Wicked Seduction (21 page)

She frowned, not understanding what he meant. “But I have always found you to be most proper, most circumspect.”

He nodded, taking the compliment for what it was. But his words went somewhere else. “As I said, a man in my position must have every
appearance
of holding himself and the world to the highest moral standard. His work ethic must be unshakable, his hobbies must be modest, and . . . um . . . his wife must be above reproach.”

She stared at him, at last understanding his difficultly. Mr. Wakely was a younger son. He did not have a title nor any kind of steady income beyond what he earned every day. He was educated at the best schools, had friends in the highest levels of society, but at the heart of it, he stood on the shaky pedestal of public opinion. Were his character to come into question at any time, then he could lose his livelihood completely.

“That is why you haven’t offered for me. Because my character has been assassinated.”

“I care for you, Miss Wilson. And I think, perhaps, that I could love you.”

Hope leaped into her heart, but one look at his face told her that he was not prepared to offer for her. She looked away, misery making her eyes water and her chest squeeze tight.

“I am not easily swayed by public opinion, Miss Wilson. And I believe a great wrong has been done to you.”

But it wasn’t enough. She could tell by his apologetic tone of voice. Then, to her shock, she felt his knuckles under her chin. With the gentlest of pressure, he drew her face back toward him. He still remained a proper distance apart from her. People still moved up and down the hallway. But there was an intimacy in his gesture that she felt deep in her heart.

“I have been waiting to see if this is love, Miss Wilson. I find you stalwart and loyal. You have a level head and a good heart.”

She winced. He described her as a good dog.

“These things carry a great deal of value for me,” he continued.

“But it is not love,” she said. “It is not passion.”

He sighed. “Truth be told, I am not a very passionate man.”

She searched his face for some clue but found nothing. “Then what? Why have you courted me all these weeks, dancing with me at ball after ball, only to dash my hopes now?”

He tilted his head in an apologetic shrug. “I have been testing the waters, so to speak.”

“To see if this was love?”

He nodded. “Yes. And also to see how my clients reacted. My interest has been noted.”

Yes, it certainly had. Rose already had them married with six children. She spoke of it constantly enough to make Maddy snap at the girl when days and weeks went by with no proposal.

She bit her lip. “And what has been the reaction?”

“Fully half of them have heard of, um, your reputation. At least two directly from the earl himself.”

Maddy hurt too much to even whimper at that.

“If this is love, Maddy, then I will marry you anyway. I would prefer to wait until I am better established. I am still quite young as a financial advisor, and already my business has been hurt. I need to see if the situation recovers itself or gets steadily worse.” He sighed. “It will do neither of us any good to marry only to end in the poorhouse.”

“How long?” she whispered to her fan. “And how . . . how will you know if this is love?”

He sighed and was forced to step backward as a bevy of young girls swept through the hallway toward the ballroom. The set was beginning. The musicians were tuning their instruments.

Meanwhile, Mr. Wakely extended his hand. “I should take you back to your cousin. You have a dance partner for this set, do you not?”

Did she? She didn’t even know, and suddenly she didn’t care. What good was a dance when everyone thought her a tart? Uncle Frank’s tart!

“How will you know?” she asked, her voice coming out thick and harsh.

His expression was miserable, and a small part of her was glad. Let him suffer for not telling her these things earlier. Let him stew in his guilt for not helping her avert disaster months ago. If nothing else, she could have at least told potential suitors the truth.

The idea was ridiculous, she knew. Nothing cemented a rumor like denying it. And yet, she wanted to vent her fury at someone and poor Mr. Wakely was the only one here.

“How?” she repeated, more loudly now. “And when?”

“I don’t know,” he answered honestly. “I’m sorry, so very sorry, but I just don’t.”

It was all the answer she was going to get. She knew him well enough to see that in this he would not waver. Then he surprised her again. “Let me call on you tomorrow. We can talk more then.”

She nodded. What other choice did she have but to wait on his pleasure? Perhaps she would enjoy being a chimney sweep, she thought with a slight gurgle of hysteria. Apparently that was all a woman of unsavory reputation was suited for. Except, of course, she was much too large to perform such a task.

“Ah!” she cried with false cheer as she pushed to her feet. “There is my partner for the next set waiting right next to Rose. Thank you, Mr. Wakely, for your escort. I believe I shall manage the last few steps alone.”

She felt him hesitate, the tension in his body unmistakable. “Miss Wilson . . .” he began, though he clearly didn’t know what to say. “Maddy—”

“Tomorrow, Mr. Wakely. Do please call on me tomorrow.”

He hesitated. For a man who was always reserved and always certain, that simple moment spoke volumes. But it wasn’t enough. She needed more than his discomfort. And so with a brittle smile, she gave him her curtsey and walked away.

She managed to make it through the next set, thank heaven, though she had no idea who it was with or what was said. She stopped trying to flirt, and barely held on to being pleasant. Why bother when it was all useless anyway?

Soon she found herself back on the sidelines, sitting with the wallflowers and praying that the evening would end. That, or perhaps a heavenly message carried by angels would suddenly appear in front of everyone. It would say with unassailable veracity that she was no man’s mistress and never would be! And if a huge lightning bolt incinerated her uncle at the same time, she would not grieve in the least.

She was so enamored of this idea that she almost missed it when a gentleman appeared before her. His clothing was obviously new, the color an unfashionable dark brown. But his shoes were rather nice. Comfortable boots clearly worn in places well beyond London ballrooms. Her father had owned a pair just like that.

“Excuse me, Miss Wilson, but I wonder if you might give me the pleasure of this dance?”

Maddy froze. She knew that voice. She had dreamed of it nightly for the last six weeks. He couldn’t possibly be here. Not tonight of all nights. Not when everything and absolutely nothing had changed. He couldn’t be here.

But he was. He stood before her with his hand outstretched and a pleasant smile on his clean-shaven and still tan face.

“Kit?” she breathed.

“Dance with me, Maddy,” he said. “Please.”

“But it’s a waltz.”

He smiled, the sight looking more relaxed than she had ever seen. “All the better.”

Chapter 19

Sweet heaven, she was beautiful. Kit could barely speak over the pounding of his heart. Every day—and every night—of his absence from London, he had thought of his angel, dreamed of her, fantasized about her. Always he had put her in an ugly dress and slowly peeled the horrible thing from her sweet skin.

But tonight’s gown wasn’t hideous. In fact, the white silk draped her beautifully, shimmering the lightest kiss of fabric across her full breasts and narrow waist. Gowns were not supposed to be tailored tightly to a woman’s curves, mostly because the ladies of the
ton
did not have Maddy’s figure. Similarly, her dress was not quite tucked against her waist, and yet it was cut to reveal exactly how exquisite a body she possessed. A simple blue ribbon crisscrossed between her breasts and flowed ever downward to emphasize her glorious height. The only thing that kept it from being completely seductive was the modest blue scarf she wore, pinned by that ugly broach.

“You are stunning!” he breathed. “I want to force you back into the ugly castoffs because this dress makes you too beautiful.”

She was staring at him, her mouth agape, and her cheeks blanched to a ghostly white. But at his words, she recovered a little. Her mouth closed and her cheeks flushed with the barest hint of pink. But it was too soon gone and he now realized how pale she looked and how gaunt.

“Have you been starving yourself?” he asked, suddenly alarmed. “Are you ill? Maddy, what is amiss?”

She blinked and he watched her gather her wits. In a moment, she went from total shock to a composed lady of the
ton
. She grew taller, her mouth pinched shut, and her gaze shuttered closed behind half-lowered lids. He found he much preferred her in stunned disbelief.

“Mr. Frazier, I did not realize you had returned to town.” At least her voice was not completely under control. It trembled ever so slightly.

“I arrived two days ago. It took me all of that time to find where you would be tonight and obtain an invitation.”

She clearly did not know what to say about that. Her gaze skittered away and her hands fidgeted in her lap. Something was gravely amiss. He was about to press her for more details when a voice cut through their isolated discussion.

“Mr. Frazier! It is you!” said Lady Rose as she came to his side. Reluctantly, he turned around to greet the confection in flounces. Clearly her seamstress how outdone herself. The girl wore fully eight layers of lace.

“Lady Rose,” he said as he bowed over her hand. “You look like a confection atop a cake!”

“I know!” she said with a girlish giggle. “The more plain Maddy gets, the more I am pushed to frills.”

“Come, come,” he said with a grin. “Turn around and let me see the frills fly.”

“Oh, Mr. Frazier!” she cried, though her eyes danced. “That’s not exactly appropriate deportment for a young miss.”

“Ah, but I like a little scandal in young ladies. For me, sweet Rose. Spin just once.”

“Welllll,” she drawled as she wrinkled her nose in flirtatious delight. “Only because you asked so nicely. And only once! Otherwise Maddy will have my head for behaving badly.”

“Never,” murmured Maddy from the side, but Rose wasn’t listening. She was already beginning to twirl. Slowly at first and then with increasing speed while her ruffles lifted. She did seven or eight full turns before spinning back to a gasping halt, her blue eyes sparkling and her cheeks flushed red.

“Oh my!” she cried breathless as she fake stumbled against him. He caught her, of course. It was what she wanted as she hung overly long on his arm. “I am quite done in!”

“Nonsense,” he said, laughing with all good humor while silently trying to think of a way to be rid of her. “You are the peak of health. In fact, you are so perfect that I must see if you have a dance available.”

“Oh, Mr. Frazier!” she cried in mock dismay. “I didn’t know you were coming tonight.”

He lifted her wrist and looked at her card. As he expected, it was completely filled. “No space for me. Well, perhaps tomorrow night. If you but tell me—”

“Vauxhall,” she said on a gasp before he could even finish his question. “An end-of-the-Season gathering before everyone leaves for the country. The Countess of Thornedale has taken a box.”

Lily, his bitch of a cousin. Would Michael be there as well? “Excellent,” he lied with another courtly bow. “I shall be sure to find you. And now,” he said, indicating a gentleman waiting anxiously behind Rose. “I believe your partner is most hungry for a taste of your beauteous presence.”

“Oh, Mr. Frazier!” Rose said with a giggle, clearly pleased. “Flattery does not move me.”

“Liar,” he said as he tweaked her cheek. She gasped at the impertinence, her hand rushing up to cover her face. “Of all women who deserve Spanish coin, Lady Rose, you top the list. And the cake!” he said indicating her gown.

She had no answer to that, though her eyes sparkled in the candlelight. Good. He had no wish to continue this conversation any longer.

“The set is beginning,” he reminded her gently.

“Oh! Oh yes!” she gasped, then she turned to her dance partner. But her gaze remained on him and she ended up walking sideways onto the dance floor.

He watched her all the way. It was an easy sacrifice to make to keep the girl happy. He had no doubt that when she was unhappy, everyone in her household suffered, most especially Maddy. So he smiled and waved as she danced while his mind remained fixed on the woman seated behind him.

“You are wearing the broach,” he said softly, his gaze at last able to return to his angel.

Her hand went to the piece. “Would you like it back?”

“No, no! I still need to find a buyer . . .” His voice trailed away. Selling his jewelry was the last thing he wanted to speak about. But then he saw a spark of animation in her eyes as she began to speak.

“Actually, Mr. Frazier, I think I can help you with that. That Norwegian baroness I told you about? She has a true fondness for peacocks.”

“Norwegian?” he asked. Did they even have barons in that frozen clime? Apparently so because she half shrugged, half nodded.

“Actually, I believe the term is sysselmann or something like that. I have no idea if it equates to a baron, but everyone calls her baroness and she really is a dear lady.”

“And you think she would buy that broach? The one I gave to you?”

Maddy flushed and looked down at her hands. “Well, as to that, you only gave it to me for safekeeping. As you can see, it is quite safe. I know I shouldn’t have worn it. Rose asked about it immediately, but I told her it was paste. She wrinkled her nose, called it ugly, and flounced away.” Maddy sighed. “She has been in a bit of a temper lately. Though she does seem very pleased that you have returned.”

“And what of you? Are you pleased I am here? Is Rose why you are looking so wan? You are so beautiful tonight that I can scarce believe it, and yet I cannot shake the feeling that you are ailing.”

She flashed him a false smile. “Nonsense, Mr. Frazier. I am quite well. And the baroness will be extremely grateful, I am sure, if you were to present this broach to her.”

Kit frowned. “As a present?”

“For sale, sir. Discreetly, of course.”

“But—”

“She is extremely wealthy, Mr. Frazier. She would pay you more than what any jeweler would. Especially if you told her a story along with it. You know, about how you got it, where it came from, the more romantic the better.”

“There was nothing romantic about how I got it,” he said, his voice flat.

“Then speculate for her, sir. Spin a tale of how it
might
have come into your possession.”

“Maddy . . .” he began, but he cut off his objection when she reached forward to touch his hand.

“People . . .
ladies
need to believe in romance, sir. We need to think that someone, somewhere has found true love even if it has escaped our grasp.” There was a hidden meaning beneath her words, an urgency to her body as she squeezed his arm. “Tell her a tale of romance, Mr. Frazier, and she will pay you handsomely for it.”

“Even if it is a lie?” he asked.

Her hand fell away from him, and he immediately mourned the loss. “Romance,” she said firmly, “is always a lie, but we like to pretend anyway.”

He saw it then, saw why she looked so peaked, why her body was listless and her eyes dull. She had broken sometime in the last six weeks. While he was away, something or someone had broken her heart and all that was left was disillusionment. How well he knew that pain.

“I have stayed away too long, haven’t I?” he asked softly.

She pursed her lips and looked away. “I have no idea, sir. I simply point out a solution to your financial problem. You can ignore it if you think—”

“Can you set it up for me? Make the introduction?” He had no interest in selling his jewelry, no interest in painting a false story of love for an elderly baroness or sysselmann or whatever. But his angel was slipping away from him. It was as if he could see her fading before his eyes, and he would do anything to keep her with him a moment longer.

“Of course,” she said. “But it might take a few days. Perhaps as much as a week. Do you have a card so that I may contact you?”

He did. Printed just today. He handed it to her, hoping to press it into her hand and linger there, touching her skin. But she pulled away, and all he felt was a brief whisper of cool skin against his fingertips.

“Thank you, Mr. Frazier,” she said as she tucked his card away. “I am afraid I must decline your request to dance as my feet hurt abominably.”

“Of course,” he said, though he knew she lied. She wanted to be rid of him, and the pain of that cut deep indeed.

“And, Mr. Frazier . . .” she said after a quick glance around her.

“Yes?”

“My bedroom window will be closed and locked tonight. And every night.”

There was no mistaking her message. She meant to keep him at arm’s length. He could hardly blame her. They had not parted on good terms. In truth, he had been horrible to her, but there had been no other choice. He couldn’t have taken a wife for fear that he would kill her in a rage. And now he was paying the price for his cruelty.

“Of course, Miss Wilson. I would expect nothing less from a proper lady such as yourself.”

She winced at that. It was a telling gesture, if only he knew what it meant. Did she feel guilty for what they had done together? Or was there more?

“Maddy . . .” he began, but she cut him off.

“You look better, Mr. Frazier. Much, much better.”

He smiled. “I am better.”

“I am glad,” she said softly.

There was more in her eyes. Some kind of yearning, perhaps. Or maybe it was his own fevered imaginings. Either way, it was gone in a moment. She shuttered her gaze, then pushed to her feet. He held out his hand to help her, but she shunned it. Instead, she smoothed her gown about her, making sure the folds of the scarf completely covered the broach.

“I believe I shall find the ladies’ retiring room,” she said by way of dismissal. “I find the Season has been more exhausting than I once thought.”

“I could escort you—”

“Good evening, sir,” she said as she brushed past him.

“Did you see how handsome he looked? Oh goodness, his time away seems to have helped him enormously. And he still remembered me. He called me beauteous! Did you hear him say that? Beauteous. Most gentlemen don’t even know the word, but he did. Oh, I’m so thrilled that he’s back. And just in the nick of time! I had begun to despair of this Season altogether. But now he is back!”

Maddy winced as Rose’s voice echoed in the dark carriage. Any hopes that her infatuation with the man had faded were put completely to pasture. The girl’s romantic fantasy of marrying a pirate was stronger than ever. Still, Maddy did her best to dampen her cousin’s expectations.

“Just because he’s back doesn’t mean he wants a bride,” she said when Rose paused to take a breath. “And we know nothing of his
true
circumstances. Your father will want to know the specifics before you can entertain any kind of suit.”

“Oh, Father isn’t nearly as picky as you might think,” she said with a distasteful twist to her lips. “He told me just yesterday that it was past time I brought a real prospect up to scratch. As if I haven’t been
trying
!”

Maddy narrowed her eyes, searching her cousin’s face for signs of subterfuge. “What exactly did your father say to you?”

Rose heaved a dramatic sigh. “Only that I’m of age in a month’s time and that I had to stop acting like a little girl. He wants me to dress and act more like you and less like me!”

“Is that why you wore that . . . um . . . that particular gown tonight? In defiance of your father?”

Rose huffed a little nervously. “Well, yes, I suppose I did. I mean, what does Papa know about ladies’ fashions? Or about how to attract a husband? This is the way to do it, I am sure. Did you not hear what Mr. Frazier said? That I looked like a confection atop a cake! That just proves I am right about this gown!”

Maddy sighed. They were back to Kit again. “Really, I don’t know that you should take fashion advice from Mr. Frazier. His clothing was rather restrained.” It was, in fact, excruciatingly handsome. Not black, but a dark chocolate brown. White linen cravat and a shirt with a simple vest. Maddy had never seen him in better looks.

“But he was right about your dresses, don’t you remember? I think Mr. Frazier is quite right in his fashion opinion. And it doesn’t matter, does it? As he is the one I am going to marry, his is the only opinion I care about.”

“But, Rose!” Maddy began. Unfortunately, her cousin waved her to silence.

“I saw you walking with Mr. Wakely. Did you get him outside for a passionate embrace? Is he mad for you yet?”

“No. No, I didn’t.”

“Well, you should! Otherwise how will you ever get him to propose?”

Maddy swallowed and turned to look out at the street. She should tell Rose what her father had done. According to Mr. Wakely, the rumor about Maddy was hurting Rose’s chances as well. But Rose loved her father. Maddy couldn’t quite bring herself to reveal the worst of what Uncle Frank had done. So she opted for a softer version.