Page 12 of The Secret of My Seduction
Angus harrumphed. “You’re a bloody liar. You never thought of it: ha! Now you claim women all over London are offering you a tumble, but you can’t even say what they look like. Bloody liar,” he repeated for good measure.
Liam stopped and made a show of glancing around, as if for privacy. “Hair like silk,” he said, so quietly Angus had to lean closer. “Long and wavy, and when she’s wearing nothing else…” He inhaled meaningfully. “Eyes warm and inviting. Skin as soft as a peach. And a mouth that would make your brain cease working, when you imagine it touching yours.”
Angus was barely breathing. “No…”
Liam smiled and touched the brim of his hat. “Good day, Angus.” He walked out, reveling at leaving his older brother speechless. There was no good reason for Angus to be so interested in Liam’s love affairs; Angus had a fiancée, a perfectly respectable woman called Miss Lachlan whose mother was one of Mrs. MacGregor’s dear friends. Unfortunately Miss Lachlan’s father had died two weeks before their planned wedding this past spring, so the marriage had been postponed until after her mourning was finished. Angus must be feeling ill-natured because he ought to have had his own woman to bed by now, but didn’t. The Lachlans were rather pious people and Miss Lachlan wanted to observe a full year for her father.
Which was a terrible pity for poor Angus, but not Liam’s problem. He hailed a hackney and gave the direction of his little house in the village of St. John’s Wood. He’d bought it for privacy, and because it was more affordable to live so far from town. It was also something of a secret; all his correspondence went to theIntelligenceroffices or to Wharton’s Bank, and he lived quietly, even reclusively, avoiding the few neighbors. Tonight that seemed like a brilliant decision.
He’d left orders that morning with his housekeeper, and arrived home to find everything ready. A cold plate of dinner was waiting under a cloth in the dining room, and the servants had taken their night out. He ate and then strolled through the house, viewing it critically. The sofa in the parlor had proved adequate, but he wanted to keep Bathsheba off guard. He thought of what he had in mind for her second lesson and realized he was staring at the long, wide chaise in his small library. It was extremely comfortable for reading, with his feet propped up and a pillow behind his back. He wouldn’t be reading tonight…but this would suit him perfectly. Smiling, he went to fetch the wine.
Chapter Six
Friday threw Bathsheba into a crisis unlike any she had ever suffered before: one of fashion.
For three days she had successfully put her “lessons” from her mind. Despite the lack of notes, her writing had been almost frantically inspired this week. She’d written close to fifty pages of her next tale, and they were rather high quality pages if she did say so herself. Far from growing dull or routine, her heroine’s encounter felt daring and charged. Never had writing been so easy or so exhilarating. She would have to consider taking a lover more often, as it appeared to have refreshed her entire creative spirit.
But on Friday she had to confront one point that had nagged at her those three days. She did not have an attractive dress. Why this mattered, she wasn’t sure, but Liam’s derision of her brown velvet began to assume unreasonable importance in her mind. It didn’t matter if he found her attractive or well-dressed, she tried to tell herself. She’d only take off the dress soon after she arrived, and it could offend no one lying on a chair. But she still found herself scowling into her wardrobe, irrationally distressed that all her clothes were practical and plain.
“Are you going out again?” asked Mary, hovering in the doorway.
“Yes, but I don’t know what to wear.” She touched a rust-colored dress, then a dark blue. They were both new, bought to replace dresses ruined by ink while they were printingFifty Ways to Sinin the cellar, but suddenly Bathsheba thought them both old and tired. Or perhaps she was the problem, too plain and dull to look attractive in anything. She sighed. This should not matter to her. Liam knew perfectly well that she was plain and unfashionable when he agreed to this.
“Where are you going?”
“Oh—a dinner party,” she said, blushing at the lie. “But don’t tell Mr. Crawford,” she added quickly. “It’s a philosophical society and my brother doesn’t hold with such things.” Fortunately Danny was accustomed to spending Friday evenings at the local pub, so she wouldn’t have to lie to him directly.
“Then you want to look lovely.” Mary opened the wardrobe doors wider and pulled out a dress. “This one is handsome.”
Bathsheba laughed in surprise. “It’s several years old!” It had once been her favorite, but now was hopelessly out of fashion.
Mary shook out the sage green skirt, spreading it out for examination. “It’s still in fine condition, and it suits you, ma’am.” She held it up. “It looks like it will fit.”
Dubiously, Bathsheba considered it. “You think so?” It was a simple round gown, at least ten years old. She remembered wearing it before her parents’ deaths, when she’d been young and hopeful. Surely such a gown would look ridiculous on a woman of her age. Aside from some white embroidery around the sleeves and bodice, it was unadorned.
“We’ll add a ribbon for a sash. With a necklace, you’ll be quite lovely, ma’am.” Mary’s round face shone eagerly, and Bathsheba found herself agreeing to try it.
Even after discovering it still fit—one benefit to being poor was that she hadn’t put on much weight—and even after Mary produced a long black ribbon sash that lent a sophisticated air to the ensemble, Bathsheba fidgeted. Mary rolled her hair into a simple chignon and pinned it at the nape of her neck, softer than her usual scraped-back style. Even to Bathsheba’s critical eyes, she looked better than usual, but part of her recoiled from it. This wasn’t a romantic assignation with Liam, it was a business meeting.
During which she expected to end up naked and shuddering in sensual release.
This time the ride in the carriage seemed shorter than before. When she stepped down, her hands were just as shaky as the first time, and the fact that Liam stood in the doorway waiting, just as before, made her somehow feel gauche and shy.
Things improved when she took off her cloak. The expression on his face said she’d been right to trust Mary. “Much better,” he said with approval.
“It’s old,” she said for no reason.
“But still more appealing than the brown. Come.” He led the way to another room, a library where a fire burned against the chill of the evening and two glasses of wine stood on the table. This time he closed the door. “No draughts,” he said with a slight smile, and Bathsheba flushed scarlet.
“Any regrets?” He handed her a glass of the wine, and she took a nervous sip. “I am open to any critique, now that you’ve had a few days to reflect upon lesson one.”
“No. No regrets.” She twisted the glass in her hands. “You?”
He laughed. “None at all.”
That buoyed her courage a little. “Then shall we begin?”
“Drink some wine,” he said with amusement. “I think you’ll be glad later.”
