Page 23 of The Seduction of an English Scoundrel

“My grandmother had a pair of parlor curtains exactly the same color.”

“Did she remind you of a pigeon, too?”

“Not exactly, but I am not going to enjoy our afternoon if every time I look at you I think of my grandmother.”

“This is a modest dress, Sedgecroft. A fashionable one.”

“Perhaps if you’re in your eighties. Hmm.” He beckoned to the figure hovering behind them. “Lady Belshire, what is your candid opinion of this dress?”

Jane rolled her eyes. The wretch, to ask her mother for a candid opinion. One might as well ask a reformer to deliver a speech before Parliament.

“It’s all right, Mama,” she said with ice in her voice. “We really don’t need to bother you.”

“Darling, I don’t mind.” Her mother looked flattered, eager to be included.

“Go back to your flowers, Mama,” Jane said under her breath. “The garden needs you.”

“The dress, Athena.” Grayson gestured her closer with a languid wave of his fingers. “What do you think? Give us the benefit of your wisdom.”

Her ladyship stepped forward to study her daughter in critical silence. “To be perfectly honest, I have never liked gray on the girls, except when the situation called for gravity, of course. Gray, unless in the palest hues, should be worn by governesses and housekeepers. Now, silver—”

Jane inserted herself between them. “Is this a conspiracy?”

“It is not.” Grayson paused, breaking into a helpless grin at Jane’s indignant expression. “It does seem to be a consensus of opinion, though. I think you ought to change, considering there will be dancing at the affair we are attending.”

Jane shook her head in disbelief. She had the distinct feeling of being caught in a trap by a very clever, handsome hunter. Short of causing another unpleasant scene, there seemed to be little she could do. Not with her mother coaxing the devil on. Honestly, what a vexing man. What a muddle.

“Dancing?” Her lips thinned. “The day after I was—very well, Sedgecroft, I shall change. Would you like to select the size of my buttons? Inspect the inseams of my gloves? Do you have any particular color preference, barring the pigeon hues?”

Mischief danced in his eyes, alluring, irresistible. “I prefer pink, but of course the choice is yours.”

“No, it isn’t,” she grumbled, pivoting toward the house, “because the plain fact is that I prefer gray.”

Grayson nearly regretted his suggestion that she change when she reappeared a full half hour later. Her diaphanous pink gauze draped a curvaceous body that tempted all his latent demons. He was perfectly aware that she had made him wait on purpose, although far be it from him to complain.

Not when the end result torched his senses. Not when it was all he could do simply to breathe and remind himself that he ought to feel guilty for desiring her. He knew full well she was susceptible to seduction after having been so cruelly abandoned by his cousin. He wouldn’t take advantage of her, would he?

His eyes darkened in frank male approval as he indulged his instincts in a long, hungry look. The wait had been worth it. Jane’s curves made his mouth water—her full, high breasts; those rounded hips; and her lithe, tapered legs. His throat tightened as he leaned casually against the brick wall and watched her approach, his gaze returning to her face. Sultry, sweet, but not cloyingly so. She should have made mincemeat out of Nigel, not the other way around.

He had already acknowledged privately that something more than noble intentions had inspired at least part of his plan to help her. Not that he could act on these baser Boscastle motives. But there was no point in deceiving himself either. He found Jane appealing, fascinating in ways he could not fathom. It made helping her easier. It even added an element of danger to their association.

“That is a vast improvement,” he said politely, no hint in his voice that he had just undressed and bedded her in his imagination. That for a moment she had cast a spell of helpless attraction over him, and he wasn’t quite sure what to make of it.

“It is?”

Her annoyed frown did absolutely nothing to destroy the sexual images that paraded through his mind, the vision of their bodies joined in pleasure. His own reaction frightened him a little. Knocked him emotionally to his knees. Fortunately he had learned long ago to hide what he felt, or he might have frightened her to death.

“I never lie, Jane,” he said, offering her his arm.

She stared at him before reluctantly tucking her hand into his elbow. “You might not lie, but you certainly dominate.”

“That is also true,” he murmured, drawing her against him to open the gate hidden in the wall.

Their bodies touched again, and Jane barely managed not to sigh in pleasure. Instead, she breathed in his scent, wool and Castile soap, the warm tang of his skin, the sheer maleness that made her feel so protected and vulnerable at the same time. Part of her wanted to lean even closer and sate her senses. The other part wanted to retreat from the attack on her judgment. Just because she had committed one enormous sin didn’t mean she was destined to descend into decadence, did it? She had to wonder.

In the core of her being she felt like candle wax held against a raw flame, burned up by the heat he exuded. She lifted her gaze. His eyes ensnared hers, sultry, sensuality unhidden, before he casually flicked up the latch and guided her onto the narrow flagstone footpath to the street. She huffed out a breath. Heaven only knew what he was thinking or why she was going along with whatever plan he had in mind.

She balked, realizing she had been so enrapt in him that she wasn’t paying attention to their destination. “What is wrong with the front entrance? I thought we wanted to be seen.”