After the Abduction

by Sabrina Jeffries

  “No, indeed! Not in the least! That would be disaster!”

  He blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

  “Oh dear, I see I’ve shocked you. I have a tendency to do that to people. Perhaps I should start at the beginning.”

  “By all means.” For God’s sake, how many more lengthy discussions of Juliet Laverick must he endure before this was over?

  Lady Rosalind settled her shawl about her shoulders. “You see, Juliet was much affected by your brother’s actions two years ago. It changed her utterly.”

  You mean she’s become strong-willed, obstinate, and maddening? “In what way?”

  “Despite her living with us at Knighton House and having every opportunity to move in the best circles, she isn’t the happy girl she once was. She laughs less and spends long hours in contemplation.” Lady Rosalind gave the heavy sigh of one much plagued by the urgent need to make her family fall in line. “I wish you could have seen her before it happened. She was a delightful child, a bit too malleable perhaps, and naive, but full of joy for life. She was always ready to believe the best about everyone. Now she’s more cautious, even cynical.”

  “A normal progression. You wouldn’t want her to stay a child forever.”

  “No. But a kidnapping isn’t the best way to be thrown into adulthood.”

  Sebastian remained silent, his conscience squirming. Devil take it, he’d done his best, he’d protected her from the other men, and he’d only bruised her pride. But those were excuses. Bruising the pride of a girl on the brink of womanhood could alter her for life.

  And apparently had.

  “When she was first returned to us, her listlessness made us think she pined after your brother, that even after what he’d done she might still harbor feelings for him.”

  But Juliet had denied that very thing last night, claiming that after she’d realized Morgan was a scoundrel, she’d wanted nothing more to do with him. “And then?” he prodded, a rash urge to know the truth eating away at his prudence.

  “Then she became rabid about domestic activities, particularly needlework. She suddenly spent hours embroidering and stitching and reworking old gowns and…who knows what all. She’ll ruin her eyes one of these days.”

  He struggled not to smile. “And you blame this on my brother.”

  She tilted up her rounded chin. “As a matter of fact, I do.”

  “So she had no interest in domestic activities before?”

  “No, no, that’s not the point,” she said in utter exasperation, as if he were deliberately being obtuse. “The point is, she buries herself in domestic pursuits to avoid facing life. Your brother’s actions have turned her skittish.”

  Really? He hadn’t noticed any skittishness when she’d spoken of holding a pistol to his head.

  “And stubborn, too,” Lady Rosalind continued. “Though she’s had many offers of marriage, she continues to refuse them all.”

  “Does she?” Aha, so he wasn’t the only “respectable gentleman” whose kisses didn’t meet her high expectations. And clearly the supposed gossip that had brought them here hadn’t kept her suitors away. “Perhaps she’s merely discriminating.”

  “She recently turned down the Duke of Montfort, one of London’s more eligible bachelors.”

  He scowled. “That proves my point. Montfort is an inveterate libertine. Not good husband material at all.” The idea of Montfort going anywhere near Juliet made him want to bash something, preferably Montfort’s haughty features.

  She looked startled. “I never heard that.”

  “Perhaps he’s changed since the summer he spent here when his father and mine ravaged Wales together in my youth. But I doubt it.” From what he remembered, the duke had been a younger version of their fathers, the wrong sort of man entirely for Juliet.

  “Well, perhaps she was right on that score. But there’ve been other, perfectly nice gentlemen who’d make good husbands, and none of them appealed to her.”

  “And you think this is my brother’s fault.”

  Leaning forward, she lowered her voice to a confidential murmur. “I think she’s built Morgan up in her mind as someone larger than life—a dashing legend whom no other man can live up to. As Shakespeare puts it, ‘Praising what is lost makes the remembrance dear.’ She pines after him, even while despising him. At one moment he’s a hero for having saved her in the end, and in the next a monster for having kidnapped her in the first place. She vacillates between one opinion or the other.”

  “Funny, but she wasn’t vacillating yesterday. She disliked my brother decidedly.”

  “You haven’t seen her in the other mood. Sometimes she sits for hours doing her needlework in deep—”

  “Contemplation. Yes, I know. Lady Rosalind, if you could get to the point.”

  “Sorry. It occurs to me that your presence during this time of enforced proximity could help Juliet. You look like your brother, but you differ from him in character.”

  Blast it, she was as bad as her sister. “How can you be so sure of my character? You just met me.” If she so much as mentioned the words respectable or proper, he’d throw her out of his study.

  She rolled her eyes dramatically. “I know a gentleman of good character when I see one. My husband was masquerading as a man of affairs when I met him, and I saw right through his disguise.”

  That wasn’t how Juliet had told it two years ago, but he doubted that correcting Lady Rosalind would be to his advantage. Besides, at least she had the good sense to see responsibility and duty as assets, not the trappings of a dullard. “Very well. You’ve established that I’m a man of good character. How does this help your sister?”

  “If she could spend time with you—see that the face she remembers is merely the face of a man like any other—it might soften her reactions to that period of her life and make her capable of getting it out of her mind once and for all.”

  It was the strangest piece of logic he’d ever heard. And from the sly glance Lady Rosalind sent him, he’d guess it wasn’t even her true motive. But why on earth would she want him spending time with her sister?

  Unless…

  A slow smile spread over his face. Well, well, so Lady Rosalind had decided upon him as a suitor for her sister. That was the only explanation that made sense. Apparently, though she objected to Morgan Pryce, she had no objection to his brother Sebastian, a baron and sole owner of Charnwood.

  If it weren’t so ridiculous, he’d find it amusing. She wanted Juliet to marry him, Knighton wanted the opposite, and Juliet wanted his head—Morgan’s head—mounted on a platter. What a devilish situation they’d put him in.

  No, that wasn’t fair. He’d put himself in it. His uncle would say he deserved all the trouble falling on him now.

  “An intriguing idea.” He contemplated how to respond. “But when your husband visited my study earlier, he claimed she’d be better off as far away from me as possible.”

  Her long sigh exuded exasperation. “Please ignore him. He has no idea what’s best for my sister. I know her much better, I assure you.”

  He began to wonder if any of her family knew Juliet. He wasn’t so sure that he did, either. “But he may have been right in one respect. She may not even want my presence.”

  “Balderdash, why shouldn’t she? You’re a nice gentleman, well educated and polite.” She smiled broadly at him. “And you’re handsome besides. What woman wouldn’t enjoy your company?”

  “What woman indeed,” said a voice from the doorway as Knighton entered. “My darling, if I’d even dreamed you were assessing handsome men for their suitability as companions, I would have come looking for you sooner.” Though he said the words lightly, the way he looked daggers at Sebastian belied his easy tone.

  Lady Rosalind laughed as she rose. “Don’t be silly. And where on earth have you been? I’ve been looking for you everywhere.”

  “Not hard enough, it seems.” Still glaring at Sebastian, he held out his arm, and she took it. “Excuse me, T
emplemore, but my wife and I have some matters to discuss.”

  “Of course,” Sebastian murmured. Wonderful. Now Knighton had even more reason to want his neck in a noose.

  They started out the door, and then Lady Rosalind paused. Glancing back at him, she said, “So are we in agreement?”

  “I’ll consider it.” He’d say almost anything to get her and her jealous husband out of his study.

  They left. As their footsteps sounded along the hallway, he could hear Knighton asking her, “What was that all about?” but her reply was lost to him.

  He sat staring at the rows of books marching all around his study like centurions of knowledge. A pity none of them contained advice for this battle he’d landed in.

  You could marry her—that would solve everything. The idea rose again, a lingering effect of Lady Rosalind’s machinations. Yet he didn’t immediately dismiss it.

  He had no aversion to matrimony. Certainly he’d always intended to marry one day. Someone had to produce an heir, and he was that someone.

  So why not marry Juliet? How better to make up for how he’d ruined her life than to ensure her future? No one would deny she’d make a suitable wife. She liked taking care of people—she’d been her father’s nurse when he met her. From what Lady Rosalind said and what he remembered of their time together, she had a domestic bent.

  And there’d be no trouble in the bedchamber, to be sure.

  At the thought, his blood pounded madly in his temples…and elsewhere. With an oath, he rose and went to pour himself a dram of brandy. He didn’t usually drink this early in the day, but under the circumstances…

  He stood there sipping brandy as he contemplated this new idea. Of course, Knighton would raise holy hell, especially once he learned that Sebastian was her kidnapper. And if Knighton forbade it, he suspected her father would, too. Still, Juliet was a grown woman—nearly the age of consent—and there was always Gretna Green.

  He rolled his eyes. As if she’d ever run off with a man again, even “Morgan’s” wealthy, titled brother. “Morgan’s” respectable, boring brother.

  The only way it would work was if he kept the truth from her until after the wedding. That didn’t give him much time. And it meant he’d have to woo her as his real self instead of as Morgan, the “reckless adventurer” she’d once cared for.

  But it was an excellent solution—tempt her into marriage before Knighton caught on. By the time Sebastian had to reveal the truth, he might have succeeded in defusing the situation entirely.

  He downed the rest of the brandy. How difficult could it be? He already had Lady Rosalind as an ally. He’d won Juliet once as Morgan—why not do it as Sebastian, too?

  All right, he thought testily, so she didn’t seem to find Sebastian that exciting. But he could change all that. He was sure of it.

  A rustling of satin at his doorway made him look up, just in time to see Lady Juliet stalk purposefully into his office. He hid a smile. If she only knew what he’d been thinking…

  “Do come in, my lady,” he quipped as she approached. The dimness of his study muted the golden girl’s hair, yet still she glowed as lovely and fresh as a newly opened jonquil. Yes, she’d make him a good wife indeed.

  Tamping down on his premature excitement, he poured himself another dram, took his glass to his desk, and sat down. “What do you want from me now?” He added on impulse, “Further demonstrations of your…lack of experience in certain matters?”

  She eyed him askance. “Do not speak to me as if I were some idiot child.”

  “I didn’t realize I was.”

  “I’m not the naive ninny I was when I ran away with your brother.”

  No, you certainly aren’t, he thought, if you ever were.

  “And although my family may insist on treating me as if I’m witless and utterly incapable of knowing my own mind, I won’t stand for your doing so.”

  “All right.”

  The evenness of his tone and his solemn agreement seemed to take her aback. Eyes the color of sherry fixed on him. “I have a proposition to put to you.”

  A smile tugged at his lips. “Let me guess—you want me to stay away from you while you’re stuck here.”

  “No.”

  “You want me to court you while you’re stuck here.”

  “Certainly not!”

  But she blushed, and that gave him pause. Perhaps his kisses hadn’t been so very dull, after all.

  Leaning back in his chair, he rubbed his finger around the rim of his brandy glass. This was blasted intriguing, and he was actually enjoying himself. “I’m merely repeating the two propositions your brother-in-law and sister put to me separately this morning.”

  Her blush deepened to the dark red of anger. “Griff and Rosalind talked to you about me?”

  “Yes.”

  “Oh, that is so like them. Meddlers, both of them.”

  “I quite agree.” He leaned forward. “Tell me, if you don’t want me to stay away from you, yet you don’t want me anywhere near you—”

  “I didn’t say that. I merely said I don’t want you to court me. There’s a vast difference between the two—you could still be near me without courting me.”

  He lifted his glass and sipped, feeling less than gentlemanly as he pondered that idea. His gaze drifted to her rosy lips. “Indeed, I could.”

  “And it’s not what you’re thinking, either,” she protested hotly.

  “You don’t know what I’m thinking.”

  “I have a fairly accurate idea.”

  He didn’t even pretend to misunderstand. “I thought I was much too ‘respectable’ for those sorts of thoughts.”

  That flustered her. “Well…er…that’s true. But you are still a man, after all, and even the most gentlemanly of your sex is predictable in that respect.”

  He chuckled. When had the uncertain, shy Juliet blossomed into this impertinent minx? “Is that so? Well, don’t leave me any longer in suspense if you don’t want me leaping to”—he allowed his gaze to sweep her sweet form—“interesting conclusions.”

  Although she noticeably stiffened, he didn’t garner any more of her pretty blushes. She tossed her head back. “I wish you to be my tutor.”

  That stymied him. He could think of a thousand things he’d like to teach her, but she’d most certainly disapprove of them all. Calmly he lifted his glass to his lips. “Oh? And what is it I’m to teach you?”

  “How to recognize scoundrels.”

  He nearly choked in the middle of sipping his brandy. Coughing, he set the glass firmly on the desk. “Excuse me?”

  “No doubt one of my meddling relations has told you of the difficulties I’ve had choosing a husband.”

  “They did imply something of the sort.”

  “It occurred to me this morning that my problem all along has been an inability to distinguish true gentlemen from rogues masquerading as gentlemen. Ever since I mistook Morgan Pryce for a gentleman, I’ve been unable to trust my instincts regarding men.”

  “I see,” he said tightly.

  “It makes it very difficult to choose a husband,” she went on, “especially in society where everybody already masks their true nature. No matter how acceptable a man seems, I always find him suspect.”

  Apparently, her sister had been right in this one respect—she had indeed become skittish. “So you want me to teach you how to separate the wheat from the chaff?”

  “Exactly.”

  He swallowed more brandy. “And what makes you think a ‘respectable gentleman’ like myself is qualified for such a task?”

  “Your father was one such scoundrel, wasn’t he?”

  Skittish and forthright. “Yes, a thorough scoundrel, most especially when it came to women. But I didn’t share in his activities.” He set down his glass and added sarcastically, “I’m much too proper for that, remember?”

  “Still, I’m sure you had opportunities to observe how he worked. To see him practice empty flatteries on a woman or li
e convincingly or persuade her that he cared for her when he really didn’t.”

  Deuce take her, this was moving a bit too close for comfort. He’d often regretted having to play the smooth seducer two years ago when he’d first wooed her. “The occasional opportunity, yes,” he gritted out.

  “Well then, you should have no trouble teaching me how to recognize such ploys. Despite my experiences with your brother and in society, I’m still woefully inept at recognizing scoundrels myself. So to be safe I tar everybody with the same brush. But if I keep it up, I’ll remain unmarried all my life. I don’t wish to become a spinster, my lord. You could be quite useful in ensuring that I do not.”

  He could indeed. But not the way she thought. “You mentioned a proposition. Propositions generally have two parts. I do you a favor; you do me a favor. What will you do for me?”

  The hazel eyes hardened into green-gray steel. “I’ll refrain from convincing my brother-in-law to drag your family’s name through the mud for what your brother did to me and my family.”

  “Ah.” So she was bent on revenge.

  She adopted a casual stance, calmly straightening her gloves as she continued. “Of course, if you’re afraid that being in my company might expose more of your dark family secrets, do feel free to refuse. I wouldn’t wish to make you uncomfortable.”

  He nearly laughed aloud. The impudent chit was daring him to spend time with her. Not that he would say no. He could keep his “dark family secrets” well enough—he’d proved that last night. And this was precisely the opening he needed to court her.

  But he mustn’t look too eager, or she’d suspect him. “I’m perfectly willing to agree to your proposition, madam. I’m merely concerned about your family’s reaction. Your brother-in-law made it clear that he wanted me to stay away from you.”

  She flashed him a kittenish smile. “Then we’ll simply have to keep our lessons secret, shan’t we? It’ll only be a day or two, after all.”

  He sucked in a breath. A day or two of private encounters with Juliet. A day or two of watching his every word, wooing her without telling her the truth. A day or two of her innocent, devastating flirtations. He must be out of his mind.