The Seduction

Chapter Eleven

He was gone when she woke, leaving her with memories of dark passion, spent and rekindled again and again. His ardent desire renewing her inner struggle, Vanessa passed the following days desperately fighting the emotions Damien had unleashed in her.

She thought she would be glad for his absence, yet that was before she persuaded Olivia to accompany her to church the following Sunday morning. Without Damien’s noble consequence to shield her, Vanessa was given a chill reception by the genteel society present.

Apparently she had made an enemy of Lady Foxmoor. The woman spent the entire service whispering behind her prayer book and casting superior glances in Vanessa’s direction. Afterward only a handful of people troubled themselves to make her acquaintance. The rest pointedly ignored her.

She should have expected as much, Vanessa realized- for failing to offer proper deference and humility in her role as lady’s companion, for elevating herself to the level of family member, and for daring even to hold a post in Baron Sinclair’s household where she might work her wiles on him.

Accustomed to scandal from the days of her marriage, Vanessa was more angry on Olivia’s behalf than her own. The girl bore the snubs with trembling grace, hiding her distress well, but she fell into a morose mood as soon as she was seated in the carriage.

When Vanessa tried to draw her out, Olivia responded with despair. “I told you it was hopeless. My life is ruined! My reputation has suffered irreparably.”

Realizing Olivia mistakenly thought the disapproval directed at herself, Vanessa started to explain that she was the one their highbrowed neighbors objected to, but the girl had worked herself into a fret and wasn’t listening.

“If my brother were here, they would not have dared look down their arrogant noses at me-which is the height of hypocrisy, considering Damien’s libertine propensities.” Seeing Vanessa’s troubled expression, Olivia added, “I am not a child, nor am I blind. I’m well aware of my brother’s reputation as a rake. My father was even worse, much worse. Why is it,” she demanded bitterly, “that society can forgive a man any number of peccadilloes, but if a female dares a single misstep, she is ruined for life? It isn’t fair!”

Vanessa had often wondered the same thing. But there was no use arguing that in a man’s world, a woman simply had to make the best of her lot-especially since Olivia was in no mood to be consoled, then or later.

That afternoon when Vanessa tried to persuade her to attend her bath, Olivia replied with petulance, “What is the use? Nothing we have tried has made the least difference to my condition. I shall never walk again.”

“You can’t be certain of that,” Vanessa reminded her gently. “It is still far too early to tell if the damage to your spine is permanent. The doctor said it might be months before you could expect to regain any feeling in your limbs.”

“He also said I might never recover. If so, then I can never marry, never have children.”

“Perhaps bearing children would be difficult, but marriage would certainly not be out of the question.”

“You think not?” the angry young woman retorted. “With my reputation so tarnished, I can never make an eligible match.”

Vanessa shook her head. “In that you are mistaken. From what I gather, you are a considerable heiress. Reputation or no, a lady with wealth and rank will always have choices. You can still wed if you wish.”

“What man would want to be tied to a cripple? Your brother would not.” Her mouth trembled, then hardened. “It would serve him right if he were forced to suffer for his cruelty, as I have done. He got off lightly under the circumstances. My brother wanted to kill him, but I made Damien swear he wouldn’t. Lord Rutherford is fortunate to have escaped with his life.”

Vanessa agreed, but she refrained from divulging that Damien had still managed to exact a revenge. Though he hadn’t killed Aubrey, he had ruined him financially at the gaming tables and put his family at risk of destitution.

“If I am to be ostracized for my folly,” Olivia added fiercely, “it is only fitting that knave shares in my misery. At the very least, he should be required to bear me company as long as I remain a cripple.” She nodded grimly as she evidently came to a decision. “Is your brother still in the district?”

“I really don’t know,” Vanessa replied, surprised and wary. “He told me he would remain until he found a way to speak to you, but after your encounter the other day, he might have returned home.”

The girl’s chin rose stubbornly. “If he is still here, I should like you to find him and give him a message, Vanessa, inviting him to call on me here at Rosewood.”

“Olivia…”Vanessa began earnestly. “You can’t imagine Damien would countenance such a thing.”

“Damien doesn’t have to know. Lord Rutherford can come in disguise, and if you are there to act as chaperon, his presence will raise no alarm among the servants.”

“Still… would it be wise? Revenge is never as satisfying as it is made out to be. Seeing Aubrey again will only prove a torment to you.”

“Perhaps so, but if he is telling the truth, it will prove a greater torment to him. If he truly feels remorse as he claims, then he can wallow in his guilt. Seeing me in that hateful chair should remind him of the consequence of his heartlessness.”

“Olivia…”

“Please, Vanessa, do not try to change my mind. If you won’t summon him for me, then I shall drive into the village in search of him myself, and then the fat will really be in the fire!”

As the curtain rose, a chorus of appreciative masculine applause greeted the tableau upon the stage. Lounging in a chair amid the audience, Damien plucked at the ruffle of his sleeve to hide his boredom.

Clune had arranged an entertainment for the benefit of his guests, all male. On stage, three nubile beauties engaged in a writhing dance upon a huge bed, their naked bodies undulating, their limbs contorting in fanciful positions, while a half-dozen other lovelies posed in diaphanous costumes that left nothing to the imagination. Their lips and nipples and feminine clefts were rouged to make them appear more luscious and inviting, but Damien remained strangely unaroused.

Once such delights would have cured him, at least temporarily, of his ennui. In years past he had enjoyed Clune’s house parties; indeed, he’d often led the revelry. Yet he had attended this affair for one reason only. To escape Vanessa Wyndham.

It was said the best way for a man to banish a particular woman from his thoughts was to lose himself in the pouting lips and welcoming thighs of another.

Damien narrowed his gaze, trying to banish the memory of that last night with Vanessa… the dark luster of her eyes as she took him to heaven and back.

What the devil was wrong with him?

Always before, whenever he felt dissatisfied with his life, he had sought out some fresh diversion or excitement, some new lover who could satisfy his sophisticated tastes. His wild pursuit of sexual gratification in the glittering ballrooms and bedrooms of Europe was calculated to provide relief from his restlessness.

He’d never had difficulty finding willing partners. He had discovered that most women, be they noble or common, married or sweetly virginal, were his for the taking. Sex was a fine art to him. He never allowed his emotions to become involved.

Except with Vanessa.

He tensed, still feeling the thrust of her soft hips against his loins. Making love to her that last time had been unique, shattering. Never before had he been so lost in a woman…

God’s blood, his infatuation had gone on long enough. But how the hell was he going to end it?

A shout of ribald male laughter brought him back to the present, making him conscious of the lewd entertainment before him. The profound, familiar restlessness seized Damien, and his mouth turned down in distaste.

Perhaps he was as dissipated and jaded as Vanessa thought him. By choice he was a devoted pleasure seeker, not an unusual pastime for an idle, rich nobleman. Admittedly, he was a profligate man. But these prurient amusements were becoming less and less appealing.

His dissatisfaction must have shown on his face, for a moment later his host, Jeremy North, Lord Clune, sat down beside him.

“You don’t appear to be enjoying the entertainment, my friend.”

“On the contrary,” Damien lied. “I’m fascinated by the slender redhead with the beauty mark on her thigh.”

Clune’s mouth curved in amusement. “You show excellent taste, as usual. She is imported from France-the daughter of an aristocrat fallen on hard times during their hideous revolution. Speaks only a few words of English, but her talents are amazing.”

Damien feigned a smile. “High praise, coming from a man dedicated to debauchery.”

“Indeed. What is this I hear about the new beauty you have in your keeping?” Clune asked.

“Beauty?”

“A widow, I’m given to understand. Rumor is that you’ve actually ensconced her at your own estate. A bold move, even for you. Do you mean to share her with your friends, or will you selfishly keep her all to yourself?”

Damien exhaled a slow breath, troubled by the mistaken conjecture that Vanessa was in the same category as his usual mistresses. Just as troubling was the shaft of fierce jealousy he felt at the thought of sharing Vanessa with other men. Jealousy was a foreign notion to him-or it had been, until her.

“I fear your assumption is off the mark, Chine,” he said casually. “The lady is employed as my sister’s chaperon, nothing more.”

Clune looked somewhat skeptical but didn’t challenge the lie. Instead he lifted a hand and beckoned to the red-haired dancer upon the stage.

Damien surveyed her as she floated down the stairs to stand before him. Her eyes were huge but glazed. No doubt she was drugged with an opiate to make her task of welcoming the wicked perversions of a dozen gentlemen more palatable.

Damien frowned, realizing she was younger than he had first assumed. “Have you sunk to robbing the cradle, Jeremy?” he queried with a raised eyebrow.

His friend shrugged. “She is eighteen, or so she says. I’m not taking unfair advantage, I assure you. She is being well paid for her efforts, enough to keep her in comfort for a year. And if I hadn’t found her, someone else would have.”

Eighteen was his own sister’s age, Damien realized grimly as the girl settled on his lap with a dreamlike smile.

When she parted the diaphanous robe and lifted her peaked nipples to his mouth, his host politely rose. “I shall leave you to your pleasures then.”

The beauty rubbed the taut buds teasingly against Damien’s mouth. She tasted sweetly of wine, yet rather than becoming aroused, he had to steel himself against a strange and sudden aversion.

Instead of showing his distaste, though, or denouncing Clune for being a less than satisfactory host, Damien came to an abrupt decision and lifted the girl in his arms. Leaving the entertainment behind, he carried her upstairs to his bedchamber.

She was half-asleep even before he laid her on the bed, yet she roused herself to give him a confused look when he covered her near nakedness with a quilt and stepped back.

His Hellfire colleagues would be astounded to see him rejecting such beauty, but he had discovered new limits to his debauchery. He couldn’t take advantage of this girl. Instead, when he left, he would send her to London and order his secretary to see what could be done to find her a different sort of employment.

“Go to sleep, sweetheart,” Damien murmured, keenly aware of the irony of his action: Lord Sin made an unlikely savior of feminine virtue.

He turned away, realizing another unsavory truth. Before his sister’s accident, he would never have been so concerned with the fate of a young girl.

The afternoon air smelled of summer roses but was fraught with tension. With grave misgivings Vanessa watched her brother’s approach along the garden path. She felt like the veriest traitor. She had agreed to act as chaperon for Olivia, yet she wondered if she was making a grievous mistake.

From the bottom of her heart she wanted only what was best for the girl. But even revenge, however ugly its beginnings, might not be such a bad thing if it gave Olivia a purpose in life, if it made her keep fighting rather than giving up in despair.

Praying she wasn’t in error, Vanessa held her breath as Aubrey came to a halt in front of the invalid. Olivia sat cool as marble in her chair, her blue eyes unreadable. Only Vanessa knew how much of her indifference was pretense.

The former lovers stared at each other for a long moment, before Aubrey went down on one knee and whispered Olivia’s name.

Vanessa averted her gaze from the anguished emotion on his face, feeling suddenly superfluous in the rose-scented garden.

Aubrey came several more times that week, blending well into the garden landscape, like any scholar there to study the famous roses. Olivia showed no signs of relenting in her desire for retribution, though, and whatever conversation took place between them was mostly one-sided. She was the ice princess, Aubrey a meek supplicant for her favors. Yet he seemed to accept her coldness as fitting punishment, much like wearing a hair shirt-an uncharacteristic humbleness that shocked Vanessa more than a little.

On his second visit he brought a volume of poetry, which he read aloud. Only by the faraway look in her eyes did Olivia give any indication she was even listening.

Vanessa felt highly uncomfortable with the state of affairs, and with her role in arranging their clandestine visits. She shuddered to think how Damien would react. He would be furious, perhaps enough to call Aubrey out. And he would despise her, as well, for aiding in the deception.

She seriously debated whether to tell him, but that would mean betraying Olivia’s confidence. Too, it would end any possibility Aubrey had of earning the girl’s forgiveness. And when Damien did return to Rosewood at midweek, any semblance of rational thought fled the moment Vanessa saw him.

She was in the music room, attempting to learn a difficult piece on the pianoforte, when he suddenly appeared in the doorway. Vanessa looked up, her gaze colliding with his.

Yearning sprang up in her instantly, and she had to struggle to maintain an appearance of composure.

“I thought you were my sister,” Damien said calmly, giving no sign that he had missed her in the least during his nearly weeklong absence.

“Olivia is in her room reading, I believe,” she replied, adapting his same coolness of manner.

“I trust everything is well with her?”

Vanessa hesitated, but then let the opportunity pass to divulge the truth about her brother’s secret visits. It was better, she hoped, to let Olivia resolve her problems in her own way. “She’s well enough.”

“I’ll go directly to see her.” Damien started to turn away but then paused. “Shall we leave at nine following dinner, then?”

“Leave?”

“The Foxmoor ball is this evening, or had you forgotten?”

“No, but I’m not certain it would be wise for me to attend.” Briefly Vanessa told him about the chill reception she’d received at church from his genteel neighbors.

A muscle hardened in his jaw. “All the more reason to go. It is never judicious to allow your actions to be dictated by others, most especially by a pack of prudish social wolves.”

Vanessa looked down at the piano keys. “It is all well and good for a nobleman of wealth and consequence to flout convention, but a lady of limited means has fewer resources to help her weather censure.”

“I would never have thought you craven, angel.” When she glanced up, Damien smiled almost tauntingly. “You yourself told my sister not to cower under the covers. Is that not what you are doing?”

“Perhaps so,” Vanessa replied, stiffening her spine.

Damien was right, she reflected when she was alone. She was as guilty as Olivia of hiding from society, and that certainly was not the example she wanted to set for the girl. She might not relish the prospect of being paraded on Damien’s arm in front of his neighbors, yet she shouldn’t allow herself to be intimidated.

And it would do her good to get about more. She had once enjoyed balls. She might even make a few acquaintances tonight, which would be a welcome change after the solitude of Rosewood. Damien had been right about that as well. She could understand now why he felt so restless here.

That evening Vanessa took more care than usual as she dressed for the ball with the help of Olivia’s maids. Despite her diffidence, she began to take heart when she saw the finished result in the cheval glass.

Damien was alone when she joined him in the drawing room before dinner. He looked utterly magnificent in form-fitting black cutaway coat and white satin breeches. His thick raven hair was a startling contrast to the stark white of his linen cravat, while the gold threads in his white brocade waistcoat matched the gold of her gown.

His expression remained enigmatic, however, when his gray gaze swept over the bronzed and gold confection she wore.

At least Olivia’s reaction, when she entered the drawing room just then, was far more approving. She gasped.

“Oh, Vanessa, you are beautiful! I knew the gold would be perfect for you. Is she not beautiful, Damien?”

“Exquisite,” he said softly, the caressing word absurdly making her heart leap.

It was his only display of intimacy. Vanessa was obliged to Olivia for providing the bulk of the conversation at dinner. Damien seemed distant, showing her none of the intimate charm that in the past had so effortlessly delighted and enchanted her.

He told his sister about his recent journey, claiming to have been occupied by mundane business affairs, although he made no mention of the Hellfire League or the gathering he had planned to attend. But then, the sort of debauchery he had doubtless enjoyed at Lord Clune’s was not a fit subject for a lady of Olivia’s tender years.

He spoke little after he handed Vanessa into the carriage. They rode to the ball in silence, which only heightened her riveting awareness of him. It was all she could do to disguise her longing, yet she was determined to maintain the same cold civility he offered her.

It was wiser to distance herself from him, she knew, before she developed an unbearable dependence on him. She had to remember theirs was merely a business relationship, to be kept on a strictly carnal level.

When they arrived at their destination, there was a short wait as carriages lined up before the entrance, and a longer one before they were greeted in a receiving line by Sir Charles and Lady Foxmoor and their daughter Emily. Lady Foxmoor hid her enmity toward Vanessa and fairly gushed over Lord Sinclair, who bore her toadying with good grace.

The ball was evidently a success, for the drawing room was filled with animated guests and the harmonic strains of music. Vanessa felt tension forming in her stomach, but she was determined to take her own advice: the best way to foil the gossipmongers was to hold her head high and ignore their disapproval. She’d had abundant practice, certainly, during her marriage to her scandal-seeking husband.

From the beginning, however, Damien made it apparent that he didn’t intend to leave her to the wolves. He stayed by her side for the initial half-hour, seeing that she was introduced to any number of people. And he insisted on leading her out for the first dance.

“You needn’t put yourself out on my behalf,” Vanessa murmured as he took her hand.

He smiled slowly into her eyes. “It is no hardship, dancing with the loveliest woman at the ball.”

His pointed interest in her was for the benefit of the other guests, she suspected. Despite her position as a paid servant, they would not dare snub her if she enjoyed Baron Sinclair’s support.

Her heart began to race as she stared up at Damien. He was sensual, vital, with a lethal charm that made him irresistible. Even if his attentiveness was a pretense, she couldn’t deny its powerful effect.

His strategy yielded the intended result. Although the ladies generally maintained a cool distance, Vanessa was soon surrounded by a virtual army of gentlemen, both young and old, begging to be introduced and requesting to fill her dance card. Determined to enjoy the evening, she allowed herself to be swept away.

She lost sight of Damien after that. Some time later when she paused between sets for a glass of ratafia, she let her gaze surreptitiously search for him. When she spied him across the room, his eyes briefly, hotly connected with hers. Vanessa felt the familiar sensual thrill ripple through her. Then her partner claimed her attention, and she had to turn away with a feigned smile.

Not everyone at the ball was a stranger to her. She had a nodding acquaintance with several ladies from her years in London, and one in particular she knew well. Lettice Perine had made her come-out the same Season as Vanessa, had married within a few months of her, and was widowed the same year.

Vanessa was heartened halfway through the evening to see Lettice approach her with a friendly smile.

“Darling, it has been ages,” Lettice exclaimed as they pressed cheeks in greeting. “I needn’t ask how you are doing. It’s obvious you are a great success. I couldn’t get near you for the crowd.”

Vanessa sidestepped the remark and surveyed her friend, who was blazing in diamonds. “You are looking very well, Lettice. But I never expected to find you in Warwickshire. Do you live nearby?”

“We are merely visiting. Robert has a daughter here.”

“Robert?”

“My new husband. I married again, did you not hear?” With a nod of her head, she gestured toward a portly, elderly gentleman standing near the punch bowl, and smiled fondly. “I am plain Mrs. Bevers now. Robert is a cit who made his fortune in trade. He isn’t the most exciting or passionate lover, I fear, but I couldn’t ask for more congenial companionship. I am surprisingly happy, Vanessa. Robert is a dear, and he’s very good to me, even if we do live on the fringes of society.”

She held up her hand to show off her diamond rings and bracelet. “After Percy’s death I discovered myself nearly destitute. You suffered the same fate, I understand, poor darling. But you have come up in the world, I see.”

Vanessa raised a polite eyebrow.

“The gentlemen are all wild for you, I notice. No doubt they think you exceptional to hold the interest of the infamous Lord Sin. What is your secret, darling?”

“I have no secret, Lettice. I am here as companion to Lord Sinclair’s sister.”

Lettice gave her an arch look. “Of course. Well, companion or no, half the ladies here are green with envy. That’s why you are being given the cold shoulder. But I’ll wager most of them would offer their eyeteeth to have such a magnificent man in their bed.”

Vanessa felt herself stiffen at the casual assumption she was sharing Damien’s bed, although she managed to hide her dismay behind a bland expression. When she remained at a loss for words, her friend’s gaze strayed to the far end of the room, where Damien was surrounded by a group of fawning ladies.

“I don’t blame you in the least for setting your cap at him, Vanessa. What woman could resist him-a renowned rake who is sinfully handsome, outrageously charming, and devilishly rich? But you chose the most challenging bachelor in England. He has eluded countless lures, you know.”

Vanessa forced a wry smile. “So I hear.”

“You would be wise not to become too enamored of him. Lady Varley made an utter fool of herself last year, pursuing Sinclair after he had ended their liaison.” Lettice leaned forward and lowered her voice. “Take my advice, darling. When he tires of you, as he is sure to do, find yourself a wealthy patron with the wherewithal to keep you in jewels and gowns for life. Better yet, find an elderly gentleman and drive him besotted, then persuade him to wed you. If you are fortunate, he will make an amiable companion, one you might even come to love. If not, well, you will probably outlive him by many years.”

“I am not interested in marrying again, I assure you,” Vanessa replied with conviction, ignoring her friend’s other advice.

She was sorry when Lettice shortly begged her leave and went to seek out another acquaintance. She had enjoyed seeing a familiar face among strangers, and she was pleased that her friend had found happiness in such unlikely circumstances.

Yet the conversation had disturbed her. If Lettice assumed she and Damien were lovers, no doubt others had, as well. It seemed obvious now that that was a better explanation for the cold reception she’d been given than her lowered status as a mere servant. Her attempt to hide their relationship behind the respectable post of companion had failed. Lord Sin was simply too notorious a figure to support so frail a pretense.

It also was becoming clear she wasn’t likely to escape the relationship without being branded as a wanton.

Suddenly warm in the heat of the ballroom and needing a respite from the crowd, Vanessa slipped through the open French doors, out onto the terrace. The summer night air was cool on her flushed skin, the scene peaceful, with the moon a huge, brilliant disk bathing the landscape below. Yet even the beauty couldn’t calm the turmoil of her thoughts.

Her reputation would perhaps be in tatters by the time her term as Damien’s mistress ended. Even so, Vanessa thought defiantly, she would have made the same decision again. Being ostracized by society was not too high a price to pay for her sisters’ sake.

But she still had the difficult question of their future to resolve. She bit her lip. Perhaps when her association with Damien concluded at summer’s end, she should indeed consider seeking an arrangement like the one Lettice suggested.

Such dreams as love were probably beyond her reach. And she would never remarry and put herself at the mercy of a philandering husband. Yet it might be possible to achieve a comfortable relationship of sorts, one based on companionship and mutual attachment.

Vanessa had only a few moments for contemplation before the scrape of footsteps behind her warned her that she was not alone. She turned to see a gentleman weaving toward her-the elder son of a local squire whose name she couldn’t recall. He was more than a little foxed, it seemed. When he reached her side, he favored her with a leering grin and leaned heavily against the stone rail of the balcony.

“Ah, m’lady,” he said, slurring his words. ““Tis my good fortune to find you alone.”

“I was about to return to the ballroom,” Vanessa replied, not eager to encourage familiarity.

“Pray don’t go.” He placed a restraining hand on her arm. “Since Lord Sin has abandoned you, I will be delighted to take his place. What do you say that I prove how agreeable I can be?”

“I doubt you wish to hear what I would say, sir,” she said acerbically.

When he flung a heavy arm over her shoulder, she was not alarmed as much as angered. But when he groped her breast beneath the satin decolletage, Vanessa recoiled.

He refused to let her go, even when she tried to twist out of his embrace. With a muttered oath, he tightened his hold on her arm, surprising a cry of pain from her.

Then suddenly Damien was there, yanking her assailant away and hauling him up short by the cravat.

“I suggest you offer the lady an apology at once, Henry,” Damien ordered coldly, his grip tightening.

Giving a choking sound, the young man nodded. When Damien released him, he staggered back, clutching his throat and breathing harshly as he stammered out an apology.

“Now you may take yourself home. No, the stables are that way,” Damien added, indicating the stone steps leading down from the terrace.

When Henry had stumbled away into the night, Damien turned to Vanessa, who stood rubbing her arm where her inebriated assailant’s grasp had bruised it.

“Are you all right?”

She fixed her gaze on him, shock still flowing through her. Her late husband might have dragged her through any number of scandals, but until tonight no man had ever treated her so disrespectfully. Because of Damien, she was now vulnerable to any number of indignities.

Her resentment flared. He must have known when he made her his mistress that her reputation would not survive. Indeed, that no doubt had been his goal in the first place.

“All right? But, of course! I am quite accustomed to defending myself against physical assaults. I’m overjoyed to have been made a byword, a target for any drunken fool who chooses to accost me.” If her accusation held any injustice, she was too angry to acknowledge it.

“Would you like to go now?” Damien asked quietly.

“Certainly I would, but I shall endure the rest of the evening. To leave now would be to admit defeat, and I am not craven.”

Her chin lifting, Vanessa swept past him through the doors to the ballroom, ignoring the questioning glances of several guests who had gathered to watch the spectacle.

She spent the next hours pretending she was not at the center of a brewing scandal. By the time Damien ordered the carriage, however, she had regained at least a semblance of composure and managed to feign an attitude of cool disdain.

Neither of them spoke much on the journey home.

“I was wrong to insist you come here tonight with me,” Damien said at last, breaking the brittle silence.

“It was a mistake,” Vanessa agreed coolly. “My presence only lent credence to the notion that we are lovers.”

“I’m sorry you were subjected to such boorish treatment.”

“Are you? I would have thought you’d be pleased. Isn’t this precisely the retribution you wanted? My ruination for your sister’s?”

Damien hardened his jaw, feeling a sharp stab of guilt. He had cared nothing about Vanessa’s reputation, at least in the beginning. But that was a long time ago. Now he could only regret the insults she would doubtless suffer because of him.

If he had any nobility, he would set Vanessa free of her obligation to him. But he couldn’t bring himself to be so noble, not yet.

“The damage is not irreparable, at least,” he observed.

“Is it not? And how do you recommend we repair it? I cannot see the situation changing for the rest of the summer, and then it can only grow worse. I’m under your protection now, but the instant I leave here, I will be known as one of your cast-off lovers.”

“Not if you are the one to break off the relationship. In fact, it will lend you a certain cachet to have spurned me. When our association has ended, I shall put it about that I fell out of your favor.”

Vanessa bit back a retort, knowing no one would believe that unlikely version of events. “I suppose I should be grateful for that small consideration,” she said finally, her tone more caustic than she intended.

His gray gaze held hers. “You are free to walk away now, if you choose.”

“And my mother and sisters will suffer for it,” Vanessa replied bitterly. “Thank you, my lord, but I shall fulfill the terms of our bargain to the letter.”