The Problem with Seduction

Chapter Four

LORD CONSTANTINE CALLED three days later. Elizabeth gently bit the tip of her finger as she considered her options. Have him tossed on his arse again? See him? What could he possibly want that she hadn’t already denied him?

She walked the short length of the nursery, then doubled back. A familiar path she’d worn in the carpet over the last three days as she’d paced like a caged tigress. But she wasn’t entirely cornered, not yet. Nicholas had backed her against a figurative wall and now Lord Constantine was in her drawing room, but she could escape. She could pack her things, gather Oliver to her breast, and leave through the mews.

She had every reason to leave.

Then why didn’t she?

She cast Mrs. Dalton a reassuring glance. The new nursemaid had watched Elizabeth’s behavior over the last two days with a calm sort of understanding at odd with her youthful appearance. She knew nothing of Elizabeth’s plight, yet she didn’t seem the least surprised to learn that her employer wore her carpets like a barrister making his case before the Recorder.

In that sense, Elizabeth’s reassurance might have been more for herself than for her servant’s. With her teeth gritted into a semblance of an indifferent smile, she forced herself to sit in her rocking chair. “It is always good to make a man wait,” she said, as if she were ignoring the man in her drawing room because she desired him too much, rather than because his arrival inserted yet another cog into her rattling wheel.

Truthfully, she’d barely had a thought to spare for Lord Constantine until this moment. She’d been too torn by the need to decide between staying in London and risking another meeting with Nicholas, or leaving London, and maybe even England, altogether.

But why stay? Why debate about it, even for a moment? Nothing held her in Britain; the strings most people used to keep themselves anchored to their homeland had been severed long ago, due to a different mistake, one that had set her on her path to ruin. Her parents hadn’t replied to her letters in ten years. How foolish was she, if she felt bereft at the thought of her son never meeting his grandparents, when she’d destroyed any tender feelings they’d ever had for her when she was but a child, herself?

Remaining in England so Oliver might be close to his forebears was entirely unreasoned when he was unlikely to ever have the opportunity to even be introduced. But she’d never given much credence to logic. She’d honed her intuition, and though sometimes it failed her, she liked feeling that she made her own decisions.

An inexplicable force urged her to stay. So, she would stay. Her mind was at last made up. One day, maybe, she would stop acting on impulse.

For now, she must see Lord Constantine. Her pulse quickened at the thought of what he might want. He’d not given her any notice, nor sent up a message with her maid. It must be another attempt to see Oliver. She narrowed her eyes just thinking of his nefariousness. They’d had a deal.

She stood quickly, sending her chair rocking. She pulled on a rose-hued shawl and looked into Oliver’s cradle. It was one of those rare quarter-hours when he’d consented to sleep in his cradle instead of in her arms, which meant one less worry. She could afford a few minutes to see what Lord Constantine wanted, then send him on his way.

She wasn’t going to allow him to take Oliver, not for an afternoon or even for a minute, and she wasn’t going to spare him a single extra pence. She would not be bullied.

But if he threatened to expose her treachery to Nicholas, what could she do?

Lord Constantine had been seen to her drawing room. She left Oliver with Mrs. Dalton and went down. He looked expensive beside the whitewashed slab of her mantel cluttered with cheap gewgaws, a polished appearance at odds with his decided lack of fortune. It was the man, rather than the attire, which drew her attention—even when she hardly wanted to admire the physique of a man who could ruin her with just a word.

Not that she could claim he was shoddily clad. His bottle green coat and buff breeches befitted a fashionable gentleman. If the way he filled out the seams drew her appreciation, well, such costly cuts would likely look well on anyone. And no woman could really be faulted for looking twice at a man with such an interesting tenseness between his eyebrows, could she?

Whatever the reason, she could not take her eyes from him.

“Elizabeth,” he said, inclining his head, “you are looking very lovely.”

Her eyes widened a fraction. Was she? She’d forgotten to check the mirror. Momentarily, her pressing problems fell away. Heavens, she hadn’t given her appearance a single thought.

Oh, no. It couldn’t be happening, not so soon. Fear of becoming an unkempt hag had worried her all through her confinement. It had terrified her almost as much as the thought of labor itself. Yet the worn look of other friends who had embraced motherhood abruptly made sense. In the last few days, she’d feared only losing Oliver. Nothing else mattered. In point of fact, she still wasn’t sure she cared, even knowing she must look a fright after three days of nothing but fearing Nicholas’s next move.

If Lord Constantine was put off by her dishevelment, he didn’t show it. He smiled appreciatively. “You needn’t worry about the apron. I do believe you could look appealing in a brown sack.”

She pressed her lips together. Her hands smoothed down the front of her pinafore though she wished she had the restraint to pretend she’d meant to receive him in it. She’d completely forgotten about it. Espying a mirror she went to it, then relaxed a fraction. He wasn’t entirely bamming her, even if he’d indulged her a bit. She didn’t look a complete fright. Just tired. Was that a bit of spittle on her shoulder?

She pulled her rose shawl more tightly around her and turned toward him. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

He inclined his head sheepishly. A roguish smile twitched his lips, though he still wore that slight frown between his eyes. “If you’re referring to your suggestion that I leave your house and go hang myself, well, I thought about it, but I didn’t want to waste perfectly good rope. I’m not exactly flush in the pockets to be misusing it like that.”

She could have smiled, but she didn’t want to be amused. She just wanted to know his reason for coming. “I’d be more than happy to lend you a bit of braiding, after you tell me why you’re here.”

“Generous as well as beautiful.” His hand settled on the mantel. The proprietary gesture made him seem even larger than he was. And he still hadn’t answered the question.

She frowned. “What do you want?”

He tilted his head to one side as though she were an unfamiliar specimen. “I assumed a woman as renowned for entertaining as you are would have mastered the art of small talk. Is there no room for pleasantries in your world?”

At any moment, Oliver would wake from his nap. She was being harassed by two men, each with enough power to destroy her. Now Lord Constantine was playing games. Of course she had no time for idle conversation. “I see no reason to waste words. I’m not exactly flush with time to be misusing it.”

Approval lit his eyes. “Touché.” He rested one elbow on the mantel and leaned his cheek into his hand. He regarded her from beneath heavy-lidded bedroom eyes. Oh, no. She didn’t need him to desire her. Or was this part of his game?

What could he possibly he want?

“Miss Spencer.”

She winced. That was a name that had never belonged to her.

His voice lowered an octave. “May I call you Miss Spencer?”

“No.” She didn’t flinch this time.

He watched her a moment. She prayed he wouldn’t try the other name. The one she’d all but put from her memory.

“Elizabeth, then,” he said, his frown inescapable. “Elizabeth, I believe we have a few things to talk about.”

He hadn’t provoked feelings she’d assured herself were long-dead by using her other name. Good. Nevertheless, his tone riled her. She glared at him angrily. “I have nothing to say to you, my lord.”

“Please, call me Con. All of my family does.”

Her body froze in horror. “We are not related.”

He shrugged. “Families come in all forms. And I think I got ahead of myself.” Suddenly, he left the mantel and approached her. He dropped to one knee. She took a step back, but he grabbed her hand. “Elizabeth Spencer, would you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”





“What? No!” She yanked her hand back and nearly tripped over herself trying to put distance between them. What had he—had she heard him correctly? She couldn’t have.

“Thank God.” He closed his eyes in momentary relief while he sucked in great breaths of air. Then he thumped his fist to his chest as if trying to restart his heart, opened his eyes and shook his head. “I am so very relieved one of us is sensible.”

She didn’t expect him to act so…relieved. “Have you gone daft?”

“Oh, no. I think so. Maybe.” He shook his head again as if to clear it, then looked at her with a grin. “I had a feeling you’d reject me, but asking is the gentlemanly thing to do. At least, that’s what my brothers said.”

She was not disappointed. He was clearly babbling and she’d never once considered marriage to him. She barely even knew him. Nonetheless, she’d never received a proposal of marriage before. It must be natural to expect to hear words of undying devotion or at least a persuasive argument when a man finally came up to scratch. This mangled request for her hand mortified her. He couldn’t be more obvious about his aversion to the idea of saddling himself with her.

Even with all of her experience, she would never understand men.

He drew up and patted the rich velvet of his coat. “Well, then, that wasn’t as bad as I expected. I knew you were a right sort. If Lord Antony asks, you will tell him I did it, won’t you? Not that I expect my brother to come here, but I can never predict where his sense of righteousness will take him.”

“Why on earth would he have wanted you to propose to me?” she blurted before she could feign ennui and act instead as though men regularly arrived on her step with nonsensical ideas of matrimony. She did deserve some sort of explanation, didn’t she?

Con looked about the room, then strode to an overfilled wingback. “Shall we sit?”

She wanted to know why he’d made such a patently absurd proposal, but a glance at the clock reminded her that Oliver would be waking any moment now. And surely it wasn’t in her best interest to bother with Con’s reasons. Maybe she was curious to know what peculiar ideas banged around in his head, but what did it matter to her if he was as mad as a hatter? “I think you should be leaving.”

“Just a moment, please. Until I have my wits and then I will go, I promise.” He didn’t wait for her to agree. The chair squeaked as his weight sank heavily onto it. He still looked a bit green around the gills. “My legs are shaking something violent. Don’t you know, I’ve never proposed to anyone before? I wouldn’t have, but my brothers made me feel like a complete cad about it.”

She crept closer. Her fingers felt around for the back of the sofa. She leaned toward the sturdy frame, a bit shaky herself, and regarded the handsome young man she’d underestimated. Blond hair spiked fashionably about his head. Mussed pieces stood out on one side where he’d run his hand through it. His elbows rested on his knees, his broad shoulders hunched a bit, and a trace of a self-deprecating smile tilted his lips. Even winded-looking, he took up half the room with his presence.

“The thing is,” he continued, giving her a sidelong glance, “Tony thinks I ruined your business that night in the gaming hell. Something about you not being able to find work anymore because I announced you’d been with me when you’d had an agreement with Finn.” He looked sheepish. “Have I said it delicately enough?”

She didn’t need him to tell her that no man wanted an unfaithful mistress, any more than he wanted to risk being made a fool of in front of his friends. But she hadn’t expected Lord Constantine to concern himself with the implications of that. She took a moment to assimilate what she thought she knew about him with what he’d just revealed.

She’d obviously misjudged him. She’d thought him as silly and reckless as his oldest brother, who she knew by association from her years as a Cyprian. She’d imagined Con to be like Roman, but with even less sense of responsibility. An aimless younger son who’d happily divest her of her ten thousand pounds and meander on his merry way. She’d also thought he’d be immune to the subject of lightskirts. But while he hadn’t blinked once at her scheme to paint him as a philanderer, it was clear now that he was a bit more innocent than she’d presumed. He colored pink at having to explain that half of London thought she was not just an expensive bit of muslin, but a fickle slut. Roman would have announced it with a hearty laugh and a wink.

She smoothed her hands over the scroll frame rolling along the backrest of the sofa. “I did ask you to ruin me. You needn’t have worried what that might mean for me later.”

Con stretched his long legs and crossed his ankles under her low table. “I can hardly explain that to Tony now, can I? He thinks I should have been more private about airing our linen. Not much I can say there to defend myself. You asked me to make it as public as possible. We left Finn no choice, but now Tony’s bent because I abandoned you and my supposed babe a day after snatching you from the relative comfort of another man’s care. I’m a real blighter, in my brothers’ opinions.”

Her twinge of conscience surprised her. He was a man. The brother of a peer. Handsome and well-mannered, and still virile enough to be attractive even without a fortune. Scandal would die down for him. But she hadn’t expected his involvement with her to drive a wedge between him and his family. She was so used to being alone that she’d never expected that he might have others in his life who would give a fig to know what he got into. That he cared what they thought of him in return was just as astonishing.

What would have happened if she’d had less presence of mind just a moment ago? If she’d said yes to his absurd proposal? He’d have ruined himself just to satisfy some chivalrous sense of family honor. For it was one thing to get a mistress with child, and another thing altogether to marry her. “I can’t believe you offered for me merely to save face with your brothers. What would you have done had I accepted?”

He shrugged. “Trade one scandal for another, I suppose. Abandoning one’s fiancée at the altar is generally seen to be in bad taste, but I can’t imagine I’d have actually gone through with a wedding.”

Oliver’s cry saved her from having to reply to that delightful admission. Con’s head turned in the direction of the sound. “My word, he has a set of lungs on him, doesn’t he? I don’t think I could make half that noise if I set my mind to it. I suppose I should be grateful you didn’t let me take him to see Mother the other day. I don’t know what I would have done with a squalling infant.”

She stiffened at the reminder of his attempt to “borrow” her child. If he’d really meant to be gone just for the afternoon, she supposed she’d been a bit melodramatic the other day. Still, Oliver wasn’t some pet to be trotted out when Lord Constantine wished to appear responsible in front of his family.

She started for the door, wanting to be away from this man who was a mass of contradictions. “I need to see to my son.”

“Wait.”

She paused and turned. Con’s bright blue eyes watched her intensely. “I didn’t disappoint you, did I?”

Her heartstrings tugged so hard, her heart might burst with longing. She didn’t care that this man had asked her to marry him. She was too practical to think she had any feelings for him after so short an association. But to be married…to have a real family, with a man who loved only her… “I really must see to Oliver.”

Con rose to his feet. The wrinkle between his brows never fully smoothed. He appeared perpetually concerned. “I did disappoint you. I’m sorry.”

Her heart twisted at his unnecessary concern for her. “You didn’t—”

He held his finger to his lips. “You needn’t say it. I have a sixth sense about upsetting people. I’m rather sensitive to it, I fear.” He took a step toward her. “I would like to make this right for you, and not just because you’ve already compensated me. I promise, Elizabeth, I would set it right if I could. It’s just that I’m not cut out to be a husband. It’s not you, it’s me.”

She let out a short bark of laughter. He grinned in return. “Heard that before, have you?”

His perpetual good humor was infectious even if this was no joking matter. She relaxed a fraction. “I never intended to buy a husband, Lord Constantine. I’d always wonder if you’d done it for the money, and that would be an intolerable situation indeed. No, everything is exactly as I meant it to be. I don’t intend to pawn my wares again, so you haven’t wronged me.”

“You’re sure? I haven’t shattered your vision of a fairy tale prince?”

He was watching her skeptically, but she wouldn’t hang her heart on her sleeve for him. He didn’t need to know she secretly longed for the sweeping romantic sort of declaration her best friend had received from her lover just a few months ago. Instead, Elizabeth had received this bumbling half-proposal. It was possibly the only offer she’d ever receive, and it had been butchered completely. Thank you for upholding your end of the bargain.” She owed him at least her gratitude, for all the trouble she’d unwittingly put him through.

“Well, then, I’ll be off,” he said when she continued to watch him mutely. He swept her a courtly bow, then turned on his heel and quit her drawing room. When he must have been near to the foyer, his voice filtered down the hallway, as if he’d just remembered to add, “Please think about that thing with my mother, Elizabeth. It would please her immensely to see Oliver.”

The front door clicked and he was gone. The house seemed silent in his wake. For one, pregnant moment, Elizabeth wished he hadn’t left.

Ridiculous, foolish fancy. But a feeling that nonetheless wouldn’t be brushed aside by logic. As she hurried to the nursery to see to her son, it suddenly came to her why she didn’t want to leave England despite fearing Nicholas’s dogged determination to expose her lie. For just over a decade, she’d tried to prove she was worthy of being loved. She’d left her father’s cold house with a man who’d promised to cherish her forever. Every man after him had been just as willing to prey on her emptiness. Now that she had Oliver, one of her missing pieces was pressed into place. Her hollowness was finally filled by her son. She wasn’t entirely whole, but fulfilled enough that she need never fall victim to another pretty word tripped off a lying tongue.

Or was she? Her yearning to be loved had started her on her path to ruin, and was the reason she would never, ever be separated from Oliver again. She wanted a family. Oliver might be her only chance for one. But there was one more piece to her puzzle, one she wasn’t ready to give up on just yet. What if she’d been searching all of this time for her father’s love, when only he could give it?

She’d left Chelmick, his tightly run estate, on appalling terms. She’d never meant to go back. But what if she went now? Would her father agree to see her because of Oliver? Could he forgive her at last, now that she’d been changed by motherhood?

She couldn’t leave England until she knew for certain that her roots had truly been torn from the soil. Fifteen was a tumultuous age for any girl. They’d had their differences, but surely her parents had grown wiser, too.

But as she made plans to pack up her house and servants, she couldn’t shake her foreboding.