The Gentleman's Seduction Page 4
The man was pathetic to let such a young girl fight his battles for him. Martin sobered suddenly as the past came flooding back. Helen, his twin, had once bravely defended him, had even fought a duel against her future husband to save Martin’s life. He’d been only twenty-one, just a foolish lad, but he had made too many mistakes.
A man should fight his own battles. If Hartwell was too much of a coward to do so, then Martin would continue to use Lavinia as payment. He had no intention of harming the girl, of course. She was sweet-tempered, and yet there was a fire in her eyes that he didn’t want to see extinguished.
He wished he could woo her into his bed. The villainous role he’d acted at Hartwell’s home was not the man he really was. He had come to his senses enough to remember that, even though she presented a temptation most men wouldn’t be able to resist. The kiss they’d shared tonight had proven she would respond to him. She hadn’t stood there unfeeling, nor had she fought him off. She had kissed him back. Was she living out some wicked fantasy with him that was inspired by one of her Gothic novels? If so, perhaps he could work it to his advantage.
His body hardened at the thought of where those future kisses would lead. He was an excellent lover, and while most men might say that only to boast, Martin knew it to be true. He’d spent years learning the art of seduction, of pleasing a woman before himself. There was an immense satisfaction in knowing that he could make any woman desire him and that he alone could fulfill their needs.
I will show Lavinia just how wonderful it can be.
He set the book down and rose from his chair. He had promised he would leave her alone tonight, but it wouldn’t hurt to make sure she had settled in, would it? He exited the library and made his way to her room. He could see a light on beneath her door, but he had sent her to bed three hours ago. Was she still awake? He tested the handle and found the door unlocked. He eased it open and peered into the bedchamber. A few candles were still burning low. Tiptoeing into the room, he blew out one candle, then stoked the fire and added several more logs. He couldn’t forget how cold Hartwell’s house had been, and he didn’t want Lavinia to be cold tonight.
He moved to the bed, where the last candle was still lit on a table beside the bed. Lavinia was fast asleep, her book still open to the third page. Martin carefully extracted the book from her hands, set it on the table, and gazed down at her. She looked so innocent, her hair unbound, her face softened in the shadows. Had he been that innocent at her age?
It seemed like a lifetime separated him from Lavinia, rather than ten years. Yet he knew she wasn’t a child. She was a grown woman, one he now hungered for. Yet rather than feel a desire to awaken her, a strange protective urge filled him. He couldn’t help but think what he would do had he been in her place, had he been able to offer himself in some way if he’d known it would have saved his mother’s life. He would have done exactly as Lavinia had. He tucked the bedclothes up to her chin, wanting to make sure she stayed warm enough. Then he brushed a stray lock of hair from her cheek before he bent, blew the candle out, and left her to sleep.
As he returned to his own bedchamber and allowed his valet to undress him, he gazed at himself in the mirror. A frown was upon his lips, one that had been there for ages. The fear he’d seen in Lavinia’s eyes had left him unsettled.
“Byrd,” he said as his valet undid the buttons on his cuffs.
“Yes, sir?” the man replied, head bent as he focused on his task.
“Do you find me imposing?”
Byrd glanced at him. “Imposing, sir?”
“Do I frighten you?”
Byrd tilted his head, his lips parted as he hesitated.
“Come now, Byrd. I’m not angry.” He paused, not wanting to sound like he cared overmuch, but just enough. “I was thinking of Miss Hartwell. I don’t wish to scare her now that she’s here.”
“Ah.” Byrd relaxed and stepped back as he gave Martin room to pull his shirt over his head.
“I think you can be a little intimidating, sir, but it is likely because you are used to dealing with businessmen who would cut your throat if you weren’t careful. Even your other female guests were used to you and your manners. But Miss Hartwell… Well, she’s a proper lady, isn’t she?”
“Yes. She is.” Byrd was right. Opera singers, socialites, and courtesans knew how to behave around men, but Lavinia was not part of that world. She had never been alone with a man, let alone been kissed. If he was going to get her in his bed, his seduction would have to be slow and careful.
Byrd spoke again. “Might I make a suggestion?”
Martin nodded.
“Well, ladies, no matter their station, like gifts. Flowers, jewels, sweets, gowns. And they like to be courted. Take her riding, take her to the opera or a play. Ladies like a bit of fun.”
Byrd was right, damn him. Lavinia was not her father, and the fact that she had made herself a sacrificial lamb for his debts didn’t mean she deserved to be treated harshly. It was not as though he’d ever intended to treat her badly, but he hadn’t given much thought to what he would do with her.
“Thank you, Byrd. That is good advice.” He offered his valet a smile. “I believe I can see to the rest this evening. You may go.”
Byrd collected Martin’s boots and left him alone. Martin stripped out of his trousers and removed his stockings before he climbed into bed. He blew out his candle and lay on his back, arms folded behind his head as he gazed up at the ceiling of his canopy bed.
Lavinia’s visage preyed on his mind. He would never forget the bravery she demonstrated in coming to her father’s aid.
She has captivated me. It was a dangerous thing to admit. But he would tire of her as he had all the rest and would send her home soon enough, he was sure. As sleep finally overtook him, he was plagued with dreams, or rather nightmares, ones that played over and over in his mind. Hartwell destroying his life, his mother collapsing, his father broken and defeated. And Martin, doing the same to Lavinia.
Am I no better than her father? But he couldn’t send her home. The die was cast. He had kissed her and had tasted her sweet passion like the petals of a rose in spring. Even if it made him a villain, he would have more.
You are mine, Lavinia. You simply don’t know it yet.
Livvy slept without dreams, without worries. When dawn arrived, Mellie pulled back the window curtains, and Livvy remembered all the events of the night before.
“Did you sleep well, Livvy?” the maid asked as she bustled about the room and started selecting clothes for Livvy to wear.
“I… Yes.” She couldn’t believe it, but it was true. Here in this beautiful bed, she had slept without a care. How was that even possible?
“Do you wish to bathe this morning or this evening?”
“Er… This evening.” Livvy stretched and sighed before she pushed the covers back and slipped out of bed. The maid helped her change into a lilac muslin day gown and white slippers.
“What about your hair, miss? I know quite a few styles.” Mellie’s eyes twinkled in the reflection from the mirror on the vanity table.
“I would love something fashionable. How are the ladies wearing it?” She had only been to a few balls since her come out and had been so distracted by the dances she hadn’t had time to focus on the hairstyles of others.
“A few curls at the front on each side and an elaborate chignon in the back.” Mellie picked up the silver hairbrush from the nightstand and began to comb Livvy’s hair. When she was finished, she held the mirror out to Livvy who examined the results.
“Oh, it’s splendid! Thank you!” She carefully set the hand mirror back on the table.
“Breakfast should be ready now if you wish to eat,” said Mellie. “I’d be happy to show you to the dining room.”
Livvy followed her downstairs and was directed into an elegant dining room. The robin’s-egg blue walls and white wainscoting gave the room an airy feel that was accented by the large table set for breakfast.
; Chafing dishes kept food hot on a nearby sideboard, including slices of ham, capers, and eggs. Toast and a pot of hot water for tea were also available. Livvy was so distracted by all this that she did not immediately notice Banks seated at the table.
She froze when she turned and saw him. An empty plate was on the table in front of him and a cup of tea close at hand as he perused the paper.
“Come in and eat.” It was a command, but his tone was gentle. When he didn’t immediately look at her, she relaxed and took a spare plate from the sideboard.
Once she was seated with her breakfast, she took a peek at what he was reading, the financial section of the Morning Post. He noticed she was watching him after a moment and laid down his paper to stare at her in return.
“You are engaged in business?” she asked softly.
“I am.” He angled his body her way, and his gaze made her feel unsettled, though not in an entirely unpleasant way.
“Do you invest in the funds?”
At this he tilted his head, seeming somewhat surprised. “It is where I make most of my fortune. Are you familiar with it?”
She nibbled on a piece of toast and nodded. “My father prefers to invest in businesses, but I rather think funds are safer. I tried to convince him to invest in some India bonds and annuities last year. He didn’t, but my instincts were correct. The bonds I suggested had a reliable return on investment of 4.8 percent.”
“That was very sound advice,” Banks agreed, his blue eyes still on hers. “What did he invest in?”
She sighed. “Silver. It’s such an unreliable market, and the odds of it doing well at this time are slim.” She lifted her tea cup up, taking in the enticing aroma of the tea.
Banks’s lips twitched in a hint of a smile. “Again, you are right.”
“And that surprises you, does it?” she asked. She’d met enough young debutantes in the past year to know that her knowledge of business was not typical among the young ladies.
“Yes, but it also delights me. I believe I shall enjoy our conversations. My past mistresses were educated in other ways—music, literature, and art. And while these things were pleasing, they weren’t enough to stimulate me.”
She cringed at the word mistress. She was reluctantly here for that purpose, but she would never like how it made her feel. She wanted to be loved by a man, not used. Whatever happened between them, she would not let him change her into something she didn’t want to be. She was in control of how quickly their intimacy would progress, if at all.
“Could we not use the word mistress?” she asked.
He closed his paper and leaned back in his chair. “I would be happy to call you whatever you like, but that does not change the fact that you are here to serve me in that capacity.”
Livvy drew a deep breath, trying to steady her nerves and calm the flare of temper. But she had nothing to say in her own defense. He was right. She had agreed to come here to be…his.
“If I called you my companion, would that suit you?” It was as though he’d read her mind. Heat flooded her face, and he smirked a little, but strangely the expression didn’t seem cruel but rather boyishly teasing. It put her at ease more than she expected.
“I think companion would be agreeable, if you still agree that I shan’t be forced into your bed.”
“The choice is and will always be yours, but I believe you will be tempted.” His intense, smoldering gaze made her tense, not because she was afraid of him, but because she feared she would indeed be tempted.
“What…?” She paused, deciding to change the subject. “What do you have planned for today? Am I to remain here and wait for you?”
“We have plans to go shopping. Those rags you are wearing aren’t suitable in the slightest, and you have no proper winter clothes. I know you see me as a bastard, but I am not cruel. You may have fine clothes, jewels, whatever your heart desires.”
Except my freedom.
He remained with her as she finished her breakfast, once more opening his paper to read. When he finished a section of the paper, he glanced at her.
“Would you care to…?” He waved at the paper. “I have the Morning Post every day, but I would be happy to procure any other paper you would wish to read. I understand many ladies prefer the Quizzing Glass Gazette.”
“The Post is quite fine.” She collected the paper and took some time to peruse it. Over the next half hour, they took turns sharing the paper, passing a tray of toast, and even smiling at each other when they both reached for the butter at the same moment. It was as though they’d shared a breakfasts many times, enjoying an amiable silence the way a happily married couple would. She finished, and a footman cleared away their plates.
Mr. Banks rose. “Fetch your cloak, and we will head to Bond Street.”
“Mr. Banks, I—”
“Martin, please. I insist on that, Lavinia.” He held the dining room door open for her as they departed. If he wished to be more familiar by name, then she did as well.
“Very well, but please don’t call me Lavinia.”
His dark-gold brows rose in response. “No?”
“It’s the name my parents use when they’re cross with me. I prefer Livvy.”
“Livvy.” He smiled. “I like that much better. I had a great-aunt on my mother’s side name Lavinia. She was quite an old battle-ax.”
“What a dreadful thing to say,” she gasped, but Martin only laughed.
“Trust me, she would see it as a compliment. If the Vikings of old were to ever invade England again, my great-aunt would be there to stop them single-handed.” He mimicked swinging a battle-ax, and his boyish expression of mischief was so unexpected that Livvy giggled. For a moment she completely forgot that he had effectively purchased her the way one would a horse. Her laughter died, and his grin faded.
“Sir, the coach is ready,” Mr. Harris announced.
“Go get your cloak.” He waved at the stairs, but she had anticipated him and was already on her way. She returned, cloak in hand and he helped her put it on.
“Thank you,” Livvy said, blushing before she followed Martin as they exited the house. His coach was painted blue and black, something she hadn’t noticed last night. Martin held out a hand, and she pressed her palm in his so he could help her into. Once they were seated, he took a cane that was tucked into the corner of his seat and rapped it on the roof of the coach. Their driver jerked the horses into motion.
“You’re truly going to buy me a new wardrobe?”
“Yes. It was one of your conditions, as I recall. I am a man of honor, despite what you might think.” Martin’s gaze was focused on the street outside the window, but she had the sense he was assuring her once again that he would not force her to do anything, in bed or out, while she was with him. For a brief moment she wondered if perhaps he was not altogether a villain like she believed, but was perhaps a good man trying desperately to be bad because he felt he needed vengeance.
“Thank you,” she said softly.
“My pleasure. I believe in a fair exchange, and your requests were quite reasonable.”
As much as she didn’t want to admit it, she would be happy to add a few new dresses, perhaps a thicker cloak, and stockings that weren’t so threadbare.
She and Martin didn’t speak for the rest of the ride. She had questions, but she didn’t ask a single one. When they reached Bond Street, Martin helped her out of the coach and gave instructions to the driver to return in three hours. Then he offered her his arm. Livvy slipped her hand around his sleeve, walking carefully on the icy sidewalk. The chilly wind made her wince, but she knew that they would soon be inside.
“Here we are.” Martin stopped at an expensive-looking modiste’s shop with a name she recognized.
“Mrs. Benson is a fine dressmaker. Too fine for me!” she protested. A few shoppers passing by stared at Livvy. Martin merely pursed his lips and opened the door for her. A blush flamed her face, but she entered the shop and he followed behind her.
“Mr. Banks! What a pleasure to see you again.”
Martin’s grim expression faded at the dressmaker’s genuine smile.
“Mrs. Benson, it has been too long.” There was an intimate familiarity in his gaze, not one of love, but of friendship. The woman turned her attention to Livvy.
“And who is this young lady?”
“Miss Hartwell.” He did not elaborate further, but Livvy swallowed a wave of shame as she faced the modiste.
“I see.” Mrs. Benson’s tone wasn’t disapproving, but crisp, as though she was already thinking of the gowns Livvy would need. “The usual, Mr. Banks? Or perhaps a little something special?” Mrs. Benson walked in a circle around Livvy, eyeing her critically the way an artist would a blank canvas.
Martin stroked his chin. “Perhaps something special is in order. She’s not…like the others.”
Livvy closed her eyes for a moment, holding her tongue. Was that meant to be an insult or a compliment? She honestly didn’t wish to know.
“She certainly isn’t,” Mrs. Benson muttered as she came back to face Livvy, and her sudden but small smile was hidden from Martin, who stood behind her. “She’s lovely and innocent, and I imagine she’s sweet. The others were…not so much.” Mrs. Benson waved a hand at Martin. “Have a seat and let me find a few ready-made gowns that will suit her. Then, after we set her up with the necessities, we can plan a few custom gowns.”