Seducing the Single Lady

by Maya Rodale

  Yes, she felt lust. Then she remembered the wager, and she felt anger. Surely she was worth more than fifty pounds!

  Then she remembered that they had despised each other for most of their lives. One of them had even put an entire body of water and several nations between them. For nine years.

  But she also had to consider the perfect day he had planned for her, rife with adventures, and how he grinned and held her hand through it all. She remembered the surge of contentment she experienced whilst lying in his arms after making love.

  To her surprise, he had shown he was everything she never thought he was—attentive, adventurous, loving. There were times when he hurt her or made her cry. She had sworn never to forgive him. But at the end of the day, all she wanted was to be in his embrace.

  Clearly, there was much to be emotional about and she was completely within her rights to be ever so slightly out of sorts. But when he appeared she was in turns angry and relieved, happy and sulky.

  “You. Again.”

  The words came out sullen and petulant even though she had spent an entire day dissolved in tears because they had fought bitterly. And because she had fallen in love with him.

  She didn’t want to be without him and she was afraid that he’d walk away again. She loved him. She did not want to be a brokenhearted girl.

  And by some miracle he was here even though she’d refused his proposal for the third or fourth or fifth time. Who was counting, so long as he asked once more? She was happy to see him. Relieved, frankly. All hope was not lost.

  Nevertheless the words that escaped her lips were “You. Again.” With all the boredom, sarcasm, disdain and contempt she didn’t know she could muster.

  “It is lovely to see you again, Miss Grey.” Damien spoke courteously and this inflamed her temper.

  Miss Grey?! She had been Susannah to him! She’d been Percy to him!

  “This is my solicitor, Eastwick,” Damien said, introducing the elder, somber gentleman accompanying him. They all took seats in the drawing room and she served them tea from the yellow china tea set. All the while her heart was buzzing. Whatever could this be about?

  She eyed Damien. He did not meet her eye. Coward.

  “What is this about, Lord Bedford?”

  It was Eastwick who answered. “His Lordship has called this meeting regarding a contract obliging the two of you to marry.”

  “I am familiar with it,” Susannah said coldly.

  “We have consulted the original document and find that, while there are no ‘escape clauses’ if you will, the language is such that it allows the Viscount Bedford to dissolve the contract if he should so choose,” Eastwick said. “Please, take a moment to review it.”

  With that, he handed her a sheaf of papers. She glanced at them and all the serious legal words swam meaninglessly before her eyes.

  “The Viscount Bedford? A specific one, or any one, in general?” she inquired.

  “Any one in general,” Eastwick answered.

  “This one in particular,” Damien stated.

  Susannah sipped her tea and didn’t taste it at all. If she were understanding them correctly, he meant to dissolve the contract. It was either the most romantic thing in the world or completely and utterly devastating.

  Of course, Damien would wait until she had gone and given him her heart, body and soul! She dared another glance at him. He met her gaze this time, but she could not read his intentions in his eyes.

  “Please be abundantly clear, gentlemen. This is a very sensitive and grave matter.”

  Damien said nothing. Not with words, anyway. But his actions could not be more clear. He took the contract, dated decades earlier and signed by their dear, departed, beloved fathers, which bound them together for life, since birth.

  He ripped it in half.

  Then in quarters.

  Then in eighths.

  And then he sprinkled the lot of it, like celebratory confetti, into the fire.

  She felt as if he were ripping her heart in half.

  Then in quarters.

  Then in eighths.

  Then burning it all, leaving nothing but a pile of ashes.

  “What in heaven’s…?” Susannah set down her teacup with a clatter. A jumble of questions lodged in her throat: What does this mean? Do you no longer wish to marry me? Do you not care to know that I have fallen in love with you? If you had only asked me once more, I might have said yes! Dear Damien, what have you done with my heart?

  “We are now no longer betrothed,” he said.

  “But—”

  “We are not aware of any other copies of the contract,” Eastwick added. “However, these things have a pesky habit of lingering in old trunks and hidden desk drawers and the like. Which is why Lord Bedford has taken the liberty of drawing up this new contract dissolving all and any outstanding obligations you may have to each other.”

  “Do you need a pen?” Damien asked. “Eastwick has brought a pen.”

  Eastwick could take his pen and—Susannah took a deep breath and smiled. Like a lady. Who was having unladylike thoughts.

  “I will have to review this with my own solicitor before I sign,” she replied. “If I sign.”

  “If?” Damien asked the question with one little syllable and the lift of one brow. “Eastwick, a moment if you please.”

  “Of course, Lord Bedford. Miss Grey.” He stepped out of the drawing room, closing the doors gently behind him. The latch clicked softly.

  “What is this about, Damien? Just yesterday you proposed. Again.”

  “And you refused. Again.” Damien smiled wryly. He pushed his fingers rakishly through his hair he leaned forward earnestly. God, she loved him. And he was leaving her. “I want to live an honorable life, Susannah. One with a wife and children and heirs who will proudly and honorably carry on the Bedford name.”

  “But not with me.” The question should have been what about me? What about me and the babe we might have conceived just yesterday?

  “You had your chance, Susannah. You said no. Repeatedly.”

  “But we…” How did one say “But we made love?” It didn’t seem quite the thing to declare over tea and legal contracts in the drawing room.

  “You said you wished to take a lover. I pride myself on being an obliging gentleman.”

  Susannah wanted to scream. This is why she had despised him for years! Taunts and teasing, relentlessly! Twisting her words and wishes around, giving and then taking away. Only this time her heart was involved. No, her heart had always been his. Why else would she have pushed him away—if not for the thrill of his return to her? How else would she have fallen so quickly for him? She could only conclude that a small part of her had always loved him and always known they were fated to be together.

  That is, until he threw the shreds of the contract into the fire.

  No, they were meant to be together. She believed this now.

  And then she caught him glancing at the clock above the mantel.

  “But you will lose fifty pounds!” she blurted out.

  Damien only shrugged. “I can afford it. You mustn’t forget, Susannah, that not everyone has need or want of your fortune.”

  And with that he cast himself into even sharper relief with all the “suitors” who crowded into her drawing room. Her allure to the ton was her fortune and her fashion sense. But none of that mattered to Damien, for he had dressed her as a lad, and then undressed her completely. He had no need of her fortune. Thus the only reason for them to be together now wasn’t the contract or a need for her funds, but love.

  She loved him. Alas alas alas he did not feel the same. Alas!

  “Damien…”

  “Do have your solicitor review the contract, though I can assure you the document is sound. It fairly and simply absolves us of having to marry each other.”

  With that he stood, and nodded politely. “Goodbye, Miss Grey.”

  Chapter 8: Crazy in Love

  Every moment Damien spent
in Susannah’s presence during which he pretended to have a hard heart was torture for her—and for him. The things he did for love!

  The simple truth had finally entered his thick skull: she would not marry him out of obligation. She would only marry him if it were her choice to do so. Only love would impel her to choose a lifetime with him. She could never be sure that he loved her if they were still bound by the terms of the contract. That would give her reason to suspect he was just doing the honorable thing.

  But really, he needed her to know that his heart beat for her.

  So he ripped up the contract.

  Even though in doing so he lost his only hold on her. In giving her a choice in her fate, he risked losing her forever. She might take Frannie as a lover, or one of the stupid bucks of the ton. She would be free to marry whomever she wished. But if she were so inclined, she could choose to marry him.

  He prayed fervently that she was so inclined.

  It was an act of madness, of a crazy man. A deranged man. An utterly insane man. Love, and only love, could drive him to such risky endeavors.

  Having dissolved their obligation to each other, Damien now proceeded to the second part of his plan: courting and seducing the now-single lady of his heart.

  Like any other suitor—much as he was loath to consider himself any other suitor—Damien arrived for calling hours. He stood in the doorway for a moment, taking in the scene. Susannah sat on a throne-like chair, smiling prettily and surrounded by a swarm of eager men, including her dearest friend, Stanford. The smile, he noted, did not reach her eyes. Was it wrong to find hope in her sadness?

  “Well, look who has arrived,” Susannah remarked when her gaze settled upon him. For a moment, their eyes locked across the crowded room. He dared to hope he still had a chance. She smiled and addressed the room full of callers. “Ladies, take note. He is keen to marry.”

  “Miss Grey is right. I am eager to wed.”

  “I’m always right,” Susannah said.

  “And I am wrong,” he replied.

  “Terribly, grievously wrong,” she continued. The rest of the room was confused, but also transfixed. They seemed to sense that they were witness to a private communication. One in which he, in so many words, apologized again for the foolish wager, his stupid assumptions about her and the cowardly way he had fled his fate to pursue his freedom.

  “Thus the rumors are true?” Lady Roxbury asked. “We have heard that you two are no longer betrothed.”

  “I had hoped, and dared to dream, but didn’t dare believe I’d have a chance with you, Miss Grey,” a young man said passionately, dropping to one knee before her.

  “Now, now, Frederick,” Susannah replied, smiling at her suitor.

  Damien’s gut knotted. She could have anyone she wanted. He might have lost her, in following some misguided romantic notion.

  “It is true that Miss Grey and I have amended the terms of our betrothal contract,” Damien said, even though it pained him to do it.

  “What sort of amendment?” Lady Roxbury inquired.

  “Ripped to bits and burned in the fire,” Susannah said succinctly. “You may yet find some scraps remaining in the fireplace.”

  “What on earth has brought about such a breach?” The guests began to whisper and murmur amongst each other. They would all dine out on this scene for weeks.

  “Matters have changed,” Damien said evasively.

  Damien could have said Frannie and let everyone assume what they would. He could have been more explicit. He could have mentioned how she had gallivanted around town dressed as a man and behaving like a reckless rogue.

  He could have hinted at how they had spent the afternoon locked in a passionate embrace and yet remained unwed. Damien could have ruined her a dozen times over.

  As a ray of salvation, he could then offer his hand in marriage as the one and only way she could redeem herself and maintain a proper place in society.

  But he would never, ever, ever do any of that. Damien loved her. Loved her in a way that drove him to distraction.

  He ought to have gone over his correspondence with his secretary that morning, but he had found himself dreaming of her lips.

  He ought to have been reviewing accounts; instead imagined the taste of her and the sound of her cries as she climaxed.

  He had considered spending an afternoon in the old way—drinking himself sick and wagering exorbitant sums in the company of degenerate fools.

  Instead he went shopping.

  “I have brought you a gift,” Damien said. He crossed the room and handed her the carefully wrapped box.

  “Well, that is unexpected,” she remarked.

  “Open it, but take care. It’s fragile.”

  With care and a touch of suspicion, Susannah carefully unwrapped the package. Then she lifted the lid of the box. A dozen little items were all wrapped in paper and nestled in together. She needed only to unwrap one to understand.

  “Oh,” she gasped, letting the paper fall to the floor. Susannah’s head jerked up. Tears stung in her blue eyes. In her hands, a tiny teacup made of white china and painted with dainty pink roses.

  “Compliments of Lord Destructo. And myself. I believe we owe you.”

  “Now what am I to do with a child’s tea set?” she asked trying to sound haughty, but her true feelings were revealed by one plump tear making its way down her cheek. Everyone in the drawing room had fallen silent.

  Have tea parties with our daughters. That was Damien’s hope and intention.

  “Take tea in incredibly small quantities?” he suggested with a shrug. A few people tittered. He wished them gone, but as long as Susannah and he might provide a scene, no one would leave and risk missing it. Instead, he would take his leave.

  “Good day, Miss Grey,” he said softly.

  He’d made it as far as the foyer when he heard her call his name two, three times in a row.

  “Damien…Damien…Damien…”

  He stopped. Heart pounding.

  “Tell me this doesn’t mean what I think it means,” Susannah cried, slightly breathless.

  “What do you think it means?”

  “That you are honoring your obligations to me so that you can make a clean break, and never be bothered with me, the scrappy brat.” Susannah’s anguish was plain. She twisted her hands in the pale blue silk of her skirt. Her eyes fixed upon him, begging for answers.

  “No, Susannah. That isn’t it at all.”

  Then Damien forced himself to walk away.

  ******

  The next afternoon, Damien defied her expectations and arrived again during calling hours. Upon this occasion, he brought flowers: a hothouse bouquet of roses in varying shades of red and pink—the colors of love, not friendship.

  Did he mean—?

  Did she dare suspect—?

  Was it only wishful thinking?

  Susannah’s pulse raced and she started to feel light headed. Men brought flowers to women they courted. Thus, was Damien courting her? The signs seemed so, but she was hesitant to believe. After all, she’d been ready to accept one of his proposals and then he’d gone and ripped the contract, setting them free.

  Setting her free! Susannah deeply inhaled the luscious fragrance of the flowers and didn’t try to stop the rushing of her heart. She was free to marry whomever she wished, or not marry at all. Finally, for the first time in her life she was truly her own mistress, beholden to no one.

  What a gift Damien had given her! At the time it had felt like the worst sort of cruelty, but now she could see it differently.

  And the tea set—that was an apology. A fresh start. Not a parting gift, but a gesture of good will.

  And now that she was free do to whatever she wished…

  What she wanted was Damien. His strong arms around her in a warm, forever sort of embrace. She wanted his kiss and she wanted to feel him inside of her again and again. Susannah wanted to spend her life with a man who listened to her (as he did), who took her hand an
d led her on grand adventures (as he did), and who loved her thoroughly and knowingly (as she hoped he did and thought he might).

  And then she noticed the card attached to the bouquet.

  Susannah broke the red wax seal and opened the sheet of paper.

  For Percy.

  She met his gaze and gave him the smile of a girl with a secret.

  “I do think I shall attend Almack’s this evening,” she declared loudly to her callers. Damien coolly lifted one brow, intrigued. For that matter, so did half a dozen other gentlemen.

  “A night on the marriage mart? We thought you were a sworn bachelorette, Miss Grey,” Lord Stanford exclaimed.

  “I have half a mind to take a husband, now that I am liberty to marry a man of my choosing,” she said, her eyes once again meeting Damien’s across the room.

  Chapter 9: Single Ladies (Put a Ring on It) Redux

  Almack’s Assembly Rooms

  Having declared her intention to take a husband after all, and being free to do so, Susannah was swarmed with suitors when she arrived in the Almack’s ballroom that evening. The dress she wore did not help matters—it only enticed them more, which was part of her plan. She suspected Damien’s intentions. And just in case he was still wavering over his course of action, she made sure she looked absolutely irresistible.

  The gown was made of a deep cerulean blue silk with small diamonds sewn into the fabric so that she sparkled like the night sky when she moved or danced. The modiste had cut and fashioned the dress to enhance the swell of Susannah’s breasts and draw the eye lower to her tapered waist. The soft fabric lovingly caressed the flare of her hips and swirled around her ankles.

  Susannah paired the gown with satin shoes so thoroughly covered with glass beads that they seemed like sparkling stars.

  Dressed as she was, there was no way to miss seeing Susannah and she hoped that it would prove impossible to wrench one’s gaze—one particular someone’s gaze—away from her.

  While she waited for Damien to arrive—dear God, he had to arrive!—she danced.

  When he did arrive—finally, thank God—Susannah’s heart was pounding and she was slightly breathless, and not entirely from her numerous turns on the dance floor. This was it. Tonight was the night she promised herself to Damien forever.