Page 1 of The Secret of My Seduction
Chapter One
1823
London
Despite her looks, Bathsheba Crawford had never been shy.
Most people thought she would be. She was no beauty, with a round face and plain features, her hair an ordinary shade of brown. She could not sing, had never learned to play an instrument, and didn’t speak a word of French. There was nothing distinguishing about her, really.
But her mind worked quite well, thank you very much. With no expectation of getting by on her looks or charm, Bathsheba had learned to use the talents she did have: an unmatched memory, a sharp, practical intelligence, and the ability to listen more than she spoke. She also learned to pursue what she wanted, because nothing was freely given to young women of unremarkable looks whom everyone believed quiet and withdrawn.
That had seen her through hardship and adversity when her parents died of consumption and their family printing business failed. When her brother Daniel came home from the war missing part of his arm, unable to work. When they came within a hair’s breadth of losing everything. It also drove her to seize opportunities when they arose: taking a chance on printing a scandalous story calledFifty Ways to Sinon the old printing press sitting idle in their scullery, which succeeded beyond all their dreams, and then daring to write her own wicked novels, even if anonymously.
She might still be a plain little mouse of a woman, but she was a successful one. HerTales of Lady X, about the romantic follies of a daring adventuress, sold very well. Whenever she caught the faintly pitying glances people sent her way (“The poor dear, so plain and quiet, no wonder she’s a spinster!”), or openly surprised glances when she said something sensible (“Oh, good heavens; Miss Crawford, we didn’t notice you standing there…”), a fierce inner satisfaction burned like a small sun in her breast. Shewassomeone, even if none of them knew it.
She reminded herself of all this as she approached theLondon Intelligencer,a gossip newspaper. She was here on business, after all, and Liam MacGregor had long recognized her head for business. He was the owner and publisher of theIntelligencer, a strong-minded ambitious Scot with a taste for risk. He’d become their partner in the final frantic days of printingFifty Ways to Sin. If Bathsheba knew anything about Liam, it was that he never said no to a profitable proposal.
She went through theIntelligencer’s ramshackle offices and knocked on Liam’s door. A muffled shout was all the welcome she received; he didn’t even look up from his task when she came in and closed the door.
Bathsheba was undaunted. “I have a proposal,” she announced. “A business matter.”
Liam’s eyebrow arched, although he didn’t raise his head from the newspaper copy he was reading. “What is it?”
So direct. She admired that about him. Bathsheba was neither delicate nor missish, but now that she’d come to the point, she’d rather only have to say it once. “Tales of Lady Xare selling well—”
Liam flashed a fierce grin at her before dropping his gaze back to the copy. Nothing pleased him more than success, and her novels were one of his biggest. Bathsheba appreciated that about him; he hadn’t quailed or scoffed when she brought him her first manuscript. Instead he spotted its potential at once, to the benefit of both their purses.
Buoyed, she took a seat and went on. “Quitewell. But I believe the tales could be even better. Lady Constance andFifty Ways to Sinproved there is a real hunger for stories of genuine passion, and of course I want to find every way to improve. And after much thought, I think there is one thing I lack which would notably better my stories.”
Finally his head came up. “Oh?”
She gripped her hands a little tighter together, keeping her eyes locked on his. Given what she was about to suggest, she ought to be able to do that, at the very least. It wasn’t a hardship to look at him. Liam was handsome in a sharp, bold way, with broad, high cheekbones and a straight nose over a rather sensual mouth. If anything, his eyes were the most unsettling part of him; they were gray, and when he was annoyed or angry, they could pale to an almost unearthly color. Now they were fixed on her, unflinching and bright beneath the too-long waves of his dark hair.
“I lack—” She stopped, the words suddenly thick and wooly in her mouth. “I need—”
“Run out of ideas?” he asked.
She shook her head. Not ideas. Bathsheba had plenty of ideas for her books. It was something more practical that she lacked, and it was beginning to affect her work.
“What?” His forehead creased. “Don’t tell me you’ve written too indiscreetly about a past lover and he’s going to make trouble.”
“Don’t be stupid,” she snapped. “Of course not.” It was insulting that he would think her that careless.
His expression cleared of irritation, but the interest remained. “Then what is it? Do you need funds advanced?”
He should know she didn’t. Her share of the profits had accumulated to a tidy sum. She pressed her hands flat on her knees. “No. I lack deeper knowledge of my subject.”
It took him a moment, but Liam realized her meaning. “No,” he said in sly disbelief. “Don’t tell me you’re a—”
“No, but near enough,” she said impatiently. She wasn’t a virgin, but her carnal experience was limited, and—to put it mildly—uninspiring.
“Then how have you written—?”
“FromFifty Ways to Sin.” She glared at him, too smug and handsome with his cravat loosened and the sun gleaming on his hair. It wasn’t her fault she didn’t have a large number of past lovers. If anything, theFifty Ways to Sinstories had made her very sorry for that fact, as they had opened her eyes to the existence of a world of sensual pleasure she’d barely imagined. Who wouldn’t want to experience the bliss described in them?
But the fact remained that she had not; her quiet, mousy appearance was to blame, no doubt.
“And from gossip,” she went on. “It’s not hard to overhear the most scandalous and depraved things, as you well know. A woman can learn quite a bit.” All the gossip Bathsheba had heard indicated those pleasures were no fiction, although neither were they commonplace.
