Seduction (13 page)

Plimpton should have seen to it that their wives never got their hands on a copy

of the Memoirs."

"How were they supposed to prevent that from happening? Lady Glastonbury and

Lady Plimpton probably sent footmen to wait in line along with everyone else at

the publisher's office this afternoon."

"If Glastonbury and Plimpton cannot manage their wives any better than that,

they both got what they deserved," Julian said heartlessly. "A man has to set

down firm rules in his own home."

Miles leaned forward and lowered his voice. "Word has it both Glastonbury and

Plimpton had an opportunity to save themselves but they failed to take advantage

of it. The Grand Featherstone decided to make an example of them so that the

next victims would be more amenable to reason."

Julian glanced up. "What the devil are you talking about?"

"Haven't you heard about the letters Charlotte is sending out to her former

paramours?" drawled a soft, deep voice.

Julian's brows climbed as the newcomer sank into the chair across from him with

languid ease. "What letters would those be, Daregate?"

Miles nodded. "Tell him about the letters."

Gideon Xavier Daregate, only nephew and thus heir apparent of the dissolute,

profligate, and unmarried Earl of Daregate, smiled his rather cruel smile. The

expression gave his aquiline features the look of a bird of prey. The silvery

gray color of his cold eyes added to the impression. "Why, the little notes the

Grand Featherstone is having hand carried to all potential victims. It seems

that, for a price, a man can arrange to have his name left out of the Memoirs."

"Blackmail," Julian observed grimly.

"To be sure," Daregate murmured, looking a trifle bored.

"A man does not pay off a blackmailer. To do so only invites further demands."

"I'm certain that's what Glastonbury and Plimpton told each other," Daregate

said. "In consequence, they not only find themselves featured in Charlotte's

Memoirs, they also find themselves ill-treated in print. Apparently the Grand

Featherstone was not overly impressed with their prowess in the boudoir."

Miles groaned. "The Memoirs are that detailed?"

"I fear so," Daregate said dryly. "They are filled with the sort of unimportant

details only a woman would bother to remember. Little points of interest such as

whether a man neglected to bathe and change into fresh linen before paying a

call. What's the matter, Miles? You were never one of Charlotte's protectors,

were you?"

"No, but Julian was for a short time." Miles grinned cheekily.

Julian winced. "God help me, that was a long time ago. I am certain Charlotte

has long since forgotten me."

"I wouldn't count on it," Daregate said. "Women of that sort have long

memories.'

"Don't fret, Julian,' Miles added helpfully, "with any luck your bride will

never even hear of the Memoirs."

Julian grunted and went back to his newspaper. He would make damn sure of that.

"Tell us, Ravenwood," Daregate interrupted blandly, "When are you going to

introduce your new Countess to Society? You know everyone is extremely curious

about her. You won't be able to hide her forever."

"Between the news of Wellington's maneuvers in Spain and the Featherstone

Memoirs, Society has more than enough to occupy its attention at the moment,"

Julian said quietly.

Thurgood and Daregate both opened their mouths to protest that observation but

one look at their friend's cold, forbidding expression changed their minds.

"I believe I could use another bottle of claret," Daregate said politely. "I

find I am a little thirsty after a full evening of hazard. Will you two join

me?"

"Yes," said Julian, setting aside the newspaper. "I believe I will."

"Going to put in an appearance at Lady Eastwell's rout this evening?" Miles

inquired conversationally. "Should be interesting. Gossip has it Lord Eastwell

got one of Charlotte's blackmail notes today. Everyone's wondering if Lady

Eastwell knows about it yet."

"I have great respect for Eastwell," Julian said. "I saw him under fire on the

Continent. So did you, for that matter, Daregate. The man knows how to stand his

ground against the enemy. He certainly ought to be able to deal with his wife."

Daregate grinned his humorless smile. "Come now, Ravenwood, we both know that

fighting Napoleon is a picnic by the sea compared to doing battle with an

enraged woman."

Miles nodded knowledgeably even though they all knew he had never been married

or involved in a serious affair. "Very wise to have left your bride behind in

the country, Ravenwood. Very wise, indeed. Can't get into trouble there."

Julian had been trying to convince himself of just that for the entire week he

had been back in London. But tonight, as every other night since he had

returned, he was not so sure he had made the right decision.

The fact was, he missed Sophy. It was regrettable, inexplicable, and damnably

uncomfortable. It was also undeniable. He had been a fool to abandon her in the

country. There had to have been another way to deal with her.

Unfortunately he had not been thinking clearly enough at the time to come up

with an alternative.

Uneasily he considered the matter as he left his club much later that night. He

bounded up into his waiting carriage and gazed broodingly out at the dark

streets as his coachman snapped the whip.

It was true that his anger still flared high whenever he remembered the trick

Sophy had played on him that fateful night when he had determined to claim his

husbandly rights. And he reminded himself several times a day that it was

crucial he teach her a lesson now, at the beginning of their marriage, while she

was still relatively naive and moldable. She must not be allowed to gain the

impression that she could manipulate him.

But no matter how hard he worked at reminding himself of her deviousness and the

importance of nipping such behavior in the bud, he found himself remembering

other things about Sophy. He missed the morning rides, the intelligent

conversations about farm management, and the games of chess in the evenings.

He also missed the enticing, womanly scent of her, the way her chin tilted when

she was preparing to challenge him, and the subtle, gentle innocence that glowed

softly in her turquoise eyes. He also found himself recalling her happy,

mischievous laughter and her concern for the health of the servants and tenants.

At various times during the past week he had even caught himself wondering just

what part of Sophy's attire was askew at that particular moment. He would close

his eyes briefly and envision her riding hat dangling down over her ear or

imagine a torn hem on her skirt. Her maid would have her work cut out for her.

Sophy was very unlike his first wife.

Elizabeth had always been flawlessly garbed—every curl in place, every low-cut

bodice cleverly arranged to display her charms to best advantage. Even in the

bedchamber the first Countess of Ravenwood had maintained an air of elegant

perfection. She had been a beautiful goddess of lust in her cunningly styled

nightclothes, a creature designed by nature to incite passion in men and lure

them to their doom. Julian felt slightly sick whenever he remembered how deeply

ensnared he had been in the witch's silken web.

Determinedly he pushed aside the old memories. He had selected Sophy for his

wife because of the vast difference between her and Elizabeth and he fully

intended to ensure that his new bride stayed different. Whatever the cost, he

would not allow his Sophy to follow the same blazing, destructive path Elizabeth

had chosen.

But while he was sure of his goal, he was not quite so certain of the measures

he should take to achieve that goal. Perhaps leaving Sophy behind in the country

had been a mistake. It not only left her without adequate supervision, it also

left him at loose ends here in town.

The carriage came to a halt in front of the imposing townhouse Julian

maintained. He stared morosely at the front door and thought of the lonely bed

awaiting him. If he had any sense, he would order the carriage turned around and

headed toward Trevor Square. Marianne Harwood would no doubt be more than

willing to receive him, even at this late hour.

But visions of the breezy, voluptuous charms of La Belle Harwood failed to

entice him from his self-imposed celibacy. Within forty-eight hours after his

return to London,

Julian had realized that the only woman he ached to bed was his wife.

His obsession with her was undoubtedly the direct result of denying himself what

was rightfully his, he decided as he alighted from the carriage and went up the

steps. He was, however, very certain of one thing: the next time he took Sophy

to bed they would both remember the occasion with great clarity.

"Good evening, Guppy,' Julian said as the butler opened the door. "You're up

late. Thought I told you not to wait up for me."

"Good evening, my lord." Guppy cleared his throat importantly as he stood aside

for his master. "Had a bit of a stir this evening. Kept the entire staff up

late."

Julian, who was halfway to the library, halted and turned around, with a

questioning frown. Guppy was fifty-five years old, exceedingly well trained, and

not at all given to dramatics.

"A stir?"

Guppy's expression was suitably bland but his eyes were alight with subdued

excitement. "The Countess of Ravenwood has arrived and taken up residence, my

lord. Begging your pardon, but the staff would have been able to provide a much

more comfortable welcome for Lady Ravenwood if we had been notified of her

impending arrival. As it was, I fear we were taken somewhat by surprise. Not

that we haven't coped, of course."

Julian froze. For an instant he could not think. Sophy is here. It was as if all

his brooding thoughts on the way home tonight had succeeded in conjuring his new

wife out of thin air. "Of course you coped, Guppy," he said mechanically. "I

would expect nothing less of you and the rest of the staff. Where is Lady

Ravenwood at the moment?"

"She retired a short while ago, my lord. Madam is, if I may be so bold, most

gracious to staff. Mrs. Peabody showed her to the room that adjoins yours,

naturally."

"Naturally." Julian forgot his intention of dosing himself with a last glass of

port. The thought of Sophy upstairs in bed shook him. He strode toward the

staircase. "Good night, Guppy."

"Good night, my lord." Guppy permitted himself the smallest of smiles as he

turned to lock the front door.

Sophy is here. A rush of excitement filled Julian's veins. He quelled it in the

next instant by reminding himself that in coming to London his new wife had

openly defied him. His meek little country wife was becoming increasingly

rebellious.

He stalked down the hall, torn between rage and an invidious pleasure at the

thought of seeing Sophy again. The volatile combination of emotions was enough

to make him light-headed. He opened the door of his bedchamber with an impatient

twist of the knob and found his valet sprawled, sound asleep, in one of the red

velvet armchairs.

"Hello, Knapton. Catching up on your sleep?"

"My lord." Knapton struggled awake, blinking quickly as he took in the sight of

his grim-faced master standing in the doorway. "I'm sorry, my lord. Just sat

down for a few minutes to wait for you. Don't know what happened. Must have

dozed off."

"Never mind." Julian waved a hand in the general direction of the door. "I can

get myself to bed without your assistance tonight."

"Yes, my lord. If you're quite certain you won't be needing any help, my lord."

Knapton hurried toward the door.

"Knapton."

"Yes, my lord?" The valet paused in the open doorway and glanced back warily.

"I understand Lady Ravenwood arrived this evening."

Knapton's pinched face softened into an expression of pleasure. "Not more than a

few hours ago, my lord. Set the whole house in an uproar for a time but

everything's in order now. Lady Ravenwood has a way of managing staff, my lord."

"Lady Ravenwood has a way of managing everyone," Julian muttered under his

breath as Knapton let himself out into the hall. He waited until the outer door

had closed firmly behind the valet and then he stripped off his boots and

evening clothes and reached for his dressing gown.

He stood for a moment after tying the silk sash, trying to think of how best to

handle his defiant bride. Outrage still warred with desire in his blood. He had

an overpowering urge to vent his temper on Sophy and an equally powerful need to

make love to her. Maybe he should do both, he told himself.

One thing was for certain. He could not simply ignore her arrival tonight and

then greet her at breakfast tomorrow morning as if her presence here was a

perfectly routine matter.

Nor would he allow himself to stand here shilly-shallying another minute like a

green officer facing his first battle. This was his home and he would be master

in it.

Julian took a deep breath, swore softly, and strode over to the door that

connected his dressing room with Sophy's bedchamber. He snatched up a candle and

raised his hand to knock. But at the last instant he changed his mind. This was

not a time for courtesy.

He reached for the knob, expecting to find the door locked from the other side.

To his surprise, he found no resistance. The door to Sophy's darkened bedchamber

opened easily.

For a moment he could not find her amid the shadows of the elegant room. Then he

spotted the small, curved outline of her body in the center of the massive bed.

His lower body tightened painfully. This is my wife and she is here at last in

the bedchamber where she belongs.

Sophy stirred restlessly, hovering on the brink of an elusive dream. She came

awake slowly, reorienting herself to the strange room. Then she opened her eyes

and stared at the flickering flame of a candle moving silently toward her

through the darkness. Panic jerked her into full alertness until, with a sigh of

relief, she recognized the dark figure holding the candle. She sat straight up

in bed, clutching the sheet to her throat.

"Julian. You gave me a start, my lord. You move like a ghost."

"Good evening, madam." The greeting was cold and emotionless. It was uttered in

that very soft, very dangerous voice that always boded ill. "I trust you will

forgive me for not being at home tonight when you arrived. I wasn't expecting

you, you see."

"Pray do not regard it, my lord. I am well aware that my arrival is something of

a surprise to you." Sophy tried her best to ignore the shiver of fear that

coursed through her. She had known she must endure this confrontation from the