All's Fair in Love and Seduction

Chapter Seven

Elizabeth had very little experience with men, and none at all with a man like Lord Creswell. There was nothing tentative about him, not the vaguest sense of uncertainty in his words or actions. And who would have thought a man could be competent in everything? At least it appeared that way to her.

Last week, the viscount had taken her to the theatre where he’d shown a more than passing knowledge of Italian. He’d danced with her at three balls, and as she’d come to expect, few men could match his skill on the dance floor.

Yesterday, and as promised, he taught her to play croquet. His manner of teaching had reduced her will to resist him to ashes, his chest pressing lightly on her back, his hands enclosed over hers as he guided her swing of the mallet. His body was long and muscled. And hard everywhere.

Had Missy, Charlotte and Catherine not been in attendance, she was certain he would have kissed her. And she no doubt would have kissed him right back. It was a very fortunate thing they’d been chaperoned.

Today, they were taking afternoon tea in the parlor at Laurel House, something they’d never done before. But the viscount had been busy most of the day, and had only an hour to visit with her since he would be busy again that evening. He would miss escorting her to Lady Summerville’s supper party.

Lord Creswell helped himself to flaky French pastries from the serving tray.

“You seem very fond of Miss Foxworth. I believe you’ve danced with her at every ball we’ve attended.” After the words were out of her mouth, Elizabeth furiously wished she could snatch them back and rephrase them so she didn’t sound like a shrewish, jealous witch.

The viscount watched her, his expression inscrutable as he proceeded to consume the cherry tart.

To fill the lengthening silence, Elizabeth hastily took a gulp of her tea, nearly burning her tongue in the process. She returned the teacup to the saucer with clatter of porcelain against porcelain.

“I am very fond of Miss Foxworth,” he agreed. “And I am fond of Lady Gertrude and Miss Roswell, both whom I also partner to dance when they are in attendance.”

“I didn’t mean to imply—”

“Miss Smith, I’m sure you’ve been beautiful all your life. However, most women are not graced with your extraordinary looks and therefore, are often ignored. I am fortunate to be in a position to aid where I can and more often than not, when I dance with my friends, other men will follow. Every woman should enjoy a full dance card at a ball, wouldn’t you agree?”

Elizabeth nodded mutely for no words could adequately express what she was feeling at that precise moment.

For the past several weeks, she had been teetering on the precipice of love, but what she’d just heard from the viscount succeeded in nudging her over.

~*~*~

Derek had paid quite a hefty sum for the information he now had in his possession: dates, names, places. He could put a halt to this thing with Miss Smith today if he so desired. The marriage she’d schemed to get would never come to pass. That very fact should have pleased him.

To his shame, it did not.

And he blamed her for that. If she hadn’t tried to tread in very same shoes that her sister had worn six years ago, she may have been the one he could see spending the rest of his days with. The woman he could see bearing his children. The woman he could have loved. But she would never be any of those things for she was who she was.

One would think her misdeeds would stop him from wanting her. Again, to his shame, it did not. And that angered him more than her deceit—this hold she had on him. Well today he was determined to break that hold once and for all.

Like the prior day, Miss Smith had invited Charlotte Rutherford and one of her ardent suitors, Baron Lawrence Stanfield, to accompany them on their daily outing. Today they were visiting the British Museum. The four stood just inside the entrance of the building.

“Where shall we go first?” Miss Smith spoke to no one in particular as she surveyed the museum, her eyes round with wonder.

“Why don’t we start with the King’s Library?” Miss Rutherford suggested when it became apparent neither he nor Lord Stanfield would offer up any themselves.

Miss Smith looked at him and then at the baron. “If my lords are in agreement?”

Derek jerked his head in a nod. But after the museum, they had a house to see with neither Miss Rutherford nor Stanfield in tow. But that was something Miss Elizabeth Smith didn’t know. At least not yet.

Just as they began their walk toward the first wing of the building, Cartwright—he recognized his friend’s voice instantly—called out from behind.

Miss Rutherford froze, inhaled a sharp breath as color leeched from her face. She collected herself a heartbeat later, her shoulders pushed slightly back, her chin raised the barest fraction of an inch.

His friend wasted no time in making his way to them. They exchanged silent nods upon his approach. To the women he offered a deep bow with the overly polite greeting of, “Miss Smith, Miss Rutherford.” The nod he directed at Stanfield was cold, a tenuous hold on civility.

“Miss Rutherford, Lady Windmere has received word that Lady Armstrong is about to deliver. We will be leaving for Devon within the hour. ”

Miss Rutherford eyes rounded in a mixture of concern and excitement. “So soon? Oh, but yes of course.”

“I will escort you home.”

At this, Miss Rutherford sent the baron a concerned look, who appeared impervious to the exchange and the resulting effect. As if Cartwright didn’t pose a threat to Miss Rutherford’s affection. The notion was laughable.

“Lord Stanfield?” Miss Rutherford prompted.

“Oh, yes. Cartwright, I will escort Miss Rutherford home.”

“My carriage is close by and I’m on my way there,” Cartwright replied tersely.

“I will instruct my driver to take you home, Stanfield,” Derek offered. The man certainly wasn’t going to remain with them, not with Miss Rutherford rushing off to be there at the birth of Armstrong’s first child. Stanfield could do nothing else but accept his offer unless he wished to hire a hackney home as they had all come together in Derek’s carriage.

Stanfield gave a grudging nod and ten minutes later, the trio had departed.

Now blessedly alone with Miss Smith, Derek directed his full attention at her, his elbow crooked. She peered up at him, her eyes uncertain perhaps a little afraid. He suppressed a smile and asked graciously, “Shall we?”

“Di-did you have anything to do with that?” she asked after a pause, her hand resting lightly on his forearm. Elizabeth was quite sure he had. It simply couldn’t be a coincidence.

His frame shook with laughter, drawing her gaze up to his.

“Even I could not foresee the precise timing of Lady Armstrong’s child readying itself to enter the world. Really, Miss Smith, you think too much of my abilities. Am I now a mystic? A sightseer?”

Elizabeth understood just how ridiculous she sounded, but she just knew he’d had a hand in this even if she could not say exactly how. She also knew she was in a heap of trouble. He had that look in his eyes. The same look that had kept her on edge these last two weeks. An unabashed want that mirrored her own.

From their first kiss, she had known this was how it would be between them, that razor sharp awareness and a hunger that grew with every word, every touch and every look exchanged. And now with Charlotte gone, Elizabeth would have to cope on her own. Be strong in spite of herself. Things did not look promising.

They toured the museum the next several hours, taking in the royal collection of books in the King’s Library. They moved on to see the Rosetta Stone before concluding their visit with the statue of the Great Winged Bull. He impressed her with his superior knowledge, speaking with great authority on the subject of Egyptian hieroglyphs and various other topics.

She also discovered his love of reading was as great as her own. At that, some of her anxiety eased, Lord Creswell conducting himself like a perfect gentleman. He was solicitous in his touch and respectful in his manner, never once stripping her bare with his gaze.

When they tumbled into the carriage in the early evening, Elizabeth had convinced herself she could trust him to keep his hands—and all parts of him—to himself.

The waning rays of the sun heralded dusk, shrouding the carriage in darkness. Lord Creswell sat across from her, his figure cast in a shadow of gray and black. Except to ask her if she’d enjoyed the visit, he remained silent. Which wouldn’t have been all that bad had she not known he was watching her. She could feel it. And the same tension she’d fear would derail her efforts came back, humming in the air stronger than before.

Some minutes later, the barouche came to a halt beside a townhome; a red-brick edifice that soared three stories high.

“Why have we stopped here?” she asked. Who lives here?

“It’s a property I’ve just purchased. I thought you’d like to see it, perhaps offer your thoughts. You will be residing here, after all,” came his smooth reply.

Elizabeth peered out the window and then back at his shadowed face. If she couldn’t see him, she couldn’t read him and therefore wouldn’t know whether to trust him. But a far more dire situation than that was she didn’t trust herself.

“I would prefer we come back another time.”

Coward.

No, simply self-preservation.

“Really, Miss Smith, does the thought of being alone with me fill you with such fear? In any case, the groom needs to tend the horses. Come now,” he cajoled, “I promise I won’t bite.” His tone did nothing to reassure her. He sounded sensually sinister if two such words could be put together in that way.

Elizabeth collected herself, pushing back her shoulders and swallowing hard. No one could mistake his statement for anything less than the challenge it was. She could do this. She wasn’t so weak, so completely lacking in control.

But then, one could expect to resist only so much temptation and Lord Derek Creswell was undeniably temptation incarnate.

“Ten minutes.” That should be time enough to take a quick tour of the house but surely not time enough for anything grievously untoward to occur.

“As you wish.”

She could hear the smile in his voice and her apprehension mounted anew.

The first thing Elizabeth noticed upon entering the house was that they hadn’t been greeted by a servant; not a butler or a footman or even a housekeeper. The sound of silence echoed throughout the empty halls.

“Where are the servants?”

“I haven’t staffed the house as yet. I wanted your opinion of it as the sale is not yet final.”

Had he not just told her he’d already bought the house? The warning bells in her head held a discordant ring. In her logical mind she knew nothing would happen to her that she did not want. Unfortunately, her problem was she did want. She wanted so badly her desire for the viscount kept her up at night and had her touching herself under the covers in ways that the mere thought brought a rush of heat to her face. Mr. Richard Smith’s virginal daughter pleasuring herself. The notion was absurd!

“Perhaps, we should come back during the daylight and that way I can see it properly.”

“Come let us look at the rooms upstairs,” he said as if she hadn’t spoken. Placing his hand on the small of her back, he urged her toward the staircase.

Elizabeth looked up at him, her protest poised on the tip of her tongue when she saw the lust in his eyes. But that wasn’t what gave her pause; it was the glimmer of satisfaction in making her wary and nervous.

By God, he knew she wasn’t about to just let him have his way with her. Certainly not before they married. So what was his game?

“And is that where you hope to seduce me?” Her parents would be appalled had they heard her. She was astonished anything in that vein was able to pass her lips.

Lord Creswell didn’t respond until they reached the first door on the third floor.

No doubt a bed was on the other side of that door.

He turned to her. “If I may be frank, Miss Smith…Elizabeth.” He spoke her name, soft and low, and somehow her name on his lips sounded more intimate than a kiss. “I am a man who likes to leave nothing to chance. If I am to court and marry you in such unfashionable haste, I would like some assurance that you and I suit when it comes to the intimacies of the marriage bed.”

At his words, lust in its most pure form accosted her. Parts of her went soft while other parts became rigid, pinpoints of pleasure to come.

No. No. No. There would be no pleasure of any sort. Not for her and definitely none for the viscount.

“So you would like us to have marital relations outside the sanctity of marriage?” she asked in a voice she barely recognized.

“You’ve been so skittish of late. If I hadn’t already kissed you, I think you didn’t like to be touched. When I marry, it’ll be for life and I have no desire to saddle myself with a wife who cannot perform satisfactory in that area.” Lord Creswell turned, his back to her as he faced the chamber door. But on his face, she glimpsed the barest hint of smile.

So that was how he thought to get around marrying her. He thought she’d cry off, refusing to enter his philistine game of sampling the goods.

For several long seconds, Elizabeth said nothing, allowing him to believe she was grappling in indecision. His hand released its grasp on the handle of the door and he straightened as if ready to claim victory.

“Very well, if that’s what it will take to ease your mind—ease both our minds—let us proceed. But I must have your assurance that once we’ve established that we suit, um, in that way, we will immediately announce our betrothal and set a wedding date.”

Elizabeth took great satisfaction in watching Lord Creswell’s entire form stiffen and his hand still in mid-air. Slowly, he angled his head over his shoulder to regard her, incredulity flashed briefly in their blue-green depths. “You are in agreement?”

Feigning the stalwartness of that of a virgin about to be sacrificed for the good of God and country, Elizabeth gave a tremulous but firm nod.

“And if we do not suit, what then?”

Did his voice sound a mite strained?

“I have a feeling we shall suit very well.” She gave him a bright smile. “Shall we proceed, my lord?”