Only Seduction Will Do

by Jenna Jaxon

  Why the hell hadn’t he attempted this before he’d gotten married?

  After putting Fanny Hill back in his valise, Jack stood beside the fire, hands clasped behind his back, staring into the flames. He must do it or be damned. By God, he would know how to act when he came to his wife’s bed. He would do this for her.

  The flame smiled, mingling yellow and orange and red at its core. His eyes grew weary with the dancing flames. It was time to put this all in the past and take his place as Alethea’s lover.

  * * * *

  Alethea paced in her apartment as Clemons tried to fasten a topaz necklace about her neck.

  “Hold still, my lady. I don’t want to break the chain.” Clemons hurried after her, trying to match her mistress’s steps.

  “Oh, leave it off.” Alethea waved her maid away. “I’d rather pace than wait the minute it would take to have you fasten it.” She dropped into a chair and Clemons pounced, drawing the necklace around her neck quickly and fastening it.

  “There. Thank goodness, my lady. It makes you look such a treat.” Clemons bent, holding the bronze slippers as her mistress slipped into them.

  “I truly hope his lordship thinks so.” Alethea leaned her head on her hand. What else could she do to entice her husband into her bed? She’d been so sure last night would have been the perfect time, but he still insisted on separate rooms.

  “I’m certain he will, my lady.” Clemons continued fixing and straightening her, one item at a time. “He was very attentive when you lay so ill at Merrywell.”

  “Men always fawn over women when they are ill. Once they are well again they go back to ignoring them.” Unable to sit still, Alethea rose and wandered to the window overlooking the back garden. Moonlight streamed over the wall, illuminating the yard with light almost as bright as day. Beautiful and mysterious, yet it held no interest for her in her current mood.

  “Somehow I don’t think Lord Manning will ignore you tonight, my lady.” The maid smiled, picking up a discarded pair of slippers and taking them into the dressing room. “Was he not attentive during the journey to London?”

  “Yes, I suppose he was.” Pouting, she came back to the chair, lighting there once more. “Very solicitous in his care of me. And a good companion. We talked easily about all manner of things. Still, I simply won’t be completely convinced of his regard until he comes to me, here, in my bed.” She waved toward the massive four poster bed behind her. It saddened her to look at it and think of being all alone in it tonight. “I don’t feel like a wife, Clemons. I feel like a houseguest or his sister. I want…” She wanted so many things from her husband that it seemed she would never have. “I want passion most of all.”

  Finished with tidying the room, Clemons returned to Alethea’s side. “If that’s what you want, my lady, why don’t you try using your feminine wiles?”

  Peering into the mirror on the toilette table, Alethea sighed. “I don’t know that I have any more feminine wiles to use. I’ve done everything I can think of.”

  “Then ask your cousin, Lady Braeton. She’s been happily married to Lord Braeton for a long time.”

  “My cousin will have no more advice to give me than she already has.”

  “What about your friend, Miss Carlton? I remember you two were very close earlier last year. Although she is unmarried, she may still have ideas about how to capture a gentleman’s attention.”

  “What a splendid idea, Clemons!” Brightening, Alethea smiled at last. “According to Lady Dalbury, Miss Carlton became Lady Trevor not long after I married. She might be the perfect person to enlighten me on how to seduce a husband, as her marriage is reported to be quite a love match.” If only Violet could help her. “I will send to her first thing in the morning.”

  “Perhaps you can begin even tonight, my lady.” Clemons tucked an errant wisp of hair back into Alethea’s coiffure. “Flirting with his lordship would be a good start.”

  “True, though it has never seemed to work before.” Turning back to the mirror, she straightened her fichu then pulled the frilly piece of fabric away entirely. There, now her breasts were barely covered by her bodice. “I swear, if this dress doesn’t make him take notice I will have to change modistes. Hmmm.” Alethea studied the vivid blue and green striped gown that set off her hair and coloring perfectly. “Someone, I can’t recall who, told me about a mantua maker in Fleet Street who creates such delicious gowns they make the husbands of their customers weep.”

  “Have you the name, my lady?”

  “I’ll make inquiries tomorrow as well. I will not allow a little thing such as the lack of a name stand in the way of my happiness. Splendid, Clemons.” Alethea rubbed scented cream into her hands and dabbed essence of roses behind each ear and down her neck. “Should your suggestions bear fruit, you will find an increase in your quarterly salary.” She rose. “My shawl, please.”

  Clemons produced a bronze shawl, shot through with metallic threads, and slipped it around her shoulders. “Now look, my lady,” she said, pointing to the mirror.

  Alethea stared at the image before her. Her hair had been swept into a coppery mass of ringlets on the top of her head. Her face shone smooth and clear with bright eyes that snapped with excitement in the candlelight. The creamy skin of her shoulders and breasts on display should tempt any man. A woman should not seem overconfident in her looks, but she had never seen her own image so animated, so enticing. Perhaps tonight her husband would see her for the first time. And like what he saw.

  * * * *

  “We must begin to think about hosting entertainments now that we are returned to London. The Season will be upon us before we know it.” Sipping her wine, Alethea gazed at her husband, shaking her head slightly to set her topaz earrings to dancing.

  His eyes widened, then narrowed into two smoldering dark spheres.

  All through dinner she had teased him this way and that. Leaning toward him to show off her breasts in the décolleté gown. Touching his hand or arm, which certainly sent a sizzle all over her. Twitching off her shawl to reveal as much of her bare shoulders and neck as possible.

  To her surprise, he’d responded in kind. Laughing with her in a deep, rich voice that sent chills down her spine. In the candlelight his eyes had seemed enormous obsidian pools, swirling with little concealed passion until she must drop her gaze or succumb to the need to leap across the table and devour him.

  “An excellent idea, my dear. I fear we cannot host a ball, however, for we do not have the space here in London.”

  Laughing once more, she shook her head. This was why men needed wives to run their social lives. They knew so little of how things were done.

  “I beg to differ, my dear.” Her voice caught as he raised his eyebrows. She must be far gone indeed when the mere raising of an eyebrow sent a wave of desire coursing through her. “We have ample space for dancing, cards, supper, and even an entertainment.”

  A comically perplexed frown on his face made her smother a giggle. His expressions were so sharp, so genuine she could almost read his mind. Almost.

  “Pray tell me, wife, how you propose to accomplish this miracle? This townhouse is exceedingly small to my eye.” Nonchalantly, he sipped his wine, his gaze hot upon her.

  “Easily, my lord.” Speaking confidently, she raised her glass as well. She’d already worked out every detail of the ball before proposing it to him. Nothing would she leave to chance ever again. “The rose drawing room will be for the entertainment, with all the furniture removed save the pianoforte and the harp. I suggest we hire singers and the popular Mr. Bassinnio to play for our guests.”

  “Very well, my dear. Continue.” Jack nodded, a smile playing about his lips.

  Her gaze lingered there before she went on. “Across the hall in the green receiving room, we shall set up the card tables. The room is angular and will hold more small tables. I will make certain
they are all equipped with card boxes and all the necessary accoutrements.” She drew out the final word in her painstakingly learned French accent.

  Jack shifted in his chair, crossing his legs as his breathing quickened so much it made the candle flame waver. “Go on.” His voice had deepened to a husky whisper.

  Goose flesh broke out all along her arms and Alethea swallowed hard before continuing. “Dancing can take place on the second floor in the reading room.” An odd room to be sure, with banks of windows on two sides and shelving around only the bottom half of the walls. The house had another library space down the hall, with only two large windows and masses of books. The light, airy reading room would be perfect for dancing.

  “But is it truly large enough, my dear?” Jack cocked his head, giving her a fiery look that made her mouth dry as dust.

  “Oh, yes, my lord.” She leaned over the end of the table, close enough to him she saw a faint sheen of sweat on his brow. “Because although it is somewhat narrow, it is extremely long. And it is length that matters most, don’t you agree?” She licked her lips and sighed.

  Jack stared back at her, so completely still she feared he’d stopped breathing.

  “Do you not agree, my dear? As long as the couples have sufficient length to promenade the sets, we should be well accommodated.”

  “Yes,” he said at last, biting out the word as he slid back in his chair, crossing his legs. A trickle of sweat ran down from his temple. His chest heaved as he panted for breath. “I believe you are correct, my dear. However, you have neglected one most important thing.” The sound of his breath rasped in her ear.

  Tingles prickled along the back of her neck. “What is that, my lord?”

  “We must be prepared to satisfy all the guests’…appetites.” The gleam in his eyes sent a panicked flutter to her stomach and the cool room heated suddenly.

  “What?” She could scarcely breathe.

  “The supper room.” He seized her hand and a shock ran through her. “Where shall we eat?”

  “Eat?” she squeaked, her blood pounding in her ears. Spellbound by the keen desire in his eyes, Alethea rose from her chair. “Here, my lord.”

  “Right here?” Rising as she did, Jack grasped her other hand and leaned toward her.

  Waves of sharp desire hurtled through her. “Right here. Right…now.” She closed the distance between them and their lips met, setting off sparks dancing behind her closed eyelids. His lips were soft, gentle. Not at all like the rough oaf of in the carriage.

  Gently he pulled her closer, the table between them creating an insurmountable barrier to the ultimate closeness she craved. He grasped her head, his hands firm and glorious in her hair.

  Groaning in pleasure, she opened immediately at the touch of his tongue to the seal of her lips, welcoming him in with a joy she’d only imagined before. She strained toward him, heart thudding. Had it actually leaped from her chest onto the table?

  Jack stilled, then tore his mouth away with a curse.

  She started back, blinking rapidly. What had happened to him?

  Amazingly, light spread across the table and with a jolt she saw that a candelabra had overturned, setting the tablecloth afire.

  With a gasp, she stumbled back as Jack calmly emptied first his and then her water glass onto the blaze. Her arm must have struck the candles as she strained toward him.

  Raising a fearful gaze to him, she was surprised with his puckered, rueful smile. “I believe the fire is out for the night.”

  She hung her head and sighed. “I suppose so.” If not for bad luck, she’d have no luck at all it seemed. “I’m sorry, Jack.”

  Tossing back the last drops of his wine, he crossed around the end of the table and took her arm. “Do not be sorry, my dear. The table can be mended and a new cloth acquired. As long as you are safe, nothing else matters.” He searched her face. “You were not hurt, were you?”

  “No, not hurt at all.”

  “Then all is well.” He patted her hand. “May I see you to your room?”

  She nodded and they quit the room with its faint smell of scorched wood. “Simons,” he called to the butler as they mounted the stairs. “There was a small mishap at dinner. Please see to it.”

  “Very good, my lord.” The man turned immediately, hurrying toward the dining room.

  “I hope you will continue with plans for our ball, my dear. It sounds as though you have everything well in hand already.” He sounded pleased. “I have an errand to run tomorrow afternoon, but will be home for dinner. I hope to continue where we left off tonight.”

  Warmth stole through her. “I am inviting a friend to luncheon tomorrow, but we will be finished long before dinner.” She slid him a sideways glance. “I will be very eager to continue that discussion as well, my lord.”

  He stopped before her chamber door. “Good. I believe we are very close to an accord and shall finally arrive at a decision then.”

  “I believe you are correct, my lord.” She disentangled her arm from his, a little pang as she lost contact with him. “Tomorrow we will indeed settle this matter between us.”

  Tomorrow, with the help of her friend, she would seduce her husband, so they, and not the table, would go up in flames.

  Chapter 21

  Glancing around the deserted, weed-choked yard at the rear of the House of Pleasure, Jack tapped discreetly on the rough gray door. He’d ridden his horse over so no one would recognize his carriage in the bright, early afternoon light of a blustery March day. So far no one seemed to be stirring this time of day in this neighborhood. At every sound, however—a dog barking, the flapping clothes hung on a line to dry next door, even the sharp snorting of his horse tethered to the side of the house—he jerked and peered over his shoulder. The last thing he wanted was for word to get around he’d been frequenting this place. Gentlemen came to this place under cover of darkness for a reason.

  He, however, had business elsewhere this evening. All he needed was a short meeting with Amorina Vestry, some very explicit demonstrations of what pleased a woman, and he could return to his wife for an evening of pleasure he hoped neither one of them would ever forget.

  That he was about to engage in sexual congress with a woman not his wife ate at him constantly. To be unfaithful almost immediately after pledging his faith to Alethea would make him the most despicable of husbands. She had lain with another man, true, but before their marriage. And she had been provoked by his own unfeeling actions. The blame lay squarely on his shoulders. If he must be unfaithful in order to make his marriage work, then he’d simply have to endure the guilt for the rest of his days. He’d prefer to go to Alethea unsullied. However, that had not worked out at all. Experience seemed the only remedy and by God, he would get that now and be done with this place forever.

  Impatient to get the wretched business over with, he knocked harder. Were they all still dead to the world at two o’clock in the afternoon?

  The door jerked open and a dirty-faced urchin of about twelve shoved his head through the crack. “Who’re you? Madame Vestry’s don’t take no customers afore eight o’clock unless they’s got an appointment.” The boy looked him up and down, as though he’d assessed such gentlemen a thousand times. “You ain’t got an appointment, do ya?”

  “No, I do not.” Jack squatted eye-level with the lad, staring into wary dark brown eyes. He held out half a crown. “Could you get me such an appointment in exchange for my undying gratitude and this coin for your trouble?”

  The coin disappeared in a blur of scrabbling fingers. “Come in. I’ll get Jenny.” With that cryptic remark, the boy opened the door and sprinted away into the depth of a greasy-smelling corridor.

  “Willie! Why didn’t you shut the damned door? We’re not tryin’ to heat the whole bloody outdoors, are we?” A blond girl darted into the hallway, a mixing bowl in her hand, her hair slipping o
ut of the untidy bundle on top of her head. “Come back ’ere!” she called after the scamp.

  Jack shut the door, making her jump and turn around.

  “Who the hell are you?” Draggled hair, pasty face, and muscular arms persuaded him the House of Pleasure’s cook stood before him, giving him a wide-eyed wary look. Hopefully she was the cook and not a girl of the house. If she was more than fourteen he’d eat his hat.

  “I’ve come to see Madame Vestry.”

  “The madame’s not here.” She sniffed and wiped her nose on her sleeve and glared at him.

  Jack restrained himself from offering his handkerchief. She didn’t seem the friendly type. “What do you mean she’s not here? When will she be back?” God knew he couldn’t wait long. And no telling how long this business would take. Still, he had to see it done. Today.

  “She’s gone away. Never says where she’s going and nobody asks. Usually stays away a week or two in the spring. Left day before yesterday.” The girl continued to beat whatever was in her bowl.

  “Gone.” Damnation. Well, that was it. He wasn’t about to wait two more weeks for Vestry to put in an appearance. He’d simply have to go home, consult Fanny Hill one more time, and trust to God he didn’t displease or hurt Alethea yet again. God’s way of preventing him from being unfaithful, he supposed. “I see.” He nodded to the girl who continued to stare at him uneasily. “Then I will take my leave.”

  He turned to open the door.

  “Milord.”

  Pounding feet behind him made him whirl back, just in time to catch Willie before he crashed into him.