Page 72 of The Seduction of an English Scoundrel

“I’m afraid so. Jane and Nigel never wanted to marry each other.”

Grayson looked away from the window, utterly stunned, struck speechless by what his brother had revealed. A plot. A sabotaged wedding. God above, a conspiracy between Jane and his own cousin. He could not believe it. Yet at the same time so many little mysteries now made sense. Of course Jane had not been jilted. The minx had been manipulating her own life, him, all along.

He drew a sharp breath as if to dampen the anger burning in his breast. He couldn’t trust himself to speak. How noble he’d imagined himself. How arrogantly stupid to believe his sacrifice would matter. Damnation, who had he been to label Nigel a nitwit? He was the one who had proven to be the fool, who had let the wool be pulled over his eyes. A plot, and he had been a pawn. No, an obstacle.

He tried to clear the red mist swimming in his mind. Why hadn’t he seen the signs? he asked himself savagely. From the start he had suspected the whole situation was amiss. Why hadn’t he put two and two together? Why hadn’t he guessed?

Because no proper young lady would sabotage her own marriage. No young lady of Jane’s background would dare. His darling paragon had thumbed her nose at Society. At him.

When, if ever, had she intended to tell him the truth? he wondered, his outrage growing by the moment.

How long, how far, would she have carried on this charade?

Had she been too afraid of him to admit what she had done? Good. She ought to be. He was a little afraid himself of what he would do to her. She would pay dearly for this. Oh, how he would enjoy making her pay.

He looked across the room and gave a low humorless laugh. Puzzled by Grayson’s apparent lack of reaction, Heath took the flint and tinder box from the table and carefully lit his cigar.

A cloud of fragrant blue-gray smoke drifted between them as he spoke again. “Perhaps you have misunderstood me,” he said cautiously.

Grayson regarded him with a chilling smile. “Why do you say that?”

Heath shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “You would not be smiling like a satyr if you understood what I had said. She has been deceiving you, Gray, playing you for a fool while the world has watched in wonder.”

A flame flickered in the depths of Grayson eyes. A flame of anger. Of hellfire unleashed.

“It is you who misunderstands,” he replied evenly.

“Oh?”

“This is not the smile of a noble fool you see.” He paused, his tapered fingers gripping the arms of his chair. “It is one of a man plotting a punishment.”

“Now wait a minute,” Heath said in alarm. “This is more of a reaction than I anticipated. Is punishing Jane the right thing to do?”

Grayson’s smile thinned. He would not allow a sense of guilt to manipulate him again. He’d done his duty and look where it had brought him. Practically to his knees. “It was doing the right thing that got me into this situation. Jane needs to be shown that I can give as good as I get.”

“This sounds ominous, Gray. All that biblical eye-for-an-eye nonsense.”

Grayson’s gaze mirrored little mercy. Jane had hurt him in a way he had not dreamed possible. “ ‘He maketh rain on the just and the unjust.’ ”

“Yes, but this sounds more like a thunderstorm than a little shower,” Heath said worriedly. “What exactly are you going to do?”

“Marry her.”

“Marry her?” Heath said in shock.

Grayson laughed at his brother’s incredulous expression. “After I make her pay.”

“And how do you do that?” Heath asked in a guarded voice.

“I am going to play with her, Heath, exactly as she has played with me. The simple fact is that I love Jane.”

A glimmer of good-natured admiration replaced the anxiety in Heath’s dark blue eyes. He could not hide his relief. “I take it this revenge will be sweet? For you, I mean?”

Grayson folded his muscular arms behind his head, closing his eyes in contemplation. “Seduction is always sweet, isn’t it? Revenge will merely add a pinch of spice to the pot.”

Grayson sent Weed for his secretary the instant Heath left the room. The hour was late. It did not matter. The best plots were hatched in the dead of night.

Was that when his clever little mouse had laid her daring scheme?