The Problem with Seduction - By Emma Locke Page 0,13

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