The Seduction

Chapter Seventeen

Rosewood was like an armed camp, the anger in the house palpable. Even the servants felt it. The dissension between the lord and his sister, Vanessa learned from the housekeeper, was reminiscent of the previous baron’s strife with his wife.

Vanessa did her best to ease the tension, but with Olivia locking herself in her room, and Damien disappearing on horseback for long periods at a time, she was at a loss to mend matters. Especially when she had unequivocally taken sides.

She did manage to question Olivia about her true feelings for Aubrey, which only made the girl bristle.

“I only want to be certain you are sure of your heart,” Vanessa said soothingly.

“I no longer want to punish him by tying him to a cripple, if that’s what concerns you,” Olivia retorted. “I once felt that way, I know, but I was hurt and angry then. And there is a greater likelihood now that my infirmity isn’t permanent.” Olivia hesitated. “Are you saying you think my wedding your brother would be a mistake?”

“No, not at all. I just believe that remaining single is preferable to an ill-advised marriage.” Vanessa gave a rueful smile. “Perhaps I’m not the best person to advise you in matters of the heart, considering how unsuccessful my own marriage was. But while I am no expert, I would think that if you truly loved him-”

“I do! I have always loved him. And he loves me.”

“Still, there are practical matters to consider. Our family, though well connected, has never been rich. Aubrey is often only a short jump ahead of his creditors. You’ve never had to endure financial difficulties, Olivia. If your brother does withhold your fortune because you defy his wishes, you may find it a rude shock. It won’t be easy to give up all this.” She gestured around the bedchamber.

“I don’t care,” Olivia said adamantly. “I’ve had this all my life, and I won’t miss it. I know better than most that wealth cannot buy happiness, or love, or a warm family, or a real home. Aubrey has told me about Fanny and Charlotte, and I want to have sisters like them, like you. I want to be part of your family. I want to be Aubrey’s wife, Vanessa.”

“Well, then,” Vanessa said with complete sincerity, “you shall.”

Satisfied the girl truly was in love, Vanessa refrained from voicing her other concerns. Damien could prevent the marriage simply by putting a bullet through Aubrey.

Even if he refrained from physical violence, he still possessed a powerful financial leverage. Olivia didn’t know the whole story about Aubrey’s utter indebtedness to her brother, Vanessa reflected, or about the bargain Damien had made with herself to redeem those debts in exchange for her becoming his mistress. The Rutherford estates might still be forfeit. If Damien wished, he could renege on his bargain and carry out his planned vengeance, claiming all of Aubrey’s possessions, including his family seat. Then Olivia would have no home at all.

Vanessa pressed her lips together as she tried to convince herself that her worry was groundless. Damien might be a wicked rake, but she didn’t believe he was dishonorable. As long as she performed satisfactorily as his mistress, then he was obliged to uphold their agreement.

It was almost a relief to learn Damien expected a party of friends the following evening, and that Cook had been given orders to prepare a sumptuous dinner. Perhaps, Vanessa hoped, the company might help to alleviate the dark mood. And if Damien was occupied with entertaining, he would have less opportunity to do her brother bodily harm.

Rising early the next morning, she found Damien at the breakfast table before he rode out for the day. When she questioned him about the identity of his guests, he responded with evident reluctance.

“They are fellow members of the Hellfire League. Regrettably, I couldn’t avoid the obligation. They’re on their way to a hunting box near here and mean to stop overnight. It’s just as well that Olivia is indisposed.”

He meant, Vanessa supposed, that he didn’t want his rakish friends near his innocent young sister.

“Do you wish me to attend dinner?” she asked.

“Only if you care to.”

“Is there a reason I shouldn’t?”

He raised a sardonic eyebrow. “I doubt you will find my dissolute friends to your taste.”

She responded in the same cool tone. “Possibly, but this could be an opportunity to test my progress under your excellent tutelage. And the acquaintance might prove beneficial to my new career. Your friends are precisely the sort of patrons I need to attract, are they not?”

Damien stared at her a long moment. Then he shrugged. “You must do as you wish. After dinner we will likely break out the cards, and we always play for high stakes. As you say, the experience could prove useful.”

Despite his feigned indifference, Damien intensely rued his friends’ intended visit. Ordinarily he greatly enjoyed the entertainment and camaraderie his Hellfire companions offered. In years past he’d been ripe for any diversion, no matter how outrageous or wild. Perhaps his idea of diversion had changed, but the amusements that had once held his interest now seemed shallow and tasteless.

His change of heart was due partly to a newfound sense of responsibility, which had emerged after Olivia’s accident. Naturally he didn’t want his young sister exposed to the likes of Lord Clune or the other rakehells who made up the association. Yet it was Vanessa, rather than Olivia, he felt the greater need to protect. Clune had already made several probing remarks regarding Vanessa’s availability. Introducing her to a gathering of libertines would only make her fair game for their propositions and advances.

Damien clenched his teeth. He had agreed to teach Vanessa how to attract a rich patron, but he was damned if he would support her scheme any longer.

His dark mood hadn’t improved by that afternoon when his friends arrived. Clune was in high spirits, however, laughing over a practical joke he’d played on Lord Lambton, who owned the hunting box that was their eventual destination.

“Lambton will be detained, I’m afraid,” Clune told Damien. “It seems he woke up naked in Hyde Park this morning after an evening of carousing. Somehow he was mysteriously transported there during the night, bed and all. Regrettably he caught a chill walking home with only a bedsheet to cover him. But I intend to act as host in his place.”

Of the eleven gentleman who accompanied Clune, all were well known to Damien except for one newcomer, an American cousin of the Earl of Wycliff. Nicholas Sabine reportedly ran a shipping empire in Virginia and was visiting England to finalize several lucrative trade agreements. Because of his noble familial connections, he’d been extended an invitation to join the Hellfire League.

“It’s generous of you to allow a stranger to impose on your hospitality, Lord Sinclair,” Sabine said when they were introduced.

“It is no imposition,” Damien returned easily. “And you can’t be considered a stranger if Jeremy vouches for you.”

“I do indeed vouch for him,” Clune drawled. “The chap’s a good enough sort, even if he is a Yank and in trade. His latest shipment of Jamaican rum is prime stock, I assure you.”

Sabine took no offense at the good-natured laughter that followed and, in fact, seemed to fit in well with the company. Tall, athletic, and fair-haired, he had the look of an adventurer, with the bronzed complexion of a seafarer and a dark-eyed gaze that suggested a keen intelligence.

He kept the lazy fire in those dark eyes banked throughout the early evening when the gentlemen gathered in the drawing room before dinner. But then the talk turned to the impressment of American sailors by the British Navy. From his pithy comments, it was clear the subject had struck a nerve in their American guest.

Damien was about to shift the discussion to less dangerous waters the very moment Vanessa chose to join them.

The conversation came to an abrupt halt as the gentlemen rose eagerly to their feet.

She wore a gown of ice-blue lutestring that Damien had purchased for her on their recent visit to London, one that showed her superb figure to advantage and accented her dark beauty. When he introduced Lady Wyndham around, he was acutely aware of the male glances of admiration and speculation she received.

Clime’s covetous looks in particular roused his ire, and it was all Damien could do to keep his expression impassive and his fists at his side.

The tension inside him remained high when they went into dinner. From the far end of the table he watched as Vanessa charmed the company. Apparently she was acquainted with several of the gentlemen from the days of her marriage, and she seemed to have no difficulty upholding her end of a lively conversation.

She showed a remarked interest in what the American Nicholas Sabine had to say-whether it was America or Sabine himself she found fascinating, Damien couldn’t tell. He recognized his own jealousy, however, and did his best to keep it under control.

Unfortunately his best proved sorely lacking. Each time Vanessa’s musical laughter drifted down to his end of the table, Damien felt his teeth clench. And each time she favored one of his guests with a soft, sensual smile, he cursed.

Bloody hell and damnation, that alluring smile was a feminine weapon he had taught her, and she was wielding it with deadly accuracy.

With effort Damien clamped down on the overwhelming urge to spirit her away, out of sight of his lustful friends, but the irony of the situation didn’t escape him. In grooming Vanessa to be the perfect mistress, he had succeeded beyond even his wildest expectations, and his success made him furious.

At the conclusion of dinner, when Lady Wyndham left the gentlemen to their port, they subtly quizzed Damien about her. Yet, contrarily, he refused to satisfy their curiosity about her situation, only repeating that she was acting as his sister’s companion. His guests didn’t linger long but joined her shortly in the drawing room. When Clune pressed for cards, the company made up two tables, one of piquet and one of whist.

Vanessa declined invitations to both games. “I fear the play will be too deep for me,” she demurred with a smile. “But I should be honored to watch.”

She observed the gaming for a while and retired at midnight, despite numerous pleas for her to stay. Damien was glad to see her leave. It had proved difficult with her present, his concentration divided between keeping an eye on her and playing the hands he was dealt.

While the hour grew later, the excellent wine and brandy flowed freely as the gamesters’ luck dried up. One by one, then, the players folded and went to bed, until at last Damien and Clune were the only ones remaining.

It was nearly three A.M., he noted with a glance at the ormolu clock on the mantel. After a few more moments of desultory conversation, Damien realized that Clune had a purpose for remaining behind, and that it concerned Vanessa.

“You were not very forthcoming about your sister’s companion, my friend, which merely served to pique the interest of every last one of us. I can only assume that was your intent-to make us all green with envy.”

“You assume incorrectly,” Damien replied, pouring another two fingers of brandy for his guest.

“I can understand your fascination with Lady Wyndham. That combination of beauty and wit is rare. She is dazzling. But it is hardly fair of you not to give us a sporting chance, Sin. Perhaps you wouldn’t be averse to a small wager.”

“A wager? What did you have in mind?”

“My team of matched grays against the chance to woo Lady Wyndham.”

Damien’s jaw hardened. “She is not my possession.”

“Perhaps not, but you have prior claim to her. I know better than to poach on your fancy piece without your express permission.”

A shaft of anger arrowed through Damien. “She is a lady, Clune, despite present circumstances.”

“Forgive me, your lady, then. I am prepared to raise the stakes, even though I know you’ll drive a hard bargain. Just name your terms.”

“You don’t seem to comprehend,” Damien said softly. “She is not for sale.”

“Every woman is for sale,” his noble guest replied cynically. “The only question is how high her price.”

When Damien made no reply, Clune continued. “Her talents must be remarkable if you’re so set on keeping her for yourself. What has it been, over two months? That must be a record for you. But I should think a man of your exacting tastes will eventually tire even of her.”

Damien stared down at the remaining brandy in his glass, seeing Vanessa’s beautiful eyes in the golden depths. He had begun to doubt he would ever tire of her.

His silence made the earl impatient. “Do I at least have your permission to pursue her once you end the connection?”

“No.”

“No?” Clune raised an eyebrow. “It is not like you to be possessive, Sin. Women are only transient diversions for you, a momentary pleasure. You’ve always been dead set against becoming enamored of your mistresses.”

Damien felt his mouth twist in self-mockery. “So I have.”

His friend studied him for a long moment, before letting out a low whistle. “Never tell me the elusive Lord Sin is finally smitten.”

Damien drained the brandy in his glass, feeling the fire burn his throat. “I won’t tell you, then. You cannot have Lady Wyndham because she is my sister’s companion.”

A grin of wicked amusement spread across Clune’s thin lips. “It seems to me there is more to this tale than you’re letting on. Are you certain you haven’t fallen for her and you simply refuse to admit it?”

Damien met his probing gaze levelly, but his sharp-eyed friend seemed to see straight through him.

Clune gave a chuckle of astonishment. “What a prime jest, the hardest heart among us the first to admit defeat.”

“Aren’t you leaping to conclusions?”

“Am I?” He grinned engagingly, with cheerful malice. “Deny it all you like, but I’ll not credit it.” Shaking his head then, he rose to his feet. “You’d best have a care, man, or you might find even a confirmed bachelor like yourself caught in the parson’s noose.”

He left Damien to his own thoughts, which were suddenly whirling in chaos. Parson’s noose. Marriage?

Until this moment he had never considered the possibility of marriage to Vanessa. Yet, frankly, it was a practical solution to the dilemma she presented…

It even offered advantages, chief of which was that she could remain at Rosewood as companion to his sister. The marriage need only be a formality, which would leave them both free to pursue their own lives.

His eyes shut briefly as he digested the enormity of what he was contemplating. Wedlock. It was better than the alternatives.

He was not about to give her up to the likes of Clune- or any other man, for that matter. The thought of her pleasuring someone else was intolerable. So was the prospect of her earning her living with her body.

Damien flinched. How could he have ever countenanced such a travesty? No, not merely countenanced. Actively encouraged.

The memory of Vanessa’s low voice in the garden flailed him. As an heiress, Olivia has choices I never had. He’d constricted her choices even further by forcing her to become his mistress. And then he’d made certain she developed the sensual skills to attract a wealthy patron so that he could be rid of her and his obsession.

Damien stared blindly down at his glass. Only recently had he begun to admit the depths of the disgrace he’d brought upon her. Shame was a rare experience for him, but he felt it now like a knife inside him. Shame and remorse. He had gravely wronged Vanessa. He’d brought her down to his level, sullied what was left of her good name…

Wedding her would be the surest way to repair her tarnished reputation. To protect her from libertines like Clune.

It would also, Damien reflected grimly, provide a fitting punishment for himself. For it would bind him to his obsession for all time.

He waited until his guests had left the following morning before going in search of Vanessa. He found her in the library, reading. She was curled up on the window seat, her legs tucked beneath her-a position she had adopted so often during their late-night trysts.

A sharp stab of regret twisted inside him. along with a deep sadness. In the past Vanessa would have looked up and smiled. How he missed her smile. Now there was only bitter anger between them.

It was the anger he regretted most. That and losing her friendship. The sweetness was gone; he had deliberately driven it away.

From the doorway Damien watched another moment, his gaze tracing her lovely profile, the delicate curve of her cheek. A strange mix of desire and tenderness filled him, edged sharply by nervousness…

He clenched his jaw at the irony. His Hellfire colleagues would laugh uproariously to see the wicked Lord Sin with trembling knees. But this situation was completely alien to him. In his long and licentious career, he had put propositions to numerous women, but never had he contemplated any step this serious.

As if sensing his presence, Vanessa looked up from her book. “Did you want me for something?”

Yes, he thought. I want you, more than I’ve ever wanted any woman.

Slowly Damien entered the room. Halting a short distance from her, he cleared his throat. “I have a proposal to put to you.”

“Yes?”

His cravat felt too tight. He walked over to the mantel and gazed down at the empty hearth. “A proposal… literally. I would like to make you a formal offer of marriage.”

The silence that followed was total.

When he realized she didn’t mean to answer, Damien glanced over his shoulder. Vanessa had gone pale.

“Why?” she finally murmured.

This was not the reaction he’d expected or hoped for. She looked stunned… and wary.

“Why?” he repeated absently.

“Why would you offer me marriage when your planned revenge is proceeding so smoothly?”

Because it isn’t proceeding smoothly at all. “Because it is a logical solution to your current difficulty. You desire a wealthy patron, and I am wealthy enough to fill the position.”

Her eyes were as dark as a moonlit ocean, but far more troubled. “I married for wealth once, and it proved a disaster.”

“I hardly think the situation is comparable.”

“No, I suppose not.” Distractedly she set down her book. “I understand the financial advantages our marriage would provide me, but that doesn’t explain why you would wish to wed.”

“Call it a crisis of conscience.”

“I’m not sure what you mean.”

“I was wrong to insist you become my mistress. This is a way for me to make amends.”

“You mean to withdraw from our agreement? To claim the family estates my brother lost to you?”

“No, that is not what I mean,” Damien returned with an edge of impatience. His heart twisted at the knowledge she could think him capable of being that underhanded. Moreover, he had earned her distrust. “You’ve fulfilled our bargain more than adequately.”

“Then why do you feel you must make amends?”

“I’ve come to realize how untenable the situation is that I’ve put you in. Truthfully, it disturbs me to think I initiated your foray into prostitution. In reparation I’m prepared to offer you the protection of my name and fortune.”

She studied him for a long moment. “You are proposing to me because of guilt? I won’t fetter you to me out of guilt, Damien.”

His mouth curved in a humorless smile. “Guilt is as good a reason to wed as any.”

Her dark eyes remained steady. “For me, it isn’t.” She took a deep breath. “In circumstances such as these, my lord, I believe the proper etiquette is to express gratitude. So I will. I am honored and flattered by your generous offer, but I must politely decline.”

Damien was glad he was so skilled at shielding his expressions, for it allowed him to conceal the turmoil he felt. “Am I allowed an explanation for your refusal?”

“A marriage between us would never work.”

“I try not to be more than normally obtuse, but I fail to understand why it wouldn’t.”

“You don’t love me,” she said simply.

“Love?” His frown was cynical. “What does love have to say to the matter?”

“I’ve vowed never to endure another loveless marriage.”

His features softened a measure. “I would never treat you as your boor of a husband treated you.”

“Perhaps you wouldn’t consciously intend to. But you may not be able to help yourself. You would never be happy having to honor your marriage vows, and I would be miserable with anything less.”

He stared at her. “You are asking for fidelity.”

“I suppose I am.”

When he didn’t reply, Vanessa gazed at him sadly. Damien was a born rake, a restless soul who had no use for love. He wanted her body for the moment. Yet once his desire for her faded, he would doubtless revert to form and cause her the same misery her late husband had. She couldn’t bear loving Damien so desperately and enduring his betrayal.

“We are not at all compatible,” she added quietly. “The life you lead… isn’t the sort of life I would ever willingly choose again. I’ve had enough of scandal and debauchery.”

“If you embark on a career as a Cyprian, you will likely find both.”

“Perhaps. But at least it will be on my own terms. As your wife I would have few rights. Legally I would be little more than your possession. Becoming a Cyprian is still preferable to enduring a wretched marriage.”

“And you’re certain ours would be wretched?”

“For me, it would be.” She saw a muscle flex in his jaw, and she spread her hands in a gesture of conciliation. “We have nothing in common, Damien.”

“I would say we have a great deal in common.” He moved toward her purposefully. “Passion, for one.”

Taking her hands, he drew her to her feet and pulled her close against his body. The brief kiss he gave her to demonstrate his point was shattering and left her breathless with longing.

“You cannot claim,” Damien asserted, his voice low with determination, “that we are physically incompatible. Your body would refute you.”

Vanessa bit her lip, knowing he was aware of her flushed skin, her rapid heartbeat, her nipples peaked with desire.

“You arouse my body, I can’t deny that. But marriage should mean something more than the gratification of physical desire. It should mean love and caring and commitment. Building a home and family. You don’t want a family, any more than you want a wife. I would want children some day, Damien. You clearly don’t.”

He stiffened. “I doubt I am capable of being much of a father-look at my record with my sister. But I admit I have a duty to carry on the title. I would have no objection to producing an heir at some future point.”

“I would never bring a child into your world,” she replied, her voice low, bleak.

For the first time Damien showed a hint of anger. “Perhaps I should have chosen a more romantic setting. You might have found my proposal more amenable had I plied you with roses and moonlight.”

“Roses and moonlight could not induce me to marry you.” When his jaw clenched, Vanessa shook her head. “Come now, you don’t truly want to wed me. I mean nothing to you.”

His eyes darkened, something subtle and dangerous moving in the gray depths. “I could seriously debate that point.” He captured her hand and pressed her palm against his groin, letting her feel his hardness. “Is this the mark of a man’s indifference?”

Vanessa lifted her chin at his attempt to intimidate her. “It is the mark of a man with oversized sexual appetites- and I have no doubt there are countless women eager to satisfy them.”

“There seem to be any number of men eager to satisfy yours,” Damien retorted as she withdrew from his embrace. “Clune offered to wager me for your sexual services, were you aware?”

“And did you?”

“No.”

“I confess myself astonished. A gamester like yourself is always primed for a wager.”

He gave her a stony stare, his eyes hot and bright as molten silver. “I won’t countenance your giving your body to the likes of Clune.”

Vanessa returned his gaze defiantly, until another thought dawned on her. “You cannot possibly be jealous of your friend? Is that what this proposal is about? He’s offended your sense of ownership?”

For the first time she saw vulnerability in Damien’s shuttered face. Vanessa inhaled a steadying breath. “You may rest assured, I have no desire to have Lord Clune for a lover or protector. Or any of your other friends, for that matter. And most certainly you may ease your conscience. You are not responsible for my actions, or my welfare. There is no need for you to feel the least guilty.”

“It isn’t that simple,” Damien returned through gritted teeth.

“No?” Vanessa paused, her own ire softening. “If my refusal angers you, it’s only because you’ve always been accustomed to having your own way. But some day you will count yourself fortunate to have escaped my clutches.”

For the second time in several days, she turned and walked away from him, this time leaving him alone in the quiet chamber.

With a curse, Damien flung himself into a chair. He was indeed jealous, but jealousy wasn’t the only primal emotion he felt for Vanessa.

Damn her, why did he feel this fever, this desperate hunger only with her?

Damien swore again. He had meant only to seduce her, not cherish and desire her. The devil of it was, he was the one who had been seduced. She had crept beneath his defenses, even as he’d tried to shatter hers. He wanted her until he ached with it.

But wanting her, it seemed, was not enough. For her… or for himself.