Nicole Jordan - The Seduction

“Call it a crisis of conscience.”

“I’m not sure what you mean.”

“I was wrong to insist you become my mistress. This is a way for me to make amends.”

“You mean to withdraw from our agreement? To claim the family estates my brother lost to you?”

“No, that is not what I mean,” Damien returned with an edge of impatience. His heart twisted at the knowledge she could think him capable of being that underhanded. Moreover, he had earned her distrust. “You’ve fulfilled our bargain more than adequately.”

“Then why do you feel you must make amends?”

“I’ve come to realize how untenable the situation is that I’ve put you in. Truthfully, it disturbs me to think I initiated your foray into prostitution. In reparation I’m prepared to offer you the protection of my name and fortune.”

She studied him for a long moment. “You are proposing to me because of guilt? I won’t fetter you to me out of guilt, Damien.”

His mouth curved in a humorless smile. “Guilt is as good a reason to wed as any.”

Her dark eyes remained steady. “For me, it isn’t.” She took a deep breath. “In circumstances such as these, my lord, I believe the proper etiquette is to express gratitude. So I will. I am honored and flattered by your generous offer, but I must politely decline.”

Damien was glad he was so skilled at shielding his expressions, for it allowed him to conceal the turmoil he felt. “Am I allowed an explanation for your refusal?”

“A marriage between us would never work.”

“I try not to be more than normally obtuse, but I fail to understand why it wouldn’t.”

“You don’t love me,” she said simply.

“Love?” His frown was cynical. “What does love have to say to the matter?”

“I’ve vowed never to endure another loveless marriage.”

His features softened a measure. “I would never treat you as your boor of a husband treated you.”

“Perhaps you wouldn’t consciously intend to. But you may not be able to help yourself. You would never be happy having to honor your marriage vows, and I would be miserable with anything less.”

He stared at her. “You are asking for fidelity.”

“I suppose I am.”

When he didn’t reply, Vanessa gazed at him sadly. Damien was a born rake, a restless soul who had no use for love. He wanted her body for the moment. Yet once his desire for her faded, he would doubtless revert to form and cause her the same misery her late husband had. She couldn’t bear loving Damien so desperately and enduring his betrayal.

“We are not at all compatible,” she added quietly. “The life you lead… isn’t the sort of life I would ever willingly choose again. I’ve had enough of scandal and debauchery.”

“If you embark on a career as a Cyprian, you will likely find both.”

“Perhaps. But at least it will be on my own terms. As your wife I would have few rights. Legally I would be little more than your possession. Becoming a Cyprian is still preferable to enduring a wretched marriage.”

“And you’re certain ours would be wretched?”

“For me, it would be.” She saw a muscle flex in his jaw, and she spread her hands in a gesture of conciliation. “We have nothing in common, Damien.”

“I would say we have a great deal in common.” He moved toward her purposefully. “Passion, for one.”

Taking her hands, he drew her to her feet and pulled her close against his body. The brief kiss he gave her to demonstrate his point was shattering and left her breathless with longing.

“You cannot claim,” Damien asserted, his voice low with determination, “that we are physically incompatible. Your body would refute you.”

Vanessa bit her lip, knowing he was aware of her flushed skin, her rapid heartbeat, her nipples peaked with desire.

“You arouse my body, I can’t deny that. But marriage should mean something more than the gratification of physical desire. It should mean love and caring and commitment. Building a home and family. You don’t want a family, any more than you want a wife. I would want children some day, Damien. You clearly don’t.”

He stiffened. “I doubt I am capable of being much of a father-look at my record with my sister. But I admit I have a duty to carry on the title. I would have no objection to producing an heir at some future point.”

“I would never bring a child into your world,” she replied, her voice low, bleak.

For the first time Damien showed a hint of anger. “Perhaps I should have chosen a more romantic setting. You might have found my proposal more amenable had I plied you with roses and moonlight.”

“Roses and moonlight could not induce me to marry you.” When his jaw clenched, Vanessa shook her head. “Come now, you don’t truly want to wed me. I mean nothing to you.”

His eyes darkened, something subtle and dangerous moving in the gray depths. “I could seriously debate that point.” He captured her hand and pressed her palm against his groin, letting her feel his hardness. “Is this the mark of a man’s indifference?”

Vanessa lifted her chin at his attempt to intimidate her. “It is the mark of a man with oversized sexual appetites- and I have no doubt there are countless women eager to satisfy them.”

“There seem to be any number of men eager to satisfy yours,” Damien retorted as she withdrew from his embrace. “Clune offered to wager me for your sexual services, were you aware?”

“And did you?”

“No.”

“I confess myself astonished. A gamester like yourself is always primed for a wager.”

He gave her a stony stare, his eyes hot and bright as molten silver. “I won’t countenance your giving your body to the likes of Clune.”

Vanessa returned his gaze defiantly, until another thought dawned on her. “You cannot possibly be jealous of your friend? Is that what this proposal is about? He’s offended your sense of ownership?”

For the first time she saw vulnerability in Damien’s shuttered face. Vanessa inhaled a steadying breath. “You may rest assured, I have no desire to have Lord Clune for a lover or protector. Or any of your other friends, for that matter. And most certainly you may ease your conscience. You are not responsible for my actions, or my welfare. There is no need for you to feel the least guilty.”

“It isn’t that simple,” Damien returned through gritted teeth.

“No?” Vanessa paused, her own ire softening. “If my refusal angers you, it’s only because you’ve always been accustomed to having your own way. But some day you will count yourself fortunate to have escaped my clutches.”

For the second time in several days, she turned and walked away from him, this time leaving him alone in the quiet chamber.

With a curse, Damien flung himself into a chair. He was indeed jealous, but jealousy wasn’t the only primal emotion he felt for Vanessa.

Damn her, why did he feel this fever, this desperate hunger only with her?

Damien swore again. He had meant only to seduce her, not cherish and desire her. The devil of it was, he was the one who had been seduced. She had crept beneath his defenses, even as he’d tried to shatter hers. He wanted her until he ached with it.

But wanting her, it seemed, was not enough. For her… or for himself.

Vanessa stood at the window of her bedchamber, staring blindly down at the rose gardens. Had she made a terrible mistake, refusing Damien’s offer of marriage?

In the three days since his startling proposal, she’d asked herself that question a hundred times, going over and over every nuance of their conversation, every subtlety of emotion in his expression and tone of voice.

She hadn’t found what she’d longed to see. Not even a hint of love. And without love, a marriage between them would be doomed.

Damien would never be content to settle down with one woman, to give up his life as a rakehell. Love alone might have the power to change him, but he didn’t love her. That was the harsh, bitter truth.

Vanessa let out a deep sigh. Summer was almost at an end. Her term as his mistress was almost over. Then she would be free to go and take her own wounded heart with her. Free to start rebuilding her life. Free to begin the struggle of trying to forget Damien…

A rapid knock on her bedchamber door interrupted her melancholy thoughts. At her bidding, a footman entered, bearing a silver salver.

“Beg pardon, milady, but a carriage has come with this message for you from Lord Clune.”

Vanessa wondered why Clune would be writing to her, unless it involved Damien. Damien had driven to his friends’ hunting box early this morning for some dove shooting…

Curiously Vanessa broke the seal and read:

Lady Wyndham-Do not be alarmed, but I fear Sinclair has met with a minor accident. The doctor has been sent for, but Sin is calling for you. My carriage is at your disposal. I pray you will come shortly.

Panic seized her as she pictured Damien lying wounded, his lifeblood seeping from his body. Her hand went to her throat where her heart had lodged. She couldn’t bear the thought of his death. She couldn’t.

“I must go to him,” she breathed hoarsely.

She had the presence of mind at least to fetch a pelisse and to tell the footman she was going to join Lord Sinclair, before running down the stairs and out the front door to the waiting carriage.

They set a rapid pace, without stopping to change horses. Even so Vanessa deplored the delay. She couldn’t control her dread or the dark images assaulting her. She kept remembering her final view of her husband when they’d brought his body home the morning of the duel. The fatal bullet wound in his chest, the blood… Clune’s message said Damien’s accident was minor, but she couldn’t rest easy until she assured herself that he wasn’t dying.