“Indeed.”
“Prove it,” he said.
She stiffened. “Prove what?”
“That it was not beginner’s luck,” he smiled, an idea suddenly coming to mind, an idea so simple, so cunning, he knew it would work. He hoped. “That you could arouse another man, one perhaps, less willing than I.”
“I beg your pardon?” she found herself gulping.
“John,” he said matter-of-factly, liking the idea more and more. “If you think yourself such a prime article, try your skills on John Thorsen, my steward.”
She looked appropriately shocked. “You want me to seduce John?”
“Why not? We’ll make a wager of it.”
“You’re mad.”
“Why not?” He waited for her to say the words to back down and, god willing, give the whole lesson thing up.
“Because it’s, it’s …” She appeared to have to search for the appropriate word. “Unseemly.”
Yes, it was, and lord willing it would give her a revulsion of him so great, she wouldn’t want a thing to do with him ever again. “But my dear, aren’t you the one that wants to take a lover? Are you telling me now that you think the idea unconscionable?”
“That is not what I’m saying at all. I am saying that to seduce John would be unseemly.”
“Not at all,” a part of him disbelieving that she would entertain the notion this long. “In fact, it would be John’s very reluctance that would make this all the more a challenge.” He smirked down at her. “Of course, if you are too afraid to do so, I will understand.”
“I am not afraid.”
She wasn’t? “Then what is stopping you? Surely you can’t be ashamed of trying out your newfound skills?”
Lucien felt his chest still as he held his breath. Any minute now she would snap. Any moment she would tell he went too far. All he had to do was retain his smirk and she would run screaming from the room and never want another thing to do with him.
“Very well,” she said. “I will try to seduce John.”
What?
“However,” she added, her eyes filled with pique. “Since you want to make this a wager, you will need to do something for me should I win.”
He couldn’t believe she’d said yes. Now what the devil did he do?
“And what would that be?”
He watched her eyes dart around, catching on a portrait of a long dead aunt behind him. “If I win, you shall wear a dress for a day.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“You will dress as a woman,” she repeated. “I insist upon it, for, quite frankly, you and I both know this is not about my skills as a lover but about our pride, yours and mine. If you lose, I want you to suffer.” And she looked like she did. Truly. “In a very public way. This should do nicely.”
“That is not very kind of you, Elizabeth.”
“Afraid you might lose?” she threw back his words.
“Of course not. But what do I get if I win?” he asked, furiously searching for another way to make her back down. And then he had it. The ultimate way of scaring her off.
And once again, she must have read his face. “Oh, no,” she said.
He wiggled his brows.
“Oh, ho, ho, no,” she said, lifting her hands in protest.
“Just one night,” he said. “One night of lessons such as you’ve never imagined.”
“You’re mad.”
“Afraid I might win?” he taunted back.
Her eyes narrowed. He’d backed her into a corner. “Very well,” she said. “Invite the man to dinner.”
It was then Lucien realized he fought a losing battle. But if it was a battle she wanted, a battle she would have. “When?”
“Tonight.”
“So soon?”
“Why not?” she asked, Elizabeth hating that he seemed a bit taken back by the speediness of the wager.
“As you wish.” Then he came forward. “Of course, I shall require some proof that you were successful in your seduction.”
“You want to share a bed with us then?”
He drew back, looking, well, shocked. “Heavens, no. I merely wish for you to prove that you’ve seduced him.”
“I see.”
“Do you, my dear?” His eyes glittered.
“I do, duke. And I shall delight in proving to you that I am more than up to the challenge.”
“Let us pray for your sake that ’tis John who is ‘up’ to the task.”
He was being crude, and in a way she finally understood. She didn’t know whether to be repulsed or angry by the realization.
“Until tonight then, my dear.” He picked up her hand, dropped a feather-light kiss upon the back of it. Her body stilled. Shimmering energy danced down the back of her neck. It irked her no end that all he had to do was touch her to elicit a reaction. “We dine at six.”
She couldn’t stop staring at their hands, hands that had stroked each other so intimately.
Stop it, she told herself. Do not think of it.
And she didn’t. At least not for the next ten seconds.
Slowly straightening, he stepped back, his hand dropping away. Her fingers rubbed together as if her flesh stung. His eyes remained fixed upon her. “I look forward to our wager, my dear.”
“Until tonight,” she answered, her voice hoarse.
His smile grew in volume. Elizabeth watched him turn, watched him walk away. Wondered if she’d just agreed to do something terribly foolish.
Chapter Fifteen
Nine hours later Lucien surveyed himself in his dressing room mirror.
“Perfect,” he said, straightening to his full height so that he could get the full effect.
“If I might say, Your Grace, you do, indeed, look smashing.”
“I do,” Lucien agreed, smoothing his black jacket. “Although I do wish this cravat looked more full. If that poor sod Brummell were still around, he would be aghast at the state of it. It’s as floppy as a fisher wife’s breasts.”
“Indeed, sir,” Phibbs agreed, his lips unmoving. The man was of the old guard, much to Lucien’s dismay. Try as he might, Lucien couldn’t get the chap to unwind.
Stepping back from the mirror, his eyes swept down, observing the pristine crispness of his black cloth trousers. Next he eyed the way his black jacket hung right to his waist, open in the front, tails in the back. At the glorious shine upon his black dress shoes.
He looked, quite honestly, as good as a man could look.
He turned to Phibbs. “Have you seen my wife?”
The servant gave him a half bow. “She is with her lady’s maid, Your Grace. In the guest bedroom. I believe they are concocting a surprise for you tonight.”
No doubt they were, Lucien thought, smiling in anticipation, though not a surprise for him. How shocked Phibbs would be if he knew, Lucien thought. He even contemplated telling the man, just to see his reaction, then changed his mind. Word would reach his staff about this evening’s events without his help.
“Tell me, Phibbs,” he said, tweaking with his cravat again. “Why do they call a manservant a manservant and a lady’s maid a lady’s maid?” He turned to him again. “Should she not be a lady’s servant, instead?”
Phibbs’s gray brows lifted, rheumy old blue eyes lowered humbly. “Why, I’m sure I do not know.”
“No?” Lucien asked with an answering lifted brow. “Pity, I’ve always wondered.”
With one last adjustment to his cuffs (tailored to the perfect length just below his wrist), he turned for the door.
“Do not wait up for me, Phibbs. It might be a late night.” For he knew Elizabeth would not give up on her seduction easily.
He almost pitied John. Almost.
Instead, Lucien smiled. Quite honestly, it surprised him how much he looked forward to this evening’s events. It wasn’t so much that he anticipated Elizabeth’s failure—and he was sure she would fail—no, it was more that he couldn’t wait to see the look on her face when she realiz
ed she would be spending the night with him.
Of course, he wasn’t actually going to spend the night with her. Heavens, no. He would scare her a good bit, though. Enough so that she would leave him alone. Forever. That way he could save face, make sure she never bothered him again, and lay the blame all at her door.
Perfect.
He smiled, pleased with his plan and taking the steps two at a time, the heels of his shoes clicking on the marble floor in the main hall.
The door to the dining room lay open, Lucien spying John inside. What Elizabeth didn’t know was that he and John had been friends since university. In fact, he was the only friend of his who hadn’t died, a fact that made Lucien distinctly nervous, for he truly liked John. He’d also been one of the few people to stand by him after Henry had died.
So it was that he entered the dining room in a jovial mood. John turned from his spot by the tall windows, the flames in the hearth to the right reflecting back in the glass. Outside another orange sky blazed.
“See you’re all dressed up for your pretty new wife,” his friend said in a Scottish brogue.
The words gave Lucien pause. Had he gotten dressed up for her? Truth be told, he hadn’t given it a thought. But John was quite correct. Usually he adopted a more casual dress for dinner at home.
“Yes,” he admitted. “I suppose I did.”
“I don’t blame you, for a prettier lass I’ve yet to see.”
Just wait until she turns her charms upon you, old friend, Lucien thought, wanting to chuckle slyly.
“Yes, she is rather pleasing to look at.”
John’s brows lifted. “She is a great deal more than mere pleasin’.”
Lucien shrugged, joining his friend by the window, his hands folded behind his back in a casual manner. “Truth be told, I hadn’t noticed. This is, after all, a marriage of convenience.”
“So you tell me.”
Lucien smiled. While he wouldn’t tell John outright to have a go at his wife, he didn’t want him to get the wrong idea about their relationship. Love her, indeed. He still couldn’t believe his friend had said that.
“My wife and I are …” He searched for the right word. “Friends, but not lovers. Not ever. I know you might find that hard to fathom given my reputation, but ’tis the truth. In fact, we have each agreed to go our separate ways once a respectable amount of time has passed.”
Surprise and shock filled his friend’s blue eyes. “Then you’re a fool, Lucien, for I do not believe you could find a woman more your match.”
“And how have you gleaned that?”
“One need only observe her briefly.”
“That may be true,” Lucien agreed. “But you know how I feel about matters of the heart.”
“Yes, though I’ve always thought you shouldn’t judge other women by a previous lover’s cover.”
“If by that you mean I should not think all women devious just because of the actions of one, you are quite correct. Silly thing to do. No, that is not why I have vowed not to love again, and more on the subject I am not prepared to say. Simply accept that is the way it is.”
John’s eyes narrowed. “As you wish.”
They lapsed into silence, but not for long. “In any event,” John said, “ ’twas kind of her to invite me to dinner.”
“Yes,” Lucien said, biting back a smile. “My wife is the epitome of goodness.”
John looked a bit surprised. Lucien wondered why, only to realize it wasn’t his comment that had taken him aback. It was something behind him, and he had a feeling he knew what … or who.
Slowly, he turned.
And there she stood, and even his jaded eyes near bulged at the sight of her.
She wore a gown that suited her coloring perfectly. It wasn’t sinful scarlet, as he’d assumed she’d wear. It wasn’t mauve, nor any other shade of red. No, she wore black. Simple, elegant, plain black. And yet on his wife it looked far from plain. It matched her upswept hair perfectly. Made her blue eyes appear huge with the way it accentuated her black lashes. Her skin looked as creamy as first snow. Long, elbow-high gloves, the skin above the black fabric a startling contrast, completed the outfit. And while her gown wasn’t sleeveless, it might as well have been, for the short sleeves were made of black lace, allowing for a delicious peek at her shapely arms. She looked like Harriet Wilson, only with more class, and the result was quite splendid.
“My dear,” he said, coming forward to greet her, hands outstretched before he thought better of touching her. His arms dropped to his sides. “Well done. You look smashing.” He darted a sly glance at John. “Good enough to eat, I daresay, eh, John?”
John looked incapable of speech. That gave Lucien pause, for he knew from their days at Eton that John was as much a connoisseur of women as Lucien felt himself to be. Certainly a pretty face and an elegant smile shouldn’t give him pause.
But my wife’s are.
It was that moment that Lucien got his first inkling of trouble. Looking back on it, he should have likely said goodnight then and there.
“Lady Elizabeth,” John said gallantly. “Thank you for inviting me.”
His wife swept into the room. And that was the other surprise. He’d expected her to use that three-legged gait of hers, the one that made her look silly. Instead she appeared to have given that up. She walked like a lady … And yet, not. Her chest was plumped up a bit too much for that. Almost as if she held her shoulders back. And perhaps she did, he thought, eyes narrowing. Or perhaps it was the dress. The damn thing was so tight around her bosom, John would be hard-pressed not to gauge the exact size, shape, and weight of the things. Odd’s teeth, he realized, she’d wetted her petticoats, too, for they clung to her luscious legs like paper to wet glass.
“I’m glad you could join us,” she said, coming to stand before John with an inviting smile.
Inviting him to do what?
Careful, Lucien old boy, ’tis the object of the game. Besides, you’d best get used to her looking at men thus.
Yet to his complete and utter shock, he found himself not liking it. Not liking it one bit. He watched, arms crossed, fingers drumming on his sleeve as John pulled out a chair for his wife. But Elizabeth didn’t take the seat next to Lucien as was proper. No, instead she smiled charmingly, and said, “But I would like to sit next to you, John. I can talk to Lucien anytime.”
John appeared flattered by her words. Lucien stewed. He sat down at the chair a servant held out for him, John to his right, Elizabeth on John’s right. She smiled in a coquettish way as she took her seat, removing her gloves before a servant placed a beige napkin in her lap. Dinner trays were then placed before them. The servants had dispensed with the livery this eve, Lucien noted, but they still held themselves as if they waited upon the queen of England.
But what piqued Lucien the most, what bothered him more than anything, was that his wife and his friend didn’t seem to notice the parade. They were too busy making small talk.
“Most pleasant weather,” John commented.
Please, Lucien almost said aloud. Can he not think of anything more original to charm my wife?
But Elizabeth didn’t seem to mind. “Indeed,” she answered. “The view from our room was most spectacular this evening. Nary a cloud in sight.” And, demme, if she didn’t all but bat her eyelashes. “Is the weather always this fair?”
John smiled. “Alas, no. I believe the sun shines down upon the castle solely in your honor.”
Lucien snorted. He couldn’t help himself. What a bloody foppish thing to say. And Elizabeth. She was worse. She tilted her body in such a way as to draw John’s attention to her breasts, picking up a crystal glass just filled with red wine. Firelight turned the liquid amber. She licked the rim of the glass. Lucien jerked. Where the devil did she learn to do that? His pique increased when he realized neither his wife nor John happened to have noticed his ignoble sound. They were too busy making eyes at each other.
The doomed feeling within Lucie
n worsened. “Wine,” he called to a hovering servant, watching as his own smooth-faced crystal goblet was filled.
He eyed his dinner guests, half-tempted to make a face at them. He cleared his throat instead. “The castle repairs are going well, are they not, John?”
Elizabeth and John, who had moved on to other subjects mundane, both stopped midconversation to peer over at him as if surprised at his audacity to interrupt them.
“Yes,” John agreed. “They are.”
Silence descended. Lucien felt like a schoolboy who’d been caught muttering obscenities at the dinner table. Devil take it, was that a blush he felt darken his cheeks? He reached for his glass, saying, “Bloody hot in here this eve. Anyone else care for some wine to cool the palate?” He tugged at his cravat.
His observant little wife’s eyes narrowed.
Witch.
“John,” she said to his friend, “do you like fruit?”
Lucien, who’d been in the process of swallowing, promptly spit it out, spattering fluid all over.
“Lucien,” his wife chastised. She scooped up her napkin from her lap, dabbing at John’s face. “Are you alright, John?”
Of course he was alright. He was looking down his wife’s dress.
“Lucien, you should apologize to our guest.”
“My apologies, John,” he gritted out. “Swallowed wrong.”
“Here,” Elizabeth said, “lean forward. There is a spot near your mouth.”
Lucien watched as his steward and soon to be ex-friend did as asked. Nay, he even looked pleased to receive the new duchess’s attention. And could he blame him? Lucien wondered. When she leaned forward Lucien wagered John could see down to her petticoats. He found his breath catching in his throat as he waited for one of her breasts to pop out like a peach from a produce cart. When it didn’t, he looked up in time to see his wife wipe John’s brow.
And Lucien, who prided himself on not caring a whit for anything but himself, suddenly minded very much the way John and Elizabeth stared into each other’s eyes.
“Thank you, Your Grace,” John said huskily, his eyes never leaving hers.
“You’re welcome,” she murmured back, with a smile.
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