The Problem with Seduction

Chapter Seven

MEN OFTEN MEANT WELL, at the time. Elizabeth had learned from experience never to trust a protector longer than it took him to make a promise. It was only a matter of course before some shiny, new entertainment cropped up and distracted him. Yet here she was, returning to London with Lord Constantine. She knew better, and still… She’d always been too fanciful for her own good.

There was one logical reason she sat across from him now in the coach. Her father wanted her to silence the gossips. Taking up with Lord Constantine lent credence to her assertion that he was Oliver’s father. A perfectly ordinary arrangement between a man and the paramour with whom he’d sired a bastard could be of no interest to anyone. Society would soon forget her scandal. Wyndham had to be satisfied with that, for even if it wasn’t enough to convince Nicholas, she need only put an end to the ton’s speculation to meet her father’s requirement.

She must hope that after a few weeks of looking silly in the eyes of the ton, Nicholas would give up, too.

There was another, more reckless reason she had come back with him. She could hardly sit still for the butterflies his nearness caused in her belly. He was so handsome, and so protective of her and Oliver without being overbearing about it.

His eyes never wavered from the horizon beyond the plate window. His right fingertips drummed against his thigh. He appeared impatient to be home, yet she was coming to realize he was one of the most indulgent people she’d ever met. Whatever she asked of him, he gladly did. Mayhap it was because he had nowhere else to be. No other responsibilities.

She forced herself to look away, because in his direction lay danger. They’d been traveling two days. London was near. She, too, could hardly wait to be home. He’d been frighteningly astute in that matter. She did want to be in London. Ever since she’d left Shropshire, London had been the place she felt best. The enormous city provided enough nooks and crannies for a woman of any reputation to carve herself a home. Not that Elizabeth wanted to blend in completely; then she might disappear altogether.

Laughably, for a short time her plan had been exactly that. Disappear. She’d let Celeste, her best friend and the only person she’d known to turn to when she’d learned she was with child, convince her that the best refuge for an unwed mother was the obscurity of the countryside. Elizabeth had allowed herself to be led to Devon even though she’d never taken to that idea. At the time, it had seemed she had no other choice.

She’d leapt at the first chance to return to London after Oliver’s birth. Nicholas had been her excuse then. Now it was Con. In truth, London was just as much a lure as either man. As her carriage approached the city walls now, she knew with absolute certainty that she would never be happy secluding herself away from the bustle of Town. Not permanently.

When the carriage pulled up before her rented townhouse, Lord Constantine alighted as soon as the steps were lowered. He turned and helped her from the vehicle then went up the stone steps ahead of her. The knocker clacked against the door in three sure raps.

Elizabeth went to the second carriage to see to Oliver. She had to step around Lord Constantine’s horse, tied to the rear of her carriage, to do so. The way his saddlebag was tucked askew amongst her trunks and his nag was tethered to her coach, it was as if he’d become a part of them overnight.

By the time she looked back, the door stood open and Con was no longer in sight.

She entered some moments later with her retinue. Con stood in the foyer with Rand. Her butler nodded several times at whatever Con was saying, then replied, “Aye, my lord,” and nodded some more.

Elizabeth didn’t like it one bit. She shifted Oliver into a more comfortable position and approached the men. “What’s going on?”

Rand traded a speaking glance with Lord Constantine. Her suspicion grew. Had they become friendly in the few seconds she’d been out of sight?

Her man waited for Con to give his assent, causing no small amount of annoyance in her. Then Rand spoke. “Lord Constantine is advising me on what I should do in the event Captain Finn attempts to gain entry. He wanted me to know he is but a runner away.”

“With any luck, it won’t be necessary to call for me or the constabulary.” Con placed a hand at the small of her back. Despite her irritation with him for usurping her command, she could feel each fingertip through the many layers of clothing covering her skin. Her nipples tightened. But none of that foolishness compared to the flip-flop her heart executed when he looked at her and Oliver then. Goodness, the man should tread the boards. His painted-on expression was the image of husbandly pride.

Oh, no. She was not going to let that Look affect her.

He rubbed her back gently, as if to offer comfort. “I simply want to be sure you’re safe even when I’m not available to show Finn the bottom of my boot. Rand has orders to send for me at the first sign of trouble.” His arm slid more firmly around her waist. He smelled like a man who’d been traveling for two days. Musky and heady and wonderful.

Oh, no.

His fingers smoothed idly at her waist. “I’ve also let him know we’ve formed an attachment again. That should ensure he also allows me entrance, whenever the mood strikes me.” He grinned at her, perhaps enjoying the exasperated look she cast him. “I shall try to come often.”

Those words should not have sent a quiver through her belly. Oh, goodness, but she couldn’t deny they did, especially when coupled with his rakish smile. She couldn’t be falling for him already. They weren’t going to consummate this, even if his last words had been brimming with innuendo. His show was all for the benefit of her butler, and any other staff who happened to be eavesdropping.

But when Con leaned over and trailed a fingertip across Oliver’s cheek, then pulled a face that made her baby chortle, her heart melted into a puddle of want.

“I’ll be back as soon as I can.” Con’s blue eyes caught hers. “Please don’t wait up.”

“I won’t,” she replied, a bit breathless. If only he knew she was unlikely to sleep ever again.

“Oliver, my boy,” he touched his fingertip to the baby’s nose, “take care of your mother.” Then he bowed gracefully to their small audience of attendants standing in the foyer. “It’s been a pleasure traveling with you. Until we meet again.” He swept his beaver hat onto his head and strode through the front door toward his horse, untethered and staged at the ready, leaving her staff agape.

Well. If that wasn’t one of the most charming men she’d ever met. She should know better than to dally with rakes like him.

She did know better.

Her staff came out of their daze and burst into motion. An undercurrent of excitement threaded through the house. A tide so swift and strong, Elizabeth couldn’t ignore its pull. When Nicholas had been her protector, her apartments had always seemed suffocating. At any moment he might arrive and make demands, and there had been no way to anticipate him. He came only when the mood struck him and stayed only as long as it took to draw her into bed. This was an altogether different feeling. Her maids ran about dusting tabletops that already gleamed and airing rooms that smelled sweet—it would seem the current state of the house wasn’t good enough for dashing Lord Constantine. They whispered to each other, sly smiles pasted on their faces, and even Rand strutted as if he’d been knighted by the king himself.

Con had an easy way about him that made others feel as if they mattered. She was disappointed in herself to know she was already pining for his return. It was too much like her old self, the one who’d become enamored of a man she didn’t truly know. She’d thought her defenses better built up than this.

Later that afternoon, her lady’s maid, Nelly, entered the nursery. She kept her voice low so as not to wake Oliver, but she sounded excited nonetheless. “Madam, Lord and Lady Trestin are here to see you. Mr. Rand put them in the drawing room. Do you want me to fetch Mrs. Dalton to see to Master Oliver?”

Elizabeth rose to her feet and went to the cradle. Oliver still slept. She made a shooing motion at her maid. “Run to the kitchens and ask Sally for a tea tray. And yes, please, wake Mrs. Dalton from her nap. Go on, now. Lady Trestin mustn’t be kept waiting.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Nelly bobbed before ducking into the hall.

Elizabeth tugged at the sleeves of her spencer and smoothed her hair from her face. She touched her bare fingers around her collar feeling for spittle and, finding none, went into the hallway. She needn’t be too neat for Lady Trestin. In spite of her fine new title, Lady Trestin was still the same woman who’d been Elizabeth’s best friend for years, Celeste Gray. An infamous former courtesan now married to a rather staid—and deliciously handsome—viscount.

Elizabeth paused just outside of the nursery door, as there was no sign of Mrs. Dalton yet. Her eagerness to see Celeste and Lord Trestin, the seemingly straitlaced man who’d stolen her friend away, overshadowed her unwanted response to Con that had plagued her all morning.

The effect was but momentary, however, as no sooner had she prided herself on not thinking about Con than he sprang into her thoughts again. She paced the carpet runner padding the hallway and tried not to think about her pledge made to Celeste just weeks earlier, when she’d dared to dream of one day being in this very situation.

…if I should meet a man who sets my belly fluttering while treating me as respectfully as your Lord Trestin does, I shall marry him without delay.

Surely no one had been more surprised by Trestin’s proposal of marriage to Celeste than Celeste herself. Their wedding had been the second happiest day of Elizabeth’s life, after the birth of her son. But she’d had to wonder, would a man like Lord Trestin ever want her?

Mrs. Dalton finally rounded the corner. The right side of her face was wrinkled from her pillow but she looked more rested than she’d appeared after overseeing the unpacking of the carriages. “Is he asleep?” she asked, pushing her hairpins into place.

Elizabeth walked toward her, in the direction of the main stair. She nodded, then called over her shoulder, “For another few minutes, at least.”

She smiled to herself as she went down to the first floor. Maybe there wouldn’t ever be a man who adored her. It seemed very likely that her father’s love would always be out of reach. But this was her life now, trading her son’s status with his nursemaid. Maybe this was her version of happily ever after.

As inconceivable as it had once seemed. Not so long ago, she’d sat for hours every afternoon while her hair was arranged, and refused to leave her apartments unless she was turned out more fashionably than any mere lady. Those were the days when she and Celeste had ruled London’s demimonde. She wouldn’t go back to that for all of the finery and flattery in the world.

She left the main stair and hurried to the drawing room. Celeste was speaking in low tones to her husband, a raven-haired man with a fine form and probing gaze. Celeste’s dove-gray walking dress trimmed in purple velvet set off her auburn hair and made her seem a proper lady, giving Elizabeth pause. Was it her red curls arranged artfully beneath a pretty poke bonnet, or her handsome husband beside her that made it hard to imagine Celeste had ever been a courtesan?

“Elizabeth! You’re looking lovely again. I’m so glad for it.” Celeste reached for Elizabeth’s hands. She smiled prettily, her green eyes glowing, and squeezed Elizabeth’s fingers.

“Much improved,” Trestin agreed, causing Elizabeth’s lips to turn up. His factual statement must be taken as truth, for he wasn’t the type to dole out generous compliments.

“Thank you, my lord,” Elizabeth replied cheekily, for she knew he loathed her addressing him as such. Celeste tapped her arm as if she’d been naughty and Elizabeth chuckled.

Trestin didn’t smile outright, for he was a starchy sort of gentleman, but his light, almost golden eyes looked on her with a soft sort of fondness. He’d been protective of her when she’d last seen him in Devon, after Nicholas had taken her baby and she’d fled London. Trestin had cared for her as gently as if she were one of his younger sisters, and she’d always be indebted to him for it.

Celeste tugged Elizabeth to the sofa and pulled her down to sit. Then she folded her hands in her lap regarded Elizabeth with unabashed interest. “You were successful? Captain Finn has restored Oliver to you?”

Elizabeth almost cackled with delight to be able to say, “Yes! The plan worked marvelously. Finn turned him over with hardly a peep of protest.” She didn’t add that Nicholas had then gone on to realize he’d been duped and was now stalking her, or that her father was issuing threats of a civil suit. She’d almost lost her friendship with Celeste over her desperation to have Oliver back in her arms. She deserved a moment of vindication.

“I’m so glad, dearest,” Celeste said at last. “Will you be returning to Brixcombe, then?”

Elizabeth should have expected the question. Instead, she hadn’t considered doing so even for a moment, and so had no polite refusal prepared. “My home is in London.” She waved one hand as if to indicate the city looming beyond the four walls of the drawing room. “I shouldn’t mind coming to visit you, when Oliver is older.”

Celeste’s brows drew together. She seemed to be considering her words carefully. “I’d hoped you’d come back with us.”

She would have wanted that. She’d never trusted Elizabeth to be a good mother. But surely she must realize by now that Elizabeth was both capable of caring for her own child and absolutely determined to do so. “I’m set up very well here, though I do thank you for thinking of us,” Elizabeth replied sweetly. Then she added, “I think even you would approve of Oliver’s arrangements.”

Celeste winced, as if she highly doubted that would be the case. Then she smiled demurely. “Of course.”

Elizabeth wasn’t fooled. Celeste was regrouping. If anyone else were gifting Elizabeth a beatific smile while simultaneously thinking up the best way to undermine her argument, she would have cut them to the quick. Since it was Celeste, she feigned nonchalance by gifting Lord Trestin a bright smile and patting at the arrangement of her skirts.

Celeste had a tendency to act like Elizabeth’s older sister, rather than her friend. It was sweet, in an exasperating sort of way.

“It would seem,” Celeste said, her soft smile faltering, “that you’ve benefitted from your own resilience once again.” Before Elizabeth could do more than raise her eyebrow at this left-handed compliment, her friend continued, “We caught wind of the scandal all the way in Devon. I suppose that’s not surprising, given Lord Constantine’s family seat is there.”

Elizabeth wasn’t sure if that was meant to be a question or another jab. “I intended for it to catch fire.” She chose her next words carefully, because a fight with Celeste wasn’t at all what she wanted. She wanted Celeste to see that she’d matured. She had it all in hand, and she didn’t need any nursemaid save Mrs. Dalton. “Lord Constantine and I worked through the details together, though I think he deserves much of the credit. He can be very convincing when he chooses to be. ” Her face warmed as she recalled just how convincing he’d been today. Even she could almost believe they’d once been lovers.

Oh, but Celeste mustn’t see her blush. Quickly, Elizabeth added, “I ought to have known a brother of Roman’s would prove himself an outrageous actor,” for bringing up the subject of Roman was sure to distract Celeste from her interest in Elizabeth.

“I would have done it for you,” Trestin said so firmly, both women’s attention instantly went to him. He still stood rigidly just inside the doorway. A muscle twitched at his jaw. “There was no need to involve anyone else.”

Of course, Elizabeth could never have become so detached from her morals that she’d convince all of London that her best friend’s paramour had sired her bastard. There was no question of his involvement, once she’d realized Celeste was in love with him. “Lord Constantine isn’t odious, my lord. I find him very pleasant.”

A slight frown marred Celeste’s pale brow. “I’m very happy for you to have Oliver back, dearest. I simply worry that you’ve gone from one extreme to the other. Lord Constantine? After everything Roman did to me? Theirs is a family of fickle-hearted rakes. How can you trust him with a so great a secret?”

Elizabeth went rigid against the couch. Not because her faith in Lord Constantine was shaken—and it was, just a bit. Celeste’s opinion mattered more than anyone’s. She was more of a sister to Elizabeth than even her own sisters, for Celeste had never turned her back on her as Sarah and Ellen had.

Had she somehow disappointed her friend again?

She simply needed to convince Celeste that she’d made the right decision. “It may be true that Roman did you an ill turn, but Lord Constantine remains the ideal choice for Oliver’s father. He’s dashing enough to have turned my head, he lives in Devon where Oliver was born, and he’s so destitute, he would have done almost anything for my banknote.” And he is kind, she almost added. The similar looks of disapproval being directed at her, however, stopped her from including anything that might be interpreted as imprudent attraction.

Trestin approached the sofa and came around the low table where a tea ought to have been set by now. He rested one hand on the back of Celeste’s shoulder so that they presented a unified front. Or else he had simply wanted to be nearer to her, and had suddenly realized she wasn’t in arm’s reach.

Whatever his reason, he now towered over Elizabeth. “You should know that I always wish to be counted on, especially when it comes to a matter this important. Lord Constantine is an aimless rogue. Not at all the type of man who can perpetrate a ruse like this. If you’d come to me rather than running off after the wedding, I could have helped you find a man better suited to the task.”

Elizabeth had to laugh at that, for she stung both from being called to the carpet for her choice and at the reminder of her loneliness following Celeste’s happy day. “What type of man, precisely, is suited to the task of duping half of England?”

“Anyone can lie for you once,” Trestin said without a breath of amusement. “There’s no constancy in Constantine, despite his name. What if Finn bribes him for the truth?”

Her breath fled her lungs. What if Trestin was right? On its heels drafted the certainty that Lord Constantine had made a commitment to Oliver. He would never tell, simply because he didn’t want to.

When she tried to make that rebuttal, Trestin continued, “Lord Constantine has no reason to keep your secret forever. There will always be a steady stream of collectors demanding money he doesn’t have.”

Perhaps it was her fanciful infatuation with Con, but she found it difficult to reconcile the warm man who’d defended her from a brute twice his size with the selfish younger son Lord Trestin described. Too, she knew now Lord Constantine wasn’t the gamester everyone thought. If he bled money, well, it was because he had a kind heart.

She felt a burst of defensiveness for the man she’d known but a few days. “He is impoverished, but I’ve come to know his character. He wouldn’t want his family to know he’s lied to them. And he’s met Nicholas twice now. He knows Nicholas will take Oliver without a second’s hesitation. I believe Lord Constantine cares about that.”

Celeste and Trestin looked at her as if she’d explained that Lord Constantine had antlers.

“In that respect, Lord Constantine makes an excellent foil,” Elizabeth continued, feeling sure her summation of him was accurate despite her friends’ obvious disbelief. “He adores Oliver. I think he doesn’t want the lie exposed. He’s even gone so far as to become my protector in truth so that Nicholas will have no cause to think Lord Constantine and I aren’t truly involved…” she almost choked over the last word, “…sexually.” Heat flushed across her chest. And yet, reducing Con to a handsome shield belittled the great lengths he’d already gone for her, to say nothing of her increasing infatuation with him.

“You’ve agreed to become his mistress?” Celeste exclaimed at the same time Trestin asked, “Does Montborne know he has a mistress?”

“Montborne?” Elizabeth repeated, knowing he meant Roman and nonetheless being unable to connect the marquis to her affairs. Then she realized Trestin’s meaning: as the head of his family and the viscount, Trestin would think Con’s eldest brother should be apprised.

Goodness. By her estimate, Con must have nearly thirty years under his belt. He shouldn’t have to discuss his personal affairs with anyone, least of all his brother. But then, she supposed this summed up his position in his brother’s household. Lord Constantine wasn’t the youngest, to be fawned over, or the oldest and therefore responsible one, but a middle brother on whom the only expectations placed were for him to report his activities and to make every attempt to stay out of trouble. No wonder he stood a little straighter whenever she appreciated his efforts.

“I can’t think Roman knows,” she said, tucking away the knowledge that her admiration of Lord Constantine encouraged him, for a time when it could prove useful. “He and I made our arrangement just this morning.”

Their eyebrows rose at that.

Celeste’s sisterly censure couldn’t be more obvious. “Does this mean there was a last night?”

Their attack of Lord Constantine was wearing on Elizabeth. “Not in the way you think.” She was glad when a tap at the door preceded a maid carrying an elaborate tea. Conversation stopped while the tray was set down and the plates of sandwiches and biscuits were arranged across the low table.

The moment the maid stepped out, Celeste turned her face up toward Trestin. “This is much worse than I feared. I think she has a tendre for him.”

“I don’t!” Elizabeth insisted. Even though she did, a little.

“He is handsome,” Celeste said, turning back toward the tea. She reached for the teapot and began pouring out. “Young for your tastes. Only a few years older than you.” She slid a sidelong glance at her own, younger husband. His disapproving expression didn’t change, but his golden eyes warmed a touch.

Celeste spooned sugar into each teacup. “Roman can be charming when he puts his mind to it. I’ve heard Lord Constantine, too, is a jolly sort.” Her eyes remained hooded as she adjusted the three teacups in their saucers. They made a subtle clink, clink as she touched them needlessly. Elizabeth imagined Celeste was doing her stoic best to set aside her differences with Roman and concentrate on advising Elizabeth about his brother.

After fiddling with each teacup and saucer to her satisfaction, Celeste passed a setting to Elizabeth and one to Trestin, then sat upright with her hands clasped in her lap. “If you’ve fallen for him already, it can only be because he’s as easy to like as they say. Still, it’s a very precarious situation you’ve put yourself in. If I worry for you, it is not without reason.”

Elizabeth sipped her tea without replying. What Celeste really meant was that it was not without precedent. A trace of bitterness wove through Elizabeth, but she really had no rebuttal.

“I fear ’tis too late to caution her,” Trestin murmured to his wife, as if he, too, believed it futile to think Elizabeth capable of guarding her heart. “Her mulish expression reminds me of Delilah’s when I told her that Mr. Conley was not for her.”

Celeste’s brow rose. “Your sister married Conley,” she reminded Trestin, without making an attempt to keep her voice low.

Even though Elizabeth had half a mind to reprimand them for patronizing her while she was sitting right in front of them, her heart nonetheless gave a silly little hop in her chest. But what nonsense that was! Hadn’t she already turned down Con’s butchered proposal? The thought of wedding a man that adverse to marriage was ludicrous.

The thought of losing him, however, made her feel strangely hollow.

…if I should meet a man who sets my belly fluttering while treating me as respectfully as your Lord Trestin does, I shall marry him without delay.

She would marry him—if he felt the same.

“I do wish you two would stop,” she said firmly, wanting to end the conversation before she became obstinately attached to Lord Constantine. “I’m not a naïve young girl. He’s fine-looking and thoughtful—and amiable,” she added, “and he’s shown himself to be rather determined to act as my protector. Surely when choosing a lover, a woman can ask for little more. But I’ve hardly forgotten the natural conclusion to any liaison. He will leave. Or maybe I will.”

“He will most certainly leave you,” Celeste said with no apology in her tone. “Lord Constantine must marry, eventually. I should hope that after your last amour, you will not want to be kept by a married man again.”

Elizabeth winced. She would dearly love to make a flippant riposte, but the fact remained that she had fallen in love with a married man. Nicholas Finn had been thoroughly wedded from the first. Her belief that he’d leave his wife to start a new life with her had been a stupid hope. She could see that now. She couldn’t even claim to have been young and foolish when she’d devoted herself to him, for she’d been above her majority then, and far more experienced in the ways of seduction than most women twice her age.

No, Celeste was right. She wouldn’t be kept by a married man again. She wasn’t sure she could trust her heart with a bachelor, for she’d had plenty of those in her time, too. And if ever there was a man who did want to marry her—and she didn’t count Con’s hasty proposal in that number—she’d never be able to trust him. For men, in her experience, did not understand the meaning of ’til death do us part.

But she wasn’t the type men married. “I’m a courtesan,” she said firmly, and never had saying it sounded so permanent. “There will always be another man after this one.” If only because she couldn’t bear to be alone forever.

Celeste gazed at her with a touch of sadness. “You may marry someday.” To Elizabeth’s ears, there was no conviction in it.

Trestin cleared his throat. Elizabeth and Celeste both glanced up at him as if they’d forgotten his presence.

“I think it unlikely any Alexander will marry before he must.” He offered her a smile that seemed to tighten his face rather than brighten it. “I hope you’re able to keep his attention long enough for Captain Finn to accept your trick as fact. After that, I suppose it doesn’t matter if Lord Constantine does scamper off to chase a new entertainment, so long as he leaves Oliver with you.”

Icy fear pumped through her veins. He would leave; that much was fact. It was the way of things, the trade she made for her freedom—and her wealth, though not the latter, in this case. But what could she do if they spent months or years convincing Society that he was Oliver’s father, and then he left her and took Oliver with him? Her trick would only work once, and never on Con.

She believed him when he said he was going to be Oliver’s father forever. If he left her, he’d take his son. Just as Nicholas had. She couldn’t let that happen. He mustn’t reach that point, not for a very, very long time, at least. The law favored a father’s guardianship until a child was old enough to make a sound decision between his parents. That day lay a decade in the future, at least.

But what could she do to prevent Con’s more immediate tiring of her?

The answer came to her instantly, as natural to her as her own breath. She’d do what she’d always done. She must entice him. Offering her favors to a man had never kept him permanently, but she didn’t need permanent. Only until Oliver was of the age to make his own decision, and she needn’t fear the law.

But how did she seduce a man who didn’t want to be seduced?

Her talent for tempting men flared to life. Sex was what she knew. It had worked, at least well enough, to get her to this point. As she and Celeste sipped their tea, and Trestin paced near the window, Elizabeth considered her strategy. She must give Lord Constantine the sense that he needed her more than she needed him. She had no doubt she could succeed at luring him into her arms, if the right set of circumstances could be arranged. She was a courtesan, was she not?

She buried her self-disgust down far enough that she need never think of it again. She might not be able to win his heart. If she could just keep him returning to her bed, however…

It would have to be enough.