Mary Wine - Improper Seduction

Laurette felt her blush rise and leaned back against her seat. She willed herself to stay calm. He would not crowd her and make her cower beneath him. She raised her chin a fraction. “He cannot—that is to say, our funds are tied up at present. Our guardian …” She trailed off, never much able to lie well. But she was expert at keeping secrets.

Con left her abruptly to return to his desk. She watched as he poured himself another brandy into the crystal tumbler, but let it sit untouched. “What do you propose, Laurette?” he asked, his voice a velvet burr. “That I tear up your brother’s vowels and give him the cut direct next time we meet?”

“Yes,” Laurette said boldly. “The sum he owes must be a mere trifle to you. And his company a bore. If you hurt his feelings now, it will only be to his ultimate benefit. One day he will see that.” She glanced around the room, which was appointed with elegance and treasure. Brass fittings gleamed in the candlelight. A thick Persian carpet lay under her scuffed kid slippers. Lord Conover’s study was the lair of a man of exquisite taste and a far cry from Charlie’s disreputable lodging. She twisted her fingers, awaiting his next words.

There was the faintest trace of a smile. “You give me far too much credit. I am neither a good man, nor, despite what you see here, so rich man a man I can ignore a debt this size. We all need blunt to keep up appearances. And settle obligations.”

Laurette knew exactly what his obligation to her cost him and held her tongue.

Con leaned back in his chair, the picture of confidence. “If I cannot have coin, some substitution must be made. I think you know what will please me.”

Laurette nodded. It would please her too, God forgive her. Her voice didn’t waver. “When, Con?”

He picked up his glass and drained it. “Tonight. I confess I cannot wait to have you in my bed again.”

Laurette searched her memory. There had been very few beds involved in their brief affair. Making love to Con in one would be a luxurious novelty. She was not prepared, however; the vial of sponges was still secreted away in her small trunk at her brother’s rooms. She had not allowed herself to think the evening would end in quite this way. But she had just finished her courses. Surely she was safe.

“Very well.” She rose from the haven of her chair.

His face showed the surprise he surely felt. Good. It was time she unsettled him.

“You seem to be taking your fate rather calmly, Laurette.”

“Did you arrange it? That it would come to this?” she asked softly.

“Did I engage your brother in a high-stakes game he had no hope of winning? I declare, that avenue had not occurred to me,” Con said smoothly. “How you must despise me to even ask.” He motioned her to him. After a few awkward moments, Laurette walked toward him and allowed him to pull her down into his lap. He was undeniably hard, fully aroused. She let herself feel a brief surge of triumph.

Con placed a broad hand across her abdomen and settled her even closer. “How is the child?”

Was this an unconscious gesture? Con had never felt her daughter where his hand now lay, had never seen her, held her. She fought the urge to slap his hand away and willed herself to melt into the contours of his hard body. It would go quicker if she just gave in and let him think he’d won. “Very well, my lord. How is yours?”

“Fast asleep in his dormitory, I hope, surrounded by other scruffy little villains. I should like you to meet him one day.”

She did not tell him that his son was already known to her, as his wife had once been, improbably, her friend. “I don’t believe that would be wise, my lord.”

“Why not? If you recall, I offered you the position as his step-mama a year ago. It is past time you become acquainted with my son, and I with your daughter.” His busy fingers had begun removing hairpins.

Laurette said nothing, lulling in his arms as his lips skimmed her throat, his hands stroking every exposed inch. In dressing tonight, she’d bared as much of her flesh as she dared in order to tempt him. She wondered how she could so deceive herself. Nothing had changed. Nothing would ever change. And that was the problem.

Laurette pressed a gloved finger to his lips. “We do not need to discuss the past, my lord. We have tonight.”

“If you think,” he growled, “that I will be satisfied with only one night with you, you’re as deluded as ever.”

An insult. Lucky that, for she suddenly retrieved her primness and relative virtue. She straightened up. “That is all I am willing to offer.”

He stood in anger, dumping her unceremoniously into his chair. “My dear Miss Vincent, if you wish me to forgive your brother’s debts—all of them—I require a bit more effort on your part.”

“A-all? What do you mean?”

“I see the young fool didn’t tell you.” Con pulled open a drawer, fisting a raft of crumpled paper. “Here. Read them and then tell me one paltry night with you is worth ten thousand pounds. Even you cannot have such a high opinion of yourself.”

Laurette felt her tongue thicken and her lips go numb. “It cannot be,” she whispered.

“I’ve spent the past month buying up his notes all over town.” Con’s smile, feral and harsh, withered her even further. He now followed in his father-in-law’s footsteps.

“You did this.”

“You may think what you wish. I hold the mortgage to Vincent Lodge as well. You’ve denied me long enough, Laurie.”

Her home, ramshackle as it was. Beatrix’s home, if only on brief holidays away from her foster family. Laurette had forgotten just how stubborn and high-handed Conover could be. She looked at him, hoping to appear as haughty as the queen she most certainly was not.

“What kind of man are you?”

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“And what is it you hope to produce by procuring a suitor?”

“I am not in want of stud service, sir. Only a depraved mind would leap to that conclusion.”

“Stud service …”

“Is that not what you are thinking?”

A wicked smile came to his lips. Eliza was certain her heart skipped a beat at the sight of it. “It wasn’t, no.”

Wanting to conclude this meeting as swiftly as possible, she rushed forward. “Do you have someone who can assist me or not?”

Bond snorted softly, but the derisive sound seemed to be directed inward and not at her. “From the top, if you would please, Miss Martin. Why do you need protection?”

“I have recently found myself to be a repeated victim of various unfortunate—and suspicious—events.”

Eliza expected him to laugh or perhaps give her a doubtful look. He did neither. Instead, she watched a transformation sweep over him. As fiercely focused as he’d been since his arrival, he became more so when presented with the problem. She found herself appreciating him for more than his good looks.

He leaned slightly forward. “What manner of events?”

“I was pushed into the Serpentine. My saddle was tampered with. A snake was loosed in my bedroom—.”

“I understand it was a Runner who referred you to Mr. Lynd, who in turn referred you to me.”

“Yes. I hired a Runner for a month, but Mr. Bell discovered nothing. No attacks occurred while he was engaged.”

“Who would want to injure you, and why?”

She offered him a slight smile, a small show of gratitude for the gravity he was displaying. Anthony Bell had come highly recommended, but he’d never taken her seriously. In fact, he had been amused by her tales, and she’d never felt he was dedicated to the task of discovery. “Truthfully, I am not certain whether they truly intend bodily harm, or if they simply want to goad me into marriage as a way to establish some permanent security. I see no reason to any of it.”