Then Comes Seduction hq-2

by Mary Balogh

  She half wished she had not grown to like him so much. One ought not to like a man who had flatteries and deceits at his fingertips-or at his tongue’s end. But then, he always spoke them with humor and perhaps no real intention of deceiving her. He seemed to enjoy the game for its own sake.

  “I suppose,” he said, “I will not make nearly as romantic a figure sprawled on the bank as you make perched on the jetty, but I will try my best notwithstanding.”

  And he sat down on the bank, reclined on one side, tossed aside his hat, propped one elbow on the ground, and cradled his head in his hand. He looked lazy and relaxed and impossibly handsome. Katherine turned to face him so that she would not have to keep her head turned over her shoulder. She raised her parasol again-it was pale blue to match her sash and the ribbons and cornflowers in her bonnet.

  “Not so romantic, perhaps,” she agreed. “But a tolerably pretty picture nonetheless.”

  “Pretty?” He lofted his right eyebrow. “Tell me you chose the wrong word, Katherine, or I shall dive into the lake without further ado and sit sulking on the bottom until I am well and truly drowned.”

  She laughed.

  Laughter was the last thing she had expected of the days following her wedding. But she had been doing a great deal of laughing during the past week, she realized. But of course, he always had been able to provoke laughter in her.

  “Handsome, then,” she said. “There, you have had your compliment for the day.”

  They sat looking at each other. Somewhere behind her the family of ducks she had been watching earlier were having a conversation in which all seemed to be quacking at once. In the grass unseen insects were whirring and chirping. From the direction of the stables came the occasional, distant clang of a hammer upon metal. All the sounds that had accentuated the peace of this particular place in the park just a few minutes ago now drew attention to the silence between them.

  Jasper plucked a blade of grass from beside him and sucked on it while he gazed at her with narrowed eyes.

  And she wanted him-sharply and shockingly.

  “What would you be doing now,” he asked her, “if you had not married me? If that scoundrel Forester had not stirred up scandal and forced you into it?”

  “I would be at Warren Hall preparing to come here,” she said, “with Meg and Stephen.”

  “And afterward,” he said, “what would you have done?”

  “Gone back home to Warren Hall,” she said. “Lived there quietly until someone suggested leaving again-to go and visit Nessie and Elliott and the children, perhaps, or to go to London.”

  “Your eldest sister will miss you,” he said.

  “Yes.”

  “Why is she not married?” he asked her. “She is several years older than you, is she not, and just as beautiful in her own way. Rumor has it that Allingham made her an offer, which she refused. Is she holding out for love, as you were doing?”

  “She was in love,” she said, “with Crispin Dew of Rundle Park near Throckbridge. Nessie married his younger brother, but he was consumptive and died within a year. She knew when she married him that he was dying. She loved him dearly, and he her.”

  “Three romantics,” he said, “and only one got her wish. But even she married a dying man. There is a lesson for you somewhere in all that, Katherine.”

  “Nessie and Elliott love each other dearly too,” she said.

  “But the elder Dew did not love your eldest sister?” he asked.

  “He did,” she said. “They would have married when she was very young, and I daresay they would have been happy for a lifetime. But my father had died and Meg had promised to look after us until we had all grown up and could look after ourselves. She refused to marry Crispin until much later. But he would not wait. He joined a regiment and went off to war and married a Spanish lady and broke Meg’s heart. You may laugh now, if you wish. Women are very foolish.”

  “They frighten the devil out of me if you want the truth,” he said.

  “Well, that, at least,” she said, “is a positive sign. With the devil gone, there is hope for you.”

  He chuckled softly and sucked on his blade of grass again.

  “Selfless love,” he said. “The supreme virtue. Or is it? In choosing you and your sister and brother rather than love, did Miss Huxtable perhaps doom a decent man to a life that can never bring him the happiness he might have had with her?”

  She was instantly indignant. Trust Jasper to take the man’s part. Crispin might have had the patience and fortitude to wait. The wait would be almost over by now-Stephen was almost twenty-one.

  “Do not people who selflessly choose the path of servitude to one or more individuals often neglect other paths and other individuals who need them just as much?” he asked her.

  “Like a nun going into the convent and leaving a family bereft of her presence?” she said.

  His eyes smiled.

  “That would be one illustration, I suppose,” he said, “though I confess I would not have thought of it myself.”

  “Or a mother so devoted to her children that she would neglect her husband?” she said.

  He pursed his lips and tossed the blade of grass aside.

  “That would be the husband’s fault for not paying enough attention to pleasuring her,” he said.

  And trust him to give a sexual slant to what was really an interesting topic.

  “Or a mother so devoted to her husband, then,” she said, exasperated, “that she would neglect her children.”

  “There could never be such a mother, could there?” he said softly.

  “No.”

  He sat up, crossed his legs, draped his wrists over his knees, and squinted out over the water.

  And she realized something. There could. Be such a mother, that was. His own mother? Had that happened to him?

  “Miss Daniels,” he said in what seemed like a complete change of subject, “has been Charlotte’s governess, more lately her companion, since she was four years old. They have both been very fortunate. They are extremely fond of each other. And now, when Charlotte is ready to spread her wings, Miss Daniels is to marry the local vicar.”

  “And Rachel?” she said.

  “The world was a wide and wicked place,” he said, “and so Miss Rachel Finley of Cedarhurst Park remained at home. And then she remained because she was in mourning-and then because our mother had collapsed so almost completely that she needed a constant companion. And then there was the mourning again for her death. Rachel was twenty-four when she finally had a Season and made her come-out. Shocking, was it not? She was fortunate to meet Gooding. He is a thoroughly dull dog, but he is of steady character and fortune, as dull dogs tend to be, and I suspect they have an affection for each other.”

  Katherine had lowered her parasol again so that she could hug both legs.

  And what of him? How had his mother neglected him?

  Had she been so besotted with his stepfather?

  He was looking directly at her again, his eyelids drooping, a lazy smile in his eyes. But there was a tension about his shoulders and arms that told her more than ever that he wore that look as a mask when he did not wish to reveal too much about himself.

  “Are you in love with me yet?” he asked her. “Can we dispense with the next three weeks? I have already told you more than once that I adore you.”

  It was not a serious question-or a serious declaration. He just did not want to pursue the line the conversation had taken. She realized that.

  “I am not, and will never be, even one modicum of one iota in love with you, Jasper,” she said. But she was half smiling at him.

  He set one hand over his heart.

  “A modicum of an iota,” he said. “I am trying to picture such an entity if it can be observed with the naked eye. Is it like a grain of sand? ‘To see the world in a grain of sand’ ?”

  He was quoting William Blake at her. How could he possibly appreciate such gloriously mystical poetry when he
knew nothing of dreams?

  “A grain of sand,” he said, “or a modicum of one iota will be quite enough to work on. I am delighted to hear you admit that such a seed exists.”

  “You are famous for not listening,” she said. “I said it did not exist.”

  He raised both eyebrows.

  “There is no such thing as one modicum of one iota?” he said. “You disappoint me. But I believe there must be. If there were not, you would not have mentioned it or you would simply have been making yourself sound foolish. And if it exists, then I am left to hope. Nothing that exists ever quite disappears, you know. Or is lost. If it is lost, it is merely because someone is too lazy to look for it. Despite what you may think of me, Katherine, I am not lazy. It is just that I conserve my energies for what is of importance to me. I will find that modicum of an iota and will build it from a grain of sand into a whole glorious sand castle with towers and turrets and a liveried bugler standing on the battlements blowing out his hymn of triumph. Is hymn the right word? But you understand my meaning. You will love me and bow to my adoration, my sun goddess.”

  She was laughing helplessly.

  But some absolutely absurd part of her wanted to be standing on one of those turrets listening to the bugler blowing his song of triumph and watching her knight ride up to the castle walls, cloak billowing, drawn sword in hand, smiling up at her in triumph and love.

  There were definite disadvantages to being a dreamer. It could make one daft.

  “I have not shown you anything of the park, have I,” he said, “except the parterre garden and the empty east lawn. The walk about the lake is picturesque and can be done at a sedate pace in an hour or so or at a brisk trot in considerably less. The wilderness walk up into the hills behind the house is more rugged and takes a few hours to walk in its entirety. But it was carefully constructed and offers much variety for nature lovers as well as some pleasing prospects for those who like them.”

  “I would enjoy both walks,” she said.

  “We will do the longer one,” he said. “Tomorrow?”

  “I have promised to look in on three different committee meetings in the village tomorrow morning,” she said, “and one in the afternoon. The Misses Laycock are coming to tea the day after with their young niece. She is Charlotte’s friend, I believe.”

  “Might I make an appointment to go walking with you the day after, then?” he asked. “Most humbly? On my knees if necessary?”

  She smiled at him. “I ought to make you do it,” she said. “You did not do it when you proposed marriage to me. The day after tomorrow, then. I shall look forward to it.”

  “I believe,” he said, “that if I had knelt to propose marriage to you, you would have kicked me in the head.”

  “Probably,” she agreed.

  He got to his feet, set his hat back on his head, and offered her his hand.

  “Shall we go back to the house for tea?” he said. “I find that after imbibing cup upon cup of the stuff for the past three days, I now cannot do without it. Is it like alcohol, do you think? Have I become addicted to it? I cannot wait for Con to find out and Charlie and Hal.”

  “Tea would be lovely,” she said, setting her hand in his.

  And she meant it too. The day had brightened somehow since he came.

  She was not sure if she ought to feel relieved or alarmed.

  She wondered if heartbreak loomed somewhere in her future.

  But she would deal with the future when it became the present.

  19

  THE following two days were busy ones in which Jasper scarcely saw his wife. He was tied up with farm and estate business-and with the men’s committee for the fete. How he had got drawn into that he would never quite know, but there it was. Perhaps it was the fact that when Cornell had suggested rowing on the lake as a possible amusement for the men on that first visit made with Katherine, Jasper had suggested mud wrestling beside the lake. Apparently most of the men wanted more suggestions from him.

  Katherine herself was never in one place long enough for him to find her-except at meals and in the drawing room during the evenings. She spent time with the housekeeper and the cook, and with the head gardener. She attended all the committee meetings in and about the village, except the men’s. And she entertained the Misses Laycock to tea with Jane Hutchins, their niece, Charlotte’s best friend. She invited the girl to join the house party. As she explained to Jasper at dinner that evening, their numbers had been made uneven by the fact that his cousins, offspring of Uncle Stanley, his father’s brother, had agreed to come-two boys and one girl.

  For two days the weather had been cloudy and blustery with a few light showers. But though the third day dawned cloudy again, by the time they set off for the planned wilderness walk, most of the clouds had moved off, and it promised to be a lovely day again.

  “We will do the walk backward,” he said, taking Katherine’s arm as they left the house and turning her to the east. “Not that there is a forward or backward way of doing it exactly, but the tendency always is to start at the lake. The trouble with that is that there are so many places to stop and admire, very often one ends up merely circling the lake and missing some of the best parts of the walk.”

  “Through the hills among the trees?” she said. “Yes, I can imagine it is the best.”

  She was wearing a sprigged muslin dress today, pale blue on white, and her straw bonnet with blue ribbons. She looked delicate and pretty. The high-waisted style of dress that was currently fashionable was perfect for her figure, emphasizing as it did her slender grace as the gentle folds of the muslin softly molded her shape and sometimes showed the outline of her long, slim legs.

  There was a glow of color in her cheeks and a sparkle in her eyes-something their servants and neighbors no doubt attributed to the fact that she was a new bride discovering the delights of the marriage bed when in reality it was probably due to the fact that she was busy with schemes that brought her pleasure.

  He pursed his lips as he looked down at her.

  They crossed the wide east lawn, soon to be the apple orchard, and he led her onto the path into the trees. It turned almost immediately to the north and ascended the gradual slope that would take them into the hills.

  “You are unusually quiet this morning,” Katherine said.

  “I might have observed,” he said, “that my prediction that this would turn into a lovely day has proved quite correct. I might even have added the words I told you so. But alas, you were reading your letter from the Duchess of Moreland at breakfast, so I made the prediction silently lest I disturb you. Now if I lay claim to it, you will probably accuse me of taking credit for something I did not predict at all. You are not a very trusting person, Katherine.”

  She had turned her head and was laughing at him.

  “For the sake of peace between us,” she said, “I will believe you.”

  He smiled lazily back at her.

  “How lovely this is,” she said. “Like an outdoor cathedral.”

  The trees were indeed tall and fairly widely spaced at this point, and the path was broad and straight despite the incline.

  “This has always been one of my favorite stretches of the wilderness walk,” he said. “I suspect that when the path was constructed, it was begun at the lake side and ended here. And that by the time the designer arrived here, he had run out of ideas and energy and interest. There are no follies, no seats, no prospects down to the house or out over the countryside. Just forest and hillside.”

  “And holiness,” she said.

  “Holiness?”

  “I am not sure if it is the right word,” she said. “Just unadorned nature, though I suppose the path is man-made. Just trees and the smell of trees. And birds. And birdsong.”

  “And us,” he said.

  “And us.”

  They walked in silence for a while, the sound of their breathing added to birdsong as they ascended more steeply into the hills behind the house and finally
came to the rhododendron walk, the highest part of the trail, where there were several carefully contrived prospects and a few benches and follies. And the heady perfume of the blooms.

  “Oh,” she said. “Beautiful!”

  “Better than the cathedral?” he asked her.

  “But that is the wonderful thing about nature, is it not?” she said. “Nothing is better than anything else-only different. The parterre gardens, the cathedral section of the walk, this-they all seem best when one is actually there.”

  There was an ancient stone hermitage to one side of the path, complete with crucifix carved into the wall beside the doorway. It was not that ancient, of course. It was a folly. There never had been a hermit with sackcloth tunic and matted hair and beard, telling his beads from morning to night and existing on moldy bread and brackish water. They went and sat inside it on a stone bench that had been made more comfortable with a long leather cushion.

  There was a view down across the east and south lawns to the village in the distance. The church spire was centered in the view. It all looked very rural and peaceful.

  He took her hand in his.

  “What would you be doing if you had not been forced into marriage?” she asked him, reversing the question he had asked her a few days ago. “Where would you be?”

  “Here,” he said. “I promised to be home for Charlotte’s birthday.”

  “And afterward?” she said. “Would you have stayed?”

  “Perhaps.” He shrugged. “Perhaps not. Brighton is a good place to be during the summer. The Prince of Wales is usually there, and he draws all sorts of interesting people. There is much company, much entertainment. I might have gone there.”

  “Do you need company, then?” she asked. She had turned her head and was looking at him.

  He raised his eyebrows. “We all need company,” he said. “And entertainment.”

  “Are you a lonely man, then?” she asked him.

  The question jolted him. It was completely unexpected-and quite unanswerable. He answered it anyway.