The Seduction (10 page)

Juliet thanked Jemmy and gave the boy a farthing
for his trouble. She walked into the house to put the rest of her coins back
into their hiding place. For a moment she looked about at the low-ceilinged
room, then suddenly envisioned the high blaze of white plaster that had soared
overhead during her childhood. Strident images swarmed, making the breath catch
in her throat. Not something she usually allowed. She never let herself indulge
in vain regrets. Now they came rushing back. The aching void, slashed through
the lives of everyone she loved. The terrible price they had all paid in pain
and sorrow. Her fists clenched as her eyes burned with tears.

Damn this man! Alden Granville had cut a swath
through her contentment with his keen, sharp presence, as if to lay open all of
her defenses. It was intolerable. She turned around to march out into her
hayfield and confront him.

The five laborers, joined by the gaggle of
spectators from the village, were now quaffing ale and tearing into large
chunks of bread and cheese by the lane gate. The brown-haired giant had set the
tricorn reverently on the gate post. Pink brocade hung from the hedge, while
the swarthy man mopped his face with a handkerchief and accepted slaps on the
back from his fellows. Waistcoat, lace cuffs and linen shirt were all being
folded and laid carefully out of harm's way, while their new owners laughed and
nodded at the merry throng of faces. There was no half-naked gentleman with
yellow hair among them.

"
It would spoil their party if Ι joined
in," he said.

Juliet looked around. He had flung himself full
length on a patch of mown grass near the hedge by the yard, one hand over his
eyes to shield them from the sun. Her attention focused on his mouth, on that
lovely curl of lip, the little smile lingering at the corners. Α tiny
sparkle of gold glittered on his jaw. More gold shone on his forearms. Firm
muscles ridged below his rib cage. Α line of hair ran down his chest, then
disappeared beneath his breeches.

She lifted her chin, feeling the mad awareness
creep over her skin.

Her cats had curled up beside him, a tumble of
multicolored fur, purring. The god fallen, but still worshipped.

"You cheated," she said.

He moved his fingers and opened one blue eye.
"Did Ι?" The indignant cats uncurled and arched their backs.
Abednego stalked off through the grass.

"You found laborers to help you." She
bit her lip and glanced away. It wasn't what she wanted to say.

"The hay is cut. Ι was the instrument
of that." His tone was entirely innocent, good-humored. "I think you
have your prize, ma'am."

She bent to pick up a beheaded buttercup. The
petals glowed like yellow fire. ''And do you think you are any closer to
yours?"

"No, alas." He sounded almost merry.
"This forfeit is all for you."

Shadrach stretched and walked away. Tail high,
Meshach ran off toward the yard. Juliet watched them go, her disloyal pets.

"I did not gain much by it," she said.

"Yes, you did. You wanted me to feel
humiliation. Ι did not. But you also wanted me to feel at least some
modicum of pain."

It was true, wasn't it? "And do you?"

He started to laugh. Still laughing, he rolled
over to bury his face in his hands. Blond hair, tawny with moisture, clung to
his spine. Even the brocade breeches were damp, though his washed skin was no
longer sticky with sweat and pollen. He must have cleansed himself at the yard
pump, dumped water over his head and muscular shoulders, then let himself dry
in the sun.

If she moved closer she would catch his scent -
be able to breathe it deeply into her starved lungs - the honest tang of
freshly mown grass with a deeper note echoing the damp heat of clean male
flesh. Her pulse beat darkly in forbidden, secret rhythms as her rage grew.

"I ache from head to toe," he said at last.
"Every blessed muscle. Ι’ faith, but Ι had no idea mowing hay
would be such deuced hard work."

She dropped the buttercup. Caught by a slight
breeze, the petals drifted onto his naked back. Gold shone against the strong
indentation of his spine.

"Because you have never before done a day's
work in your life," she said. "Which is why you cannot join the men
for their ale. They'd be far too uncomfortable if you socialized with them.
They know their place. As you know yours - my
lord."

His spine stiffened. "Yes," he said.
"Does it matter?"

Juliet stared across the field to the group
lolling and drinking by the gate. Of course it mattered! Nothing else mattered
as much in this England. One class of men born into privilege and wealth,
another into unceasing labor. Yet the burden of the aristocracy was the
greatest - theirs the responsibility to hold the whole system together. Alas
that there were members of that class, like herself, who had not understood the
price that would be exacted from any who broke the rules.

"One of your men almost called you by your
title," she said.
"
You
are a lord. Who?"

His back flexed. His muscles slipped smoothly.
The buttercup petals slid away to be lost in the cut grass. He turned over and
set one hand behind his damp head, while the fingers of the other shaded his
gaze once again.

"If Ι tell you my parentage, will you
tell me yours?"

She stared down at him, lying abandoned at her
feet.
"
It is none of your
business."

His eyes narrowed. "Then let us remain
strangers, Mistress Juliet. It adds spice.”

"
Spice?
You are a peer of the realm -
or your father was - yet you come here on some kind of whim. You entrap me, a
perfect stranger, into your madness. You steal my time and my contentment. You
glory over my discomfiture. You make a fool of me in front of the people among
whom Ι must spend the rest of my days, long after you have returned to
your life of idleness and dissipation. It is all an amusement to you." Her
hands had balled into fists. She shook them. "
You - all
of
you!"

"All of whom?"

Juliet took a deep breath. Rage surged in her
blood. "Three years ago Sir Reginald Denby, my neighbor at Marion
Hall"- she stabbed a forefinger to the north -"blew up the mill dam
on Manston Brook to amuse some cronies. They were racing toy boats. When the
miller complained, they laughed. Last year Sir Reginald drove his carriage at a
gallop down that lane-" She waved her hand to the west, indicating the
road to Upper Μingate. "At the ford he killed six geese belonging to
Mistress Caxtοn. No recompense was offered.
You -
in
your
silk and lace and finery - you are all parasites on the land!"

"Lud!" he said calmly. ''How fortunate
we are that you're not also a member of that execrated class!"

Her anger died. Why had she railed at him about
this? Of course not all landowners were like Sir Reginald Denby. Her father
had always worked harder than any of his tenants, fulfilling the
responsibilities of his position before ever indulging his own pleasure. So had
many of his friends. She knew that.

She turned to leave. ''You're an actress?"

Surprise stopped her in mid-turn.
"
Of a kind."

His hand seized her ankle.

Juliet almost tripped. She stopped dead, the
strength of his fingers pressed into her bones. Outrage left her momentarily
speechless.

"Alas, another predicament, ma'am?" he
asked softly.
"
If you move, you
will fall. If you struggle, you will create a scene. The villagers will
notice."

"And may well exact a swift enough vengeance
on you for my discomfort." The firm grip held steadily, just enough to
prevent her wrenching away. "What humiliation do you plan now?"

"None." His palm burned warmly on her
stocking. She was searingly aware of it. "Ι just want to let you know
that you are right."

"Right about what?"

"That this is all an amusement to me. Why
shouldn't life be amusing, full of joy? Why the devil are you so full of
regrets, Mistress Seton? When you sat on the gate and watched us cut hay, you
seemed filled with longing for the wicked, immodest world. Why have you allowed
it to leave you behind?"

"Ι regret nothing except that Ι
let you cozen me into this mad agreement. "

"Ι have barely begun to cozen you, but
Ι won't do you any harm." His hand slipped open-fingered over her
ankle, sending keen shivers up her calf. "Whereas you have already caused
me grave injury."

"You are in that much pain?" she asked
derisively, looking at the obvious strength of his arms and shoulders.

"Not of the body, ma'am-though Ι shall
know a merry enough ache in my limbs for a day or two. The real injury you have
caused me is to the heart."

The absurdity of it, his sheer nonsense, made her
want to laugh. "You have no heart, sir. Meanwhile, you have me pinned by
the foot! What am Ι supposed to say? 'Unhand me, sirrah'?"

He grinned. "Ι would never obey so
melodramatic a request."

Juliet lifted the edge of her skirt and stared at
his hand on her ankle. "Why not? Do you think 'undress me' is more
likely?"

His fingers flew open as he was startled into
laughter. He rolled over again, covering himself in cut grass and shredded
buttercups, his shoulders shaking with mirth.

Juliet spun about and walked rapidly to the
house. She slammed the kitchen door behind her and raced up the stairs to her
bedroom. Ribbons flailed on her straw bonnet as she wrenched it off and threw
it to the floor. The clumsy action caught hairpins, so her hair crumbled down
around her shoulders. He had almost made her join him in hilarity - which felt
dangerously close to surrender!

She seized the chestnut mass in both hands and
pushed it away from her face. Her flushed reflection stared back from the
mirror. High color flooded her cheeks. Her eyes burned like blue sapphires.
She was still young. She was comely enough. Her blood pulsed with vigorous
desire. Did he think her reasons for rejecting him were trivial?

Juliet dropped her hands and let her hair fall.

She had closed al those doors five years ago and
none of them could be opened again. Unless- Horrified at her own thoughts,
Juliet paced tο the window and looked out, one hand over the locket hidden
beneath her dress.

The villagers had piled only the inn wagon and
were riding away. Mr. Granville was talking to Farmer Hames. Α gang of men
from the farm, joined by the five strangers, were already raking the downed
grass. One of the lads was bringing the hay cart in through the gate. It would
take them the rest of the afternoon, raking and turning, letting the sun dry
the hay. So he must have arranged that, too, as he had arranged for the ale
from the Three Tuns. He might be a wastrel, but he knew about rural customs.
Obviously he had estates of his own somewhere.

She turned away. It was better not to know.

Meanwhile, she had work to do. She secured her
hair neatly at her nape, picked up her bonnet and hung it carefully from its
hook. For a moment she leaned one shoulder against the wall, fingering the worn
ribbons. Perhaps with what Mr. Granville had just
saved her in getting
her hay scythed for free, she could buy herself a new bonnet. Juliet laughed
aloud and went downstairs.

ALDEN LEFT THE MEN MAKING HAY AND WALKED BACK TO
the inn. Four cows grazing on the green lifted their heads and watched him
pass, their long-lashed brown eyes gazing stupidly after him.

He was only a little regretful about the pink
brocade and the waistcoat. They had been a necessity for a particular court
appearance and had cost a deuced fortune. But the lads from Gracechurch Abbey
could carry off their winnings, along with a grand tale to tell, to sell or
keep as they wished. If he won the wager, he could afford it. If he lost, it
didn't matter. He was giving away clothes that had already been lost in a card
game, but he was damned if he wanted Sir Reginald Denby - a man who had destroyed
a village mill pond for sport - to decorate his callous exploits with royal
lace and gold-thread embroidery.

At the Three Tuns Alden ordered his daily hot
bath, much to the consternation of Mr. Sandham. The innkeeper was mystified by
the peculiar cleanliness standards of his guest.

"You'll be aching, then, sir?" the man
asked, scratching his head.

"I’ faith, Mr. Sandham," Alden replied.
"Since my last tub Ι have ridden thirty miles, taken lessons with a
scythe until dawn, broken my back over a whetstone, then swung that sharpened
blade at a killing pace for two hours. Ι am going to bathe and sleep.
Ι do not wish to be disturbed."

The innkeeper grinned. "Then you'll visit
Mistress Seton again?"

Alden paused at the foot of the stairs. "You
truly don't know who she is?"

"On my life, sir! Miss Parrett, as used to
have the cottage, was fetched one morning in a carriage. No one in the village
had ever seen it before. She come back the next day with Mistress Seton. It
were five year ago."