Lucien almost waved a hand between them. Bugger that, he wanted to smack John’s brain box. Didn’t the man know that ’twas his wife he flirted with? Didn’t he care?
Apparently not.
But Lucien did. Terribly. Never mind that during their college days he and John had often tried to woo the same lady. The truth of the matter was, he truly hadn’t expected John to respond to Elizabeth’s flirtation, no matter what their past was. In fact, he’d been hedging his bets that John wouldn’t respond simply because Elizabeth was his bride. His new bride. Yes, yes, yes. He’d spouted all that rot earlier about a marriage of convenience. Only now he suddenly wondered if he’d really meant it.
Instead, the two smiled at each other in a silly fashion as Elizabeth dabbed at his face. Still.
“There,” she said, removing the napkin, much to Lucien’s relief, only to—good God—suck on the end of that napkin before dabbing at John’s chin and saying, “ ’Tis a stubborn spot here.”
Was it he who’d groaned, or John? Lucien couldn’t be sure.
Damnation. Where had she learned such a thing? What had happened to the virginal Beth?
And when had she become Beth?
“Roasted beef, sir?” a servant asked near his ear, placing a serving tray to his right, the smell of it wafting up.
Lucien nodded mutely.
Elizabeth looked up, apparently finished with her task, for she and John leaned away from each other. Smiled. And he could have sworn his little wife fanned her lashes at him again.
“Ian,” she said, seeming to pry her gaze away from John’s to look at the servant. “It is, Ian, isn’t it?” she asked.
The servant must have nodded for she smiled. “Ian, would you be sure to bring me some bananas and plums for dessert?”
“Elizabeth,” Lucien shot, standing up abruptly and nearly knocking Ian off his feet. “I must speak to you immediately.”
Elizabeth stared up at him, her lips damp from wetting the bloody napkin, her eyes wide and innocent. Argh. As innocent as a black widow.
“But, Lucien, dinner is just being served.”
“ ’Twill take but a moment,” he insisted.
Elizabeth looked at John, the two exchanging glances. Lucien’s temper flared even more. And he was angry, he admitted. Bugger it. He felt furious. And the devil of it was, he didn’t know why. His wife merely did her part. But, demme, she did it too well. She wasn’t supposed to. But she did, he thought grimly as she reluctantly got to her feet. He held his hand out toward the door, indicating she should proceed him. With a sultry, apologetic smile at John, she turned. The servants, who’d been in the midst of placing trays upon the table seemed to freeze in their various places.
He slammed the door in their faces.
“What the devil are you doing?” he snapped.
Elizabeth turned, looked up at him and he could have sworn he saw amusement flicker in her eyes. She-cat.
“Why, Lucien, I should think it obvious. I am seducing your friend.”
Bloody hell, he hated it when she behaved like he did.
His hands clenched. “Yes, I know. But dabbing at his face like that. Elizabeth. What will the servants think?”
She tilted her head. “Perhaps you should have thought of that before you suggested the wager.”
He had thought of that. That’s what made the whole thing worse, for at the time, he hadn’t thought she could win. Now, much to his amazement, it appeared she would.
“Of course I thought of our servants’ reaction,” he snapped. “However, I was not expecting you to be so, so blatant.”
Her brows lifted again. “Why, Lucien. Haven’t you heard the expression all is fair in love and war?”
He felt his temper flare. “Do not give me that, Elizabeth. There is a line, and you have crossed it.”
She drew back, her expression falsely confused. “Why, Lucien, I am only doing what you taught me to do.”
Odd’s blood, she tried his patience. Never mind that he knew he hadn’t a leg to stand upon. Not even half a leg. Nor an eighth.
“I am not asking you not to do it, Elizabeth,” he clipped. “Just not”—in front of me—“in front of my staff.”
“Very well. I shall only seduce John when the servants are out of the room.”
She turned, conversation apparently at end.
“Wait,” he called, suddenly realizing that her agreement appeased him not in the least.
She turned back to him, her manner one of impatience. His gaze dropped down. He couldn’t help himself, he just looked at her breasts, stifling a groan as he recalled how’d they felt in his hands.
Would John find them soft, too?
Stop it, Lucien. You should not act the jealous lover.
“I’m waiting, Lucien,” she said, crossing her arms in front of her and—God’s teeth—lifting her breasts up even farther.
“I—” he struggled for something to say, his mind boggled by the realization that his tongue was tied. “I want to know where you got that dress,” he improvised.
Her brows dropped. “ ’Tis one of my gowns. Altered, of course.”
“Did Polly do it for you?”
She nodded.
He would fire the maid. “I see.”
“She did a remarkable job, did she not?” She turned around for his inspection, arms held out, the gown clinging to every luscious curve as she slowly spun before him.
Jezebel. Strumpet.
“Yes,” he croaked, having to force his gaze away.
“I’m quite pleased my mother insisted the maid we shared stay behind, for Polly is an admirable replacement.”
“Indeed.”
“Yes,” she said smugly, turning toward the door again.
He seethed, trying to come up with another reason to stall. But he could think of nothing, and so he reluctantly opened the door, granted, with more force than necessary, wondering what the devil had happened to him. One moment he’d married a diminutive shrew. The next she’d turned into Cleopatra.
She swept into the room, her skirts—damp as they were—clinging to her delectable legs. He held her chair out for her, shooting John a look of warning over her shoulder. John merely smiled in a thoroughly irritating way.
Lucien’s hands clenched around the back of the seat.
He returned to his own chair, the servants having placed all the dishes upon the table. The smell of duck ragwood mixed with beef and apple loaf.
Lucien had lost his appetite. He watched as if from a distance as Elizabeth nibbled at her dinner, John solicitously serving her.
She laughed. She flirted. John appeared to be captivated.
Lucien spoke nary a word. The two completely ignored him.
An interminable half hour later, the table was cleared. The cloth changed. Lucien tensed as he waited for dessert to be brought in. Sure enough, Ian entered the room with a heaping tray of bananas and plums. He set them down in front of Elizabeth with a flourish.
Lucien vowed to fire Ian right after Polly.
There could be little doubt what Elizabeth intended, for her eyes grew as smoky as the fireplace pit, her eyes glittering just as vividly as she slowly, inexorably peeled the skin back.
“Would you like some?” she asked. Lucien looked up from the banana, thinking it was him she offered it to. Alas, she had eyes only for John. John whose gaze had ignited.
“They’re quite good,” she said, but she didn’t nibble the fruit as he’d taught her. No. She sucked on the damn thing. Sucked! pushing the fruit in and out of her mouth. Odd’s teeth, where had she learned that?
“I,” John croaked. “No. I believe I shall watch you suck, er, eat it.”
She smiled as she nipped at the fruit, her eyes wicked.
If Elizabeth had asked both men to take off their clothes and jump into a volcanic pit, they likely would have done so at that moment. Both of them stared at her in mute fascination as she lifted the banana to her mouth again, her tongue whipping out to lick
the side of it suggestively.
“Elizabeth, that is enough,” Lucien shot, standing abruptly. “You win,” he found himself admitting, fighting the urge to adjust himself. He turned to his steward. “John, you may have her with my blessings.”
“I beg your pardon?” John asked, his expression falsely aghast.
Lucien turned to his wife. She smiled. Not a ha-ha-isn’t-this-funny smile. No, she smiled in a smugly superior way that set Lucien’s teeth on edge.
“Why, Lucien,” she drawled. “Are you saying I’ve won the wager?”
“That is exactly what I’m saying,” he snapped, throwing his napkin down on the table. He turned to John. “We had a wager that she could not seduce you. Obviously, I was wrong. I should have known that not even the bond of friendship would stop you from succumbing to my wife—”
“Lucien,” John began to protest.
“No. Do not tell me you were unaffected. For I could see with my own eyes that you were all too willing to succumb to her charms. But I do not care. Take her, my friend. With my blessings.” He turned on his heel, uncaring that it was rude to give his dinner guests his back. If he didn’t leave, he would do something dire.
“Where are you going?” Elizabeth asked.
“Out,” he snapped, not looking at her. “I will see you in the morning.”
“I’ll send Polly to you at nine,” she called after him. “We’ve picked out a lovely gown for you to wear.”
Lucien stopped, spun on his heel, about to say she could take her bloody gown and her bloody wager and go to the devil. But he refused to let her see how much her winning the damn wager irked him. So instead he smiled, having to work harder at that smile than he’d ever had to work at anything in his life.
“Indeed, my dear. I look forward to it.” He kept the smile on his face, though he still couldn’t meet her eyes. Bowing, he left the room, taking great pleasure in the fact that he didn’t slam the door as he did so.
Had he turned back at that moment he would have seen the pleased smiles John and Elizabeth exchanged. Gone was the flirtatious manner.
“That went smashingly well,” Elizabeth said gleefully.
“Aye,” John agreed, giving her a smile back. “But what I want to know is where the devil you learned to eat a banana that way?”
“Why, from Lucien, of course.”
Small chuckles escaped from John. He shook his head. “I almost pity the day my friend gained you as an adversary.”
“Ah, but you enjoy watching him squirm.”
“That I do,” John said. “That I do.” And if Elizabeth had looked at John closely, she would have seen the way his eyes lingered on her, the way, for just a moment, his gaze filled with envy.
Chapter Sixteen
And, indeed, the next day Elizabeth woke up in a bright mood. Of course, a part of her wondered where her husband had spent the night. But no matter. Her plan to knock Lucien off his high horse had gone splendidly well. So much so, that she told herself she didn’t care if he’d spent the night with another woman.
That was what she told herself.
So as she dressed for the day in a high-waisted red dress with a ruffled neckline, she and Polly exchanged conspirator’s glances. She and the maid had called a truce when she’d explained things to her, and a good thing, too, for it was Polly who’d helped put the finishing touches on her seductive skills.
Almost as if she read her mind, Polly entered. “Sleep well, ma’am?”
“Indeed, Polly,” Elizabeth said with a smile. “Most well.”
Polly smiled, too. “Thought you should know, the duke spent the evenin’ with the stable hands. Word is he got jug bitten, then fagged out in a stall.”
The words made Elizabeth’s shoulders relax, her relief undeniable. “Is he up yet?”
“Aye. Demanded ’is breakfast a bit ago.”
“Did he now? Well, we shall just have to see about him eating that breakfast dressed as he is.”
“You mean to go through with it then?” the maid asked, wide-eyed.
“Aye, Polly. If the gown is ready.”
“Spent ’alf the evenin’ sewin’ it,” she said.
Throaty chuckles escaped. She came forward and clutched the maid’s hands. “You’re a dear for doing it.”
“No thanks be necessary, m’lady. ’Twas the thought of seeing his grace in that gown that kept me going. Like as not I’d have stayed up all night if I’d needed to.”
“And did Mrs. Fitzherbert mind the donation?”
This time the maid chuckled. “Once she heard what we were up to, no. She said you could have the dress with her blessing.”
Elizabeth all but danced upon her toes. “Good. Then what say you go fetch my husband? He has an outfit to don, non?”
They both laughed.
Lucien was in a cankerous mood. No doubt about it. He stabbed at his eggs and bacon, thrusting his fork into each piece as if it were John’s head. It didn’t help matters that his stomach rolled with every bite and that his head hurt every time he moved. He would eat his bloody food if it killed him. Lord willing, it just might.
“Beggin’ your pardon, sir,” a feminine voice trilled. “But the duchess is requesting you meet her in your dressing room.”
Lucien looked up. Polly, the little traitor. A maid he’d promoted from under maid to lady’s maid, a grand step up in pay and respect. And look how she’d done him wrong.
“She does, does she?” he asked, caring little that he sounded surly. He was surly, damn it.
“Aye, sir. Right away, sir.”
Well, they would just see about that. She could bloody well wait.
“Sir?” the maid said when he didn’t move.
Lucien looked up, giving her a look reminiscent of his dark days. It should have sent the maid scurrying.
“Are you coming sir?” she asked, odd’s teeth, and she actually sounded impatient with him.
Lucien set his fork down, his fingers fisting over his plate of food. “Polly, how long has your family served the St. Aubyns?” He drummed his fingers.
“Three generations, sir.”
Another drum. “Well, my dear, if you do not want such a grand history of servitude to end with you, I suggest you run upstairs and tell my little wife that I will be up when I finish my repast.” He unlaced his fingers, calmly lifted his fork again.
The maid went still. “Yes, sir. Right away, sir.”
That’s more like it, Lucien thought, feeling a bit better when the door closed, although he supposed he ought not take out his black mood on his staff. Then again, it was because of the little traitor that his wife had been so successful last eve, for Lucien had no doubt that Polly, who was known as something of a flirt amongst the male staff, had helped her.
So it was that he took his time, enjoying the vision of his wife cooling her heels upstairs. But like a child dreading his first day of school, the moment came when, inevitably, Lucien had to go to her. Not for a moment did he think about reneging upon the wager. His pride wouldn’t allow it. No. Instead he slowly straightened, slowly stepped away from the table.
Ian walked into the room just as he rose. “Don’t let ’er grace pull your corset too tight.”
Lucien froze. One of his staff members out in the hall—Lord knows who—erupted into laughter.
“You’re fired,” he said to Ian. “The whole lot of you. Pack your bags and leave my home.”
“Oh, no, Your Grace. Not gonna miss this for the world. Fire me if you want, but I’ll stay long enough to see you in a dress.”
Lucien stared at the man, trying to decide just when, exactly, he’d lost control of his staff. “Does the whole staff know?”
“The whole lot o’ them.”
Marvelous. Superb. Absolutely lovely.
“From what I hear, her grace is gonna parade you before all o’ us.”
Over his dead body.
“If I may be so bold, sir. Whatever made you wager such a thing?”
&nbs
p; “Overconfidence, old boy. Pure and simple overconfidence.”
“Well, that’ll teach you.”
Lucien didn’t respond. What could he say? He had, indeed, learned his lesson, although he felt better than he cared to admit upon being told his wife had spent the night in their bed. Alone.
He found her reclining in their dressing room, calmly reading a book, a flowered white-and-blue dress with a solid blue pelisse reminding him all too quickly of what he’d come up to do. He would not wear a pelisse, he privately vowed. One must draw the line somewhere.
“Ah, Elizabeth,” he drawled. “Your maid tells me you requested my presence.” He loomed over her, enjoying the way she seemed to sink back into the settee. “Couldn’t wait to see me again, eh?”
She slammed the book closed, those lovely cheeks of hers filling with rosy and—he didn’t mind saying—flattering color. “On the contrary, duke, you know very well what I summoned you here for.”
He leaned over her, her eyes widening as he placed a hand on either side of her body. Damnation, but he liked the way she smelled. All night he’d thought of her, alternating between anger and being impressed at the way she’d won the wager, and dismay that she’d won. She’d turned the tables on him. Handily. Now it was time to turn them back.
“Why, yes, I do,” he said silkily. “Another lesson in the art of seduction? Shall I teach you more of my tricks?”
Somehow, Lucien hadn’t the foggiest notion how, she slipped out from beneath him, standing before he had time to react.
“Thank you, no. As I illustrated last night, those types of lessons are hardly necessary.”
Oddly enough, disappointment filled him. Ridiculous. “Are you sure?” he said, just to cover the reaction.
She nodded.
“Hmm. Pity.” He straightened. “Very well. It must be that other thing then.” He hated to say it. “The wager.” He sighed.
“Indeed,” she agreed, pointing to a second door in the room, the one that led to the hallway beyond their rooms. And by the doorframe, nay, taking up most of the doorway, was the most hideous brown dress Lucien had ever seen.
“Surely you jest?” he found himself saying.
She shook her head. “No. I do not.”
Seduced Page 17
