Page 97 of The Seduction of an English Scoundrel

“I can’t,” Jane whispered back.

“Why not?”

“Because you can see right through them.”

Grayson walked around the floor with wooden strides, his gaze black and menacing. Then, as the dance ended, he guided her with chilling determination into the darkest corner of the room where the elderly guests congregated in chairs.

“Why are we standing here like a pair of wallflowers?” she inquired in an innocent voice. “Shouldn’t we be more sociable?”

“I am not in a sociable mood,” he bit out.

“Well, no one can see us standing here.”

“Which was my objective, Jane.” His face darkened as he glanced down at her. “There is a little too much of you to be seen tonight.”

“Perhaps you would like to play cards,” she suggested.

“Perhaps I would,” he drawled. “If I were not busy guarding you from all the lascivious aristocrats in Brighton.”

She peered around him, refusing to meet his angry stare. “Oh, look. Isn’t that your old friend, Mrs. Watson?”

“So it is.”

“Would it not be polite to acknowledge her?”

“I am not in the mood for that either,” he said, clenching his teeth.

“Well, what are you in the mood for?”

He refused to reply, but the answer was infuriatingly simple: her. Along with most of the eligible men in the room, he was imagining her without the dress, Jane on the altar of their lust with her luscious body and honey-gold hair spilling loose over her soft white shoulders. Like an unattainable goddess, she had challenged the mortals around her to prove themselves worthy of her attention. Well, Heath had warned him. The dark Jane was having her day.

On impulse he took her by the elbow and led her toward the side door. “Is this the way to the refreshment room?” she asked, an edge of panic in her voice.

“No.” He gave her a meaningful look. “We’re going home.”

“Why?”

“To have that discussion you mentioned.”

“What about Chloe and Simon? And Uncle Giles? We cannot just leave them here.”

“I’ll send the carriage back for them later.”

She glanced back into the crowded, candlelit ballroom. Audrey gave her a tiny nod of approval; their objective had been to disarm a certain scoundrel, but suddenly Jane had her doubts—doubts that escalated as she found herself captured against a steel chest in an unlit corridor, Grayson’s firm mouth inches from hers.

“Are you trying to drive me insane?” he asked quietly. “If so, it has worked.”

Held in his muscular arms, she could easily forget that the man had arranged her entire future without asking her consent. Or that she would have to deal with this sort of behavior for the rest of her life. She knew only that she already belonged to him, her fate sealed by a single look across a crowded wedding chapel a short time ago. On the day she had been meant to pledge herself to another. And Sedgecroft had appeared in his place, proving himself to be the best ally and worst threat a woman could ever face.

“What has happened?” Chloe demanded behind them.

“Jane is feeling rather”—Grayson’s gaze swept her willowy form—“chilled.”

Chloe’s blue eyes danced with devilish amusement as she approached Jane. “Oh, dear. Then you will have to take her home, Grayson. Audrey shall keep me in her guard.”

If the remark seemed strange to Grayson, he was too distracted by the events of the evening to question it. Jane, of course, knew exactly what Chloe meant, and she did not appreciate the reminder—that the second part of her plan had to be implemented as soon as possible.

She could still hear Audrey’s voice in her mind. Take him off guard, darling. A man is never more vulnerable than in the boudoir.