The Seduction (7 page)

Indignation flared.
"But then
Ι
would lose my damned
money." Lord Edward sat in silence for a moment, before he glanced back
and smiled.

"Pray, don't
distress yourself, Sir Reginald! You will bring on some unpleasant physical
ailment. If Gracechurch insists on taking Mistress Juliet willing, he will
indeed lose, for she will never succumb. What
Ι
do with him then is my own affair. But he
can't pay you either way."

Denby felt the shock like
a blow. "What, sir?"

"Surely you knew he
was bluffing? If he fails in this wager, he is ruined. He could not redeem even
a fraction of his debt to us, sir. The man hasn't a feather to fly with."

"But Gracechurch
Abbey-?"

"- is already
mortgaged to the hilt. Gracechurch had no idea of it until he came back from
Italy. His father was a rakehell and spendthrift. Spent every last penny and
left his son a hollow inheritance and a worthless title." Lord Edward
slipped the brass cap between his lips and suckled it before he went on.
"Alas, the value of your anticipated win is a great deal less than you
hope."

"Then why the devil
did you set this up? What do you want with him?"

"Nothing to signify,
dear sir. Perhaps he might yet throw up her skirts and rape her, but if he
fails in this wager,
Ι
fear he will whistle
about it and try to repair his purse in Paris. In which case,
τ
e will lose both the man and what little money
he possesses, and neither shall we have a delightful spectacle to entertain
us."

The indignation was
turning into rage. "What the hell do you suggest?"

Lord Edward bared his
discolored teeth in a grin, the brass cap still lying on his tongue, and gave
Denby a wink.

"
Ι
suggest," he replied with an unpleasant
lift to one corner of his mouth, "that you allow me to buy all his debts
from you now."

JULIET STARED AT
Τ
H
Ε
Ν
E
Α
T ROWS
Ο
F BOTTLES.
Τ
HE STILLROOM was
swept and washed,
everything put away. She could not put it off any longer. Mr. Alden Granville
was waiting for her
in
the garden and she had
given her word.

She saw the gleam of his
hair first, golden under the leaves of her grapevine. He was sitting at the
little table that the Manston Mingate blacksmith had made for her under the
arbor. He stood as soon as she appeared.

Their eyes met.

Juliet felt the burn and
knew the answering heat
in
him, before he dropped
his lashes and gave her a small bow.

"Shall we play
here?" He indicated the chess set already laid out on the table.
In
contrast to his strong, masculine hands, the lace at
his cuffs was very fine, with a pattern of small bells and angels, expensive.
"It's your turn to play white, so the advantage is yours today."

Juliet sat down. The slow
flame where his lightning had struck her was her problem alone.
Υ
et she felt nervous and awkward
in
her stained gown. Her hair was untidy. Wisps fell
annoyingly against her cheek, but she had been determined to make
no
concessions to this man and had refused the luxury
of tidying herself - not
in
spite of the fact that
she had felt the urge to try to look pretty for him, but because of it.

Every morning her mirror
reflected her round chin and full mouth, blue eyes and fair skin. Though she
liked her reddish hair and was glad it was healthy and abundant, she wasn't
fine-boned or refined. When she changed her dress and caught sight of her
reflection
in
nothing but petticoats
and chemise, she didn't see a fashionable figure. She never had, even
in
the days when a maid had laced her into her corset.
Juliet had never been slender enough, nor swan-necked enough. She was too
rounded to fit comfortably into the long, slim bodice that made dresses look
elegant.

Υ
et the sight of her always brought that
particular look to men's eyes.

When she was only
fourteen she had overheard her mother talking to her father. "Men won't be
able to keep their hands off her, Felton. We must arrange a marriage right
away."

Alas, her face had not
been her fortune, but her downfall!

Now she wished she had at
least gone into the house to wash her hands and comb her hair. The afternoon
was unbearably hot, as if the entire atmosphere pressed down, close and
suffocating. She longed to hear the distant rumble of thunder, anything to
clear the oppression from the air.

Instead this golden man
waited quietly, facing her across the board. The tails of his coat draped
elegantly as he crossed long legs at the knee. The buckles
on
his heeled shoes shone under their thin coating of
dirt. Faintly dusty white stockings outlined his firm calves.
Α
man's calves. Muscled and hard.

"
Very well," she said.
"
It's my opening. Pawn to King's Bishop
Three."

Juliet snapped the pawn
in
to place. She would throw him the game and get rid of
him. Alden raised a brow, but he responded with a standard play: Pawn to King
Four. Juliet moved her pawn
to
King's Knight Four. She
had just opened a path directly to her king with
no
possibility of escape. His queen to Rook Five would
give him checkmate
in
the next move.

He sat back and gazed at
her. His eyes were a deep, dark blue. Why had she thought them brown? Because
the blue held a depth of color that seemed close to black, unless the light was
very
brilliant
as it was now
in
her summer garden - or because his pupils seemed to
dilate whenever he looked at her?

"This is the opening
for Fool's Mate, Mistress Seton.
That's
not what we wagered. You agreed to give me a game, not an insult. Ι
believed you a lady of more honor and more courage." He left his queen
untouched and moved a knight instead. "Come, give me a run for my money,
ma'am! Ι wager you can win if you wish."

Chagrin left her feeling hot and flushed. She
replied angrily to hide her embarrassment. "What do you wager this time,
sir? You have already won a game for each day this week - and a wish granted
the winner."

He looked up at her, the skin creased a little at
the corners of his eyes. "Are you concerned that Ι might demand more
than some small forfeit? Let me assure you that - if Ι win - I will ask
for something harmless."

"What if your definition of harm is not the
same as mine?"

He gazed straight into her eyes, adding fuel to
that slow, agonizing fire in her heart. "If it is not, then you may
refuse to pay, of course. Small and harmless, and you shall define it. If
Ι lose, you may ask anything of me that you like, as before-in addition to
whatever chores you need done, as we agreed."

"Do you reserve the right of refusal,
also?"

"No, ma'am. Ι like to risk everything.
Anything that you ask, Ι swear to fulfill it. Now, Ι will give you
five moves to recover from your disastrous opening and then it is war."

Juliet studied the board. If she won, she could
demand he leave Manston Mingate and never come back. But how could she recover?
She tried to concentrate.

He watched her move and made his own. Meshach had
come out of the house. The tabby stretched out in the shade under the table.
Mr. Granville leaned down and gently flicked the cat under the chin. Meshach
began to purr.

Even her cats were traitors!

"It is very hot, ma'am. Would you give me
permission to remove my jacket?"

She glanced up. "It would be a discourtesy,
sir. Ι would prefer you to wear it."

He took a handkerchief out of his pocket and
touched it gently to his face. The lace edging was exquisite, feminine. The
contrast with his lean fingers and hard bones was deeply tantalizing.
"Even if Ι melt?"

Juliet dropped her gaze. Let him swelter!
"That's not my concern, sir."

"You are heartless, ma'am. Cruel." His
voice held irrepressible humor. "You will have a puddle on your
hands."

"You are thoughtless to wear velveteen on
such a hot day."

"I’ faith," he said indignantly,
smoothing his hand over the plush sleeve. "It was chosen with a great deal
of thought. Ι wanted to look pretty for you."

Before she could stop herse1f: she laughed.
"Pretty?"

"Pretty." He moved his rook.

"Like all that lace - so very
effeminate?"

"Indeed, ma'am. My lace is both feminine and
royal, a prize won from a visiting European princess."

"The result of another game?"

"If you like." He smiled. "What do
you suppose is the purpose of chess, Mistress Seton?"

His position was still stronger - except for one
little opening. She took it. "To capture the opponent's king, of course.
Check!"

He blocked the threat in a way she hadn't
expected and destroyed her strategy. "But the king is never captured. He
is only pinned down and forced to surrender. Meanwhile the queen can sweep any
other piece to destruction. It's odd, don't you think, for the lady to have so
much power?"

The blue eyes were gazing at her through narrowed
lashes. Blue eyes. Blue velvet. Beneath a great arch of blue sky. The color
echoed and re-echoed, gaining depth and timbre. Her pulse resonated as if it
responded to that silent orchestra of color. Heat flooded her face. She had
made a dreadful mistake, letting him lull her into a false sense of security by
his illness on her garden path.

She looked down and moved her queen's bishop two
squares. "Why odd?"

"It suggests that chess is a metaphor for
seduction." Disquiet throbbed. It was getting difficult to concentrate on
the direction of her new attack. She could see where his moves were leading
him, but it made little sense. It was too obvious a play.

"Ι thought we had agreed that chess is
a war game."

"It is, of course. Yet all's fair in love
and war, they say." His knight blocked her, but gave her another opening.
"Both must win surrender of the opponent. Although any tactics may secure
victory, there are certain rules, aren't there, that must be followed if the
winning is to be honorable? Even when the game involves royalty. No, without
question, chess is a model for seduction. Look at what is happening on the
board: a pursuit, a pinning, followed by a forking check."

The words hung between them for a moment, rich in
suggestion. The sun burned onto her hair and sent a flush of heat through her
limbs. She wanted to peel off her hot, sticky dress and plunge into something
cool and dark, like the village pond. Instead she was trapped here at her own
garden table with a man who blazed like the sun. Α faint trace of
perspiration lay along his cheekbone. It sparkled, distracting her. Juliet
dragged her mind back to the board.

He had slipped away from her thrust and she was
in check. She moved her bishop as she had planned and challenged him again,
quite deliberately, because she couldn't bear the uncertainty, the sense of
impending disaster.

"It's a totally false analogy, sir! Am
Ι to assume that you wantonly reveal your true purpose, after all?"

She' d put as much indignation as she could
muster into her voice, but he laughed.

"My
purpose
is only to win this game.
But my desire? Ι would very much like to seduce you, Mistress Seton."

She looked up, her face burning, hating herself
for bringing it out into the open where the delicate game must be shattered.
Had she ever been so young that she had thought flirtation harmless?

"This sudden 1urch into candor will achieve
you nothing, sir. I'm not interested."

He was smi1ing, just a 1itt1e, the sun flaming
gold in his hair. Not a muscle moved except a slight narrowing of his eyes, but
the depths of those black pupils offered a searing invitation to eroticism. The
coward in her wanted to leap up from the table and flee. Instead she funneled
her anger into a determination to beat him, to leave him humbled, his king
pinned on the last rank, he1p1ess before her massed attack.

"Oh, no, ma'am. Do not prevaricate."
His voice was very soft.
"
You
are interested. Don't let it disturb you. We are civi1ized creatures. But
shou1d Ι pretend that Ι don't find you lovely, that my blood doesn't
burn for you? Why? It would be an absurd falsehood. Yet you hold the power. If
the lady allows no room for maneuver, the game is over before it begins."