Proof by Seduction (Carhart #1)

But the neckline of her blouse was fraying. Against those gray threads, the sparkle of the stones seemed incongruous. She finally managed to unhook the necklace from about her neck. She dropped the messy tangle of jewels into his coat pocket. “I like it. But. Don’t.”


“Don’t what?”

How could she explain? Don’t cheapen this. Don’t turn this into money.

“Don’t pay me,” she finally whispered.

Perhaps what she meant was don’t tempt me. Because she never again wanted to be the kept mistress of any man, let alone this one. The stones choked her, silently screaming that she was his purchased thing, to be discarded at the very moment she became inconvenient.

He looked away. “It’s not money,” he finally said. “It’s jewels. Isn’t that what I’m supposed to do in a circumstance like this? Buy you jewels?” His voice rumbled through her, dark and forbidding.

“What kind of a circumstance do you think this is? I don’t want things.”

A corner of his mouth turned down. “Damn. It’s all wrong again. I knew I should have asked White.” He looked at her. “Very well. I can’t give you furniture. I can’t give you jewels. Tell me, what am I allowed to give you?”

If things were simple between them, she would take his coin and his necklace. But what then? It was a trap. As soon as she took them, he would begin to despise her. It would put him in a superior position. And what could she hope for then?

Only that he continued to desire her even after he’d conquered. And that she could respect herself, when she’d let him reduce her to a pocketful of polished minerals.

He tipped her chin up. “What do you want, Jenny?”

She wanted him, arrogant, awkward creature that he was. But that wasn’t all.

His eyes seared hers and Jenny thought of all the things she yearned for. Respect won for her own achievements. Independence. His love, free of entanglements. None of the answers seemed right as she tried them on the tip of her tongue.

The word Jenny was looking for, she realized, was marriage. Oh, she didn’t mean the ecclesiastical joining of man and wife in Anglican ceremony; that would have been too much to hope for. But she wanted a union. The kind that ebbed and flowed with the ups and downs of life. One where gifts were intended as kindness, not as financial shackles, forcing one party to her knees in stultifying dependence.

“Gareth.” Jenny choked on his name. “I’m not sure what I want. But I don’t want the kind of partnership where you buy my participation with cold stones.”

“Is there another sort?” he asked quietly.

“The sort where…” she started slowly, and then stopped.

She wanted his respect. She wanted him to never look down on her again. She wanted him to cast those cold stones away, and she wanted this gulf between them—his title, her penury—to vanish like so much smoke into windy air. But the thought of depending on him shook her. She couldn’t depend on him, because he would leave.

And that was how Jenny discovered the answer to her question. How could she remain Gareth’s lover without becoming his mistress?

She couldn’t.

The only question was whether this affair would end in three months or three days.

ONE MORE DAY was half over before it was interrupted.

“Madame Esmerelda?”

Jenny looked up. Spring sunshine streamed in through the door she’d left open to air out her quarters. The light tangled with dust motes, spangling the air before her. It lit the sandy-brown hair of the woman before her into a glorious mass, almost white with energy. Jenny jumped, and her pulse raced in recognition.

“Feathers!” Jenny exclaimed. “I mean…it’s Miss Edmonton, isn’t it? Whatever are you doing here?”

Gareth’s sister was attired in a smart walking dress, all black-and-white stripes, wide starched cuffs and collar framing her face and wrists. She clutched a beaded reticule in white-gloved fists.

“I have a question for you.”

Jenny winced, and imagined Gareth’s reaction if he found his sister conversing with the woman he was bedding.

“Miss Edmonton,” Jenny said, “I should tell you I am not a fortune-teller, no matter what Ned says. It was all invention.”

Miss Edmonton raised her hand to her mouth in polite dismay.

“My name,” Jenny said, “is Jenny Keeble.” And your brother once promised if I interfered with you, he would destroy me.

Miss Edmonton’s shoulders sagged. “I don’t—that is to say, I have nobody else to talk with. And I desperately need advice.”

“Nobody else?” Jenny ran through everything she knew of Gareth’s family in her mind. It was surprisingly little. Mother—dead. Grandparents—dead. Miss Edmonton’s father was not dead, but according to Gareth, he was not particularly intelligent. Then again, that was according to Gareth. A similarly scathing indictment would likely have been forthcoming no matter who he’d discussed.