Never Seduce a Scoundrel

by Sabrina Jeffries

  “I quite agree, Major Winter,” Miss Linley said.

  “Oh, hush, Sarah,” Miss North snapped. “You wouldn’t be so quick to agree if the man you want didn’t have a title.” She scowled at him. “And I suppose you would have us marry whatever scoundrel we’re fortunate enough to catch.”

  Mrs. Harris laid a hand on the woman’s arm. “I’m sure he does not mean that, dear.” Mrs. Harris fixed him with a pair of suddenly icy blue eyes. “But you have to understand, sir, that it’s difficult for a woman to discern a man’s motives for marriage when she has a fortune and he has none. As you once said, some men will do anything to get money. So how can we ever know their true character when money is involved?”

  The words pricked his temper. Specters of his parents’ arguments rose up to haunt him—endless discussions that twisted love and fortune so neatly, even his father couldn’t separate them. They’d driven his father to work harder, faster, longer, trying to feed his mother’s ambitions. At the heart of it, she was what had really brought his father to—

  No, he wouldn’t think of that now. Not here, among these young English copies of his mother. “A man doesn’t assume a lady’s looking only at his purse when she smiles at him, so why do you assume that a gentleman has sly motives when he smiles at you? ”

  “Perhaps because he so often does?” Amelia said, her eyes suddenly ablaze.

  Damnation, now she was talking about him . That stoked his temper further, even knowing she had good reason to distrust him. “You can’t really believe that, a pretty female like you.” Ignoring the growing tension among the ladies, he set his cup on the mantel. “Believe me, Lady Amelia, a man’s just as likely to be interested in you because he likes the look and the smell of you, or what you say or how you think, than because he hankers after your fortune.”

  A shocked silence followed his words. Too late, he realized they could be taken as a public declaration of his own interest in her. Which was how she’d taken them, judging from the blush that stained her cheeks a fiery red.

  Lady Venetia broke the silence with a laugh. “Congratulations, Amelia. You’ve found the only man in creation who cares what a woman says and thinks.”

  That shattered the tension in the room. The other ladies laughed, and began to chatter about men and their antics.

  Hell, he’d practically admitted publicly that he liked Amelia, and instead of being flattered, she seemed even angrier than before. What had riled her up?

  Whatever it was had also kept her from responding to Kirkwood’s dinner invitation, and he couldn’t allow that. Time to get her alone.

  He picked up his empty cup. “Lady Amelia, might I have more of your fine tea?”

  “Certainly, Major.” She held up the pot, but when he just stood waiting, cup in hand, she rose and approached him, scowling.

  He held the cup close to his body, forcing her to lean in to pour, then murmured, “I need to talk to you privately.”

  “Not now,” she answered, filling up his cup.

  “Yes, now. I only want a few—”

  She walked away without letting him finish.

  Temper flaring, he rattled his cup in his saucer. “Don’t I get any sugar with my tea?”

  She took her seat. “I assumed you would prefer it black, sir.”Like your heart, her glittering eyes said. She motioned to a maid, who hurried toward him with the sugar bowl.

  Fine, if she wouldn’t willingly speak to him in private, he’d provoke her into it. He let his gaze trail down the body he’d learned to know so well a few days past. “Even a soldier can use something sweet from time to time.”

  A couple of the ladies nearest him tittered, and Amelia stiffened, but she kept her seat and turned deliberately to speak to a woman next to her.

  As the maid offered him the sugar bowl, he noticed the design of it for the first time that afternoon. He glanced from it to the teapot, then burst into laughter.

  When some ladies looked his way, he said, “Leave it to Lady Amelia to have tea dishes with crocodiles for handles.”

  Amelia tilted her chin up proudly. “The set is in the Egyptian style, sir, like everything else in the room.”

  “I suppose that shouldn’t surprise me,” he retorted, “given your penchant for the exotic—camels, xebecs…mamelukes.”

  “What’s a mameluke?” Lady Venetia asked.

  He kept his gaze fixed on Amelia. “A sword. Lady Amelia asked to see mine at the ball.”

  When a few girls giggled, and a few others whispered, his eyes narrowed. Some of the ladies seemed to be in on the private joke. They’d probably read the same harem book as Amelia, and judging from how she colored, there’d been some mention of “swords” in it, too.

  Fighting back a laugh, he schooled his features to look innocent. “I was happy to oblige her. She was so admiring of my sword, she offered to do a rubbing of it.”

  Lady Venetia choked on her tea.

  “I didn’t even know English ladies did that kind of thing,” he went on smoothly, “but I suppose when a lady wants amusement—”

  “Major Winter!” Amelia abruptly rose. “May I speak to you in the hall?”

  “Now?” he asked, unable to resist.

  Her lips tightened into a line. “If you please.”

  With a nod, he set his cup and saucer on the mantel. She preceded him out the door, and he followed, pausing on the threshold to look back and wink at the ladies. As they erupted into laughter, he left and closed the door.

  When he faced her, she looked fit to be tied. “You’re the most arrogant, irritating—”

  “Why didn’t you accept Lady Kirkwood’s invitation to dine?”

  She blinked. “I did. I sent over my acceptance early this morning.”

  “It hadn’t arrived when I left there less than an hour ago.”

  Frowning, she called for Hopkins. When he arrived, she asked what had happened to the message she’d sent to Lady Kirkwood.

  “John, the new footman, took it over, my lady.”

  “It didn’t get there,” Lucas snapped.

  “Begging your pardon, sir, but we needed the footmen here to prepare for the tea, so I only sent him off two hours ago. Then he was held up on the way.”

  That put Lucas on his guard. “Oh?”

  “An elderly lady with a turned ankle, I believe. He helped her down the street. But John has returned, so if you wish to speak to him—”

  “No, that’s fine,” Lucas said tersely. There was something odd about the incident, but damned if he could figure out what.

  Amelia waited until the man left before asking, “There, are you satisfied?”

  Shrugging off his unease, he nodded. He wasn’t used to the ways of the English and their servants—these things probably happened every day.

  “So tell me,” she continued, “was that why you hurried over here to annoy my guests? Because I didn’t answer your missive quickly enough?”

  Her clipped tone rankled. He didn’t like being made to look the fool. “I forgot all about your damned tea. And I sure didn’t expect to be included. If I’d had any sense, I’d have followed Pomeroy’s lead and run off as fast as I could.”

  “I wish you had.” She turned back toward the drawing room door.

  Seizing her by the arm, he bent close. “What’s happened? Why are you so angry at me?”

  She whipped her head around to glare at him. “We’ll discuss it tonight.”

  “We’ll discuss it now.”

  “Not with my friends here, probably listening at the keyhole.”

  He eyed the door, then tugged her across the hall into what turned out to be a study, probably her father’s. “Then discuss it in here.”

  Jerking away from him, she faced him down like a redcoat defending a supply wagon. “We’ll discuss it when I choose to discuss it, sir.”

  “Is this about my trying to run off Pomeroy? Because you only had to say the word, and I—”

  “As I recall, I did say the word. But no
, it’s not about that. I know that in your own arrogant, peculiarly annoying manner, you were trying to protect me.”

  “Then this is about the xebec. You’ve had time to think about it, and you’re embarrassed that we—”

  “Have you no shame?” With a furtive glance toward the open doorway, she approached him and lowered her voice. “I shan’t have this discussion here, where my friends or Mrs. Harris may pop out any moment. It’ll be easier tonight.”

  Turning her back on him, she headed for the hall, but he caught up to her in a few quick strides. He clasped her around the waist and pulled her out of sight of the open door.

  As she began to struggle, he whispered against her ear, “Whoa, there, darlin’, you and I aren’t finished.”

  “For now, we are.” She twisted to face him, spitting mad. “And if you think I’ll stand here letting you manhandle me with my friends across the hall—”

  “Manhandleyou?” His temper erupted. “Maybe I should remind you that you enjoyed yourself very much the last time I ‘manhandled’ you.”

  Thrusting her against the wall, he kissed her hard, demanding a response and exulting when, after a moment of resistance, she gave it. And when she then slid her arms about his neck and pressed herself against him, he wanted to crow his triumph aloud.

  Instead, he plundered her mouth with a fervency that alarmed him. Because it suddenly dawned on him that this was why he’d come here. Not to frighten off Pomeroy. Not to find out about the Friers.

  He’d come for this. For her . Because after two days without her sparkling smile, her teasing comments, her lilting honeysuckle scent and luscious marvel of a mouth, he craved her like a prisoner craves release. Heedless of where they were, he ran his hands up her body—her tempting little hips, the waist that fit so neatly in his hands, and her breasts…oh, God, her breasts…that he stroked with his thumbs, wishing he could suck them, too…

  Suddenly, her hands fisted in his hair. She tugged his head back to force him to break the kiss, then shoved him away from her. As she stared at him with reddened lips and quickening breath, a strange mix of emotions crossed her face—desire, anger, and oddly enough, regret.

  Then a mask descended over her features. “I hope you enjoyed that, Lucas,” she said in an ominous tone. “Because that’s the last kiss you’ll ever get from me.”

  Before he could react, she slipped from between him and the wall and left the room. With his cock hard as hell, he moved stiffly after her, reaching the hall just in time to watch her open the door to the drawing room.

  She paused in the doorway to say, in a carrying voice, “I’m so sorry you have to leave, Major. I’ll make your apologies to the other ladies.”

  As she disappeared inside, he had half a mind to walk in after her and make a liar out of her. But aside from the arousal that he’d have to banish before he could go in, the prospect of sitting through an awkward afternoon with her glaring and her friends snickering didn’t exactly appeal. He’d rather take on ten armed redcoats than one of those damned Englishwomen.

  Never mind. He would return to Kirkwood’s and prepare for tonight’s “discussion.” As soon as he could bring his rampant erection under control.

  He paced the hallway until he was presentable, then descended the stairs two at a time. Today’s “adventure” had shown him one thing for sure: he had to have her. He had no idea in hell how to manage it—how to capture the Friers and take them back to America and at the same time gain Amelia.

  But no matter what she’d said about it being the last kiss, that woman was going to end up in his bed. He’d do whatever he had to do to get her there.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Dear Charlotte,

  Lord Pomeroy isn’t as harmless as he appears. I heard that he acquired a certain unwise obsession during the war. Although I can’t confirm the rumor, I’d advise you and Lady Amelia to be on your guard with him.

  Your concerned cousin,

  Michael

  You’re being utterly ridiculous,Amelia told herself while changing her gown for the third time.What you wear tonight doesn’t matter one whit.

  After all, she needn’t act the flirt anymore. She would be forthright with Lucas, demand evidence, then determine how to act. And yet…

  As her long-suffering maid fastened her up, Amelia scowled at the mirror. She wanted to make him burn. And burn. And burn some more.

  If ever a gown was meant for that, it was this rose-colored dinner dress of sprigged gossamer satin. The bodice alone would send the high sticklers into a swoon—it showed far too much bosom for a maiden. She twisted to the left and swallowed hard as the filmy fabric clung to her figure like wet muslin.

  Which was precisely why she rarely wore the thing. Since she already had a reputation for being too unladylike, she avoided attire that might push the minor gossip about her manner into major rumors about her character.

  But after what she’d found out about Lucas’s purpose, then his behavior this afternoon—as if he really cared about her—she wanted to torture him.

  His desire to marry her might be insincere, but his desire to seduce her clearly wasn’t. She felt it every time he kissed her with that bold, consuming mouth or ran those clever, seeking hands over her waist, her hips…her breasts.

  He wanted her. And she wouldn’t let him have her. So why not show him what he threw away with his devious machinations?

  Let him burn futilely, the way she had the past two nights, her hands fondling places a lady shouldn’t fondle, delving into soft flesh a maiden should never explore. The worst had been knowing that nothing would ever come of it. She knew too little to pleasure herself, and she refused to let him pleasure her again.

  He’d ruined her for the comfortable maiden life she lived, curse him.

  “I shall wear this one. Definitely.” She glanced at her maid. “And lace my corset tighter. I want my breasts so high I could eat my dinner off them.”

  Her maid looked shocked but did as her mistress demanded, unfastening the gown to tighten the corset laces. Only when the mounds of flesh rose to present themselves like beacons of impropriety did Amelia finally concede it was enough.

  As her maid added the finishing touches—the heavy pearls that drew attention to her bosom and the matching Cambridge hat with its plume of ostrich feathers—Amelia prepared for her looming confrontation with Lucas.

  Oh, if only she could talk to Mrs. Harris to calm her nerves. But the widow had left for her evening engagement an hour ago. By the time Amelia put on her pelerine cape and headed downstairs, she had only minutes to spare.

  Hopkins met her at the bottom, looking rattled. “My lady, we have a problem. One of the carriage wheels has cracked, and we shall have to change it out. The stable master says it may require an hour or more. Perhaps we should send a note to Lord Kirkwood to have him provide—”

  “No, please don’t bother. Just summon a hackney. That will be fine.”

  “But my lady—”

  “I’ll have a footman with me. I’m sure it will be perfectly safe.” Especially now that she’d rid herself of the Pomeroy Plague. “I’d rather not wait.”

  If she had to spend one more minute fretting over what she planned to say to Lucas, she might just explode.

  “Very good, my lady,” Hopkins said with a disapproving frown. Then he summoned John, who rushed off to get a hackney.

  Within moments, John had returned to escort her down the stairs and hand her up into the big black carriage. She hadn’t even sat down when it started up, throwing her off-balance. She landed on something decidedly too muscular for a carriage seat. Before she could even catch her breath, her hands were grabbed from behind and something silky wrapped around them to bind them.

  She felt a moment’s alarm, until she realized who it must be. “Lucas, stop that! I don’t have the patience for your games tonight, and besides—”

  “I see I’m saving you just in time,” said a gravelly voice she knew only too well. “Especiall
y if you already call that American by his Christian name.”

  Panic exploded in her chest. “Lord Pomeroy?” She tried unsuccessfully to scramble from his lap. “Release me at once! I shan’t allow this!”

  Ignoring her protests and struggles, he tightened her bonds, then tossed her onto the seat beside him with surprising strength. That knocked the wind out of her, with her excessively tight lacings, and while she struggled against dizziness, he lifted her feet into his lap to bind her legs.

  As soon as she caught her breath, she screamed, “John, help me! Help!”

  “No point to crying out for him, my dear lady.” Lord Pomeroy wound the silken bonds around her ankles. “John has been in my employ since long before he answered your father’s advertisement. Besides, these windows are very thick—you won’t be heard above the horses. This rig was specially built for military purposes, to protect foreign dignitaries. It’s as solid as the Rock of Gibraltar.”

  Fear settled like a lead weight in her belly. So he’d planned this. He’d probably arranged the broken wheel on her carriage, too. Lord help her.

  She kicked at him, but her lovely satin gown, which had clung so nicely upstairs, twisted about her legs, and she could only produce a silly fluttering of her slippers. She might as well be a flounder. Not to mention that she could barely draw breath. A pity no one had told her to dress for a kidnapping.

  He secured the bindings around her ankles as calmly as Lucas had, but the marquess wasn’t pretending to capture her, and these were real knots, firmly tied.

  “Speaking of Gibraltar,” he said in a bizarrely conversational tone, “did you know I spent time there? With your love of the exotic, you would enjoy that place. We shall have to visit it once we’re married.”

  She would brain him with the Rock of Gibraltar! How could he treat the kidnapping as a pleasure jaunt? “You won’t get away with this!”

  Setting her feet on the floor, he shifted to face her. “I already have.” As the carriage turned onto a major thoroughfare, gaslight flooded his features, illuminating the determination carved there.

  Her pulse started a mad stampede. Did he really think he could force her into marriage? She had to make him understand that he couldn’t, before they left London where people were around to help her.