The Seduction of an English Scoundrel

by Jillian Hunter

  “I have nothing more to say on the subject,” she said with a distress that was becoming more genuine by the hour.

  But the four other women hardly noticed; they were listening raptly to Miss Evelyn Hutchinson’s opinion on the subject of Sedgecroft, a man she had obviously been observing and analyzing with academic fervor for quite some time.

  “You do know what the maid of his former mistress said?”

  “Which one?” asked Lady Alice Pfeiffer, showing herself to be not exactly ignorant on the subject herself.

  “Mrs. Parks,” Evelyn replied.

  “Tell us,” Priscilla ordered. “Jane has a right to know.”

  “Well, I—”

  “You should know the truth,” Cecily said quietly.

  Jane wasn’t sure she wanted to know the truth. She craned her neck, unconsciously scanning the crowd for a sign of her powerful blue-eyed troublemaker. She hoped he wasn’t scolding his spirited sister again. Jane felt drawn to Chloe’s passion for life and sensed a wounded heart beneath the rebellion. Lord, would she herself ever be the object of his lionlike fury? Yes, if he found out what an accomplished schemestress she was.

  Evelyn pressed her fan to her chin. “Mrs. Parks was overheard confiding that one night with Sedgecroft was a bacchanalian orgy to the female senses.”

  Jane blinked, her attention diverted. “I’m sure you misunderstood.” Although she could well believe it.

  Evelyn nodded slyly. “She also said that a woman had best not plan to ride in the park for at least a fortnight after.”

  “Oh, honestly!” Cecily exclaimed disapprovingly while the other women digested this fascinating tidbit of gossip in delight. “That is not exactly the sort of revelation I had in mind when I encouraged you. “

  “And,” Evelyn added, “he reads the morning paper while he carries on certain physical activities with his paramours.”

  Priscilla leaned forward, her lips parting. “He carries on these activities in the morning?”

  “Morning, noon, and night,” Evelyn said knowingly. “He indulges a woman’s every whim.”

  Several deep sighs heralded the silence that fell until Evelyn felt compelled to continue.

  “To spend time in his company is to fall under his spell. Sedgecroft is a man of deliberation. Once he makes his move, that is the end.”

  “The end of what?” Jane demanded, the hair on her nape prickling.

  “The end of virtue. The start of vice. He has already initiated his strategy long before his victim realizes what has happened.”

  Cecily frowned in warning. “That is enough, Evelyn.”

  “Not that any woman he loves would consider herself a victim,” Evelyn said as an afterthought. “A treasure is more apt.”

  Another silence descended.

  Jane found an opening in the circle and broke away, having experienced enough of Sedgecroft’s prowess for one day.

  “Excuse me, won’t you? I think my brother is summoning me.”

  Cecily hurried after her, speaking in a soft apologetic whisper. “I came to see you last night, but your parents had you under guard. How are you ever going to survive this, Jane?”

  Jane stared across the green expanse of the park. Cecily was one of her oldest confidantes, almost as close to her as Caroline and Miranda. At age three Cecily had announced to an entire church congregation that she had caught the vicar in the wine pantry with her aunt. At age five Cecily had cut off all her lustrous hip-length hair to play Robin Hood with her brothers. At eleven she committed the same offense because she planned to run away in disguise and become a jockey.

  No wonder Jane adored her. Cecily had backbone, and she actually loved the young duke she was about to marry. But not even her dear friend knew about Jane and Nigel’s scheme to thwart the course of their untrue love.

  Which was why Jane wished she could be honest when Cecily took her by the hand and whispered, “I was sick with worry over you. If I’d had a gun, I would have gone after Nigel myself and shot him dead. Believe it or not, I understand exactly how you must feel. It’s so brave of you to show your face today, but Jane—is this wise?”

  There is a time to be wise, and a time to be wicked.

  “The ton is going to talk about me anyway, Cecily. The sooner I face that, the better.”

  “I’m not referring to the ton.”

  “Then—”

  “Sedgecroft.”

  “Oh.” Jane’s gaze strayed across the lawn to the stunningly handsome figure striding toward her, every muscle moving with effortless grace. Her heart gave a leap as he looked at her. Oh, such a gorgeous monster. With regret she returned her focus to Cecily’s anxious face. “I don’t think you need to worry about me.”

  “Sedgecroft, Jane. The consummate rake.”

  “I am simply having breakfast with him. That’s all.”

  “Sedgecroft doesn’t simply ‘have’ a meal with a woman,” Cecily said. “Not unless she is the main course.”

  Breakfast and bed sport. Her own words echoed tauntingly in her mind.

  “Nonsense,” she said firmly.

  Cecily glanced around, aware she did not have her friend’s full attention. Her brows rose when she noticed the arresting marquess approaching. “Ah, speak of the devil,” she muttered. “Jane, please, please, listen to me. You are in a most vulnerable state. I know how deeply Nigel hurt you, but to link up with Sedgecroft. Well, isn’t it a little like walking blindfolded along the edge of a cliff?”

  “Hello, Cecily,” Grayson said, gazing down at Jane as he positioned himself between the two women. “How is your father these days? I haven’t seen him at the club lately.”

  Cecily subjected him to her coolest stare. As one of Chloe’s friends, she was all too aware of the lethal Boscastle charm and ever on guard against it. “He is well, thank you. And your family? They all looked hale in the chapel yesterday.”

  “Hale and full of hell, if I may use the word.” He glanced from her to Jane, his eyes pinning her with a solicitous concern that she knew was all for show. “Would you like to dance, Jane?”

  Cecily stared down pointedly at the hand he had brushed across Jane’s shoulder, her lips thinning in disapproval.

  Jane shook her head. “Not now, thank you. I—”

  “Shall we get some champagne then?” he asked, nudging her ever so subtly away from Cecily.

  “Oh, champagne would be lovely,” Cecily said, deliberately refusing to take the hint. “Why don’t you run off and fetch us some, Sedgecroft?”

  He gave her an ingenuous grin. “But that would mean leaving Jane alone again, and I couldn’t be so rude. Why don’t you be a dear and find a footman for us? A duchess should practice giving orders, don’t you think?”

  Jane lowered her gaze, afraid she might burst into laughter, if not tears. Oh, the look of shock on Cecily’s face! And Sedgecroft was the very devil, provoking her poor friend this way.

  Cecily’s smile was brittle. “That reminds me, Jane. Hudson and I are riding in the park Tuesday afternoon with his nieces and nephews. You will come with us?”

  Grayson smiled back at her. “We’d love to, wouldn’t we, Jane?”

  Cecily’s mouth dropped open. “I meant—”

  “I haven’t spent time with Hudson since we went shooting in the Highlands,” he went on. “Perhaps the four of us could attend the opera later in the week.”

  Cecily did not know what to make of this. Sedgecroft was as arrogant as they came, and the worst thing was, Hudson did like the marquess. He had mentioned on countless occasions that he enjoyed Sedgecroft, a real man’s man if ever there was one. But what were his intentions toward her friend? Was it possible he had an ounce of honor in him?

  “On second thought, do you really think Jane should resume an active social life this soon after . . . well, after yesterday?” she asked in a strained voice.

  He smiled blandly, turning Jane in the other direction as if to protect her. “I think I can take good care of Jane,
although I admire your loyalty during these, let us say, awkward times. And now before we leave, the two of us will fetch that champagne for you, Cecily. You do look as if you could use some fortification.”

  “Couldn’t we all?” Jane asked in an undertone, gazing over her shoulder at her dumbfounded friend.

  A few minutes later they had made their farewells, located Simon, and Jane was whisked from the party by her handsome companion without another bite of food.

  “Sedgecroft, your treatment of Cecily was so . . . so . . .”

  “There’s no need to keep thanking me,” he murmured as he escorted her forcefully to his carriage. “Your gratitude is understood.”

  “Is it, Sedgecroft? I cannot tell you what a relief that is to me.”

  He paused, pursing his lips. “Far be it from me to criticize anyone’s behavior outside my family, but I do start to wonder, Jane, whether this tendency of yours to be a little tart of tongue did not intimidate my cousin.”

  Jane had no idea how to react.

  He looked uncomfortable. “I shouldn’t have spoken. I happen to find this tendency appealing myself.”

  Appealing. Her standing up to him. “You what?” she said, finally managing to respond.

  “To a degree. I’m sorry I brought up the subject.” He gave her a penitent grin. “I’m also sorry if I seemed inattentive today.”

  Jane turned away, again thunderstruck. Any more of his attention, and she would have melted in her slippers.

  His deep voice over her shoulder gave her another jolt. “It’s all this rebellion of Chloe’s,” he confessed, revealing what was obviously weighing on his mind. “I cannot control her every action, and I fear she is bent on some course of self-destruction. The truth is, I do not generally attend these insipid day affairs. I’m better at night.”

  “That isn’t what I’ve heard.”

  “Pardon?”

  She felt his large body behind her, remembering in embarrassment what Evelyn had said. “It was only gossip,” she said hurriedly. “They said that in the morning—goodness, forget I mentioned it.” Was it true? Did Sedgecroft read the newspaper while he made love?

  He followed her closely up the steps into the carriage, his expression mocking. “Don’t listen to the gossips, darling.”

  She glanced around at her brother standing outside. She was starting to understand how much more there was to this man than met the eye. “What do you mean?”

  “Find out the truth for yourself.” He waited for her to sit before he lounged back, his brazen gaze studying her. “If you’re curious about my personal habits, all you have to do is ask.”

  “I hardly think I would dare.”

  “Then you shall never know for yourself.”

  “Perhaps in some instances, one is better off remaining blissfully ignorant.”

  “But not you, Jane.” He nudged his shoulder playfully against hers. “I have a feeling your curiosity has not begun to be sated.”

  Chapter 11

  Jane locked herself in her room as soon as she arrived home, ignoring her sisters’ barrage of curious questions. She needed to ponder. Of course all she could ponder was Grayson. In leisurely detail. When they were together, her brain ceased all but its most basic functions.

  She would have thought less of him today had she not been so strangely touched by all the emotions he revealed when he had shouted at his sister. The love and sheer panic of a man who was finally realizing that he could not control the world.

  Pompous Grayson. He meant well, even if his heavy-handed methods left something to be desired. She did not understand why she felt so at ease with him. Perhaps because he was not easily shocked by the things she said, and she had done a very shocking thing.

  Would her secret shock him?

  Probably—if his treatment of Chloe were any indication. Even his liberal standards apparently extended only to the male prerogative for misbehavior.

  But no matter what happened in the end, for this moment he made her feel valued, and no one, except her dogs, had ever seemed to value Jane for herself.

  Except that Grayson didn’t know who she really was. Or what she had done. What would he think if the truth were revealed?

  As surprisingly enjoyable as the day spent with Jane had proven, Grayson did not look forward to the inevitable confrontation with Chloe that same evening. Of all his siblings his younger sister was the one he worried about and collided with the most. Possibly because in too many ways they were alike.

  Arrogant. Adventurous. Always taking up lost causes.

  Attracted to trouble. Determined to have their own way and damn the consequences.

  He paused outside her bedroom door, bracing himself for another battle. At times like this he wished their spine-of-steel sister Emma were here to do the honors. Or even Heath, whose gentle intensity seemed to disarm women quite effectively. Having Jane at his side would help, even if she scolded him afterward. Grayson realized that in personal matters he possessed all the tact of a battering ram. But there were certain issues on which one must stand firm. He was the head of the family whether he liked it or not. He would be obeyed.

  Why did Chloe defy him at every turn?

  What was he going to do about her?

  He opened the door. He had no inkling of what to say.

  She was seated at her desk, her wavy black hair spread across her shoulders like a raven’s wing. She looked young and vulnerable but grown up at the same time. She stiffened her back as he entered the room, but did not turn around. “Ah, my gaoler appears,” she said. “Please leave the bread and water by the door.”

  “Chloe.”

  “Grayson.”

  He started to speak, then paused as he noticed a sketch of Brandon sitting on her desk. Brandon had been the baby of the family and Chloe’s fervent champion as well as partner in childhood mischief. His death, on top of their father’s, had devastated her at a time when she should have been preparing herself for marriage.

  Once again he blamed himself for not being with his father and Chloe when they received word that Brandon had been killed. For months Royden Boscastle had been begging his eldest son to come to their country home for a week of hunting and entertaining old friends. Grayson had put him off and promised to come at a later date, not realizing that time was running out for their reunion.

  Had Royden Boscastle had a premonition of his death? Grayson could not help wondering whether his father would have survived if he’d been at his side to soften the blow of Brandon’s murder. Chloe and their father had been alone when the letter came, and she’d held him in her arms, helpless and afraid, as he died. The shock and sadness had changed her.

  “What did you think you were doing today?” he asked her quietly.

  “I do not want to discuss it.”

  He sat on the edge of her chaise. “Chloe, turn around and talk to me. We will discuss this.”

  She hesitated, then turned, her blue eyes cold . . . and wounded. He sighed, his heart aching for her.

  “What did you expect me to do?” he asked in chagrin. “He was a soldier, for the love of God.”

  Her pen tapped the desk. “So, if I had been kissing a duke, you would have granted your approval?”

  “Of course not,” he retorted. “But at least someone of your own class, well, if you really were in love, marriage would have been an option. I’d never even seen him before.”

  Her white teeth worried the edge of her bottom lip. “And what did you intend to gain by bringing Jane along to witness my disgrace?”

  “Jane defended you, actually.”

  “Someone ought to defend her against you,” she burst out, the blue eyes so like his full of fire.

  He drew a breath, allowing the insult to die unchallenged. “Chloe, you can’t tell me that you really love that young man.”

  “I might.”

  He shook his head in chagrin. “I don’t like this wild turn you have taken. Nor do I approve of your work at the Foundling Hospi
tal and the Female Penitentiary for that matter, with ruined young women and whores.”

  “Nobody cares about them, Grayson,” she said, her voice underscored with passion. “They have no parents to watch over them.”

  No parents. Was her sense of loss so acute, so pervasive, that she felt more at home with these anguished beings than her own family?

  “I care about you, Chloe,” he said in bewilderment. “All of us do.”

  “Then allow me to live my life as I please.”

  “Not until what pleases you meets my approval.” He rose, his large hands buried in his pockets as he began to pace behind her. “Perhaps we should find you a husband. I don’t know. Someone Papa would have chosen.”

  A flicker of pain darkened her blue eyes and was masked before he could decipher it. “Papa would have let me choose for myself.”

  “We both know that’s a lie,” he said quickly. “He was a tyrant, Chloe, as much as we loved him. He could be quite hurtful at times.”

  She came to her feet, her cheeks flushed, her voice distressed. “Don’t say that.”

  “Well, it’s true. It doesn’t mean I didn’t love him. Or that I don’t miss him as much as you.”

  “I want to go to Nepal,” she said unexpectedly.

  “What?” he said in astonishment.

  “I want to find Brandon’s body.”

  He vented a deep sigh. He wasn’t about to tell her that animal scavengers had probably left no remains to be brought home. That Brandon and his companions had died in a ravine after being ambushed by rebels. As far as he knew, no one had revealed the grim details to her. In fact, no one really knew for certain what had happened, despite Heath and Drake’s efforts to uncover the truth.

  “It’s out of the question, Chloe,” he said, shaking his head for emphasis.

  “It was Papa’s idea.”