Page 9 of Enslaved to the Seduction of a Lady
Chapter Four
“Not that one you fool. I wish to wear the green one.”
Rupert Sherriden, Earl of Belmont, scowled at his valet as he scurried back to the wardrobe in search of another waistcoat. At five-and-forty, he was an unfriendly sort and he knew it. He had no time for incompetence or folly, and he expected his servants to behave impeccably—or to be dismissed without character.
The valet rushed back with the correct item and went to put it on the Earl, but Rupert snatched it out of his hand.
“I shall do it myself,” he said, throwing the valet a warning look. “I always thought you better than that, Fletcher, but it turns out you are unable to listen to direct instruction.”
“I apologize, My Lord.”
“Your apology is not accepted,” Rupert said. “Consider this your final warning.” He glared once more at the cowering valet, then proceeded to dress himself in the waistcoat, doing up the buttons in front of the looking glass.
He was an average sort of man—neither ugly nor attractive, neither tall nor short. His brown hair was acceptable but nothing worth talking about, and he dressed in a distinctly mediocre style. His eyes, though, they were black as night and to stare into them too long would set anyone quivering. They held in them every one of his bad thoughts and deeds, they spoke of his cruel and manipulative nature.
His voice was nasally and high pitched, his face set to a continual sneer, and he would walk nowhere without the cane that tapped a rhythm onto the floor. The Earl was a cold man at heart, calculating and pretentious, his ambition always taking priority, but he had quite a way of convincing people otherwise. In ways even Rupert was not entirely sure he understood himself, he could persuade anyone into thinking he had a good-natured soul, that he always meant well and wanted for the best for people.
“Pass me my tailcoat,” he said. “If you think you can manage that without error. I need to look my best tonight if I am to win the Salsburys over.”
“Of course, My Lord.”
“Excellent,” Rupert said, holding his arm out for Fletcher to put the jacket on him. Once it was on and done up, he turned to Fletcher and said, “How do I look?”
“Wonderful, My Lord.”
“Good. I intend to win over the Lady Alison Heymouth this evening—although I wonder if I need to win her over at all.”
“No, My Lord.”
“No?” He looked at Fletcher, his chin creased in thought. “No, I don’t suppose I do. She is rather an old maid now, and her parents will be eager to see her married.”
“Of that, I have no doubt, My Lord.” Fletcher stood near the door, back straight and arms clasped behind him. He held his head high, his jaw tight, and he looked over at Rupert.
“They will be desperate, I imagine,” he said, thinking as he spoke.
He talked often to the servants, as he had no one he could call a friend. He didn’t mind that. He had no time for friendship, no desire to have someone talk to him of their loves and their lives. At least, with Fletcher and the others, they had a duty to listen to him, to always agree with him, and Rupert would never be required to repay the favor.
“Yes, My Lord,” Fletcher said. “And I doubt they will have many offers, with the lady being the age she is.”
“That is also true, Fletcher,” Rupert said, nodding his head. “I suspect the dowry they offer will be quite substantial, don’t you think?”
“I agree, My Lord. They will wish to see her quickly married off.”
“Yes,” Rupert said, musing. “It could turn out to be a very profitable arrangement.”
“And she is a beautiful young lady,” Fletcher added. Rupert tutted.
“I care not for that, nor for anything she can offer. The dowry, though… now there is something tempting.”
He raised his eyebrow conspiratorially, then marched past Fletcher into the body of the house. Belmont Manor, situated in the center of London, was large, fitting for a man of such grandeur as the Earl. The gardens were beautifully kept, the house immaculate and up to date. Thanks to a swelling team of servants, the Earl’s estate grew more elaborate and more expensive as time went on.
In truth, he had no need of any more money. Financially stable, Rupert could not spend all the money he already had. A large dowry from the Salsburys would do nothing but stroke the Earl’s ego, fulfill his greed, and that thought in itself made him feel smug and self-satisfied.
“What time are you leaving, My Lord?” Fletcher asked as he trailed the Earl. “I shall inform the coachman.”
“You haven’t done that already?” Rupert swirled around and railed on him. “Whathaveyou been doing all day?”
Fletcher said nothing, and Rupert only narrowed his eyes and huffed, then he turned back and marched on, his footsteps loud through the hallway.
“I wish to leave now,” Rupert said as he stepped into the entrance hall. He didn’t look back at Fletcher, but he knew the valet would be scurrying out to the coach house, urging them to hurry.
He stalked out the front door and huffed when he noticed the coach had not yet arrived. He would have words with the coachman for not being prepared, but later. He was determined to enjoy the evening for what it was. With that, he let his thoughts turn to Lady Alison.
Fletcher was quite right when he had said she was a beautiful lady. Although for Rupert this was more a financial relationship, he could not deny that having an attractive young wife was an interesting prospect. He had, of course, spent time with ladies of the night, and he had had insipid, dull conversations with ladies of society. But never before had he combined the two—the physical and the mental.
He sneered, smirking at the thought. Yes, he would indeed get what he wanted, but this time it would not behimpaying.
