A Lady's Lesson in Seduction

And Timothy, made careless by drink and rage, had overturned his curricle and broken his neck.

In the midst of the ensuing scandal—for everyone who’d heard the quarrel assumed they were fighting over some doxy—a sexually voracious lady, wife of an older man, had approached Cam with the sort of prurient suggestions he’d once enjoyed, and he’d been disgusted with both himself and her. He’d been unable to drum up any enthusiasm for dalliance since.

Maybe he had been a bit of a curmudgeon lately, but not for much longer. He put on the smile of a delighted host as he entered the Great Hall. The porter was holding the front door wide open, looking perplexed. A petite blonde stood in the entry, divesting herself of cloak and muff, while a middle-aged abigail and two footmen bustled about with bandboxes and trunks.

‘Oh, do come inside, dearest!’ the blonde cried, stamping her feet. ‘I shall catch my death of cold. You can decipher inscriptions some other time.’

A soft voice carried from outdoors. ‘What a pity I don’t read Latin.’

No, the pity was that the damned family motto, which he’d so badly failed to live up to, was prominently displayed in every single room of his house.

* * *

It’s only for a fortnight, Frances Burdett told herself sternly, hovering on the bottom step of Warbury Hall. Snowflakes landed on her eyelashes and nose. She was cold and tired, and after hours in a frigid coach with her prattling cousin Almeria, her head ached abominably. She longed for warmth, quiet and solitude, and the only way to get it was to go indoors, brave the Marquis of Warbury, and ask to be conducted speedily to her bedchamber.

Instead she remained outdoors, peering at the inscription above the door.

It was just so awkward visiting Warbury House. The marquis had called on her in London three times right after Timothy’s fatal accident, and three times she’d had him turned away. It had been frightfully ill-mannered of her, but she’d been so sickened and angry that she couldn’t bring herself to see him. Not for his part in Timothy’s death, but because he and Timothy had been quarreling over a prostitute.

She’d written to the marquis to reassure him that she didn’t hold him responsible for the curricle accident. Not only that, she’d told the world the same thing over and over—that racing whilst drunk was the sort of stupid thing young men did, and Timothy was entirely to blame. If that didn’t make up for her rudeness, there was no help for it.

‘Frances, I’m turning to ice in here.’ That was Almeria again.

‘In a moment,’ Frances said. Her head pounded wearily, and she frowned up at the inscription, trying to sound preoccupied while she gathered her courage. ‘Secundum…that seems obvious, but…’

Lord Warbury had made no attempt to speak to her again in the little over a year since Timothy’s death, so the invitation to the Christmas house party had come as a surprise. Only one explanation made sense—that Lord Warbury was romantically interested in Almeria Dane, the young, motherless cousin whom Frances now chaperoned.

‘The porter can’t keep the door open forever!’

‘Coming, Almeria.’ In her opinion, Almeria was too young and innocent for the rakish marquis, but she was a beautiful heiress, and society considered him an excellent catch. Whether she liked it or not, it was Frances’s duty to promote the match. She took a deep breath and—

‘Welcome, Mrs. Burdett, Miss Dane.’ The Marquis of Warbury’s voice made her shiver, and not from the cold. He had always had that strange effect on her, as if the warmth of his voice vibrated through her. He appeared in the doorway and came down the steps toward Frances. ‘It’s the family motto, or at least half of it.’ He turned and stood beside her, gazing up at the weathered stone. ‘Secundum, Non Nocere. Translated, it says, Secondly, Do No Harm.’

She pulled herself together. ‘That sounds typically motto-like—stern and idealistic. What is the first half?’

His eyes lit suddenly, touched with mischief. It made something swell within her chest, something she didn’t understand. Relief? She’d been rather afraid he would bear a grudge because of her rudeness.

‘No one knows,’ he said. ‘My cousins and I used to make up the first part ourselves. Firstly, Eat Beans, and Secondly, Do No Harm.’

A bubble of laughter escaped Frances, and Lord Warbury grinned down at her.

Instinctively, she stiffened. Since her short, disastrous marriage, she avoided men with that sort of grin. Other women might enjoy succumbing to such rakish charm, but for Frances that would only lead to misery.

Consternation erased the smile. ‘I beg your pardon—that’s not the sort of jest one repeats to a lady.’

‘I didn’t mind,’ she protested, instantly contrite. ‘It’s just the kind of thing my brothers would have delighted in.’ She didn’t wish to do away with his smile—merely its effect on her.

Once she’d gotten over the shock of Timothy’s death, all she’d felt was relief. But she couldn’t say so, nor could she tell people that she’d hated marital relations. That she’d cried herself to sleep when Timothy had turned from her in scorn, saying she was a bore in bed, and had gone to some doxy instead.

Judging by gossip, other women enjoyed carnal relations very much. That made Frances feel even more of a failure, but she knew better than to inflict her cold, tedious self on another man. She would never take a lover, never remarry, and that was that.

Lord Warbury’s warm voice assailed her again. ‘We have no idea how the family managed to lose the first part of its motto. The second half is found frequently indoors as well as over all exterior doors and on the turret, so we assume the loss predates the house, which is Elizabethan.’ He took her arm and escorted her through the doorway into a vast hall. ‘I trust your journey went well?’

She stepped away from him, smoothing her skirts as an excuse. She summoned the vague smile she used to keep her distance from gentlemen as a whole and attractive ones in particular, and murmured, ‘Yes, thank you, my lord.’

Almeria launched into excited speech. ‘Lord Warbury, how kind of you to invite us!’ She gazed rapturously up at him. ‘We’ve been in an agony of excitement for weeks.’ She batted her eyelashes. ‘What a magnificent estate you have.’

With difficulty, Frances refrained from rolling her eyes. Almeria was only eighteen, so no better could be expected of her. How an experienced gentleman like Lord Warbury could find such youthful silliness appealing, she had no idea. However, if it meant he would turn his attractive smiles on Almeria and leave Frances be, she would muddle through the next fortnight reasonably well.

She couldn’t avoid him entirely, though. She had a duty to assess his reaction to Almeria, so she closed her eyes briefly to ward off the headache and then opened them again.

And caught him frowning at her instead. His eyes flicked back to Almeria, but he staved off her babble with a hand and returned to Frances. ‘Excuse me, Mrs. Burdett, but are you quite well?’

‘Mrs. Burdett has a headache,’ Almeria cooed. ‘I daresay she needs to rest in a darkened room, like my poor mama used to do. Oh, there’s Mr. Edwin Folk.’ She flashed Lord Warbury a wide smile and tripped away to greet his cousin.

Leaving Frances alone with the marquis and inexplicably annoyed. ‘I don’t need a darkened room.’

‘A respite from your cousin’s chatter, perhaps?’ he asked, and she blinked at him in surprise. ‘Ah, here comes my mother. She will know what to do for you.’

Lady Warbury swanned up to greet her. She was an odd figure at the best of times, and now, dressed in a voluminous robe that looked more like a wrapper than a gown, she seemed positively outré.

But so very welcoming and kind. She embraced Frances, and when Lord Warbury mentioned her headache, passed her into the care of a motherly housekeeper who showed her to her room with a promise of a bracing cup of tea.

* * *

She had changed. Cam had always liked Frances, always found her an attractive woman—but out there on the steps with snowflakes on her lashes, hazel eyes sparkling, cheeks flushed with cold and her lush chestnut hair framing her face, she’d shone with such vivid life… He’d been hard put to say anything coherent, which was why he’d blurted out that vulgar boys’ jest.

Not that she’d minded that. She’d flinched not at the jest, but at his smile. She’d stiffened and her laughter had died, and when he’d taken her arm to escort her indoors, she’d moved away at the first possible moment.

Damn. Usually, that smile beguiled women quickly into bed. This wasn’t going to be as easy as he’d hoped.

‘Are you all right, Cam?’ His mother peered at him in something between consternation and amusement. ‘You knew Mrs. Burdett was coming.’

The last thing he needed was his mother realizing what he intended for Frances. He thrust a plausible lie into the awkward silence. ‘Seeing her brought it all back—the quarrel and Timothy’s death. Perhaps, for her sake, I should have stayed in London over Christmas.’ Hopefully that would stop his mother from drawing the wrong conclusion.

‘For heaven’s sake, why? She doesn’t blame you, does she? As I recall, she never did. She put the blame squarely on Timothy himself.’

‘But I felt responsible,’ he said. ‘I wouldn’t want to spoil her enjoyment of the holidays.’

‘Nonsense, she’ll be perfectly fine. We need you here. No one makes lamb’s wool like you do. No one else can crown the King of the Revels. And what about serving treats to the Luck?’ She paused. ‘Not thatThomas wouldn’t love to do it. That’s what drew him here in the first place, you know. Houses with their own hobgoblins are few and far between. But I don’t think Duff the Luck would take it well. He expects you to give him his due.’

Glad of the change of subject, Cam agreed. The resident hobgoblin, also known as the Luck of the House, was one of the Warbury legends. As a child, Cam had seen the little fellow now and then out of the corner of his eye; now, he wasn’t sure what was memory and what was imagination. It didn’t matter. The traditions about the hobgoblin did no harm, and Cam intended to support and preserve them.

By dusk, so much snow had fallen that the roads would be impassable for days. The expected cousins had arrived, as well as another young man and a couple, the Cutlows. A half hour before dinner and well after dark, Mr. Lumpkin rode up on horseback, to Lady Warbury’s great relief. He had spent a few days at the Rollright Stones, deeming Yule the perfect occasion for a visit to such an ancient monument.

Cam didn’t care one way or another about the stone circle. He did care about the way the eldest of his cousins, Alan Folk, was eyeing Frances Burdett’s bosom. Alan reminded him uncomfortably of himself several years earlier—except that generally the ladies he’d ogled had welcomed the attention.

‘Alan,’ he said. His cousin turned, and Cam gave him a look that even an idiot couldn’t misinterpret. Alan scowled but immediately turned his attention to Mrs. Cutlow, who welcomed vulgar leers. The unhappy flush drained from Mrs. Burdett’s cheeks, and when Cam caught her eye, she nodded her thanks, and her lips twisted into something approaching a smile.