Page 17 of The Secret of My Seduction
Perhaps she did—too much so. It was the memory of her businesslike demeanor at the start that kept him from crossing the line. But as much as Liam told himself this had begun as pure business for him—well, pure business with a healthy dose of curiosity, and perhaps a little delight at being pursued… Damn it, it had never been pure business. He’d spent more time this past fortnight thinking about seducing Bathsheba than he’d ever spent on another woman.
He looked at the little book. Did she want kissing? Did she want him to kiss her, or had that page been written before she decided to ask him to show her passion? And—come to think of it—who else had she considered? Had she asked other men and been turned down? Liam realized he was scowling at that thought; what bloody bastards would turn her down? Bathsheba was the cleverest woman he knew, as well as the most sensible; she knew when to hold her tongue and when to carry a conversation. She was quick to recognize a business opportunity, immensely practical and capable, but also liable to turn into a bold and uninhibited lover with the slightest encouragement.
The only reason he could think of was that she was not a beauty. Well—not until a man saw her naked, hair wild about her shoulders, with her face flushed and her eyes gone liquid after a shattering climax. Something primal growled in his chest that he had been able to bring her to that point, that no other man had been a skilled enough lover to do it, but he had seen her that way. She’d been beautiful then, on his lap with her arms around his neck. Under him on the chaise, with her fingernails digging into his arse.
He slid the little book into his pocket, suddenly afraid she would not come back next week at all.
The week passed in a blur. Bathsheba found herself hideously distracted, unable to concentrate on her work. At times she would feel furiously angry with Liam, and resolve that she would not go back at the end of the week, nor would she ever again mention the subject to him. She’d done well enough making things up so far, and she could keep on doing so, thank you very much. Perhaps Liam would think she’d taken his advice and found some other man to do what he hadn’t. Yes, let him think that; she even wrote a draft of a letter implying that very thing, just to put him in his place and demonstrate that she was not going to tolerate his high-handed attitude at all.
Then she threw the note in the fire, because she knew Liam and if she hinted that she’d been letting other men make love to her, he’d ask where and who and when. At best he would be annoyed that she’d wasted his time instead of finding some other fellow from the start, and at worst he’d tease her and ask horrible questions she wouldn’t be able to answer. And of course it was impossible to think of asking another man to do what Liam had done.
She never should have started down this road. Much better if she’d asked a stranger to do it, for then she wouldn’t have to see her former lover every week and know what he looked like in the throes of passion or how his skin tasted, or how his hands felt moving over her skin, driving her wild, thrusting deep inside her. She wouldn’t be dying of anguish because she still wanted him months from now, after these lessons were over, or because her silly heart would probably always hold out some tiny hope that someday, somehow, he might fall in love with her. If she’d asked another man, some careless rake who wouldn’t remember her name the next day, her secret infatuation with Liam could have continued undisturbed and forever unfulfilled.
She wrote another note, this time on dry impersonal business matters. This was to show that she was capable of carrying on with life even with this unfinished affair between them, and that she had not turned into a silly female mooning over him now that he’d given her a few climaxes. She read the note again, realized the entire thing could be read as an oblique metaphor for coupling, and that letter joined the first on the fire.
After four days she realized her choices were few: let go of the whole mad idea and try to regain the comfortable business relationship they’d had before, or figure out how she would be able to spend an entire night away from home without Danny rousing the constabulary.
She hadn’t been exaggerating when she told Liam it would be difficult. When she and Danny had set up house together originally, he had been still recovering from losing his arm. He was a year younger than she, and she had been terrified that he would give in to the melancholy that engulfed him regularly. The war was over, and he was no good to the navy with only half an arm. London was filled with soldiers and sailors, and wages were low for the few jobs to be found. It had taken very hard work, stretching every farthing to its limit, to survive the few years following Waterloo, and if not forFifty Ways to Sinsuddenly dropping into their laps, Bathsheba wasn’t sure they would have survived.
But that long shared adversity, when it seemed she and Danny only had each other, had bound the siblings together. Just as Danny had worried she was making a mistake by breaking off her engagement with Henry the grocer, he would be violently alarmed if she disappeared for the night. If he ever discovered Liam was involved, Bathsheba didn’t doubt that her brother would call him out. Therefore, as little as she liked lying to Danny, she would have to do it, and do it well.
She concocted a story: her childhood friend Estella, who used to live near them but who had recently removed to a farm on the outskirts of London, had invited her to visit—perhaps to help with a sick child. If Danny ever asked Estella, Bathsheba knew her friend would support her story, but fortunately Danny did not like Estella much and was unlikely to seek her out. Of course, if she were going to Estella, she would likely leave early in the day, while Liam had never sent a carriage for her before eight in the evening. It was a vexing problem, and Bathsheba felt more than a little frustration that she couldn’t come and go as she pleased.
She was still debating when Danny solved it for her. “I’ll be away tomorrow evening,” he told her at dinner the day before Liam’s week was up.
“Oh?” Her pulse leapt, but she tried to maintain her calm. “Business?” Danny had built up a business printing select commissions, having discreetly put his name around after the runaway success ofFifty Ways to Sin. Thanks to that increased business—and Bathsheba’s secret income fromLady X—they were comfortable again, but poverty was too recent a memory for her to feel secure.
“Yes.”
“That’s good,” she said, immediately wondering if she could use this to her advantage.
Danny was pushing his fish around his plate. “It’s a good distance from town. I’ve been invited to dinner, and then to stay the night.”
Her mouth dropped open at this gift from God. “You have?”
It almost looked like her brother was blushing. “The job is a gentleman’s private library, Mr. Edmund Brown. He was a collector, and it was discovered in some disarray when he died last year. Some texts are old and must be reprinted, and most require binding. The family solicitor engaged me to bind a few, and Mr. Brown’s widow was pleased enough with my work to offer me the rest of the library. It’s a healthy commission, but will take a great deal of time. The dinner invitation is so that we may spend the day and evening assessing the scope of it.”
“Well, it sounds like you should take it, including staying the night if necessary.” She smiled, her heart thudding fast inside her chest.
“Yes!” He beamed at her in relief. “I shall. You won’t be worried to be alone?”
Bathsheba waved one hand. “Of course not. Where is it?”
“Greenwich. I may need to spend plenty of time there, as many books are too fragile to be transported to London and back.”
Greenwich—excellent. That would make it so much easier for her to say she was going to visit a friend and give the servants the night free tomorrow. Her stomach tightened at the realization that she was actually going to do this, slip away like a wanton and spend the night with Liam.
She said good-bye to her brother in the morning. He was clearly eager to be off, barely pausing to give her a wave before he disappeared into the traffic at the end of the street. Bathsheba closed the door and looked at the clock. Barely half past seven. She had an entire day to prepare, and she needed every moment of it.
By eight o’clock that evening, she had had time to make daring decisions, time to talk herself out of them, time to fret, and time to recover her bravado. Mary had gone home an hour earlier, pleased to have an extra evening free, and Bathsheba was able to prepare in solitude. The whole evening felt unreal, but never more so than when she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. She looked a complete stranger to her own eyes.
But that was appropriate; she was different inside as well. She had thought Liam would teach her about seduction, but she’d never guessed he would teach her about herself. After two nights in his arms, not to mention all the days in between when she daydreamed of making him fall in love with her, she was learning that she was more sensual and lustful than expected. His touch was branded on her skin, and the slightest touch of her own hands seemed to rouse all the hunger he had awoken within her. She had only asked him for seduction and pleasure, but it was impossible to deny that she wanted more—and she was willing to make a bold play in pursuit of it.
When the coachman rapped at her door she breathed a sigh of relief. Even though she’d never sent Liam word that she wasn’t coming, part of her had feared he wouldn’t send the coach after all. She put out the last lamp and locked the door behind her, keeping her cloak close around her against the cool night air. The coachman took her small valise and helped her into the carriage as usual, and then she was off, headed toward what felt like a turning point in her life.
Chapter Nine
This time the door of the cottage was closed, although light glowed in the windows. Bathsheba’s heart lurched into her throat as the carriage rolled down the narrow drive toward that closed door. Sudden doubt assaulted her. What if she had mistaken the matter? She’d assumed, because he sent the carriage, that Liam wanted her to come tonight—but if he were still angry from their last meeting and intended something different—
