The Problem with Seduction - By Emma Locke Page 0,62
your attention?”
And—terrifyingly—was he one of them?
Was he just another one of them? Crippling, juvenile terror took hold of him, the angst of a boy just realizing the fairer sex’s existence and frightened to death he’ll never catch one’s notice.
He hadn’t even been one of her admirers before she’d approached him with her devil’s bargain. Now he had the boyish urge to steal her away, like favorite toy to be hidden from the other lads.
“My allure is in my head,” she said, breaking into his shameful and confusing thoughts.
“It’s not the least in your head,” he retorted. “I can see it plain as day.” He jutted his chin in the direction of a bold debutante watching them curiously from an open carriage. “She can see it. And that bounder hasn’t stopped looking at you.” Mr. Harcourt barely pulled his horse up short before he trotted right into a tree.
“I mean, I believe I am beautiful, and so I am to others.” She looked sidelong at him. “Does it bother you?”
“Of course not,” popped out too fast. Blast. He didn’t chase it with a rebuttal, though, for he wouldn’t credit his unintentional revelation with more attention than it warranted.
Thankfully, her answering silence helped him to avoid saying anything compoundingly stupider, like asking her to stop being so damned beautiful, or begging her to explain precisely how she used mental acuity to control what seemed like every man in the park.
It wasn’t that her dress was cut too low, or her skirt swirled too high. Nor did voluptuousness alone account for her appeal. She must be telling him the truth. When others looked at her, they saw what she wanted them to see: a desirable woman available to any man with the nerve to ask her price.
But was that visage the real her? The woman Scotherby and Tewseybury knew was a different woman altogether than the Elizabeth who spent her every moment concerned for her son. Only he seemed to know the vulnerable yet lionhearted woman she truly was.
At least he had that comfort.
“Merritt House is just ahead,” he said as they exited Hyde Park. He turned to be sure Mrs. Dalton followed them off the grounds and caught the last dozen eyes watching their departure. Though he’d meant to create a scene, he was glad to be done with being a spectacle. It had been a bold thing, taking his mistress into the open. He was proud of himself for following through, even if it hadn’t gone as he’d imagined.
At the door to Merritt House, Elizabeth’s fingers slid reassuringly along his forearm as she withdrew her hand from his escort. She cast him an overly sunny look before she went to the nursemaid holding Oliver. Con perceived the worry in her eyes, even she cheerily instructed the nursemaid, “Go along and help Lord Constantine with Oliver. I’m headed to Bond for some much-needed shopping.”
“Alone?” he asked. “You’ll take a footman. No, two.”
Before she could do more than lift her eyebrows with a fine hauteur, he turned and rapped on his door. Mr. Benjamin opened the vault without delay. He stood to the side as if to let them pass, but Con held up his hand. “Fetch Mr. Sneed. He is needed for a trip to Bond.”
Mr. Benjamin nodded once and disappeared into the foyer. Within moments the dark-skinned butler returned. “Mr. Sneed will be out shortly. Is there anything else, my lord? A small glass of lemonade for the lady while she waits?”
“Very good idea.” He was glad Mr. Benjamin had intuitively discerned Elizabeth wouldn’t be entering Merritt House. Explaining as much to the butler in front of her wasn’t high on Con’s list of things he wished to take on today. “Refreshment…and a basket. Two baskets. One for each footman. And please see Mrs. Dalton to the drawing room. I’ll collect her when I’ve seen…” He faltered. “Lady Elizabeth” was on the tip of his tongue, but confound himself, he just couldn’t say it. He shifted uncomfortably. “…when I’ve seen Miss Spencer off.” He’d been so judgmental of his peers not an hour earlier, yet here he was, doing the same. He wasn’t even sure why.
A few minutes later, she swayed away with her own footman and young Mr. Sneed dogging her heels. Blast it, even Mr. Sneed appeared enchanted.
With a sigh and a shake of his head, Con turned back and entered the foyer. “Well, Mr. Benjamin, I suppose that is that. Did you ever think I would be the