Two Shades of Seduction

by Monica Burns

  Quentin leaned into her, his mouth brushing across her shoulder as he pressed her back into the pillows. Bracing his arms on either side of her, his tongue slid down into the valley between her breasts. She moaned as need rose inside her. With a lithe movement, he stood up to stare down at her, his eyes twinkling with a wicked gleam of amusement.

  “You’re a tempting package, Lady Devlyn, but work calls. I’ll arrange for Fischer to show you around the keep, and I’ll join you later for dinner.”

  Suddenly realizing he’d had no intentions of bedding her and had merely been teasing her, she swung a pillow at him. Laughing, he dodged the plump missile. With a wag of his finger, he made a chastising sound as he walked across the bedroom floor. Infuriated, she flung another pillow at him, which hit the door as he closed it behind him and his laughter.

  Flinging herself back into the pillows left on the bed, she glared at the closed door. As her anger subsided, she looked up at the mirrors hanging over the bed. Quentin’s bedroom had the most sinful décor she’d ever seen. The memory of how she’d responded to his touch last night made her muscles tense.

  As decadent as it had been to see their bodies entwined in passion, it had also been exhilarating and erotic. Time after time, Quentin had driven her to the brink and beyond throughout the night. And with each wild, passionate stroke, she’d forgotten everything, except for his possessive touch and the way he made her feel.

  The sound of the clock striking the hour of eleven made Sophie sit upright. Quentin had no doubt informed Fischer she would be down shortly, and she had no desire to present the appearance of a woman who would be of little use to her husband.

  In less than an hour, she made her way downstairs where she found Fischer dusting the large mirror in the keep’s main entrance. The man greeted her warmly, and together they set out to explore her new home. Everywhere they went there was something needing attention or replacement.

  As the tour progressed, Sophie began to grasp the monumental task she had before her. It would take years to restore Quentin’s family home to its former glory. Not only would the restoration of the keep be a monumentally, time-consuming task. It would be an expensive one. She winced as she realized revenge would finance the keep’s renovations.

  The tour of the house ended in the main salon, which was as run down as the rest of the house. Sinking down onto the room’s worn sofa, Sophie wearily rubbed her forehead as the grandfather clock in the foyer sounded the half hour after five. There was so much to do, and she had no idea where or how to begin. Did Quentin have any idea as to the true condition of his home? Sophie nibbled on her lip as she considered the time, money, and effort that would be required to rescue the keep from utter ruin.

  “If I may be so bold, my lady?” Fischer’s calm, stately voice broke through her thoughts.

  “Certainly,” she said with a smile.

  “I’m sure you’re feeling a bit overwhelmed by the state of the keep, and your new status as the Countess of Devlyn, but please know I shall serve you to the best of my abilities.”

  “Thank you, Fischer. It is a bit overwhelming, and I’m certain I will ask you to make good on that offer.”

  “And while it is no doubt forward of me, my lady, I wish to state that I have served his lordship for a great many years. While he is a bit irascible at times, he’s a good man.”

  The fatherly love in the man’s voice made Fischer’s words all the more poignant, and a knot of emotion swelled in Sophie’s throat. What would life have been like if her father had loved her as Fischer did Quentin? Blinking back tears, she nodded.

  “I think his lordship is very lucky to have someone like you looking after him, Fischer.”

  “I consider it a privilege, my lady. And I’ve the distinct impression you’re the right woman to bring out the best in him.” Fischer’s praise made Sophie’s heart clench tightly in her chest with emotion.

  “Thank you, Fischer,” she murmured as she struggled not to cry. As if realizing she was on the verge of tears, the manservant assumed a matter-of-fact demeanor.

  “Now then, my lady. It’s quite late for tea, but let me fetch you some nonetheless. I’m certain you’re parched.”

  “That would be lovely,” she said.

  With a bow, Fischer left the room and Sophie stood up to inspect her surroundings. Of all the rooms she’d been in today, this one seemed the most hopeless. The wallpaper wasn’t just faded. It was also peeling away from the walls. Overhead one of the room’s saving graces was the impressive crystal chandelier.

  It was well cared for and gleamed softly in the fading sunlight that poured through one of the salon’s front windows. She walked to the fireplace, her hand caressing the beautiful Italian marble mantle. Intricately carved, she suddenly realized the carvings on the beautiful white stone matched the wallpaper pattern.

  She was so engrossed in her examination of the vines etched into the marble, that the sound of the salon doors flying open made her jump. Expecting to see Quentin striding into the room, her heart leapt into her throat at the sight of her father’s rotund body framed in the doorway. His face was beet red with rage as he crossed the floor to where she stood.

  “You traitorous little bitch,” he snarled, and before she could dart out of the way, his hand cracked against the side of her face.

  One hand cradling her cheek, Sophie darted away from her father. Fear swept across her skin leaving an icy chill in its wake. Straightening her shoulders, she inhaled a quick breath as she met her father’s furious gaze.

  “I fail to see how I’ve betrayed you, my lord,” she lied. Dear lord, had he discovered her duplicity in keeping a second record of his accounts? Her heart began to race with a painful intensity in her chest.

  “You know damn well how you’ve betrayed me, Sophie. Well, if you think I’m going to let this marriage stand, think again.”

  “There is nothing you can do about it, Father,” she snapped as she realized it was the truth. “The marriage is quite legal, and has been consummated. More than once, I might add. In fact, I might even be carrying Quentin’s child as we speak.”

  “You. With child.” Lord Townsend snorted with a harsh laugh. “You’re too old to have a child with that bastard, Sophie.”

  She flinched. For the first time, she realized she wanted to give Quentin a child. A son she could love and cherish when her husband tired of her. Her hands balled into fists as her anger became a cold rage. She was no longer under her father’s roof, and she no longer had to listen to his cruel, callous words.

  “That bastard, as you refer to him, is my husband, which makes me the Countess of Devlyn.”

  “You’re right, my dear. How could I forget that it’s you who are the bastard. Tell me, does Devlyn know?” The savage smile on her father’s face made Sophie draw in a sharp breath of horror. Dear God, what if her father told Quentin her secret?

  “I have no secrets from my husband,” she lied. “I don’t hate him as my mother certainly must have hated you.”

  Fury darkened her father’s face as he stepped toward her menacingly. Trembling with fear, she stepped to one side and reached for the poker leaning against the fireplace. Fingers wrapped tightly around the tarnished brass handle, Sophie used it to hold her father at bay.

  “Take one more step toward me, and I’ll make you rue the day my mother gave birth to me.”

  Surprise crossed the baron’s face, and he came to a halt. The sudden light of respect in his beady eyes infuriated her. All these years she’d tried to please him, and now that she was standing up to him, he actually seemed pleased.

  “Well, Sophie. It seems you have more backbone than I realized. I’m delighted to see you’re far from the meek mouse I’ve always thought you to be.”

  “I’ve never been a mouse, my lord. I simply wanted…”

  She couldn’t say it. It was too much like begging. She was the Countess of Devlyn. She was no longer a bastard child who had tried all her life to earn the affection o
f the only father she’d ever known. “I’ll ask you to leave, Lord Townsend. We have nothing further to say to one another.”

  “Goddamnit, Sophie,” her father roared. “Get your belongings. You’re coming home with me.”

  “I’m not leaving my husband, my lord.”

  “Husband? Husband. That bastard isn’t fit to be anything.”

  “He was good enough for your precious Eleanor,” she spat out with pent up bitterness.

  “Well, we know what happened there. The man got your sister with child then refused to marry her.”

  “That’s a lie, and you know it. Eleanor is a harlot.”

  “I ought to beat you within an inch of your life for saying such a thing.” If possible, her father’s face turned a darker shade of purple as he glared at her “But I’ll be charitable and take you back.”

  “You don’t know the meaning of the word,” she spat out with bitterness. “You simply want an unpaid bookkeeper to hide your illegal business transactions.”

  With a wild cry of fury, the baron leaped forward and knocked the poker out of her hand. Fear streaked through her as she darted past him in an effort to escape. She thought she’d succeeded in her rush toward the door, when a beefy hand grabbed her hair and yanked her head back. As he dragged her toward the salon door, she caught one of his fingers and bent it back sharply.

  His shout of pain shrieked through the room, and he released her only to slap her with enough force to knock her to the floor. The pain in her jaw brought tears to her eyes, but she held them back. Determined not to let him see her cower before him, Sophie crawled to her feet. Standing upright, she turned to face her father, expecting him to hit her again. She met his hate-filled gaze as he stepped toward her, but a powerful figure in dark blue followed by two wolfhounds flew between them.

  Acting as a protective shield, Beast pressed his body against hers almost knocking her to the ground as he kept a watchful eye on his master across the room. Caesar stood a short distance behind Quentin, his wiry body braced for an attack and his teeth bared as his master dealt with the threat to their home.

  Quentin looked like a man possessed as he forced her father backwards until the baron was pinned against the wall. His arm pressed into her father’s throat until she heard the baron choking from a lack of air.

  “This is the only warning I’ll ever give you, Townsend. If you come near my wife again, I’ll kill you.” The suppressed violence in Quentin’s voice was one of cold, lethal rage. “I also want you to know that I’m going to destroy you, Townsend. I’m going to strip everything from you until you have only one option left to you, and that’s for you to put a gun to your head and pull the trigger.”

  Her father had paled considerably at the threat, and when Quentin released him from the chokehold, the baron used the wall to support himself and avoid sliding to the floor. Fat hands massaging his throat, her father took in great gasps of air into his lungs as moved toward the exit. Her gaze met the baron’s and she flinched at the hate twisting his features in a grotesque mask.

  Shielded behind Beast’s large body, Sophie’s hand gripped the large dog’s neck in an effort to steady herself. The moment her father disappeared through the salon, Sophie sank to her knees and buried her face in the wolfhound’s wiry coat. The dog whimpered softly, and she jerked in fear when a gentle hand touched her arm.

  “Hush, Sophie. Beast, stand aside boy, she’s going to be all right.” Tender concern had replaced rage as Quentin examined her face. “Bring me some ice from the root cellar to stop the swelling, Fischer.”

  “Right away, my lord.”

  “Christ Jesus, I’m sorry, Sophie. I should never have left you alone until I’d hired a footman who could have kept that son of a bitch from entering the house.” Quentin grimaced in shame as he tilted her head to one side and drew in a sharp breath of quiet rage. “Bloody hell, how many times did he hit you?”

  “Twice.” She winced with pain as she spoke.

  “I should have killed the bastard where he stood,” Quentin ground out with fury. “If I hadn’t arrived when I did, God knows what he would have done to you.”

  She squeezed her eyes shut to hold back the sudden wave of tears threatening to pour down her cheeks. Crying never solved anything, and she refused to let her father cause her any further pain. Suddenly, Quentin wrapped her in a tight embrace.

  “Damnit, Sophie, go ahead and cry.” The gruffness in his voice nearly undid her.

  “No,” she mumbled against his wool coat. “He’s not worth it.”

  “I promise you, Sophie. I’m going to make him pay, and pay dearly.” The soft vow made her push away from him. She shook her head slightly and drew in a sharp breath at the pain.

  “No, I thought revenge would heal me, make me whole. But it won’t do that.”

  “If you’re asking me to forego my plans, I’ve already told you that won’t happen.” The steely expression on his dark features reflected his implacable tone of voice. A small flower of hope shriveled and died inside her. She shook her head in resignation.

  “I’m not asking you to do so. I’m simply saying that any revenge I try to levy won’t heal the pain my father and Eleanor caused me. Any more than your vengeance will heal your pain.”

  “I’m not in pain where your father and Eleanor are concerned. I simply mean to hold them accountable for their sins.”

  The unforgiving note in Quentin’s voice told her it was pointless to argue with him. And she had no desire to question herself as to why his inability to let go of his need for revenge made her heart ache worse than her face. Fischer reentered the room with some ice wrapped in a cloth and offered it to Quentin. He accepted the remedy from the older man then gently applied it to her jaw. The cold stung her skin, and she breathed in a sharp hiss of air in reaction.

  “It will hurt for the next day or so, and you’re apt to have a nasty bruise, but it will heal,” he said quietly as he caught her hand in his and carried it to his lips to kiss her fingertips. “I promise you, Sophie. If that bastard ever comes near you again, I’ll kill him. I protect what’s mine.”

  The fierce, possessive note in his voice warmed her heart when it had been icy cold a moment before. Gentle fingers brushed aside the tear sliding down her cheek. She raised her gaze to meet his, and the tenderness she saw reflected in his green eyes made her heart skip a beat. Wearily, she leaned into him and rested her head on his shoulder. Quentin might never offer his heart to her, but he would care for her and protect her. That was worth more to her than all the gold in the world.

  Chapter 12

  With a whirr of steel against steel, Sophie clipped a rich, blood-red Beauharnais rose off the bush in front of her. She put the blossom up to her nose and inhaled the deep fragrance of the flower. The rose joined its companions in the basket she held as she reached out to retrieve another blossom off an adjoining bush.

  Humming a light tune, she snipped the rose and laid it in her basket. In the past month, Quentin had shown her how wonderful life could be. He had a zest for living that amazed her, and he was the most attentive, amorous lover she could have ever dreamed of having. She’d even begun to hope he might be coming to care for her some. Despite every bit of her willpower and determination, she couldn’t deny how wonderful he made her feel every time he touched her.

  He had the ability to turn her inside out with a single word or touch. The sound of his voice easily sent ripples of anticipation over her entire body, while just the touch of his hand could make her explode and writhe in a torrid rush of passion. She cut another rose from the bush, and as it fell into her basket, she breathed in the scent of sandalwood. Before she could turn around, strong arms wrapped around her waist, while a firm pair of lips grazed the nape of her neck.

  “Good morning, Countess Devlyn.”

  “You’re in a cheerful mood.” She cast a glance over her shoulder at him before returning her attention to her flowers.

  “I am, indeed,” he chuckled. “Co
me. Walk with me.”

  “But I need to take the roses inside,” she protested as he pulled her away from the rose bushes.

  “There are dozens more you can cut later. Leave them.”

  In an arrogant move, he tugged the basket and shears out of her hands then dropped them onto the ground. One hand grasping her hand, he pulled her along the path that wandered its way through the keep’s large garden.

  With an inward sigh, she didn’t resist his autocratic behavior. In the course of their short marriage, she’d learned that ignoring Quentin’s commands always had the same outcome. The Earl of Devlyn still got his way.

  “You, my lord, are in need of some manners,” she said with exasperation.

  “I quite agree,” he said with a wicked grin as he tucked her arm into his. “Can you recommend someone to teach me? A beautiful countess perhaps?”

  “I don’t know of any who are available or willing to do so.” Sophie arched her eyebrows at him with a laugh.

  “Surely you know the Countess of Devlyn well enough to plead my case.”

  “Perhaps I might be able to persuade her.”

  “Excellent. She’s a woman of refinement and exceptional taste,” he said with a satisfied smile. His gaze swept over her. “Is this one of the new gowns you ordered?”

  “Yes. It arrived yesterday.” Startled, she nodded.

  Not long after their wedding, they’d driven into a nearby town where he’d ordered himself new clothes and insisted she do the same. Several of the gowns had been delivered more than a week before, but this was the first time he’d commented on any of her new dresses.

  “It becomes you.”

  A smile of approval on his face, his finger brushed the tip of her nose in what was almost an affectionate gesture. It sent her heart racing until she reminded herself that he was in an inordinately lighthearted mood. It would be a mistake to take anything he said or did to mean anything at all. Yet it was impossible for her not to be warmed by his compliment.