To Seduce an Earl Read online

  “I’m sorry, I assumed…” He shook his head, those dark curls shifting and shimmering under the light from the setting sun. “They said you were not knowledgeable in the fine art—”

  “Unbelievable!” She shoved hard at his muscled chest, but the man didn’t budge. “I can assure you, Mr. Alex, I am quite experienced. If you have what I want, give it to me now so I can leave. You will be paid handsomely.”

  He sighed, his face showing his exasperation. “I underestimated you. Usually Gideon gets the more experienced women. But if that’s the way you like it, then I’m only happy to oblige.”

  Happy to oblige? What ever did he mean? And who the hell was Gideon? This was becoming much, much too bizarre even for her ridiculous life. Lord, her breasts were crushed indecently to his chest; surely he could feel her heart’s frantic beat.

  “Listen,” she started, thinking to soothe the beast until she could make her escape. “Just give me—”

  A predatorial look flared to life, replacing any humor that had lingered in his blue eyes. Grace sucked in a sharp breath, feeling the sudden desire to flee. Obviously there’d been a mistake. She parted her lips to tell him so when his arm tightened around her waist. Her gloves fell to the floor.

  “Sir, please—”

  Strong fingers bit into her waist and with ease, he tossed her over his broad shoulder.

  Grace yelped as her hair tumbled down. The tiny pins that had held the strands in place pattered across the carpet as if to make their escape. “Put me down! Put me down this instant!”

  She should never have trusted her stepbrother. Damn John to hell! She slammed her fists against the man’s back. He didn’t even flinch. This Alex either thought to collect his pay with her body, or John had sent her to the wrong place. Most likely it was her stepbrother’s fault. John was a bloody idiot! She should have known Alex was too handsome to be a scholar.

  “Not until I’ve had my way with you.”

  Grace rolled her eyes heavenward. He said the words as if he’d rehearsed them, as if they were in some god-awful play. Before she could protest, he tossed her on the bed and she sunk into the feather tick. With a growl low in her throat, Grace pushed her hair from her face. He merely stood there, smirking down at her, a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. For some reason he was annoyed, as if he didn’t want to be doing this anymore than she wanted him too. And for some unknown reason, she suddenly found the situation highly amusing.

  A giggle worked its way up her throat, trembling past her lips. Grace floundered, swiping at her skirts in her attempt to sit upright. “Sir,” she gasped between laughs. “I think there’s been a mistake.”

  “Hmm, really. The lady doth protest too much.” He tossed aside his embroidered vest.

  Impressive really, yet slightly frightening as well, how quickly he could undress. And even as she wanted to deny her attraction, she found her gaze slipping down his body. Alex’s muscles stretched the white fabric of his shirt in a magnificent display of masculinity.

  “Blimey, it’s like I’m trapped in a bloody gothic novel,” she whispered.

  “Gothic novel it is.” He ripped open his shirt. Buttons popped and flew across the room, pattering like raindrops. A trail of dark hair covered his chest, valleys and hills of pure muscle. Like a sculpture, Grace had the insane urge to run her fingers over those dips and planes. But there…on the edges of insanity, lurked her rational mind.

  Oh my, this was becoming rather serious indeed.

  Grace shoved her booted feet into the tick, attempting to scramble upright. “You…you really shouldn’t do that, you know. Buttons are an awful nuisance to sew.”

  Her gaze slid to the door. Could she make it in time? No, of course not. She could barely sit upright as her boot heel seemed to be stuck in the hem of her gown. She would scream, she would… if she could stop giggling. Good heavens, she never giggled! What was wrong with her?

  Alex leaned over her and Grace’s giggles faded. Her gaze froze to his bare chest, that wide chest with dark hair that trailed down to the waistband of his trousers and further… His hands were suddenly pressed into the bed on either side of her body. She had no place to go but back. A wavy lock had fallen across his forehead, his hair devilishly mussed. In his blue eyes was the promise of seduction…of pleasure. Grace sank back further into the mattress and swallowed hard, resisting the urge to give into that temptation. He paused when he was only a breath away, the air between them mingling.

  “Get off me.” The words would have been more effective, had her voice not quivered.

  “Be still.”

  She didn’t move. He shoved his knee between her thighs, parting her legs as much as her skirts would allow. Grace’s fingers curled into the covers as he leaned closer, his mouth hovering over hers. She should scream. She should hit him. She should at least close her eyes…He dipped his head and his warm, firm lips pressed to hers. His hard body relaxed, molding to her curves as if he fit there, perfectly. A missing puzzle piece. Stunned, Grace merely lay still as he kissed, nibbled, licked. It wasn’t exactly…unpleasant.

  A warm buzz vibrated through her body, as if a thousand bees had burrowed deep within her soul. Those strong hands cupped the sides of her face as he deepened the kiss. She gave in. With a moan, Grace’s lashes fluttered down to her cheekbones. His essence surrounded her, tempting her senses. He tasted like mint and whiskey, erotic, addictive. She’d been kissed before, she was twenty-four after all. Yet never had she been kissed like this, as if he was feasting upon her.

  He groaned as his hands moved down her neck, to her shoulders, his warm fingers tugging at her bodice. Her breasts grew heavy. For one, brief, rational moment she thought to stop him, but then his rough tongue slipped across her lips. Shivers tiptoed down her back. She was gone. Utterly gone. Heat pooled low in her belly producing an aching need that flared to life with his touch. Yes, oh yes, she wanted to tell him. He shifted and something hard pressed against her thighs.

  Grace’s eyes popped open. Dear God. Something hard. Hard!

  She might be a virgin, but she wasn’t an idiot.

  No! She turned her head, tearing her mouth from his. With all her strength, she shoved the palms of her hands into his hard chest. He pulled back, his breath heavy, her breath heavy. The bored look in his gaze had been replaced with pure lust. For one long moment they merely stared at each other and she wasn’t sure who looked more shocked.

  “Get off me now!” she finally demanded.

  He looked confused for a moment. “You’re….you’re serious?”

  “Of course I’m bloody serious!”

  He paused only a moment before finally sliding from the bed. She couldn’t help but notice the way he trembled. Or was she trembling?

  Standing in only his trousers, he watched her curiously as if she were an insect under a microscope. “I don’t understand, did you or did you not come here of your own free will?”

  She rolled from the bed, her booted feet hitting the carpet with a muffled thud. With the large piece of furniture separating them, she felt slightly more at ease. But the blasted room still spun and her corset was still too tight. She refused to faint in front of this man.

  “Yes,” she blurted out. “I did come here of my own free will.”

  Obviously frustrated, he raked both hands through his hair, tossing the wavy locks in a haphazard manner that made him look boyish. “Well, then, am I not what you expected? Would you like someone else?”

  She laughed a wry laugh as she smoothed down her bodice. If she ever decided to have anyone, he would do quite well indeed. It would be a cold, cold day in hell before she’d admit her attraction. “No.”

  Those giggles were coming back. Damn it! She pressed her hands to her mouth, attempting to suppress her laughter.

  “I’m sorry.” He seemed annoyed now, as if she’d offended him. “Shall I ask Madam to send you another man?”

  Confused she shook her head. “I don’t…I want to see whoever has
what I came here for.”

  He placed his hands on his narrow hips. “Grace, I assure you I have what you need if you’ll only give me a chance.”

  She sighed. Was she wrong? Did he have the book? She’d traveled all this way; she might as well see the novel. She crossed her arms over her chest. “Oh, bloody well fine. Show me the book.”

  His hands went to his trousers. Before she could even blink, he dropped them. Grace’s mouth fell open, shock, fear and fascination fighting for control.

  His cock stood straight at attention, large, intimidating…amazing. She’d seen a man’s private parts before, but only in paintings and statues. This…this was utterly interesting!

  She pointed a trembling finger toward him. “That…that…is not, Sir, what I need!”

  At the same time he questioned, “The book?”

  Heat shot straight to Grace’s cheeks. Her desperate gaze jumped to his face. He didn’t race to cover his nakedness. No, he stood there in all of his masculine finery merely staring at her as if she was the oddity. She spun around and rushed to the door. Anxiously, she grabbed at the handle, but her slick palms couldn’t seem to grasp the porcelain. Why wouldn’t the bloody door open?

  Two large hands slammed against the door on either side of her head. “My lady, I think there’s been a mistake.”

  Obviously! She swallowed hard and turned. He was naked, his bare body pressed to hers, yet power radiated from his very being and she was distinctly aware of the fact that he was larger, stronger. Grace’s dress provided little barrier; she could feel his muscled arms through the sleeves of her bodice, his hard chest against hers, and his even harder anatomy pressing to her skirts. Crinoline was no match for his desire. Horrified, stunned and slightly amused, she sank back against the door, refusing to look anywhere but his face.

  “Tell me precisely what you want.”

  “I was told you have a rare book,” her voice squeaked.

  “A...a what?” He drew back as if she’d slapped him. As if she’d offended him.

  “Sir,” she asked, using all her strength to keep calm. “Exactly what is this place?”

  He smiled, a slow, heated smile that produced those blasted dimples. “You don’t realize?”

  She shook her head, her heart slamming madly in her chest, unsure if she wanted to know…but realizing she had to get the truth from his lips once and for all.

  He leaned closer, his warm breath sending shivers over her skin. “My dear Grace, you’re at Lady Lavenders.”

  She shrugged, her gaze focused on his mouth, vaguely aware of what he was saying, yet finding more fascination with the way his lips moved. “And what is that exactly?”

  He leaned closer, so close his lips brushed hers. Her heart skipped a beat. Would he kiss her again? She wanted him to kiss her…just one last time.

  “Grace,” he whispered. She stiffened as unwelcome heat spread across her skin. “You, my dear, are in a brothel for women.”

  Chapter 3

  She was going to kill her stepbrother. Yes, she was going to murder him and she was going to enjoy every bloody moment. She’d start first with his fingers. Perhaps break a thumb. It would be awfully difficult to hold cards with a broken thumb. And if he couldn’t hold cards, he couldn’t squander his life.

  Or maybe she’d tear out his hair, his prized possession, strand by brown strand. When many of his friends were starting to lose theirs, why shouldn’t he join them? The preening peacock of a fool!

  It was a lovely dream, a dream that kept her from cursing out loud and drawing stares from the evening crowd as she dodged the smash of carriages and rushed up the shallow steps of their London townhome. Grace threw open the front door, for once barely noting the white, peeling paint. Marks, ever the faithful butler, sat napping in a chair.

  “Where is he?” she demanded.

  Startled from slumber, Marks jumped to his feet, stumbling back like a drunken sailor. “Ehh? What was that?”

  “Marks! Calm yourself.”

  He narrowed his faded blue eyes and peered up at her under bushy gray brows as if he hadn’t a clue who she was even though he’d worked for them a good ten years.

  Grace sighed, rubbing her hands over her weary face. “My stepbrother. Where is he?”

  He pointed a gloveless finger toward the hall. Grace frowned. The man had probably sold his gloves for whiskey. “The library,” he muttered, his breath reeking of sour alcohol and confirming her suspicion. They should fire him, but they couldn’t afford a decent butler, and blast it all, she still had a soft spot for the man who had been with them for so long.

  Instead of letting him go, Grace merely ground her teeth. “Excellent. Thank you Marks.”

  With a flurry of skirts, she started down the corridor. The butler skittered to the side. If she weren’t so angry, she might have found the look of shock on the man’s face amusing. As it was, she’d laughed enough for one day.

  How dare John! How dare he make her think she was visiting an antique dealer when he’d sent her to a…a brothel! What if someone had seen her? Had he not thought at all about her reputation? Her marriage prospects would be in complete tatters, and she knew quite well that her prospects of a match were already low.

  She paused outside the door, cursing her body for trembling. She would attempt to glean at least a bit of control before she entered. John pounced on weakness like a cat on a mouse.

  It just didn’t make sense. He’d teased and tormented her before, and she’d always been able to ignore him, much to his annoyance. But this…this… was too much. She bit her lower lip, resisting the urge to give into stinging tears. She would not cry in front of her stepbrother, he’d only use it to tease her later.

  Dredging up her anger and clinging to the feeling, she shoved the door wide. The panel bounced against the wall, making the hanging pictures vibrate. John stood near the hearth, his back to her, the crackling fire making his brown hair shine. How she hated his shiny locks!

  Any sense of control fled at the sight of him. “John, you bastard! How could you?”

  The man turned, a look of utter shock upon his handsome face. But he wasn’t John. Oh no. It was worse. Much, much worse. “Hello, Grace.”

  Heat shot to her cheeks. “Lord Rodrick.” She dropped into a curtsey, frantically clawing through her mind for some rational explanation to justify her insanity. In the end she was left with a handful of muttered excuses that even a mad man wouldn’t believe. Straightening, she made an effort to smooth her face into a pleasant façade. It would not do at all for Rodrick to know their sordid family details.

  He was smiling, his amber eyes laughing at her much like those brilliant blue eyes had laughed earlier. Was she forever to be at the tail end of some ridiculous jest she never quite understood? She bit back her sharp reply and instead forced her lips upward into a demure smile.

  “I’m…I’m so sorry, I thought…” Oh hell, there was no way of getting out of this. “Siblings.” She shrugged, as if to say, what can you do?

  He leaned with an elegant ease against the walnut mantel, his dark suit molding perfectly to his tall body. Slowly, his gaze slid down her form and up again, looking at her in a completely thorough way, a way he’d never looked at her before.

  “I understand.” He lifted a drink to his lips, watching her…merely watching her when he’d barely paid her a glance in the past.

  The heat inside her intensified. Rodrick was paying attention to her and all because she’d come barreling into the room like a cutthroat looking for a fight. Just bleedin’ wonderful.

  “Yes. They’re quite dreadful at times.” Suddenly aware of the exalted position of their guest, she studied the room from the corner of her eye. Mama’s embroidered pillows with messages of love and hope were tossed haphazardly about the worn settee. Green curtains so old, one could see the streetlamps through the fabric, hung on dingy windows.

  And Patience, bless her younger sister, had left some sort of concoction in the middle of the
floor. What was it? Metal pieces, wood, and…walnuts? Even though at sixteen Patience was much too old for play, she was still making messes. And John, the idiot, had left his jacket and boots near their only fine wingback chair so that she’d have to clear the spot for Rodrick to sit, therefore drawing attention to the mess.

  Gads, it was like she lived with a houseful of children. And, what, pray tell, was that? She inched closer to the chair. Lawd! Was that a garter? Yes, most assuredly. She resisted the urge to groan. Miss Kitty had been playing with the laundry again. Grace pasted a stiff smile upon her face, attempting to draw Rodrick’s gaze upward.

  “Lovely evening,” she muttered, using her foot to nudge the garter under the chair.

  Rodrick set his glass upon the mantel and started toward her. His stroll was slow, unhurried, confident. And she could merely stand there in her wrinkled gown, with her hair a rat’s nest atop her head, not fit to polish his Wellingtons. A glance at that aristocratic face and one knew he was a man used to getting what he wanted. Her heart lurched and fingers curled into her gown. Why couldn’t he want her?

  He paused a few feet away, his dark brows drawn together over pale brown eyes. “You look…is there something…”

  She stiffened, sucking in a hopeful breath. “Yes?”

  “Different. You look different.” He smiled. A darling smile. He didn’t have dimples, then again no one was perfect. But he was close, so bloody close.

  “Yes, it’s your hair. Down about your shoulders.”

  Self-consciously she reached toward the locks. It hadn’t been down, not until that…that…dear lord, she couldn’t even say the word…that infuriating man had pulled her hair loose in his mad fit of passion. But no, it hadn’t been passion, he’d been acting. Whores were paid to act. Weren’t they?

  “Oh.” She started to tuck her hair into the few remaining pins.

  His hand rested on her forearm, an intimate touch that sent heat swirling low in the pit of her belly. He’d helped her into carriages before, in an indifferent manner; as if merely being polite. But this…this touch seemed new…as if they’d never touched before.