Page 54 of The Seduction of an English Scoundrel

“What I meant,” Buckley said quietly, “is that perhaps you ought to ask him for permission to take up with me. I don’t relish the thought of facing him in a duel.”

“If you want his opinion, then you ask him, Buckley.” Helene’s voice faded away as she returned to the central path. “That is, if you can pry him away from the paws of his pathetic little mouse. I cannot imagine what he sees in her.”

“That Belshire elegance is quite impressive,” her companion said unhelpfully.

“Oh, shut up, Buckley,” Helene tossed back at him. “You British are so unbearably obsessed with your bloodlines. I say she is Lady Mouse. The Princess of Mice. She’ll probably squeak when Sedgecroft beds her.”

Jane drew a breath of indignation, half rising again from the bench before Grayson drew her back down beside him. Scandal or not, for two shillings she would shake that woman senseless—

“Don’t squeak, my adorable little mouse,” he said in an amused whisper. “Wait.”

Jane folded her arms across her bodice and stared up at the starlit sky, startled when, after a minute of silence passed, he burst into quiet laughter.

She looked down her nose at him. “Have you gone quite mad?”

He pointed his forefinger at her. “Your face—it was priceless—and when she said—”

“You don’t need to repeat anything,” she said indignantly. “I heard every insulting word.” He was making fun of her, not even trying to hide his amusement. What sort of man was he? Heat flared into her face. What sort of woman had she become?

“Well.” He gave a deep wicked chuckle, blowing out his cheeks in a ridiculous effort to appear under control.

“Well, what?” she demanded.

“You have to admit it was an interesting conversation,” he murmured, his blue eyes dancing.

“That’s easy for you to say.” She pulled her feet away from his. “No one accused you of looking like a rodent.”

“Well, those certainly weren’t my words.” He shook his head to underscore his denial. “Or my thoughts.”

“Then why are you laughing?”

“You’re laughing, too,” he pointed out.

“Now I am,” she admitted, “but I wasn’t at first, you cruel man. I was too offended.” Offended by the almost-mistress of the rogue who was protecting Jane from the aftereffects of her own devious act. She despaired of ever digging herself out of the mess she’d made.

He smiled. “Don’t be angry with me. I would never accuse you of being a mouse.”

“Oh, no. Only a pigeon. Or an owl.”

He stared deeply into her eyes in what she assumed was an attempt to look sincere.

“Jane, it is only laughable because it is so absurd. You are a desirable female, as I’ve told you before.”

“I’m not feeling very desirable, thank you. I feel . . . like nibbling on a wedge of cheese. Do you think the Austrian chef has any of that Cheshire left?”

He took her chin in his hand and turned her face back to his. He wasn’t laughing now. He looked a little too serious, in fact. “I said you were desirable. Do you think I say that only to make you feel better?”

“No, because if you wanted to make me feel better, you’d be fetching me that cheese. And a big sticky bun to—”

The dark gleam of unmasked desire in his eyes sent the thought from her brain. No man had ever looked at her with such naked yearning before. Certainly she had never allowed herself to be placed in a situation that left her vulnerable to seduction. With a master of the art.

Was it possible that he saw something in her that no one else could see? When he looked at her like that, she was tempted to believe him. Even if he wasn’t sincere, it gave her a lovely feeling. The two of them could have sat alone in this darkened maze, and that would have been enough stimulation to fill her entire evening.

The sensible Jane told herself she ought to ask him to take her back inside, but she was riveted to the spot. It seemed that the wedding scandal had not satisfied her need for trouble. It had unleashed it.

“Perhaps we are both to be unlucky at love this season,” he said reflectively, his head dipping closer to hers.

She caught her breath, waiting in an agony of suspense. This unleashed Jane had absolutely no sense of shame. “It would appear so,” she murmured.