The Seduction of an English Scoundrel

Chapter 13

Chapter 13

By that evening the papers had posed a provocative twist to the Boscastle wedding scandal: Had Sir N jilted Lady J, or had he been threatened off by the dominant branch of the family? Had a certain marquess been waiting in the wings to make a move? Or had this handsome plotter set the stage to begin with?

It posed a mystery as to when this drama had actually started. Or how it would all end. Why were Lady J’s parents so outwardly accepting of this affair? Had Sir N vanished from the face of the earth entirely? And, the most provocative question of all, Was another marriage between these two illustrious families in the offing?

Within hours the ton could talk of nothing else. Conversation stopped at Southwick House when the crowd spotted Grayson and Jane together, although she wasn’t convinced it was her audacity to appear in public repeatedly after her failed wedding as much as Sedgecroft’s popularity that created a reaction.

The ladies definitely had their eye on her attractive escort. His lean elegance and unhurried stride as they crossed the reception hall turned heads and had fans fluttering all over the place.

Grayson had a different perspective on the furor their appearance caused.

Yes, he noticed that people were watching them. Especially the men, and the barely veiled desire in their eyes confirmed his fear that Lady Jane Jilt would be targeted as an easy female.

But the heated looks sent her way died out the moment Grayson turned his crushing glare upon the men who dared to demean her. Then there were averted glances, whispered questions, shrugs of resignation. No one had the courage to challenge Sedgecroft, neither in word nor action. His easygoing temperament had earned him few enemies, but his loyalty to those he loved was well known.

He’d seen the papers naturally. He was not at all bothered by the speculation that he was courting Jane as a potential bride. As Lady Belshire had predicted, this seemed to be raising Jane’s social value, and Grayson was glad to be of service. In fact, he’d instructed his secretary to neither deny nor confirm when questions were asked.

An enigmatic smile would suffice.

Weary of his status as a scoundrel, Grayson did not care if the ton believed he was considering Jane as his wife. They were a plausible match. What did it matter if anyone thought he was behind the wedding scandal?

Let them label him the devil.

In fact, if he’d met Jane a few months earlier, he . . . he what? A thoughtful frown overshadowed his face. They probably had attended several affairs at the same time before.

Yet their paths had never crossed. Why not? In the mists of memory he saw Nigel huddled around her, protecting her from rogues like Grayson so that he could hurt her later himself. Which reminded him that he had received word from Heath only two hours ago about Nigel’s disappearance and needed a private moment to deliver it to Jane. He hated to spoil a pleasant evening, but she had a right to know the truth about his cousin.

“The damn idiot,” he muttered.

Jane glanced up at him, her face startled. “What did you say?”

“Nothing. Have a good time.”

“How?” she whispered, gazing around at the crush of guests crowding the candlelit room. “This is absolute torture for me.”

“No one will bother you with me here. Ignore them.”

“Are you always so blindly arrogant?”

“I believe so,” he said, moving instinctively closer to her. It would remain a mystery to him until his dying day how bright young women like Jane and Chloe could be so easily damaged by the opinions of virtual strangers.

He drew a breath as a passing guest inadvertently bumped them into each other. His body ignited with desire at the all-too-brief feel of the side of her breast, the arch of her elbow against him. He ached to know then and there what she looked like beneath that pale rose gown, what color her skin was in all the secret places. He wanted her in his bed so badly he had to clench his jaw to stop from pulling her into his arms.

He glanced away, perplexed that he could entertain such potent thoughts of seducing a woman he claimed to befriend. But the hidden shadows of her sexuality unsettled him a little more every time he saw her. Or was it her character that drew him to her? How peculiar he could not tell. One trait only enhanced the other, he supposed.

He glanced back at her. She looked so utterly miserable that he had to laugh. “Are you always this resistant to enjoying yourself?”

“How am I supposed to enjoy myself?”

“You dance a little. You drink a little.” He motioned to a footman to bring Jane a glass of champagne. “You talk to me. And,” he added lightly, his large body shielding hers, “since we’re here, we may as well try to make the best of it.”

She smiled up at him, and he felt another reckless urge to grasp her hand and carry her out of this place to have her to himself. Just riding in the carriage with her tonight had put him in the mood for a night of lovemaking. Of course, she was the one female in the world he couldn’t own, which might have something to do with the fact he wanted to debauch her up and down.

And now he was going to distress her further by revealing what Heath’s brief message had said. He was going to make her cry by explaining that it appeared Nigel had planned his escape in advance. Ah, well, let her have an hour of enjoyment before he broke the news and ruined the evening.

As it turned out, he rather liked making Jane laugh. He liked irritating her, too, only a little, just enough to watch those green eyes of hers ignite with so many interesting emotions. It probably wasn’t nice to do, but those demons of his couldn’t seem to resist her. His demons were drawn to Jane in a very mystifying way.

Jane searched the crowds of elegantly dressed guests for sign of her sisters until she felt Grayson gently turn her back toward him.

“Are you looking for Nigel?” he asked her.

“For—oh, no.” Her throat closed on the words.

“Don’t worry.” His mouth flattened. “I’m sure in due time he will answer to us both. I shall derive personal satisfaction from meeting my cousin again.”

Her eyes darkened at the merciless determination on his face. Pray God she wasn’t going to answer to Grayson any time soon. “I’m not so sure of that,” she murmured.

“Unless he’s dead,” he added, sounding rather wishful.

“I—I hope he isn’t dead.”

“Ah, yes.” There was a trace of disapproval in his low voice. “You love him, as incredible as I begin to find the notion.”

In a manner of speaking, she did love Nigel. In the same fond way she loved Simon or Uncle Giles, or the family dogs. “I have known Nigel forever. He put a frog in my cradle four days after I was born, or so the story goes. We were inseparable as children.”

“Do you have any idea where he might have gone?”

“Gone? Well, he mentioned Scotland once or twice.” As in the last barbarous place on earth he would visit. Nigel was the type to sit in an armchair in front of a fire for the rest of his life. Oh, Jane absolutely despised being so dishonest.

“Scotland?” Grayson frowned. “Strange. But I shall pass that information on to Heath.”

She felt an icy chill slide down her spine. “Why?”

“Because Heath has the tracking instincts of a wolf, my dear. He was well-suited to his work in secret intelligence.”

Wolves. Secret intelligence. The mesmerizing sensuality that glittered in Sedgecroft’s eyes. It was enough to send a lesser woman to the couch. Jane felt the web of her own deceit drawing more tightly around her at every turn, strangling her good sense, thwarting her escape.

The ball was a grand affair. The master of ceremonies handed a red rose to every lady in attendance. A band of Italian musicians gave a concert during supper, and three card rooms hosted gambling afterward. Despite the elegant atmosphere, Jane could not relax for a sin-gle moment, pretending not to notice that people were stealing curious looks at her all night.

No one had ever noticed her to this degree before. The truth was, without Sedgecroft at her side, she was not considered an interesting enough person to continue to stir rumors. Not that she didn’t have friends. She did. But the scandal surrounding her would have passed soon enough. She would have happily slipped into oblivion before the season ended.

But no one overlooked the marquess.

Jane found it impossible for even a second not to be aware of him, and having him hover over her hardly eased her anxiety. She felt as if she were accompanied by a big golden lion that might turn feral at any moment. Who knew what he really thought of all this? Those heavy-lidded blue eyes gave nothing away, and the nagging feeling that she would pay dearly for deceiving him persisted.

He danced with her twice. Then, with practiced ease, he waltzed her through the French doors and out into the gardens, where a group of younger guests were playing an impromptu game of blindman’s buff.

“What are we doing?” she asked in amusement, resisting as he pulled her down the terrace steps onto the lantern-lit lawn.

“Do you really want to dance with all those pretentious people watching us?” he teased her. “I know now where that owlish scowl of yours comes from. Your brother looked as if he might swoop down on me any minute.”

Jane smiled. “The Belshire Scowl can’t be as dangerous as the Boscastle Blues.”

He stopped at the bottom of the stone stairs, blinking innocently. “The Boscastle Blues? Is that some sort of military regiment?”

She stared up at his angular, teasing face. He was still holding her hand, well, only her gloved fingers, but the warm pressure was enough to send a frisson of forbidden excitement deep down into her belly. It was so tempting to press herself against that strong, hard body and pretend the rest of the world didn’t exist.

“The curse of the Boscastle Blues,” she said. “And don’t act as if you don’t know what it is.”

He shrugged his shoulders in bafflement. “But I don’t. Is it something horrible?”

“Only if you’re a victim—one of the unfortunate souls who falls under the bewitchment of those blue eyes.”

“Well, I apologize that my family has claimed you as a victim.”

“You don’t look all that sorry.”

He stared at her in curiosity. “I didn’t mean as my victim, sweetheart. I meant as Nigel’s.”

“Oh.” Could her cheeks blush any hotter? How could she forget she was supposed to be wallowing in heartbreak over Nigel, not fighting an attraction to his sinfully desirable cousin?

“He had green eyes, anyway,” she murmured.

“Then perhaps the curse can be broken,” he said, leaning toward her to brush a stray curl off her shoulder.

She caught a whiff of his shaving soap and shivered involuntarily. “Umm. Perhaps.”

“Hey, you two, are you playing?” a friendly voice shouted, and a young man yanked his blindfold off seconds before he bumped them back into the steps. “Oh, hello, Sedgecroft. Have I caught you?”

“Not yet.” Grayson steered Jane firmly down the flagstone path, into the garden twinkling with beguiling fairy lanterns. “Give us a chance.”

“But I don’t want to play,” Jane protested.

“Well, neither do I, but I have no desire to be accused of luring you outside for a tryst either. Have you ever toured the gardens here by moonlight?”

She subjected him to a suspicious look. “Are they anything like the Pavilion of Pleasure?”

“I need to talk to you.”

“That sounds rather ominous, Sedgecroft. Why this secrecy all of a sudden?”

“I don’t want us to be overheard. Let’s separate and meet in the middle of the maze.”

“But the maze isn’t lit.”

“I know. Don’t be frightened. I shall be with you.”

“Do we really need to skulk about like spies?”

“Only if I mean to protect your name. Go.”

He watched with a grin as she turned into the labyrinth of privet hedge, only to take a wrong turn and summon him for help.

“You might have common sense, Jane, but you show absolutely no sense of direction,” he said through the hedge. “No, go to the right. I’ll meet you on the other side.”

“Everyone saw us arrive together,” she whispered in his direction. “What do you suppose they’re thinking?”

He didn’t answer, and she decided she was talking to herself, until a strong pair of hands clamped down upon her shoulders and spun her around. She suppressed a gasp as she stared up into his grinning face.

“Perhaps they’re thinking that we are caught up in a love greater than the world has ever known,” he replied, looking so attractive in the shadows that Jane half wished it could be true. “That you are a femme fatale no man can resist.”

“Really? Have you thought about writing for the scandal sheets? Wait. I have a bit of gravel in my shoe.”

“Here. Sit on that bench. I’ll help you. I don’t think we were seen.”

She sat obediently on the carved stone seat as he knelt to remove her dancing pump, running his long fingers across the sole of her stockinged foot until she sighed.

“Better?”

“Much.” A treacherous warmth was stealing up into her leg. “May I have my foot back now?”

“I don’t know.” He turned it this way and that. “It’s a very nice foot. Perhaps I’ll add it to my collection. There are men like that, you know. No, you probably don’t know. No one has ever gotten into your slippers before, I can tell.”

She smiled ruefully down at him. “Is that your secret pleasure, Sedgecroft? Feet?”

He straightened with a deep chuckle. “Not me. I prefer the whole thing rather than the few odd parts.”

“How very democratic of you.”

He rose to sit down beside her, his voice deepening to a tone that raised shivery impulses on her skin. “In your case, a man would have a difficult time deciding which part is most desirable.”

“Is that what you wanted to tell me?”

“No.” His amusement fading, he took her hand, stroking his forefinger across her gloved fingertips. “Not many people know that my brother Heath was involved in espionage for the Crown some time ago.”

“I had no idea.” What was he trying to tell her? Jane sat very still, lulled by his touch.

“Heath is a very clever young man.”

And rather a lady-killer himself, she thought, or so her sisters claimed. “What are you saying?”

“I set him on Nigel’s trail,” he said slowly. “I discussed this with your father in private, Jane, and we both agreed it was preferable to hiring a Bow Street man.”

The muscles of her stomach tightened into a knot of nervous tension. “Oh, but you didn’t need—”

“It wasn’t just for you. Nigel’s behavior has put an irreparable dent in the Boscastle name.” He put his thumb to her lips before she could speak. “Yes, I know the rest of us haven’t exactly set a shining example, but we are usually a little more discreet than shaming a woman in public.”

She exhaled as he removed his thumb from her lips. “Has Heath found him then?”

“No. But he has learned that Nigel was seen boarding a coach in Brighton. To where, we have not learned yet, but it won’t be long before we find him.” His voice grew more determined, angry. “Heath is persistent if nothing else.”

Brighton. Jane schooled her face into an impassive expression to hide her alarm. Nigel had an aunt in Brighton, the wife of a retired barrister, so it was entirely possible he and Esther had made a detour there before proceeding to the quaint Hampshire village they had chosen to set up house.

But Sedgecroft certainly didn’t know that. After all, he was only human, not some omniscient deity for all his lordly airs. He could not possibly trace Nigel to an almost invisible country village.

He rose from the bench, his broad shoulders straining the tailored lines of his black evening coat. His longish blond hair shone in the moonlight as he delivered the next blow. “I think you ought to know that Nigel has an aunt in Brighton, the wife of a retired barrister.”

She stood abruptly, the blood rushing to her head as he continued.

“It is entirely possible he passed a night there before proceeding to—” He stopped, taking her by the shoulders. “Jane, my gracious, are you going to swoon on me?”

“I am not sure,” she said in a weak voice. What would he do next? Produce Nigel from his vest pocket? “Proceeding to . . . where?”

“God only knows. But trust me, I will find out.” He gave her a gentle squeeze, his face sympathetic but resolved. “I know this does not solve your problem, but I hope it at least makes you feel a little better.”

“Words escape me. I cannot begin to describe what I feel.”

“Then sit down again. I’m afraid you look a little faint.”

She sank down onto the bench, swallowing hard. “I shall be fine.”

“Of course you—”

The sound of furtive footsteps on the path outside the maze interrupted their conversation. Whispers and laughter erupted from behind the hedge, another man and woman clearly engaging in stolen pleasures.

Jane stared at Grayson in consternation, rising as if to escape. In her opinion it was almost as embarrassing to be eavesdropping on a tryst as to be caught in one, but the truth was, she embraced the interruption with relief.

“What do we do now?” she whispered.

“Wait,” he murmured, frowning at the hedge in vexation.

Reluctant, she obeyed, only to understand a moment later what had caused the frown on his face.

“So tell me now, Helene, before I expire of suspense, it is over between you and Sedgecroft?”

Jane swallowed a gasp of surprise. Helene Renard. The beautiful young French widow whose English husband had died less than three months ago. The woman Sedgecroft allegedly had been courting as his next mistress. Of course it was a scandal for her to appear in public this soon in her mourning period, not even in gray or black. But pink.

Yes. Jane caught a glimpse of Helene’s dark pink satin gown through the hedge. Pink the color of a woman’s flesh. The color that pleased a certain reprobate’s tastes.

On behalf of womanhood in general, she directed a scowl at the man sitting beside her.

“Is it over between me and Sedgecroft?” Helene mused in a bitter voice. “That is impossible to say as ‘it’ never properly began. And now he is here with that mousy little jilt, Janet.”

“Jane,” murmured her male companion, whom she vaguely identified as the rather florid-faced Lord Buckley, heir to a vast fortune that he would soon squander on gambling and women. Jane disliked him, picturing his pudding cheeks.

“I did not find her at all mousy, Helene,” he said in a hesitant voice. “In fact, I found her rather appealing. In an aloof sort of way, of course,” he added hastily.

Well, perhaps Jane would have to revise her opinion of him. As soon as she recovered from hearing herself referred to as “that mousy little jilt.” Did she really resemble a mouse? Could it have anything to do with her penchant for gray?

She glanced up at Sedgecroft, all thoughts for herself dissipating at his brooding silence. If Helene was indeed the woman he was rumored to desire as his next mistress, this must be painful for him to overhear. Jane had no idea whether he cared enough for Helene to call Buckley out. What a scandal that would make if she were accused of igniting a duel. Of course the possibility of a duel would depend on her escort’s reaction to this revealing conversation.

Detached, uncaring, heartbroken? One could not draw any conclusions from those half-closed blue eyes, nor from the faint smile on his chiseled lips. He might have been listening to a poetry recital for all the emotion he displayed. Most men would be absolutely livid at overhearing themselves betrayed by their love interest.

“Will you consider my offer?” Buckley asked after a breathless pause during which Jane could only conclude he and Helene had been kissing. “I have already had the contract drawn, and you shall want for nothing.”

“Ask me in the morning. I am in a foul mood tonight.”

“And what about Sedgecroft?”

“What about him?” Helene retorted in a snippy voice.

“Well, I mean, he has a certain reputation—not only as a lover, but as a fighter.”

“He loves himself well enough.”

“But I’ve heard—”

“I think he’s boring,” Helene said in a burst of emotion. “Yes, he bores me to tears.”

“Even in bed?” Buckley inquired in an incredulous voice.

Helene gave such a wistful sigh that Jane had to raise her eyebrows at the man beside her. Sedgecroft gave a helpless shrug, having the grace to actually look sheepish.

“What I meant,” Buckley said quietly, “is that perhaps you ought to ask him for permission to take up with me. I don’t relish the thought of facing him in a duel.”

“If you want his opinion, then you ask him, Buckley.” Helene’s voice faded away as she returned to the central path. “That is, if you can pry him away from the paws of his pathetic little mouse. I cannot imagine what he sees in her.”

“That Belshire elegance is quite impressive,” her companion said unhelpfully.

“Oh, shut up, Buckley,” Helene tossed back at him. “You British are so unbearably obsessed with your bloodlines. I say she is Lady Mouse. The Princess of Mice. She’ll probably squeak when Sedgecroft beds her.”

Jane drew a breath of indignation, half rising again from the bench before Grayson drew her back down beside him. Scandal or not, for two shillings she would shake that woman senseless—

“Don’t squeak, my adorable little mouse,” he said in an amused whisper. “Wait.”

Jane folded her arms across her bodice and stared up at the starlit sky, startled when, after a minute of silence passed, he burst into quiet laughter.

She looked down her nose at him. “Have you gone quite mad?”

He pointed his forefinger at her. “Your face—it was priceless—and when she said—”

“You don’t need to repeat anything,” she said indignantly. “I heard every insulting word.” He was making fun of her, not even trying to hide his amusement. What sort of man was he? Heat flared into her face. What sort of woman had she become?

“Well.” He gave a deep wicked chuckle, blowing out his cheeks in a ridiculous effort to appear under control.

“Well, what?” she demanded.

“You have to admit it was an interesting conversation,” he murmured, his blue eyes dancing.

“That’s easy for you to say.” She pulled her feet away from his. “No one accused you of looking like a rodent.”

“Well, those certainly weren’t my words.” He shook his head to underscore his denial. “Or my thoughts.”

“Then why are you laughing?”

“You’re laughing, too,” he pointed out.

“Now I am,” she admitted, “but I wasn’t at first, you cruel man. I was too offended.” Offended by the almost-mistress of the rogue who was protecting Jane from the aftereffects of her own devious act. She despaired of ever digging herself out of the mess she’d made.

He smiled. “Don’t be angry with me. I would never accuse you of being a mouse.”

“Oh, no. Only a pigeon. Or an owl.”

He stared deeply into her eyes in what she assumed was an attempt to look sincere.

“Jane, it is only laughable because it is so absurd. You are a desirable female, as I’ve told you before.”

“I’m not feeling very desirable, thank you. I feel . . . like nibbling on a wedge of cheese. Do you think the Austrian chef has any of that Cheshire left?”

He took her chin in his hand and turned her face back to his. He wasn’t laughing now. He looked a little too serious, in fact. “I said you were desirable. Do you think I say that only to make you feel better?”

“No, because if you wanted to make me feel better, you’d be fetching me that cheese. And a big sticky bun to—”

The dark gleam of unmasked desire in his eyes sent the thought from her brain. No man had ever looked at her with such naked yearning before. Certainly she had never allowed herself to be placed in a situation that left her vulnerable to seduction. With a master of the art.

Was it possible that he saw something in her that no one else could see? When he looked at her like that, she was tempted to believe him. Even if he wasn’t sincere, it gave her a lovely feeling. The two of them could have sat alone in this darkened maze, and that would have been enough stimulation to fill her entire evening.

The sensible Jane told herself she ought to ask him to take her back inside, but she was riveted to the spot. It seemed that the wedding scandal had not satisfied her need for trouble. It had unleashed it.

“Perhaps we are both to be unlucky at love this season,” he said reflectively, his head dipping closer to hers.

She caught her breath, waiting in an agony of suspense. This unleashed Jane had absolutely no sense of shame. “It would appear so,” she murmured.

His lids lowered over his piercing blue eyes. Jane sighed in pleasure, only to sabotage a potentially perfect moment by asking, “You didn’t even mind that she said you bored her to tears?”

His lips lifted in a smile. “Do I bore you?”

“Oh, no.”

“Well.”

She could practically feel the heat that radiated from his body. It penetrated her skin, spread into her blood and bones, sapping her strength.

“Aren’t you going to do anything about Buckley?” she asked, watching his face in fascination.

He leaned a little closer. Jane’s pulse points took off at a reckless gallop. “Why should I? He appears to have good taste in women.”

“Helene is beautiful,” she murmured, even though privately she thought the woman deserved to fall into a rabbit hole and never be seen again.

“I meant his taste in women as in you, Jane. That Belshire elegance is impressive.”

“Well—”

He cupped her face in his hands and kissed her deeply, drank from her lips as if his very life depended on reducing her to breathless acquiescence. She brought her hand to his chest. Her fingers met a wall of granite muscle beneath which his heart beat in the heavy cadence of desire. Hard. Warm. Devastating male to the last inch.

“Yes,” he whispered. “Touch me, Jane. Allow me the same favor.” He stroked his fingertips from her shoulder down into the valley between her breasts, brushing back and forth across the distended peaks until she gasped. “We shall make our own luck, you and I,” he murmured as he set his teeth to the edge of her ear.

His mouth moved down the arch of her throat. She had no idea what he meant by luck—it was all she could do to control the quivers of arousal that rocked her body. Within moments his capable hands were traveling up and down her slender frame in patent possession, caressing the indentation of her waist, the slope of her belly, the warm hollow between her thighs. Incredible. In a heartbeat he already knew her body better than she.

She flexed her spine, felt the excitement coursing through her blood. When he touched her, she became her unleashed self, different, lush and alive, so ripe for his seduction, burning with the most outrageous urges she could imagine. Every brush of his chiseled mouth, every foray of his fingers sensitized her skin.

“Come closer,” he said in a husky voice, drawing her against him until she was practically straddling his thigh, his hand hooked around her bottom. “That’s better, isn’t it?”

“Better for what?” she whispered, the hunger inside her so deep it actually hurt.

He had realized in the chapel that she had a sensual body, a man’s private fantasy. Now he indulged that fantasy by exploring those luscious curves, the soft globes of her breasts, the shapely backside that sat so plushly between his thighs.

“I wanted to do this on your wedding day,” he admitted, burying his face in the white mounds of her breasts. His hands tightened around her rib cage. “I was entranced by you even while you waited at the altar.”

She arched her back and gave a breathless laugh of shock and pleasure. “Well, considering the scandal I caused myself, it’s a good thing you didn’t act on your impulses.”

He tugged down her sleeves, giving him access to her tempting breasts. His mouth closed tightly around a dusky nipple, drawing the pebbled crest between his teeth to tease with his tongue. He resented even the dress of hers that came between them, the fact they weren’t exactly in a spot conducive to uninterrupted exploration. This was reckless, impetuous, insane, and he loved every moment of it. Of course he would not allow anything to go too far. But for now he was aroused past the point of reason.

He moved his left hand down to her ankle, stealing up her skirt until his fingers closed around her knee, tickling the silky underside. Seconds later he was touching the creamy skin above her stockings, drawn to the warm delta of dewy flesh between her legs. He imagined the pleasure of tasting her there, being inside her, and desire knifed through his body.

She shivered as he tangled his forefinger in her nest of curls, but her shock was soon replaced by a longing so intense she could not move. She had wanted her freedom from Nigel, the chance to find her own love, but was this what she had bargained for? Her blood sizzled at this intimacy, and even though she was afraid, anticipation electrified her nerve endings. Being with Grayson was beyond anything in her experience or personal fantasies.

He groaned against her mouth. “Oh, my God, Jane, you’re trembling all over. Just relax and let me give you pleasure.”

“Relax? I feel as though I’m going to die.”

“You’re not going to die. Well, perhaps in a way, but trust me, it will be very nice.”

“Trust you?” she whispered unevenly. “Just look where trusting you has taken me.”

Then stop me, he thought, because he couldn’t find the willpower to end this exercise in self-torture. She had never been touched like this before, and the last thing he would do was deflower her on a garden bench. Yet he wanted to. He wanted to bury himself inside all that sultry heat and unawakened fire. The scent of her filled his mind with black selfish passion. His whole body shook with it.

Jane buried her face in his neck, trying to fight the glorious sensual haze that hung over her. When he parted the damp folds of her sex and pressed his finger inside, she was too surprised to resist, too distracted by the unbearable rush of pleasure to mount a defense. It was enough to cling to sanity as the friction of his petting took her to the edge and released her to the waves of sensation that inundated her. Oh, the wonder of it. The dizzying pleasure. Her head swam with a blur of colors.

He held her so tightly that she found it hard to draw a breath, to return with reluctance to earth. In the distance she heard a swell of laughter, voices growing louder like the buzzing of bees as a group of guests approached the maze. She turned her head in apprehension.

“I think—”

“I hear them,” he murmured hoarsely, his face buried in her hair. “It’s all right. Let’s put you back together, darling. No harm done.”

She covertly straightened her dress, her voice unsteady. “Perhaps not to you. I do not think I will ever be the same. Dear heaven, my hands are shaking, Sedgecroft. Am I putting all the pieces back in their proper place?”

He examined her over from head to toe, his perceptive gaze lingering on her face. The white knight had failed miserably in his attempt at chivalry again. What had he done to her tonight? What folly had possessed him? “Lovely pieces they were, too,” he said softly. “It does seem a shame to hide them.” He lifted her from the bench, holding her against him for a moment, wondering whether she would run from him after this and never return. How was seducing her supposed to fit into their scheme?

“You look even better than you did before,” he added in a quiet voice. “I’m the one returning to the party with his rhubarb at full rise.”

“Your—”

“Hurry, Jane, before we are missed. We must not be seen leaving the maze together.” Teasing aside, he was not about to chance involving her in another scandal. “We’ll find that cheese you are craving, shall we?”