Mary Wine - Improper Seduction

“Are you wealthy, Miss Martin? Or certain to be?”

“Yes. Which is why I doubt they sincerely aim to cause me grievous injury—I am worth more alive. But there are some who believe it isn’t safe for me in my uncle’s household. They claim he is an insufficient guardian, that he is touched, and ready for Bedlam. As if any individual capable of compassion would put a stray dog in such a place, let alone a beloved relative.”

“Poppycock,” the earl scoffed. “I am fit as a fiddle, in mind and body.”

“You are, my lord,” Eliza agreed, smiling fondly at him. “I have made it clear to all and sundry that Lord Melville will likely live to be one hundred years of age.”

“And you hope that adding me to your stable of suitors will accomplish what, precisely?” Bond asked. “Deter the culprit?”

“I hope that by adding one of your associates,” she corrected, “I can avoid further incidents over the next six weeks of the Season. In addition, if my new suitor is perceived to be a threat, perhaps the scoundrel will turn his malicious attentions toward him. Then, perhaps, we can catch the fiend. Truly, I should like to know by what methods of deduction he formulated this plan and what he hoped to gain by it.”

Bond settled back into his seat and appeared deep in thought.

“I would never suggest such a hazardous role for someone untrained,” she said quickly. “But a thief-taker, a man accustomed to associating with criminals and other unfortunates … I should think those who engage in your profession would be more than a match for a nefarious fortune hunter.”

“I see.”

Beside her, her uncle murmured to himself, working out puzzles and equations in his mind. Like herself, he was most comfortable with events and reactions that could be quantified or predicted with some surety. Dealing with issues defying reason was too taxing.

“What type of individual would you consider ideal to play this role of suitor, protector, and investigator?” Bond asked finally.

“He should be quiet, even-tempered, and a proficient dancer.”

Scowling, he queried, “How do dullness and the ability to dance signify in catching a possible murderer?”

“I did not say ‘dull,’ Mr. Bond. Kindly do not attribute words to me that I have not spoken. In order to be acknowledged as a true rival for my attentions, he should be someone whom everyone will believe I would be attracted to.”

“You are not attracted to handsome men?”

“Mr. Bond, I dislike being rude. However, you leave me no recourse. The fact is, you clearly are not the sort of man whose temperament is compatible with matrimony.”

“I am quite relieved to hear a female recognize that,” he drawled.

“How could anyone doubt it?” She made a sweeping gesture with her hand. “I can more easily picture you in a sword-fight or fisticuffs than I can see you enjoying an afternoon of croquet, after-dinner chess, or a quiet evening at home with family and friends. I am an intellectual, sir. And while I don’t mean to imply a lack of mental acuity, you are obviously built for more physically strenuous pursuits.”

“I see.”

“Why, one had only to look at you to ascertain you aren’t like the others at all! It would be evident straightaway that I would never consider a man such as you with even remote seriousness. It is quite obvious you and I do not suit in the most fundamental of ways, and everyone knows I am too observant to fail to see that. Quite frankly, sir, your are not my type of male.”

The look he gave her was wry but without the smugness that would have made it irritating. He conveyed solid self-confidence free of conceit. She was dismayed to find herself strongly attracted to the quality.

He would be troublesome. Eliza did not like trouble overmuch.

He glanced at the earl. “Please forgive me, my lord, but I must speak bluntly in regard to this subject. Most especially because this is a matter concerning Miss Martin’s physical well-being.”

“Quite right,” Melville agreed. “Straight to the point, I always say. Time is too precious to waste on inanities.”

“Agreed.” Bond’s gaze returned to Eliza and he smiled. “Miss Martin, forgive me, but I must point out that your inexperience is limiting your understanding of the situation.”

“Inexperience with what?”

“Men. More precisely, fortune-hunting men.”

“I would have you know,” she retorted, “that over the course of six Seasons I have had more than enough experience with gentlemen in want of funds.”

“Then why,” he drawled, “are you unaware that they are successful for reasons far removed from social suitability?”

Eliza blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

“Women do not marry fortune hunters because they can dance and sit quietly. They marry them for their appearance and physical prowess—two attributes you have already established I have.”

“I do not see—”

“Evidently, you do not, so I shall explain.” His smile continued to grow. “Fortune hunters who flourish do not strive to satisfy a woman’s intellectual needs. Those can be met through friends and acquaintances. They do not seek to provide the type of companionship one enjoys in social settings or with a game table between them. Again, there are others who can do so.”

“Mr. Bond—”

“No, they strive to satisfy in the only position that is theirs alone, a position some men make no effort to excel in. So rare is this particular skill, that many a woman will disregard other considerations in favor of it.”

“Please, say no—”

“Fornication,” his lordship muttered, before returning to his conversation with himself.

Eliza shot to her feet. “My lord!”

As courtesy dictated, both her uncle and Mr. Bond rose along with her.

“I prefer to call it ‘seduction,’” Bond said, his eyes laughing.

“I call it ridiculous,” she rejoined, hands on her hips. “In the grand scheme of life, do you collect how little time a person spends abed when compared to other activities?”

His gaze dropped to her hips. The smile became a fullblown grin. “That truly depends on who else is occupying said bed.”

“Dear heavens.” Eliza shivered at the look Jasper Bond was giving her. It was … expectant. By some unknown, godforsaken means she had managed to prod the man’s damnable masculine pride into action.

“Give me a sennight,” he suggested. “One week to prove both my point and my competency. If, at the end, you are not swayed by one or the other, I will accept no payment for services rendered.”

“Excellent proposition,” his lordship said. “No possibility of loss.”

“Not true,” Eliza contended. “How will I explain Mr. Bond’s speedy departure?”

“Let us make it a fortnight, then,” Bond amended.

“You fail to understand the problem. I am not an actor, sir. It will be evident to one and all that I am far from ‘seduced.’”

The tone of his grin changed, aided by a hot flicker in his dark eyes. “Leave that aspect of the plan to me. After all, that’s what I am being paid for.”

“And if you fail? Once you resign, not only will I be forced to make excuses for you, I will have to bring in another thief-taker to act in your stead. The whole affair will be entirely too suspicious.”

“Have you had the same pool of suitors for six years, Miss Martin?”

“That isn’t—”

“Did you not just state that many reasons why you feel I am not an appropriate suitor for you? Can you not simply reiterate those points in response to any inquiries regarding my departure?”

“You are overly persistent, Mr. Bond.”

“Quite,” he nodded, “which is why I will discover who is responsible for the unfortunate events besetting you and what they’d hoped to gain.”