Page 27 of The Seduction of an English Scoundrel

“What is everyone going to think?” she whispered.

“Probably that I am enamored of you,” he replied, appearing unperturbed.

“Why?” she asked, unwillingly intrigued by the thought.

“Well, you’re lovely and sweet for one thing.”

“No, I’m not. I’m rather ordinary and mean.”

He laughed. “Well, then. You’re modest.”

“And the whole of London is supposed to believe you’re buying me flowers to honor my remarkable modesty?”

His slow beguiling smile gave her the shivers. “Everyone will think there is something more between us.”

“Something . . .”

“A serious courtship,” he said with a shrug.

“Oh, really, Sedgecroft. No one would believe that you—that I—well.”

“Why not?” he asked so earnestly that she almost melted.

He took her chin in his hand, and Jane felt her heart quicken in anticipation. She might not have any of the practical experience he’d had, but it wasn’t hard to imagine a woman secretly wishing to be wooed by this man. And all of the pleasure and heartbreak it would entail.

“Sedgecroft, you silly thing, you’re holding my face.”

“I’m waiting for you to thank me.”

“Oh . . . thank you.”

“Not nearly convincing enough.”

“No?”

He shook his head. “Try thanking me with a little more enthusiasm. I happen to be a generous suitor. The flowers are only the prelude to the pearls that will be delivered to you tonight. Let the ton talk about that.”

Pearls, and what would come afterward? she wondered. She amazed herself by standing on tiptoe to press a quick kiss on his cheek. “Thank you,” she whispered, blushing hotly at the contact with his warm clean skin. What on earth had she just done? Kissing him after all the fuss she made only minutes ago.

His eyes sparkled down at her. “That was very nice, Jane, but somehow it lacked . . . enthusiasm.”

She gave him a stiff artificial smile, the posies crushed to her chest. “Oh! Oh, Sedgecroft!” she cried in a theatrical voice. “What a surprise! Pearls! And flowers! For me?”

He winced, giving an embarrassed cough before he steered her back toward the carriage. “I think you need a little more practice. I’ve seen the ducks in my pond give a better performance.”

She buried her face in the profusion of nosegays to smother a chuckle. “First a pigeon, then an owl. Now I am a duck. What bird shall I remind you of next?”

“A goose, I think.” They settled back into their seats, Simon flat on his back with his arms clasped across his chest. Grayson’s blue eyes traveled over her in lazy appreciation, bringing another blush to her cheeks. He really was a shameless man. “What do I remind you of?”

She spilled the posies onto the seat, filling the carriage with the delicate fragrance of gillyflowers. “A lion, I think. A lordly beast.”

“A beast?” he echoed, lifting his brow. “You are brave to call me that to my face. Sit closer to me.”

“Closer?” she said with a catch of laughter in her voice. “This is Brook Street, Sedgecroft, not a brothel.”

“I like the feel of you next to me,” he said quietly. “Besides, I am not known to be a saint, Jane.”

“Does that mean you’re a devil?”