A Dangerous Seduction. Patricia Frances Rowell
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thinking that his lordship had designs on her plump person. She was but a mere dab of a woman, too short and too well padded for fashion. No one had ever called her a beauty. But she saw…something…behind that enigmatic green gaze. Clearly the safety of her virtue lay in departing Merdinn as fast as her legs could carry her.
But when had she ever had the luxury of safety? Not since her father died certainly. And what of Daj? Her legs hardly even carried her up the stairs. Once again Lalia would have to be practical. At least the post would give her the time she needed.
All her other choices really constituted no choice at all. Once again she must accept the inevitable. The very thing she had always done. Accept and make the best of it. Accept the position of an ostracized half-Gypsy daughter sheltered on her father’s estate. Accept the guardianship of a half brother who married her to a ne’er-do-well at the age of sixteen, because he didn’t want to be bothered with her well-being. Accept a husband who took no thought for her well-being at all.
Now, if she stayed, what might she be asked to accept?
“Very well, my lord. Until the end of the summer then.”
If she could avoid her husband, she certainly could avoid Lord Carrick.
The next morning Lalia had her first inkling that Lord Carrick might prove a little harder to avoid than her usually absent husband. Just as she and Jeremy were climbing into the gig outside the stable, his lordship came running toward them up the lane. Good heavens! What could be the matter? She tossed the reins to James and, hastily jumping down, hurried toward Lord Carrick. He ran easily up to the carriage, his long legs pumping, the muscles flexing inside the skintight britches. He came to a stop beside her, his breathing only slightly deep.
“My lord! What is it?”
He bowed carelessly and tossed sweaty curls off his forehead. “What is what?”
“Why are you running? Is there some emergency?”
“Oh, that. No, I often run.”
He smiled down at her, his eyes warming, and suddenly Lalia’s own breath caught in her throat. He had pushed his rolled sleeves above his elbows, revealing sculptured forearms, and his open collar showed the cords of his strong neck. A sense of power flowed off of him along with his scent and the heat from his body, embracing her in a mesmerizing cloud.
Lalia took a step back. “Oh…uh…” She drew a sustaining breath. “You alarmed me. I have never known a gentleman to…”
“To run? Most gentlemen do not have my motivation. I suffered an injury to my lung. Running has helped me to regain my stamina.” The smile dimmed a bit and the seductive light in his eyes went out. Somehow the expression changed to something just a little menacing.
Lalia stepped back again. “I—I see. That must have been very difficult for you.”
“Yes, at first.” He move a pace nearer, and Lalia retreated again, bumping against the gig. The horse sidled and his lordship steadied it with a hand on the bridle. “Where are you two going?” He casually put his hands on her waist as though to help her into the carriage.
And he took his time about it. Drat the man! Lalia braced herself and prepared to be lifted. “To see Widow Tregellen. I am taking her some of our fresh vegetables.”
The hands that had tightened around her were abruptly removed and she almost stumbled in surprise as she found herself still on the ground. Lord Carrick stepped back. “I see. As you have been doing as lady of the estate.”
“Well, yes. I guess you might say that. The tenants have no one else on whom they may depend.”
“Had no one else. The situation has changed. That is no longer your responsibility, Mrs. Hayne.”
Lalia’s cheeks grew warm. “I—I had not thought of that. I did not mean to… It is just that she can no longer manage her own garden, and I thought she would especially enjoy the green onions.”
“No doubt.” His lordship crossed his arms over his chest, his expression unyielding.
“Very well. If you don’t wish her to have them… James, you may unhitch the gig. Come, Jeremy.”
“Aw, Uncle Morgan.” Jeremy made to climb down. “We were going to see the lighthouse.”
Damn the woman! Morgan perceived that he had been cast neatly in the role of villain—an uncaring lord denying an aging dependent a few fresh vegetables and his nephew an outing. Now what was he to do? He held up a restraining hand. James stopped his preparations to lead the carriage away, a carefully neutral expression on his lined face.
“I did not say I did not want her to have them.” Morgan grimaced. Damnation! Now he sounded defensive.
“You could come with us, Uncle Morgan,” Jeremy put in hopefully.
Not a bad idea, three of them crowded onto the seat. Morgan glanced down at his sweat-stained clothes. But not at this particular moment. He turned to the lady who waited quietly. “Are you a competent driver?”
James chortled. “At least, she never put the gig in no ditch, as I seem to recall a certain young gentleman doing.”
Morgan scowled, then grinned ruefully. “That was a long time ago, James. I have since learned caution. Very well, Mrs. Hayne. Please deliver the produce with my compliments and greet Old Tom for me. Tell him I will stop in at the lighthouse at my earliest opportunity.”
“If you wish it, my lord.” She turned back to the gig and Morgan again seized her waist and tossed her up. As she took the reins, he waited until he could capture her gaze. When she looked at him in inquiry, he smiled slowly and allowed his gaze to travel briefly to the bosom concealed beneath the shabby pelisse. When he saw the blush climb from her neck to her cheeks, Morgan turned and withdrew, checked, but in good order.
Now what had that look been all about? As if she didn’t know! Lalia guided the cob down the road toward the widow’s house, considering. In the first place he had been determined to put her out of countenance, retaliation for her presumption—in short, to show her her place. Well, he could just put his mind at rest. She would certainly never act in her former role again. A spark of anger crept through the calm facade she showed the world.
Then, of course, there was the second place. Did he think she would so easily fall into his bed? She did, after all, have marriage vows to remember—not that her husband had ever given them a moment’s consideration. Again the wind of wrath ruffled her still waters. Why must she be chained to such a scoundrel—drunken, abusive, neglectful of everything but his pleasures and his schemes?
Oh, yes. She had heard the schemes. On the rare occasions when he graced his home with his presence, always deep in his cups, he pounded her ears with his talk. He even had the goodness to regale her with his amatory adventures. As if she cared. Apparently he hoped that jealousy would open her door to him, but she long ago had learned better than to do that.
She knew just when, before he had quite finished the third bottle, to make good her escape and turn the key. If she left him too soon, before he grew helplessly drunk, he would come after her and drag her back. If she waited too late, he would begin to paw her where she sat. Let him batter her door. That was better than his battering her body.
And now the Earl of Carrick appeared, smiling temptation thinly covering his anger. But for all that, he represented a very tempting temptation, indeed. How she would love to… No. No, she would not think of that. She, at least, would keep the vows she had made before God.
She drove silently for a few moments, recovering her tranquility. Repining did no good. It merely cut up her peace. She looked around her and drew a deep breath. She had a lovely day to enjoy, and Jeremy was chattering happily beside her. Time to once more put away what could not be remedied.
“Forgive me, Jeremy. I wasn’t attending. What did you say?”
“I asked you if I must call you Mrs. Hayne.”
Lalia