Page 98 of The Seduction of an English Scoundrel

But was a woman any less vulnerable? Jane wondered suddenly, wishing she could bring Audrey along to give her moment-to-moment advice. It was one thing to discuss seducing a marquess in the safety of a drawing room. It was quite another to put proposed seduction into action when facing that marquess in the flesh. When exposing his flesh. When breaking past his anger to arouse him.

Yes, Audrey was an expert in such matters, having revealed to her student techniques that would have made a brothel master blush. But Grayson was an expert, too. And Jane was not.

She looked at him, feeling the floor tilting beneath her. Would it be possible for anyone to render such a man helpless?

“Stay out of trouble,” he told his sister curtly, his arm firmly guiding Jane away. “I appear to have enough of a problem on my hands for a night.”

“Wait,” Chloe cried. “She’s forgotten her wrap.”

“Then hurry and fetch it for her.”

And as he turned, she whispered in Jane’s ear: “I shall be thinking of Congreve rockets the entire night. Be brave. And tell me everything in the morning.”

If she lived to tell of it, Jane thought, shuddering in anticipation of the seduction she would undertake.

Chapter 23

Jane was spared the full brunt of Grayson’s displeasure during the short ride back to the villa by her uncle’s sudden decision to leave the ball with the two of them. Never before had she felt such icy disapproval in Grayson’s manner toward her. Never had she tested the depths of his feelings to this degree before. She could only hope Uncle Giles would provide a buffer between her and a very angry marquess.

“At my age,” the older man explained as he followed them to the carriage, “I am more of an embarrassment than an entertainment at these affairs. My eyesight isn’t what it used to be. Here I was playing cards with a charming young viscount, or so I thought, until a footman kindly took me aside to tell me my opponent was a viscountess. Wouldn’t know it from that costume. Epaulets and military buttons on the Hussar jacket. You always look like a lady, Jane. Don’t you agree, Sedgecroft?”

Grayson turned his gaze from the window, his voice laden with irony. “No one would argue that.”

Jane shivered inside the safety of her pelisse. Had she ever heard that razor-sharp edge in his tone before?

“You are catching a chill, my dear,” Uncle Giles said in concern. “Go right to your bed when we get in.”

Jane was only too glad to take his advice, grateful for her brief respite when her uncle trapped Grayson in the entrance hall to discuss the following day’s race. A true gentleman, Grayson stayed to politely answer the man’s questions. But there was nothing polite in his heavy-lidded gaze as he watched Jane escape upstairs to her room. His expression warned her she would not evade his anger for long.

Audrey’s voice mocked her cowardly retreat.

Take him off guard, darling. A man is never more vulnerable than in the boudoir.

“I cannot do this,” she muttered. “I cannot, cannot, cannot. . . . I’m not proving a point. I am making a spectacle of myself.”

What had she done tonight? Taught him a lesson or unleashed a beast? One would think she had learned from her wedding scandal that schemes did not play out without unexpected repercussions.

She heard him less than twenty minutes later in the room that adjoined hers. Her heart pounding in anxiety, she sat down at her dressing table in her rose silk robe and began to brush her hair. The door to the room opened. She saw his tall figure in the mirror. Her fingers gripped the handle of her silver-backed hair brush. The chilliness in his eyes seemed to lower the temperature in the room several degrees.

“You haven’t changed out of your evening clothes,” she said, her breathing suspended as he took a step toward her.

He stood behind her, his shoulders as rigid as a soldier’s. “Shall we discuss that dress?”

“It—it was only a dress.”

“On another woman perhaps.” His voice curled around her like the soft warning stroke of a whip. “On you it is a scandal.”

“I was under the impression that you liked me in . . . what were your words at the modiste’s? ‘A minimum of fuss.’ ”

His lips tightened at the corners. “That does not mean I wish you to flaunt your charms to the world.”

“We can hardly keep our relationship a secret, Grayson.”

“Perhaps not. But I am a private man, and I do not intend to share you either.”

She pulled the brush down the length of her hair. Their eyes met in the mirror, and she swallowed at what she saw. Why had she dared to challenge a master at his game?

“What did you really hope to gain?” he asked, taking the brush from her hand, continuing its downward strokes with a slow, steady hand. “What . . .”