Page 60 of The Seduction of an English Scoundrel

He wanted her more every time he saw her.

He knew he shouldn’t have her.

He wanted her anyway.

Yet a promise was a promise, even if it had caused a problem he hadn’t anticipated when he had thrown himself into the unlikely role of maiden rescuer. Yes, he regretted the impulse, but not for the reasons he might have foreseen. Although his treacherous body hungered for her with a persistence that challenged his moral views of courtship, far more disturbing was the fact that he enjoyed her company and conversation. He certainly liked her too much to foist her off on the first suicidal baron who desired her.

If he couldn’t pursue her in a normal fashion, he would simply have to think up another way that was acceptable to them both.

His mood lifted as she appeared on the front steps, her brother in tow. Simon looked green about the gills, nursing a headache from the previous night’s indulgences. He probably did not even remember that Grayson had brought him home last night to deposit him on the exact spot he now stood.

He grinned at Jane and dismounted to help her onto her mare, covertly waving away the groom who had appeared for that same purpose. If the truth be told, he didn’t particularly want anyone touching her but himself.

“I see you’re wearing my brooch,” he said in an undertone.

“Oh, yes. Everyone admires it, even if no one quite understands the significance. I might even start a fashion for mice and diamonds in the morning.” She gave him an arch smile. “How thoughtful of you to commemorate our evening.”

“My pleasure entirely.” He eyed the tight cut of her burgundy velvet riding costume, the thrust of her full breasts, his body tensing in response. His pleasure indeed. “Is Simon coming?”

They glanced around in unison to see Simon sagging forward on his horse, one hand clapped to his eyes.

Jane laughed. “I wonder if he’ll make it to the park.”

“Don’t worry.” Grayson guided her horse into the flow of traffic. “If he falls, the crossing sweepers will find him.”

They rode the short distance in silence, Grayson dodging children rolling hoops and barking dogs while studying the way Jane’s backside bounced in rhythm with her horse. The sensual jostling of her body made him think of a different sort of ride, which explained the smoldering look on his face when on Upper Brook Street she glanced around to look at him. Unfortunately he could not mask his lustful thoughts in time to escape her detection.

“Grayson Boscastle,” she said in soft tones of despair, “don’t you dare look at me like that in public!”

He gave her a lazy smile. “I was simply admiring your seat.”

“What is one to do with you?”

“I cannot help it if I think like a man.” And if he remembered how soft and wet she’d been last night, open and receptive in her sensuality. The memory burned deep into his bones.

“Yes, it’s that appalling manliness of yours showing again,” she said.

He didn’t know what to make of her. She seemed at times sophisticated. At others she was vulnerable. She was a contradiction at every turn. Yet so was he.

She did little to make herself attractive to another potential husband. She attracted him without the smallest effort when other women had plotted to gain his notice.

She saw through him whenever he slipped. She dared to call him names when he wanted to help her. This was a different sort of friendship than he had ever known, and he liked it.

“By the way,” he said, drawing his horse close to hers as they reached the corner of the park, “it was thoughtful of you to send the rhubarb root this morning. You’ll pardon me for not wearing it.”

She pretended to look crushed. “You didn’t like it?”

“Oh, I did. I almost fell off the bed laughing.”

The pale sunlight caught the golden highlights in her hair, drawn back into loose waves on her neck. He studied the delicate bones of her face and felt a strange emotion stir in the depths of his heart.

An unfamiliar, frightening emotion.

He didn’t want to put a name to it.

He hoped against hope that whatever it was would go away all by itself.

He had an awful feeling he wouldn’t be that fortunate.