The Problem with Seduction

Chapter Fourteen

THE CARRIAGE RIDE TO DEVON wasn’t the romantic retreat she’d had in mind when she’d implied to Nicholas that Lord Constantine liked having her by his side. If anything, Con had gone out of his way to ensure there was nothing amorous about the two of them locked in a carriage together. He’d insisted on Oliver riding with them, rather than in a second carriage, and he’d demanded that Mrs. Dalton come, too. Elizabeth’s instincts told her it was because he feared being alone with her.

Rather than be pleased with herself for bringing him to that point, she worried. Had she lost his trust so completely? He seemed to think she’d withheld news of the Grand Canal’s misfortune deliberately. She would have told him, eventually. Between his odd behavior upon her return to Merritt House, their torrid kiss in her drawing room and his subsequent denial of her favors, she’d forgotten it completely.

But his assumption about her motives left her conflicted, because while she hadn’t intentionally kept this news from him, she couldn’t promise not to do just that in the future. He’d made a point she hadn’t considered, one that left her trembling. If he became solvent, what would become of her? Would he be as free with his time if he had obligations to see to? Would he still consider himself Oliver’s father, or would he turn his back on the bastard child he had no ties to?

Would he marry?

She inhaled so sharply, his attention jerked from the window pane to her. She smiled too brightly. His eyes narrowed. That cleft between his brows deepened.

Then, thankfully, he looked away again.

Mrs. Dalton didn’t stir. She’d tucked herself in the corner next to Elizabeth and promptly fallen asleep. Elizabeth gazed at Oliver in her arms. He, too, had been lulled by the sway of the carriage.

Over the many miles they bumped and jostled, Con didn’t look at her again. She drew her wrap more tightly around her shoulders and rested her head against the carriage wall. Oliver and Mrs. Dalton continued to sleep, but Elizabeth was too aware of Con to even close her eyes.

Another quarter hour passed. She became fascinated by a ticking muscle at his jaw. And just above his knee, his hand gripped his thigh so tightly, his knuckles whitened.

“I beg you not to stare at me, Elizabeth.”

“There’s little else to look at.”

“Then go to sleep.”

“I can’t.”

He slowly pulled his gaze from the window. “Read a book.”

“That,” she said with a laugh, “is not at all the type of thing I would do.”

“You can’t just watch me for hours on end. It’s deuced uncomfortable.”

“It won’t be hours, my lord. Oliver will wake soon and I will be distracted by him.”

Con shifted to sit slanting on the bench. She sympathized with his cramped confines. He couldn’t stretch his legs without bumping into Mrs. Dalton, and he was far too tall to be tucked into the carriage without a respite. “Had I known you’d be bored, I’d have planned excursions along the way.”

“Truly?” She almost believed him.

He finally smiled, though he didn’t lose his scowl. The effect was a handsome grimace, made all the more attractive for her having goaded him into it. “Well, I would have tried. What sorts of entertainments do you think are along the way to Brixcombe?”

“Sheep.”

He laughed, because it was true. “Montborne always asks us why we don’t visit our pile more often. I should think the reason obvious.”

“A case of the pot and kettle, no? He’s not one much for country living, either.” Not that Roman never visited, for he’d been in Devon while she’d been in confinement. She might have crossed paths with him then if not for the impending arrival of Oliver. According to Celeste, however, she’d been lucky to avoid the marquis. Roman had been brutish and treated Celeste abominably. Elizabeth remained convinced he’d halfway broken her heart.

Actually, now that she recalled his behavior toward Celeste, she really didn’t want to talk about the marquis at all. Her belly roiled as if she were going to be carriage-sick. If Roman had been so thoroughly against Celeste’s attraction to Lord Trestin, a man who wasn’t even related to him, how would he feel about Elizabeth’s hopeless infatuation to his brother?

“I suppose Montborne’s dislike of the country is well known in every circle in London,” Con grumbled. “Or are you particularly close with my brother?”

Elizabeth wasn’t sure what to make of Con’s question. “I think even the scullery maids know of his preference for city life,” she replied carefully. Was he jealous? Or worse, had Roman already found his ear? Was that why he refused to look at her?

No, that was him smarting because she’d forgotten to tell him about the flooding. She mustn’t make trouble where none existed. But he might be jealous…

She folded her hands in her lap. “I’ve known Montborne many years, and I suppose we were friends for a time. Not like he and Celeste were friends. I assume you’re aware of that attachment.”

He looked surprised. “They were…?”

“Together? Nothing like that.” She’d tell him every detail about Celeste and Roman’s tumultuous relationship, if it kept him from remembering to be cross with her.

“If you know Montborne so well, why didn’t you ask him to help you with Oliver?”

She winced. Lord Constantine really must not know how thoroughly Roman had been against Celeste’s marriage to Lord Trestin, to ask a question like that.

She started to reply with something flippant. He leaned forward. He was watching her as if her answer mattered a great deal. Was he really asking, Why me?

“We aren’t exactly on speaking terms, for one,” she answered truthfully, biting back her glib reply. “For two, he has never been able to keep a secret, an issue closely related to the first. For three, I haven’t and never will be attracted to Roman. I think I’ve made my opinion on his pompous vanity clear enough that it would have ringed false if I’d suddenly claimed to have fallen into his arms, even for a single night.”

Con grinned. “So not every lady has a fit of the vapors when he walks by.”

Her insides squeezed. Lady. She’d not been called that since she was a young girl, not with any level of respect. From her parents it had always been, “That is not behavior fit for a lady, Elizabeth,” until the day she’d run away with Captain Moore.

She was still blushing furiously from Con’s slip of the tongue when he leaned back against the squab and crossed his arms over his chest. “My brother thinks you’re manipulating me.”

He may as well have slapped her.

Her mouth opened but before any protest passed her lips, she remembered they weren’t alone. She cast an anxious glance at Mrs. Dalton. A soft snore escaped the young woman.

“How can you say such a thing?” Elizabeth whispered angrily.

“Ah, but is it true? Montborne seems to think he knows you well enough to recognize when you’re using your wiles.” Con gave her a languid once-over. “As much as I wanted to defend you, I couldn’t. I think you know what I’m referring to, Elizabeth.”

Her flesh seemed to catch fire. Embarrassment, or desire? Anger or longing? Fear that he’d found her out, or anticipation to learn what he intended to do with her next?

Con shifted his shoulders against the squab. The bright white of his cravat wrinkled as he tipped his chin down to look up at her with those piercing blue eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me the canal had flooded? Was it because any fortune I make unhooks one of your claws from the back of my neck?”

Her fingers dug into Oliver’s swaddling. Goodness. She checked Mrs. Dalton again. Still sleeping. Thank heavens.

She forcibly relaxed her grip on her son. “It simply slipped my mind. I promise, I meant no malice.”

He held her gaze. She did her best to look honest.

“Are you sure?” he asked at length.

She nodded. He wanted so badly to trust her. It was there in his glimmer of hope that he’d misunderstood the situation. Her heart expanded. No one had ever believed in her. Not even Celeste. She almost wished he hadn’t put the thought in her head that she might manage his loyalty with her pocketbook.

Would such a thing even work? For how long?

Ten years?

She was careful to keep her expression neutral, but Con must be learning her tricks. His scowl returned. He shook his head slightly and resumed his watch out of the window. “Elizabeth, Elizabeth. What have I got myself into with you?”

Her heart sank to the floor. In one moment of weakness, she’d taught him not to trust her.

They didn’t speak again. There was no opportunity. Mrs. Dalton awoke and claimed to be famished, Oliver began to wail, the road turned rutted and Lord Constantine began to look green. Elizabeth was too busy handing out hard biscuits and seeing to Oliver’s feeding and changing to worry much about her protector. Even when her son suffered a bout of carriage sickness after taking his milk and toast, she didn’t have the energy to be embarrassed by it. But when they finally stopped for the night and Lord Constantine returned to the carriage with two keys and a look of abject relief, she realized she still had the entire night alone with him to look forward to.

Elizabeth, Elizabeth. What have I got myself into with you?

As she preceded him into the inn, she could only think that neither of them had any idea what they were doing.

She stood by as he gave instructions for a private dining room to be set. She watched him cajole the innkeeper into procuring a cradle from the inn across the way, and felt a tender moment when he asked twice if the milk served would be fresh. All while frowning in his usual, handsome way. As if each request was the most important task he could imagine.

It was odd how quickly they’d become comfortable with each other, dependent, even and yet…

Elizabeth, Elizabeth. What have I got myself into with you?

“They’re not married,” a voice boomed behind them, “and if you buy that they are, well, I’ve got a stud horse to show you.”

Papa. Ice ran through Elizabeth’s veins. She whipped toward the unmistakable sound of his voice. Her cheeks turned hot. How could he mortify her like this? And in front of Lord Constantine?

She felt like a fourteen-year-old child again. “Papa! You’ve no right!”

He marched up to her, arms swinging and side-whiskers quivering. His oblong belly protruded before him. “I’ll talk to you any blasted way I want, girl. You made your bed and you can damn well lie in it, but you won’t do it here. I won’t have your mother humiliated. Get out.”

Her mother? What about what he was doing to her?

She was a bug squashed beneath her father’s shoe. If she’d been asked to surmise how he’d treat her should they encounter one another in public, she’d have laid money on his ignoring her. She never imagined him making a public scene, even if it was just with the innkeeper to hear, a person he no doubt felt was below his notice.

“My lord,” the distressed innkeeper said, unaware of his lowly status in her father’s eyes, “the gentleman says they are married. Is it possible it happened recently and you are unaware of it?”

Wyndham didn’t dignify the man with a glance. “No. These two are liars. If they aren’t removed in the next five minutes, Lady Wyndham and I will find a more respectable establishment. You have my word.”

Constantine took a daring step toward her father. “Another accusation like that and it will be pistols. I hope you’re a fair shot.”

“Oh, ho,” Wyndham replied with a short bark of laughter, “the city boy’s going to play target practice with me? I think not.” He regarded Constantine with repugnance.

The harried innkeeper looked from Elizabeth to Constantine. His beseeching expression left her in no doubt he wanted them to leave, before he lost the coveted patronage of the Earl of Wyndham. Her own father.

Shame filled her. This was the life she’d made for herself. Lord Constantine believed her to be a conniving whore, even if he was defending her now. Her own father was willing to put her and his grandson out on the street. Her mother would be humiliated to share a roof with her in public.

If she’d been alone, she might have shed tears for the many ways her life had not turned out the way she’d dreamed. The costly jewels, and men, and vaults bloated with money, every whim she’d ever had acted on, had all brought her to this.

But she wasn’t alone. Instead of sad, she was furious. The opportunity to turn her fury on the man who’d always made her feel inferior was too great a temptation to resist. “If it’s so offensive to share a roof with me, then you go. I’ll gladly pay your room and board, and the thirty quid you’re about to drop on whisky and pickled eggs. It’s no hardship for me.”

His already ruddy cheeks flamed bright red. “Don’t you dare insult me with your whore’s salary. And you!” He turned his wrath on Lord Constantine. “I warned you to stay out of this. I don’t know what kind of pathetic, impecunious wastrel is willing to perjure himself for a prostitute,” spittle flicked from his lips as he laid each charge bare, “but mark my words, you will not get away with it.”

Con glared down his long, patrician nose at her father. His hand flexed, and for a heartbeat, she thought he might plant Wyndham a facer. Then he shook his head sadly. “What I would do for my son is a thousand times the level of humanity you’ve shown your daughter. I’ll thank you to stay out of my affairs.”

The innkeeper’s head swiveled toward her father, as if to witness his reaction to this scathing setdown.

“I hope you’re ready to give that pretty speech to a jury of your peers.” Lord Wyndham leaned toward Con, one arm bent at the elbow. “I don’t think they’ll be as forgiving as Captain Finn has been.”

Elizabeth inhaled sharply. Wordlessly, she and Con locked gazes. To her surprise, he didn’t look angry, or even scared. He looked resolved. “I’ve done no wrong.”

Wyndham let out an exasperated sigh. Then he turned on his heel. “Clean out my rooms,” he called over his shoulder. “Lady Wyndham and I are no longer comfortable here. As for the both of you,” he paused in the doorway of the common room to ensure they heard his parting words clearly, “I wouldn’t recommend getting too comfortable with that boy.”