A Lady's Lesson in Seduction. Barbara Monajem

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СКАЧАТЬ style="font-size:15px;">      ‘I didn’t mind,’ she protested, instantly contrite. ‘It’s just the kind of thing my brothers would have delighted in.’ She didn’t wish to do away with his smile—merely its effect on her.

      Once she’d gotten over the shock of Timothy’s death, all she’d felt was relief. But she couldn’t say so, nor could she tell people that she’d hated marital relations. That she’d cried herself to sleep when Timothy had turned from her in scorn, saying she was a bore in bed, and had gone to some doxy instead.

      Judging by gossip, other women enjoyed carnal relations very much. That made Frances feel even more of a failure, but she knew better than to inflict her cold, tedious self on another man. She would never take a lover, never remarry, and that was that.

      Lord Warbury’s warm voice assailed her again. ‘We have no idea how the family managed to lose the first part of its motto. The second half is found frequently indoors as well as over all exterior doors and on the turret, so we assume the loss predates the house, which is Elizabethan.’ He took her arm and escorted her through the doorway into a vast hall. ‘I trust your journey went well?’

      She stepped away from him, smoothing her skirts as an excuse. She summoned the vague smile she used to keep her distance from gentlemen as a whole and attractive ones in particular, and murmured, ‘Yes, thank you, my lord.’

      Almeria launched into excited speech. ‘Lord Warbury, how kind of you to invite us!’ She gazed rapturously up at him. ‘We’ve been in an agony of excitement for weeks.’ She batted her eyelashes. ‘What a magnificent estate you have.’

      With difficulty, Frances refrained from rolling her eyes. Almeria was only eighteen, so no better could be expected of her. How an experienced gentleman like Lord Warbury could find such youthful silliness appealing, she had no idea. However, if it meant he would turn his attractive smiles on Almeria and leave Frances be, she would muddle through the next fortnight reasonably well.

      She couldn’t avoid him entirely, though. She had a duty to assess his reaction to Almeria, so she closed her eyes briefly to ward off the headache and then opened them again.

      And caught him frowning at her instead. His eyes flicked back to Almeria, but he staved off her babble with a hand and returned to Frances. ‘Excuse me, Mrs. Burdett, but are you quite well?’

      ‘Mrs. Burdett has a headache,’ Almeria cooed. ‘I daresay she needs to rest in a darkened room, like my poor mama used to do. Oh, there’s Mr. Edwin Folk.’ She flashed Lord Warbury a wide smile and tripped away to greet his cousin.

      Leaving Frances alone with the marquis and inexplicably annoyed. ‘I don’t need a darkened room.’

      ‘A respite from your cousin’s chatter, perhaps?’ he asked, and she blinked at him in surprise. ‘Ah, here comes my mother. She will know what to do for you.’

      Lady Warbury swanned up to greet her. She was an odd figure at the best of times, and now, dressed in a voluminous robe that looked more like a wrapper than a gown, she seemed positively outré.

      But so very welcoming and kind. She embraced Frances, and when Lord Warbury mentioned her headache, passed her into the care of a motherly housekeeper who showed her to her room with a promise of a bracing cup of tea.

      * * *

      She had changed. Cam had always liked Frances, always found her an attractive woman—but out there on the steps with snowflakes on her lashes, hazel eyes sparkling, cheeks flushed with cold and her lush chestnut hair framing her face, she’d shone with such vivid life… He’d been hard put to say anything coherent, which was why he’d blurted out that vulgar boys’ jest.

      Not that she’d minded that. She’d flinched not at the jest, but at his smile. She’d stiffened and her laughter had died, and when he’d taken her arm to escort her indoors, she’d moved away at the first possible moment.

      Damn. Usually, that smile beguiled women quickly into bed. This wasn’t going to be as easy as he’d hoped.

      ‘Are you all right, Cam?’ His mother peered at him in something between consternation and amusement. ‘You knew Mrs. Burdett was coming.’

      The last thing he needed was his mother realizing what he intended for Frances. He thrust a plausible lie into the awkward silence. ‘Seeing her brought it all back—the quarrel and Timothy’s death. Perhaps, for her sake, I should have stayed in London over Christmas.’ Hopefully that would stop his mother from drawing the wrong conclusion.

      ‘For heaven’s sake, why? She doesn’t blame you, does she? As I recall, she never did. She put the blame squarely on Timothy himself.’

      ‘But I felt responsible,’ he said. ‘I wouldn’t want to spoil her enjoyment of the holidays.’

      ‘Nonsense, she’ll be perfectly fine. We need you here. No one makes lamb’s wool like you do. No one else can crown the King of the Revels. And what about serving treats to the Luck?’ She paused. ‘Not thatThomas wouldn’t love to do it. That’s what drew him here in the first place, you know. Houses with their own hobgoblins are few and far between. But I don’t think Duff the Luck would take it well. He expects you to give him his due.’

      Glad of the change of subject, Cam agreed. The resident hobgoblin, also known as the Luck of the House, was one of the Warbury legends. As a child, Cam had seen the little fellow now and then out of the corner of his eye; now, he wasn’t sure what was memory and what was imagination. It didn’t matter. The traditions about the hobgoblin did no harm, and Cam intended to support and preserve them.

      By dusk, so much snow had fallen that the roads would be impassable for days. The expected cousins had arrived, as well as another young man and a couple, the Cutlows. A half hour before dinner and well after dark, Mr. Lumpkin rode up on horseback, to Lady Warbury’s great relief. He had spent a few days at the Rollright Stones, deeming Yule the perfect occasion for a visit to such an ancient monument.

      Cam didn’t care one way or another about the stone circle. He did care about the way the eldest of his cousins, Alan Folk, was eyeing Frances Burdett’s bosom. Alan reminded him uncomfortably of himself several years earlier—except that generally the ladies he’d ogled had welcomed the attention.

      ‘Alan,’ he said. His cousin turned, and Cam gave him a look that even an idiot couldn’t misinterpret. Alan scowled but immediately turned his attention to Mrs. Cutlow, who welcomed vulgar leers. The unhappy flush drained from Mrs. Burdett’s cheeks, and when Cam caught her eye, she nodded her thanks, and her lips twisted into something approaching a smile.

      Well, that was a start.

      * * *

      Frances found herself seated next to Alan Folk, whose manners had undergone an abrupt improvement just before dinner. She knew whom she had to thank. She told herself the marquis was merely acting his proper role of watchful and considerate host, but that didn’t stop her heart from warming to him. He could have been cold and horrid to her instead, and she wouldn’t have blamed him. He’d done nothing wrong in quarreling about a prostitute. He wasn’t a newly married man, and he hadn’t deserved her anger a year ago.

      While she pondered him, she found other parts of her anatomy warming to him, as well.

      Horrified, she quelled that unexpected, uncalled for, completely unacceptable kindling of desire. Once, long ago… Was it only a little over a year? It felt СКАЧАТЬ