Page 63 of The Seduction of an English Scoundrel

Jane stared at the water, conscious in every particle of her being that Sedgecroft hovered behind her, apart and yet so present she could think of no one else. She could still feel the brand of his warm, muscular body against her. Apparently she was not alone in her attraction to him; most of her female acquaintances were sending him winsome smiles and pleas to save the sunken hat. The fact of his universal attraction made her feel inexplicably irritated, that on top of her edgy guilt over the secret she harbored from him.

“Yes,” she said after several moments. “I saw them. You know half of what is written is untrue.”

Cecily’s eyes narrowed in speculation. “So the other half is? No. Don’t answer.”

“I don’t intend to.”

“Everyone is saying that he’s going to propose to you, Jane. If he hasn’t already.”

Jane sighed. This morning, when she had seen their personalities linked in print, when she had read that a certain marquess had fallen in love with her, she’d experienced the most unjustified burst of joy that had deflated as soon as she put down the paper.

“A part of me actually admires you for this, Jane,” Cecily added after a long hesitation.

From the corner of her eye, Jane noticed Grayson glancing back into the park—Helene was strolling on the arm of Lord Buckley, her pale yellow hair reflecting the sunlight. The Frenchwoman stopped when she caught sight of the tall marquess, covertly giving her escort a tiny nudge away.

Sedgecroft put his gloved hand to his sensual mouth and yawned.

“Admire me for what?” Jane asked absently, engrossed in the nonverbal drama she had just witnessed. What on earth did it mean? Why were people’s emotions so hopelessly complicated? She wondered if in a few months that would be her on another man’s arm, desperate to attract Grayson’s interest. She wondered if Grayson had ever taken Helene into a maze and pleasured her senseless. Or if he would one day look at her and yawn.

“For taking Sedgecroft as your lover,” Cecily whispered in her ear.

That certainly grabbed Jane’s attention. She felt a blush begin at the soles of her slippers and rise to her face in a tidal wave of embarrassment. Worse, to judge by that devilish glitter in his eye, Sedgecroft had heard it, too.

“He is not my lover,” she whispered back, sounding less convincing than she should have. “He is a companion, a . . . a family friend.”

“Such friendship,” Cecily said in a tart but more subdued voice, “is known as fattening the lamb for the kill. Yes, the entire world sees that enormous diamond brooch on your bosom. We all know exactly where it came from and that if this friendship ends in marriage, everything will be forgiven. But what if he follows in Nigel’s footsteps? What if Nigel returns?”

“Kindly change the subject, Cecily,” she whispered, positive she heard Grayson chuckle.

Cecily pulled her to the water’s edge. “You must break off with him. At least until you are calm enough to think this through.”

“You try breaking off with Sedgecroft.”

“I am truly worried about you, Jane. It looks for all the world as if you’re enjoying his company.”

“Perhaps I am.”

“And perhaps you are too heartbroken to know what you are doing.”

“I might be doing what I want to for the first time in my life.”

Jane was surprised at how strongly she felt about defending the rogue. Her friends saw only his facade. They did not perceive the kindness and love of family that quite stole Jane’s heart. He might be a wretch at times, but he did take care of his own. If Grayson ever did fall in love, she thought wistfully, the woman he chose would not only be pleasured senseless but also cherished.

“It—” Cecily subsided into a deep silence as a shadow fell between them.

“Do you want to ride now, Jane?” Grayson asked in a pleasant voice, as if he weren’t aware he was the topic of this whispered conversation.

Jane looked up at him, a thrill of pleasure going through her. Devil he might be, but the way he made her feel defied description. Cecily gave a moue of disapproval and faced toward the lake, where a handful of flowers had been tossed as a memorial to Simon’s sunken hat.

“If you like,” Jane said, afraid that her two friends would start a fight over her at any moment. Cecily and Sedgecroft were both her friends, she realized, a pair of dissimilar people who were only trying to protect her in their own opinionated way. How was she possibly to keep peace between them?

“Yes,” she said, sending Cecily an apologetic smile. “I think a ride is a good idea.”

“Now Cecily is angry at me,” Jane remarked in distress to Grayson two hours later as they strolled in the humid shadows of her Grosvenor Square garden. “She’s predicting all manner of misery will be heaped upon my head, and she might not be wrong.”

“Well, she’s wrong about me,” Grayson said, obviously assuming he was the accused source of impending misery. “I hope you came to my defense.”

“I did, but . . .”