One Night for Seduction

by Erica Ridley

“You were responsible for the 1815 Weights and Measures Act?” she asked in disbelief. “Eighteen years had passed since the last time anyone—”

  “I know,” he said. “I was there. And no, it wasn’t just me. It was a committee. Do you have any idea how many acts the House of Lords passes each year?”

  “One hundred and forty-two last year, one hundred and eighty-two the year before, and one hundred and sixty-two the year before that,” Diana said automatically. However, her mind was not on the past, but the future.

  Colehaven dragged a hand through his hair and gave her a sideways look. “Are we really standing around arguing about standardizing weights and measures?”

  No, Diana realized in wonder. She was done arguing and had no intention of standing about.

  The duke was clearly no empty-headed dandy. Whether he realized it or not, the causes he fought for were the same as hers. Not only was he clever enough to comprehend chess, he was a champion of facts and reason.

  When it came to reforming irregular systems of measure, he had personally helped drive the first signs of progress in nearly two decades. But there was far more work to be done. A secret grin threatened to take over Diana’s face.

  The Duke of Colehaven was much more than a handsome nuisance.

  He was her ticket to gain entry.

  Chapter 6

  When she’d walked away from the Duke of Colehaven last night, Diana did not yet have a plan.

  She was very rarely without a plan. The strange sense of not knowing flustered and frustrated her. Had he truly contemplated kissing her? Or was it just another way for him to demonstrate the power he could wield?

  Diana shook her head. Kisses did not matter—no matter what her feverish dreams might have contained. What mattered was that she had made the acquaintance of someone in a position to make laws to ensure greater fairness for all citizens.

  Granted, he did not yet see things her way. They had started off wrong, obviously. A situation that would have to be rectified if she wished to have any hope of him being open to her input.

  Not her opinion, mind you. Diana was not one to spout off opinions shilly-shally or let her good sense be swayed by something as mercurial as emotions.

  She dealt with empirical observations, direct investigation, painstakingly collected details, absolute fact. And the fact was, the people of England were being swindled on a daily basis. Sometimes due to corrupt agents, and sometimes due to sheer ignorance.

  It was all so easily preventable. A uniform system of measurements, coupled with government oversight and consistent enforcement of—

  “Doesn’t it weigh right?” asked the panicking shopkeeper before her.

  “Yes,” Diana said quickly. She reassured him with a smile as she gathered her tools back into her basket, alongside her journal and a change of disguise. “Thank you for complying with the law.”

  His eyes widened. “I would never dream of doing otherwise.”

  If only all his competitors shared the same high standard.

  No, Diana corrected herself as she took her leave from the shopkeeper. If only it were easier for ordinary people to adhere to consistent standards.

  If she were a member of the House of Lords, the first Act of Parliament she’d argue for would be a complete overhaul of current weights and measures. Today’s system was too opaque to enforce, too illogical for many people to follow. Simple, uniform measures would ensure fairness for everyone.

  But Diana wasn’t a lord. She was a nobody spinster, whose status and gender barred her from championing her own causes or putting forth ideas directly. The most she could provide her fellow citizens was surreptitious inspections and anonymous letters.

  So be it. She’d remain a spinster secret agent forever, as long as she could keep making a difference.

  She pushed out of the shop and back out onto the street. It was warmer today than yesterday, which meant the light dusting of snow had long since melted into mud. Her nondescript bonnet and coat blended perfectly. One or two more stops, and she could be home long before her cousin awoke.

  But when she turned toward St. James, a familiar figure crossed into her view.

  Diana could not repress a smile at the sight of Felicity Sutton. For the sister of a duke, Lady Felicity had been a bundle of contradictions. Elegant and impertinent, popular and bookish.

  The young lady claimed to prefer the solitude of the library to the swirl of a waltz, yet no expense had been spared in the commission of an ensemble Diana had glimpsed not six weeks earlier in a collection of the newest fashion plates out of Paris.

  Diana exchanged her dowdy “measures inspectress” bonnet for the colorful spare inside her basket. Its profusion of silk flowers and wild feathers was just as powerful a disguise. With this outrageous confection tied to her head, no one would remember that the rest of Diana’s attire was drab and colorless.

  She tightened the ribbon beneath her chin, then turned in Lady Felicity’s direction. Within moments, the young lady was nearly upon her.

  Lady Felicity’s eyes lit up at once. “Miss Middleton! How lovely to see you.”

  “How lovely to see you.”

  In more ways than one.

  Lady Felicity’s fashionable walking dress was made of pale green figured muslin with forest green embroidered trim. The sort Diana longed to wear. Lady Felicity’s matching spencer fit her frame perfectly and the rakish bonnet added just the right touch of irreverence. She was beautiful.

  Diana wished she, too, could be a walking fashion plate. But it was not a fantasy she could indulge.

  She would never jeopardize the ability to blend in as a harried under-secretary to some nameless solicitor. Nor could she risk the ton perceiving her as an eligible miss on the marriage mart. A husband would put paid to her extracurricular activities even faster than a spoiled disguise.

  “You must be quite an early riser,” she ventured. In five years of clandestine missions, this was the first time she’d glimpsed a member of the Quality awake at such an hour, much less out performing errands.

  “Not me,” Lady Felicity said with a laugh. “My brother has got it in his head that I spend too much time ‘cooped up indoors’ and has taken it upon himself to drag me everywhere he goes. Except his tavern, of course. Only ruined women dare enter there.”

  Diana gave a smile of commiseration. “He sounds much like my cousin. I wouldn’t attend Society events at all, were it not for Thaddeus practically tossing me over his shoulder as if I were—”

  Amusement quickly turned to apprehension.

  “Wait, did you say, your brother? The Duke of Colehaven is here?”

  “Haggling over hops just around the corner. It’s not the price—Cole could make beer out of gold if he desired. But it seems some magician with a greenhouse managed to grow some sort of delicious, rare varietal that he refuses to part with at any price. Mark my words. No matter how the negotiations are proceeding, as soon as my brother notices me missing, he’ll—”

  “Felicity Sutton,” growled a deep, familiar voice. “I’ve half a mind to—”

  He drew up short when he realized who his sister was speaking to.

  Diana wiggled her fingers in greeting, then quickly shoved her hands out of sight. These were her working-woman gloves, not the luxurious ones her cousin had bought her. Best to keep the attention on her face and its ridiculous bonnet—and to cut the conversation as short as possible.

  No matter how much she might like to stare at Colehaven all day.

  His wide shoulders were barely contained in a coat of grey superfine. His dark hair spilled boyishly from beneath his hat, and his hazel eyes teased and sparkled with their depthless color. Diana could not have looked away if she tried.

  “Miss Middleton,” he murmured, and made an elegant leg.

  She bobbed a belated curtsy. “Your Grace.”

  He did not seem to notice the forced gaiety of her bonnet or the calculated forgettableness of every other stitch on her body. He did no
t seem to be interested in her clothing at all. Every ounce of his hot, dark gaze focused on the lower lip she was currently gnawing out of nervousness.

  She stopped biting her lip at once.

  He did not immediately lift his gaze. When those long-lashed hazel eyes met hers at last, their sultry expression suggested that he, too, had lost precious hours of sleep wondering what might have happened if their lips had been allowed to touch.

  Her skin warmed and she immediately glanced away to mask the increased tempo of her pulse. It would not do for him to suspect how he affected her. She must lock that part of herself away with the rest.

  Diana had known when she started this path that it would mean choosing between two markedly different lives. She could either be a fashionable young lady with high society beaux and nothing more pressing than to curl her hair in time to make an appearance at Almack’s…

  Or she could disappear from that world altogether, choosing instead to make a difference in the lives of ordinary citizens, for whom the extra shilling of a deceptive scale might mean the difference between having enough money to eat, or candles to see by.

  Diana had made the right choice. She would stand by her convictions.

  “You’ll be at the Riddings’ soirée tomorrow evening, I trust?” Colehaven enquired.

  “It depends.” Diana bit her lip. Whatever had caused the duke’s ill-timed interest in marrying her off, she needed it to stop. “Will you be there?”

  Colehaven narrowed his eyes. “Why do I suspect that my attendance would ensure your absence?”

  “Because you aren’t nearly the simpleton I initially took you for,” she assured him.

  Felicity snorted behind a silk-gloved hand and feigned great interest in a window display of men’s hairbrushes. “Why, are those… boar bristles? Please excuse me whilst I take a closer look.”

  Diana glared after her. The dratted woman was meant to take her brother with her when she left, not abandon them alone together.

  Colehaven took a step closer. “Where’s your chaperone?”

  Diana gestured vaguely at the shop behind her. This was not the moment to admit she’d brought no such thing in order to perpetuate a false identity.

  “Why do you care what I do?” she asked instead.

  “I intend to matchmake you,” he replied, surprising her with his honesty. “The task becomes exponentially more difficult if you ruin your reputation before a suitor can be found.”

  “You may call off your search.” She folded her arms beneath her bosom. “I don’t know why you’ve decided to meddle in my affairs, but I do not require your services.”

  He arched a brow. “Says the wallflower whom no one can recall ever seeing on the dance floor.”

  Diana would feel better if his compatriots could not recall ever seeing her anywhere at all.

  “I’m not interested,” she said primly.

  “Of course you’re interested,” he said in exasperation. “All young ladies hope to marry well. The longer you wait, the harder it becomes.”

  Precisely. Diana smiled to herself. In another year or two, she’d be off the marriage mart altogether, and conversations such as this would become moot.

  Colehaven shook his head, as if there was nothing so heartbreaking as the thought of her becoming an unshackled spinster with the freedom to do and live as she pleased.

  “You’ve no independent fortune with which to secure your future,” he said gently. “There’s no shame in accepting help. I wager you’ll marry the gentleman I select, and happily.”

  “I’ll take that bet.” Diana lifted her chin. “I’m not marrying anyone, least of all some sap you’ve chosen for me.”

  She cursed her tongue at once. She had not meant to admit her intention to remain unwed. It made her memorable. The duke was right—marrying well was the singular obsession of every other eligible young lady of Diana’s acquaintance. Doing so was often the only way to ensure a comfortable future.

  “I am in a unique position to provide great service,” Colehaven continued. “I know everyone in the ton. If you could give me a hint of what you’d like…”

  “You,” she said at once, “abandoning this ghastly plot.”

  A husband would be the worst sort of leg-shackle. He would possess all the power, in every sense. Which meant staying as far from the altar as possible. No matter the ache in her chest when she thought of the alternate life she was forsaking.

  After all, she didn’t have to give up everything. Not having a husband to share her bed did not mean she wouldn’t share it with anyone. Since she wasn’t saving herself for marriage, her “virtue”—or lack thereof—was hers to do with as she pleased.

  “Surely you’d agree that a husband offers some advantages,” Colehaven said.

  Perhaps he didn’t mean the comment to send shivers of anticipation down her spine. The thought of carnal intimacy combined with his intoxicating proximity was almost too much to bear. She could barely look at him without wondering how his kiss would feel, what his hands might do. There was no need to marry a man to sate the call of desire.

  With anyone but him, Diana reminded herself quickly. No ton gentlemen need apply. They had too many rules. Too many expectations. And the Duke of Colehaven might be the most dangerous of all.

  “I’ll consider your thoughts on marriage,” she said aloud, “if you’ll consider my suggestions for improvements to the current weights and measures system.”

  He stared at her as if she had just spouted gibberish.

  “Uniformity instead of the current hodgepodge,” she prompted. “There’s an urgent need to simplify and normalize—”

  “Yes, yes,” he interrupted impatiently. “I recall every word of your argument. It won’t convince a single person to switch from yards to meters. Try to focus on the topic at hand.”

  Diana was more focused than ever.

  He remembered every word of her argument? She hadn’t believed he was paying attention at all. This development made her dream to bend the ear of Parliament seem… well, perhaps not easily attainable, but at least less far-fetched. She tilted her head and considered him anew.

  While most women likely took one look at his sultry, endless hazel gaze and schemed to become his duchess, Diana wished to become something far more impactful: a colleague. A sounding-board. A trusted source. When the duke was off crafting laws for the citizens of England, she wanted to be the voice in the back of his mind.

  “Cole,” his sister called. “Perhaps we could all go to Gunter’s for ices?”

  “No,” Diana said quickly. “That is, I very much appreciate the offer, but my cousin and I are otherwise promised.”

  Colehaven bowed. “Perhaps next time.”

  Next time.

  Hope buoyed her as he led his sister down the street. Diana pressed her hands to her chest. Instead of spending her nights drafting anonymous letters that never received answers, how heady would it be to have a member of Parliament listen to her words and consider her perspective?

  She let out a long sigh. A powerful lord welcoming the counsel of an ordinary woman was a situation so unheard of as to be outright fanciful. Yet even the faint possibility of being taken seriously as herself was more than she had ever dreamed.

  But how would she accomplish such a feat? She had no idea how to gain his ear, much less his trust. A small smile played at the edges of her lips.

  This was the perfect opportunity for a bit of reconnaissance.

  Chapter 7

  Within the hour, Diana presented herself at the rear entrance to the Wicked Duke tavern after a few minor adjustments.

  Gone was her flamboyant bonnet. Rather than return to her measures inspectress guise, she tucked her hair beneath a mobcap and tied an apron about her waist so that its telltale frill was visible below the hem of her nondescript coat. After draping a threadbare shawl about her shoulders, Diana gathered her basket and prepared to infiltrate the Duke of Colehaven’s lair.

  Excitement pul
sed through her blood. She did not rap upon the half-open servants’ door.

  She walked right in.

  Clinking glasses and murmured laughter filled what appeared to be the primary kitchen. Two lads were washing and drying plates and mugs whilst a trio of women prepared delicious-smelling meals at the stove and in the fire. To the right was a well-stocked scullery. To the left, a brewing chamber. Diana slipped inside.

  Except for the copper kettle, most of the equipment was crafted from fine wood. A lad cracked malted barley in one corner, whilst another strained mash into a barrel. Across the room, a brewer stirred the giant copper.

  “Jimmy, give me that yeast,” he called out.

  The two lads glanced up from their tasks with wide, startled eyes. Either neither of them was Jimmy, or they were both too green to know hops from yeast.

  “Jimmy,” the brewer snapped without looking up. “Yeast, now.”

  Neither lad moved a muscle.

  Diana moved closer.

  “Where’s Jimmy?” she whispered.

  “Takin’ care of his mum,” one of the lads whispered back. “Slipped on a patch of ice, she did. He’s afraid he’ll lose his post if the master finds out. We’re trying to cover for him.”

  “Good work,” Diana murmured. Mums—and friends—ought to be taken care of.

  But beer wasn’t going to brew itself.

  She glanced about the chamber in search of the missing yeast. Taking care to keep her face hidden by the brim of her mobcap, she hastened the yeast to the brewer and handed it up in silence.

  He grunted his acceptance without sparing her so much as a glance.

  Diana grinned to herself. Apparently servants were just as unremarkable in taverns as they were in the neighboring shops.

  She was not reckless enough to enter the public salons, of course. Even though her cousin was home abed, and the Duke of Colehaven was off chaperoning his sister, it was not worth the risk.

  Besides, she hadn’t infiltrated the tavern to gawp at its clientele, but rather to research its owner.

  If Diana had learned anything in her five years of firsthand investigations, it was that the measure of a man was not in his public persona, but rather in how he conducted his business. She longed to slide her journal from her basket and scribble surreptitious notes as she inspected every element.