinner party would be one the whole ton would give a fortune to attend. If only he could decline it.

  Chapter 8

  “I really think the blue wool stripe is better, Clemons.” Alethea peered at the mirror, turning first left, then right, critically appraising the deep gold silk sacque dress she currently wore. It was the third dress she had donned that afternoon. “Don’t you think this one makes me look too pale?”

  “No, miss.” Her maid frowned, an exasperated pucker to her lips. “You’ve changed four times now—”

  “Three times. Only three.”

  “Well, you don’t need to make it four. You look lovely in that color.”

  “But I must be perfect, Clemons. Don’t you see? These are Lord Manning’s closest relatives. His sister is the Marchioness of Dalbury, for goodness’ sake.” Alethea bit her bottom lip, worrying the soft inner part until it tore and she tasted blood. “I must look my absolute best. No flaws whatsoever. His lordship must understand that he is not sacrificing himself, but is marrying the perfect wife, in both appearance and decorum.”

  “He needs only to take one look at you, miss, to see that. He should be grateful to have you.” Clemons bustled forward, adjusting Alethea’s stomacher, smoothing the heavy silk over her shoulders. “You will be fine.”

  She hadn’t been until now. This past summer had been her third Season. The two previous ones in Ireland had been hideous for a tall, gawky eighteen-year-old with flaming red hair. Few gentlemen had asked her to dance, and those who did had sniggered about it with their friends afterwards. The next one had been no better, so this year Father had packed her off to her cousin in London, to try to sell her in that market. And her desperation and despair had led her to Lord Manning.

  Shooting Clemons a tremulous smile, Alethea pressed a hand against her stomach, trying to keep the jittery feelings at bay. Would they notice if she didn’t eat tonight? If she took even one bite of anything she’d be violently il
l. Even now her stomach roiled to and fro, so she sent up yet another prayer to help her get through this night without casting up her accounts. “Very well, then. My bronze and green shawl.”

  Draping the China silk shawl around her mistress’s shoulders, Clemons fussed with the lay of the material until Alethea thought she would fly to pieces. At last, the maid stood back. “I think you look a treat, miss. Lord Manning won’t be able to take his eyes off you, mark my words.”

  “Thank you, Clemons. I suppose we shall see shortly.” Glancing into the mirror once more, Alethea bit her lips to redden them once more. She straightened, threw her shoulders back, lifted her chin and strode out the door. If she could last through the night, she could convince Lord Manning he’d not be sorry he was marrying her.

  As she descended the steps, a trick of the light cast the earl’s long shadow halfway up the staircase. A looming reminder of his presence in her life now. Remaining calm, Alethea forced herself to continue down, gripping her skirts to keep them above her shoes. She’d be mortified if she tripped and fell into his arms.

  “Miss Forsythe.” The earl, elegant in his black cloak and hat, bowed gravely as she entered. Before she could complete the final step, he grasped her hand and raised it to his lips.

  Warm, pleasant tingles shot up her arm and she froze before her foot reached the floor. “Good…good evening, my lord.” Every inch of her crackled with an energy she could not explain. “I am so pleased to see you.”

  “And I you. Shall we go? The horses should not stand long in this cold.”

  “Of course. Barnes, my cloak please.” The butler produced her long dark blue wrap and Lord Manning took it from him.

  “Allow me.” He laid it snugly across her shoulders and buttoned the double silk frogs to close it.

  Alethea tried to relax under the warmth of the cloak, reveling in Lord Manning’s touch, in his very solicitous care of her. If only she could believe it meant something more than common courtesy. With a smile of thanks she grasped his arm and he led her to his waiting carriage.