Page 17 of The Seduction of an English Scoundrel

“Yes,” she continued, “while your masculine qualities are overpowering, they are not necessarily offensive.”

“Oh, good,” he said, venting a loud sigh of relief.

“In fact,” Miranda added, “your qualities are exactly the opposite of offensive.”

Caroline nodded vigorously. “Wherein lies the problem.”

“I see,” he said slowly, wanting nothing more than to burst into laughter. “It seems I shall have to seek a remedy for my appalling . . . ‘manliness.’ ”

“I rather think,” said a cool voice through a crack in the door behind him, “that your ‘manliness’ is not the problem. I believe it is how you use this attribute that puts you to shame.”

Grayson shifted his shoulder to allow Jane to squeeze into the hall. Caroline and Miranda stood, frozen in guilt, as she confronted them.

Caroline said hastily, “We were—”

“I heard what you are doing,” Jane said, “but hasn’t there been enough trouble for one day?”

Grayson nodded in agreement. “For a lifetime, I’d say.”

Jane shot him an annoyed look. Unfortunately, her sisters had a good point. The man’s virility devastated the ordinary female. Fortunately, Jane wielded tight control over her impulses. At least she had until a few minutes ago.

“If the pair of you are done solving his lordship’s problems, I think I shall retire to my room for a nice lie-down.”

“Do you require assistance?” Sedgecroft asked blandly.

Jane gave him a look. There he went again! He couldn’t help himself. The very air he breathed smoldered with seduction. “I have been jilted, my lord. Not mortally wounded.”

“Oh, Jane,” Miranda said, tears brimming in her eyes. “How much it must hurt. You are so very brave.”

Brave and mysterious, Grayson thought, his body stirring at the memory of their kiss and her disconcertingly enigmatic response. It shouldn’t be difficult to help her forget his cad of a cousin in the event Nigel did not return. The sooner, the better. Mourning an unrequited love would only make her less appealing to another prospective husband.

“Jane,” he said solemnly, inclining his head. “I shall leave you now to recover from today’s ordeal.”

She released a sigh. Her debacle of a wedding had not devastated her half as much as he had.

“Thank you,” she murmured. “You are far too kind.”

And too charming. And too seductive. And too good-looking. And too—

“Rest,” he added in a dictatorial voice. “The results of our plan will be worthwhile, but I intend to be a demanding escort.”

The thought of what he might demand sent her pulses soaring. “I have not agreed to this yet, my lord,” she said a little mutinously as he turned away from her.

He glanced back, his blue eyes twinkling, a man so full of himself it was a feat to offend him. “You strike me as an intelligent woman. You will.”

“I might surprise you,” she muttered.

“I am always open to a challenge,” he replied.

Her eyes widened. “I’m not sure I know what you mean.”

He gave a devilish chuckle. “Helping to restore a woman’s reputation will be an experience entirely unknown to the Boscastle male.”

And with that startling confession, he left Jane and her sisters to wonder exactly what sort of challenge he expected from this courtship. He left them staring after him in a state of horrified admiration, the power of his presence lingering in the silence that had fallen.

It was well into the small hours that same night when Jane dipped her pen into the inkwell, writing furtively at her desk by the light of a single taper.

Dearest N,