Page 53 of The Seduction of an English Scoundrel

“God only knows. But trust me, I will find out.” He gave her a gentle squeeze, his face sympathetic but resolved. “I know this does not solve your problem, but I hope it at least makes you feel a little better.”

“Words escape me. I cannot begin to describe what I feel.”

“Then sit down again. I’m afraid you look a little faint.”

She sank down onto the bench, swallowing hard. “I shall be fine.”

“Of course you—”

The sound of furtive footsteps on the path outside the maze interrupted their conversation. Whispers and laughter erupted from behind the hedge, another man and woman clearly engaging in stolen pleasures.

Jane stared at Grayson in consternation, rising as if to escape. In her opinion it was almost as embarrassing to be eavesdropping on a tryst as to be caught in one, but the truth was, she embraced the interruption with relief.

“What do we do now?” she whispered.

“Wait,” he murmured, frowning at the hedge in vexation.

Reluctant, she obeyed, only to understand a moment later what had caused the frown on his face.

“So tell me now, Helene, before I expire of suspense, it is over between you and Sedgecroft?”

Jane swallowed a gasp of surprise. Helene Renard. The beautiful young French widow whose English husband had died less than three months ago. The woman Sedgecroft allegedly had been courting as his next mistress. Of course it was a scandal for her to appear in public this soon in her mourning period, not even in gray or black. But pink.

Yes. Jane caught a glimpse of Helene’s dark pink satin gown through the hedge. Pink the color of a woman’s flesh. The color that pleased a certain reprobate’s tastes.

On behalf of womanhood in general, she directed a scowl at the man sitting beside her.

“Is it over between me and Sedgecroft?” Helene mused in a bitter voice. “That is impossible to say as ‘it’ never properly began. And now he is here with that mousy little jilt, Janet.”

“Jane,” murmured her male companion, whom she vaguely identified as the rather florid-faced Lord Buckley, heir to a vast fortune that he would soon squander on gambling and women. Jane disliked him, picturing his pudding cheeks.

“I did not find her at all mousy, Helene,” he said in a hesitant voice. “In fact, I found her rather appealing. In an aloof sort of way, of course,” he added hastily.

Well, perhaps Jane would have to revise her opinion of him. As soon as she recovered from hearing herself referred to as “that mousy little jilt.” Did she really resemble a mouse? Could it have anything to do with her penchant for gray?

She glanced up at Sedgecroft, all thoughts for herself dissipating at his brooding silence. If Helene was indeed the woman he was rumored to desire as his next mistress, this must be painful for him to overhear. Jane had no idea whether he cared enough for Helene to call Buckley out. What a scandal that would make if she were accused of igniting a duel. Of course the possibility of a duel would depend on her escort’s reaction to this revealing conversation.

Detached, uncaring, heartbroken? One could not draw any conclusions from those half-closed blue eyes, nor from the faint smile on his chiseled lips. He might have been listening to a poetry recital for all the emotion he displayed. Most men would be absolutely livid at overhearing themselves betrayed by their love interest.

“Will you consider my offer?” Buckley asked after a breathless pause during which Jane could only conclude he and Helene had been kissing. “I have already had the contract drawn, and you shall want for nothing.”

“Ask me in the morning. I am in a foul mood tonight.”

“And what about Sedgecroft?”

“What about him?” Helene retorted in a snippy voice.

“Well, I mean, he has a certain reputation—not only as a lover, but as a fighter.”

“He loves himself well enough.”

“But I’ve heard—”

“I think he’s boring,” Helene said in a burst of emotion. “Yes, he bores me to tears.”

“Even in bed?” Buckley inquired in an incredulous voice.

Helene gave such a wistful sigh that Jane had to raise her eyebrows at the man beside her. Sedgecroft gave a helpless shrug, having the grace to actually look sheepish.