Page 52 of The Seduction of an English Scoundrel

“You might have common sense, Jane, but you show absolutely no sense of direction,” he said through the hedge. “No, go to the right. I’ll meet you on the other side.”

“Everyone saw us arrive together,” she whispered in his direction. “What do you suppose they’re thinking?”

He didn’t answer, and she decided she was talking to herself, until a strong pair of hands clamped down upon her shoulders and spun her around. She suppressed a gasp as she stared up into his grinning face.

“Perhaps they’re thinking that we are caught up in a love greater than the world has ever known,” he replied, looking so attractive in the shadows that Jane half wished it could be true. “That you are a femme fatale no man can resist.”

“Really? Have you thought about writing for the scandal sheets? Wait. I have a bit of gravel in my shoe.”

“Here. Sit on that bench. I’ll help you. I don’t think we were seen.”

She sat obediently on the carved stone seat as he knelt to remove her dancing pump, running his long fingers across the sole of her stockinged foot until she sighed.

“Better?”

“Much.” A treacherous warmth was stealing up into her leg. “May I have my foot back now?”

“I don’t know.” He turned it this way and that. “It’s a very nice foot. Perhaps I’ll add it to my collection. There are men like that, you know. No, you probably don’t know. No one has ever gotten into your slippers before, I can tell.”

She smiled ruefully down at him. “Is that your secret pleasure, Sedgecroft? Feet?”

He straightened with a deep chuckle. “Not me. I prefer the whole thing rather than the few odd parts.”

“How very democratic of you.”

He rose to sit down beside her, his voice deepening to a tone that raised shivery impulses on her skin. “In your case, a man would have a difficult time deciding which part is most desirable.”

“Is that what you wanted to tell me?”

“No.” His amusement fading, he took her hand, stroking his forefinger across her gloved fingertips. “Not many people know that my brother Heath was involved in espionage for the Crown some time ago.”

“I had no idea.” What was he trying to tell her? Jane sat very still, lulled by his touch.

“Heath is a very clever young man.”

And rather a lady-killer himself, she thought, or so her sisters claimed. “What are you saying?”

“I set him on Nigel’s trail,” he said slowly. “I discussed this with your father in private, Jane, and we both agreed it was preferable to hiring a Bow Street man.”

The muscles of her stomach tightened into a knot of nervous tension. “Oh, but you didn’t need—”

“It wasn’t just for you. Nigel’s behavior has put an irreparable dent in the Boscastle name.” He put his thumb to her lips before she could speak. “Yes, I know the rest of us haven’t exactly set a shining example, but we are usually a little more discreet than shaming a woman in public.”

She exhaled as he removed his thumb from her lips. “Has Heath found him then?”

“No. But he has learned that Nigel was seen boarding a coach in Brighton. To where, we have not learned yet, but it won’t be long before we find him.” His voice grew more determined, angry. “Heath is persistent if nothing else.”

Brighton. Jane schooled her face into an impassive expression to hide her alarm. Nigel had an aunt in Brighton, the wife of a retired barrister, so it was entirely possible he and Esther had made a detour there before proceeding to the quaint Hampshire village they had chosen to set up house.

But Sedgecroft certainly didn’t know that. After all, he was only human, not some omniscient deity for all his lordly airs. He could not possibly trace Nigel to an almost invisible country village.

He rose from the bench, his broad shoulders straining the tailored lines of his black evening coat. His longish blond hair shone in the moonlight as he delivered the next blow. “I think you ought to know that Nigel has an aunt in Brighton, the wife of a retired barrister.”

She stood abruptly, the blood rushing to her head as he continued.

“It is entirely possible he passed a night there before proceeding to—” He stopped, taking her by the shoulders. “Jane, my gracious, are you going to swoon on me?”

“I am not sure,” she said in a weak voice. What would he do next? Produce Nigel from his vest pocket? “Proceeding to . . . where?”