Page 70 of The Seduction of an English Scoundrel

“Terrified,” she admitted.

“We could hide behind the desk during your confession in case he takes a violent turn,” Caroline said thoughtfully.

“Don’t be silly. Sedgecroft isn’t going to hurt me.” She bent at the waist and picked up the King of Hearts, her voice low with emotion. “At least not in a way either of you can prevent.”

Chapter 17

Grayson paused outside his bedroom door as he perceived the faint creaking of bedsprings. He smiled grimly. If his nocturnal visitor was a certain Frenchwoman, he trusted he could evict her with a minimum of hysterics.

It wasn’t that he didn’t crave a night of uninhibited sex; it was just that his current tastes ran to a more sophisticated green-eyed lady who challenged his emotions as well as turned his body into a smoldering hotbed of suppressed frustration.

And if Helene hoped she had the slightest chance of reviving their relationship, well, there was no hope. None at all. He wasn’t the same man he’d been when they met.

Everything had changed tonight anyway. He and Jane had reached a point where their arrangement had become either a beginning or an end. And since he had no intention of giving her up, he realized he was up to his neck in trouble.

Not that trouble bothered him in the least. It appeared to be a Boscastle way of life. But as he was the eldest of the brood, and the first male officially to lose his heart, he supposed he should consider carefully his next step as family pathfinder.

Marriage?

Why not?

He’d realized long ago a wife was a necessity, but he’d privately abandoned hope of finding her among his circle of close friends. He had even formed a vague picture of her in his mind. What color hair, the sound of her voice.

Then Jane had come along, and the image had slowly altered. Reshaped itself into the most contrary female who kept him awake at night, who was nothing at all like what he’d been looking for.

But was everything he needed.

He wasn’t stupid. He’d watched enough of his friends drop like flies when the fatal illness struck.

Now he was himself stricken; he showed all the Six Deadly Symptoms of a Man in Love:

1) Inability to think straight.

2) An alarming propensity to smile at the oddest moments.

3) Constant thoughts of the object of one’s desire.

4) Absolutely no interest in other members of the opposite sex.

5) A startling sense of goodwill toward the world in general.

6) A perpetual state of sexual arousal.

This was it then. Their beginning. He needed her. She had worked her way into his heart and could never be replaced. A sense of rightness stole over him.

He opened his bedroom door, unaware his tidy summary of the situation was about to go up in flames.

He entered his room, his mind resolved. He refused even to glance at the figure reclining on the bed to save them both embarrassment. “If you are not dressed, kindly cover yourself before I turn around. I am not in the mood for a casual toss tonight.”

“Neither am I,” Heath said, swinging his booted feet to the floor. “At least not with you.”

Grayson started to laugh, his left hand frozen on the spotless white cravat he had loosened. “I understand that espionage is in your blood, but is all this sneaking about necessary with Napoleon safely tucked away on his little isle?”

Heath picked up a pair of gloves from the nightstand and made a show of examining them. Grayson stared at him for several seconds before he resumed taking off his cravat and evening coat.

“One never knows.”

“I see. Well, I trust you don’t expect to encounter any problems of that nature in this house.”