Page 28 of The Seduction of an English Scoundrel

He took a daisy from the seat and propped it between Simon’s hands. “You shall have to find that out for yourself.” He looked up slowly into her eyes. “And if I am, I shall be your devil, Jane. At least for as long as it takes to put this situation right. Good or evil, I will fight on your side.”

They turned right at David Street to pull up before a Georgian mansion on Berkeley Square with row upon row of glistening sash windows. Gay strains of music wafted from the sloping gardens that lay sheltered within a grove of plane trees. Beyond rose fertile strawberry fields, clusters of red fruit ripening in the sun. The coachman veered toward the wrought-iron porte cochere.

A group of young bucks stood idly on the entrance steps, stopping their conversation to stare as the elegant black carriage and team of snowy white horses approached.

“That’s Sedgecroft,” one of them shouted.

“There’s a woman with him,” another observed, stretching his neck for a better look.

“Of course there is,” said his friend, groping for his quizzing glass.

“Who is she?”

“She’s wearing pink, that’s all I can tell.”

“My brother saw Sedgecroft’s secretary on Ludgate Hill choosing pearls this morning.”

“Ah, then it must be serious. I wonder if they’re in negotiations.”

“Didn’t read about it in the papers. All the talk was of the Belshire bride left standing at the altar yesterday by Nigel Boscastle.”

“Who the devil is Nigel Boscastle?”

“Sedgecroft’s bore of a cousin. Do you think . . .”

The group flowed as one down the steps for a closer inspection of the mystery woman in the carriage window. The Marquess of Sedgecroft had set a standard to which many potential scoundrels aspired. It was considered a coup to be seen at a party conversing with one of his former mistresses.

As a whole, this elite circle of women remained notoriously loyal to their noble paramour, tight-lipped about their past relationships. The whys of this devotion provided a constant subject of delicious speculation.

Did Sedgecroft pay them for their silence? Was he such a skilled lover that the besotted mistresses hoped he would resume their arrangements? Or had he already done so, in secrecy? Was the man juggling three or four hot-blooded beauties at once in his bed?

His sexual successes, whether fact or fantasy, stirred the admiration of the younger set.

“Why do you think he has a passion for pink?” asked a brash gentleman. “Because it resembles a female’s naked flesh?”

His brother snickered rudely. “No, because it reminds him of carnations, you idiot.”

From inside the carriage Jane blushed furiously, able to pick out only a few words of this conversation. “You do realize,” she said in a resigned undertone to Grayson, “that those young men are discussing me, and not in flattering terms.” Although, after the scheme she and Nigel had pulled off yesterday, she supposed she had better become accustomed to such gossip. But, goodness, she had never thought herself the least bit interesting to the beau monde. Poor Nigel had absolutely bored Society silly with his love of dogs and ancient French literature.

Grayson glanced out the window, narrowing his eyes at the group of onlookers. “Leave this to me, Jane. I shall soon set them straight.”

She swallowed over the knot of nervousness in her throat. “I’ve just decided I shall not budge from this carriage.”

He smiled at her, the slow easy smile of a man who’d never had to lift a finger in his life to attract a woman, the smile of a man who did not give a damn how many scandals he ignited. “Shall I have breakfast brought to our carriage then? A string quartet to play while we eat?”

Jane’s mouth curved in an answering smile; the dark amusement in his eyes sent waves of giddy heat washing through her. Anticipation prickled down her spine as he took her gloved hand in his, stroking her palm through the buttery soft kidskin. “I have never attracted a crowd in my entire life,” she grumbled.

“Are you ready to attract one now?” he asked, his voice challenging her.

“Ready? Ready to face scandal and smirks of sympathy, you mean?” She turned her shoulder to the door, blowing out a sigh. “If I have to. You are a taskmaster, aren’t you?”

“Come on, Jane. Let’s have a bit of fun with them today. We’ll drive them half mad wondering what we mean to each other.”

“I’ve been wondering that myself.”

His hand slid up to her elbow, held her fast, drawing her practically into his lap. His heart began to beat harder, and he was taken aback again at the force of his reaction. What had he gotten himself into? He probably didn’t want to know. It was too late to withdraw now, even if the path to hell was paved with good intentions. “Wait,” he ordered her, not certain why. Perhaps to buy time, or simply because he took pleasure in talking with her.

“But they’re all watching us. They’re going to think that we’re . . . kissing or something even worse.”