The art of seducing a hu.., p.13
The Art of Seducing a Husband, page 13
The door shut and she stood alone. The cold of the early morning seeped into her dress like she was submerged. The door opened to the townhouse before she made the first step. Now, she would escape to her room and ponder on all that happened and on his reaction to her refusing the move. Perhaps she would leave that for when she woke, and the claret was not fogging her emotions so. Yes, that was what she would do.
Upstairs, she didn’t bother to pull the bell for Fanny. She could wiggle out of her gown on her own, and she only wore half stays, which may have to be reconsidered, but right now they were enough. She could still manage them alone. Once the few pins left were plucked from her knotted hair and her dress lay draped carefully over a chair, Jemma cozied up in her nightdress and snuggled into the thick bedcoverings, her body still humming from her new experience. As delicious as it had been, she knew that was not even half of it. There was more she had yet to experience.
A memory of her straddling Anthony, looking down into his eyes, made her shiver. This was the man who would show her and answer all those questions. But when? She wanted to know now. Begged to understand. Jemma thought on that as she drifted off into a claret hazed sleep, wondering if she affected him like he did her. Turn around was, after all, fair play.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Not bothering to find his bed, Anthony spent the time between Sutton House and his own feeling around in the darkened carriage for the pins he had ripped from Jemma’s hair. Most of them well in hand, they now laid in a pile on his tea table as he sipped a whiskey in the room’s darkness with only a few rays of light peaking in through the closed drapes. The pile of forgotten pins stared back at him as a warning.
“Damn it,” he growled, angry at not controlling the situation more. Even though no one would agree, he was not the one who needed seducing. He knew full well what he was leaving on the table when he allowed her to flee at sunrise.
“At least you aren’t so much of a fool to ask her back here,” he commended himself and raised his whiskey glass in acknowledgment. Though at the moment, he was faltering in the very solid reasons he could not allow himself to be tumbled into sweet oblivion with Jemma naked in his arms.
A loud, deep growl rose from his chest. If he thought about what tonight could have led to, he would defeat his own purpose, which was precisely why he was not searching out his bed. He wouldn’t sleep, it would simply transport him into a fantasy he could not allow himself. No, staying awake and having the bite of exhaustion was his punishment for letting her take advantage of the situation. She didn’t do so intentionally, and he could not lay the blame on her. She followed the sensations. He was her guide because he was so intoxicated by her willingness, he found himself unable to stop her for fear she would be disappointed.
Anthony laid his head back against the chair back. This was going badly. He secretly gave Jemma permission to do her worst with her idea of seduction, with the assurance to himself that he had her and the situation well in hand. Last night, from the moment he entered Sutton House, he felt the balance of power shift. He went there hoping she would be happy with his grand gesture of a townhouse all her own. In truth, it surprised him when no one saw it as what he thought it was. By the time they settled in the carriage, he could feel her resistance to him, and he respected that. He would never force her, and wasn’t that what he wanted? His idea of the perfect marriage was a wife who was not interested in the pleasures of the flesh. Wasn’t it?
He shot back the rest of the whiskey, cursed, and grabbed for the bottle to refill. Then at the party she surprised him at every turn, and the way she knew where to touch him and how. He was certain a part of Finna’s coaching would show her his most sensitive places, but it was her touch that was all Jem alone. Her own instinct. Like she knew in her bones how to touch him for maximum reaction.
Nothing, however, could have prepared him for the carriage ride home. He closed his eyes, willing the scene to come alive once more. Had he had but thirty minutes more, he would have had her on the bench and been buried inside her before he could think better of it. As it was, he would be sore for the remainder of the day. He didn’t see any reason to tell her that because she would have stopped, and damn it, he could have been breathing his last and he wouldn’t have given that up for anything.
No, his pain and exhaustion today needed to be a reminder of what his life could be. How out of sorts and uneven it would keep him. Allowing Jemma to hold sway over him would indeed make quite a mess for him.
Of course, it would be over soon enough. Today, she would pack and move her things into the townhouse and therefore away from Giselle and Finna’s influence. She would soon see how much preferable it was to have her own home not weighed down by wifely expectations. They could easily continue enjoying each other’s company at public events. Once her allure and intoxication waned, he would feel they could consummate, produce an heir, and be done with it all. Max, Giselle, Winn, and Zoe aside, most Ton marriages cooled over time. He merely need wait.
A knock at the door. “My lord, I have a tray for you.” The butler entered and laid the heavy tray covering the hair pins. Anthony squelched an urge to jump up and scoop them from under the weight. They were only pins.
“I would like a bath and then I will be available. I do hope to check in with my current solicitor. I know there is paperwork I need to sign.”
“Of course, I will call for your bath, then send word to your solicitor.”
“Thank you. Also, under this tray is a pile of hairpins. Please collect them when I am done and send someone over to Sutton House for Lady Wolverton. She must have spilled them from her reticule last evening.”
“Of course, my lord.”
Anthony didn’t miss the smirk hovering on the butler’s lips, but he dismissed it. It was not the first time he had collected hair pins from his carriage, and they were married after all. That alone made their play last evening rather unexceptional or gossip worthy. Still, the beast inside him bubbled up at the thought of anyone thinking his wife would be the type to allow any man to tumble in a moving carriage. Except that she was the type.
Anthony slumped back into the chair with a chunk of crusty warm bread, the butter dripping off onto his thumb. He licked it off. A vision of Jemma bright and full of curiosity filled his mind. How could anyone think her the type of woman—but hadn’t he done that when he picked her up yesterday? Wasn’t that his plan all along?
Thinking back to all the women, most married, he had been with over the years, none of them had been averse to much of anything he suggested. Never having considered them for marriage because they were already married, or not a viable option like Finna, it was never a consideration. Now though, with a woman he thought to be above baser pleasures, could all the women he chose have been terrible wives? Each one forming a perfect image of their smiling vibrant faces in his mind. They were good people. Kind people, in unhappy marriages. Tearing off a hunk of bread and softening it with a sip of whiskey, he pondered where this was all going.
If he gave into this train of thought, it would force him to admit that which Max had been preaching that all people wanted, no, according to Max, all people needed. Pleasure to be whole, and that there was no pleasure greater than with a person one loved.
Anthony shook his head to clear it, like brushing cobwebs from a corner. It was the exhaustion and what was left of the claret that played these tricks. He must put his memory of his parents foremost in his mind. He could not consider Jemma needing pleasure because like his father, Anthony could well go mad, fearing she would find it in another man’s arms. It would not be borne.
Downing the whiskey and finishing the piece of bread, Anthony stood and stalked to find his bath and rethink everything lest it suck him into a fantasy he could never have.
Two hours later, marginally refreshed, but most important, fanciful notions banished, Anthony could face the day. His solicitor would be around for him to sign the last of the paperwork, then Anthony could start searching for a new firm that held more closely to his own values and not his father’s. For once, he could see a split between his father’s old world and his own more progressive one. He was making headway.
Anthony settled in his small study and went to work penning a letter to his estate steward with a new idea for the continuation of prosperity for the estate. The man would need time to make sure the soil was viable, and they had the resources for it. Anthony sat and considered what he was proposing. The country estate was entailed, so upon Anthony’s death it would go to the next earl. Perhaps this endeavor would be more suited to a property not entailed. He took up the letter and threw it in the fire.
Instead, he scribbled a fresh note and rang his bell. The housekeeper bustled in. “Yes, my lord?”
“Oh, I’m sorry I thought to summon Lambert,” Anthony apologized.
“Aye, he stepped out to make that delivery. He thought you would be longer getting ready, I suppose.”
“Do you have any messenger boys available today?” he asked
“We do. Lambert said he wanted to take the air, is all. Do you have a missive to be delivered?”
Anthony handed off the note with instructions for its location. Then went back to the tray, which was all but forgotten earlier. He grabbed a large hunk of hard cheese and more bread. Apparently, he worked up an appetite. He heard the front doorbell and by the time he made his way back to the desk, the solicitor ambled in.
“Good day, sir. I hope I did not take you from anything pressing.” Anthony always started out being genial, but found it didn’t last long with this man.
“No, nothing that couldn’t wait.”
“Good, my wife wants to move in straight away and make it her own, so I need to have the papers in hand.”
The man got to work and pulled out a large stack of papers. “I feel obliged to point out, my lord, that your father had too much respect for his title to press his personal funds with the purchase of such a lavish house in London. He would not approve of this purchase in the least.”
“Well,” Anthony said, trying not to grit his teeth, “it is a good thing I suppose he is dead then and has no opinion, nor does he hold the current title, so it would be none of his business, anyway.”
The man’s face turned a puce, and he wrinkled his nose in distaste for such disrespect. “You know your father took great pains to protect the title from becoming destitute. He didn’t feel the need for such—”
“Again,” Anthony interrupted him, “I do not give a farthing about what my father did or would have wanted done. I am the earl now, and I shall conduct my business as I see fit. The title is well in hand, and this purchase is not going against any of the coffers of it. I did not call you for counsel in this matter. You are my solicitor, not my priest.”
At that, the man bent his head and got to work. Within the hour, Anthony had all the proper papers and deed in hand. This would be the last time this officious man would ever darken his doorstep and with him the last of his father’s maniacal hold over his life.
Lambert entered with a missive and a tea tray. “My lord, I am just returned from Sutton House, and I have a note.”
He handed it to Anthony. It was no doubt a list of entertainments for the next week. He had never looked more forward to the whirl of society than he did this season. But the first line told him this was not that letter. Jemma had indeed been up early. She and Lady Sutton had visited their newly purchased townhouse, and while the staff were all lovely, Jemma was sorry to have to decline her previous promise of moving in post haste. First, there were renovations and upgrades she wanted permission to move on, but more than that, she felt it too big of a house for one person and did not feel she would be comfortable there by herself. If his lordship were to reconsider his own living situation perhaps, she would be interested but for the moment she would remain at Sutton House.
Well, damn.
After tossing and turning and only sleeping a few paltry hours, Jemma had woken and met Giselle in the parlor. From there, they visited the townhouse. It impressed her that the staff indeed knew Lord Wolverton had purchased the property and was more than happy to show them around. There were definitely a few main rooms that needed updating and were very severe in their decor, and her own private rooms looked as if they had not had attention for some time. On those repairs alone, she felt she had enough reason not to move in, but also felt it wasn’t enough to shy away from her real reason. If she moved in happy to live on her own, Anthony may never step in line with her grand plan, of that Giselle was correct. But now, sitting in the parlor at Lady Harwich’s house, she wasn’t feeling as confident as she had earlier.
All of this was moving so slowly and at any time, Anthony could decide he was done with her antics and she wasn’t worth the trouble she was causing and therefore decide to annul the marriage. Until he bedded her, she was in limbo. She also wanted more from her marriage than that, so here she sat, waiting. She sighed and tried to pay attention to Finna.
“Now, true seduction, the kind that binds you to someone’s heart, does not happen in haste, quite the contrary actually for you to have true lasting effects,” Finna said, unaware of the air being sucked out of the room and out of Jemma’s lungs tightening the knot once again.
“Time? What amount of time? I admit to not understanding why so much must be put into getting a man into my bed.” The look on Finna’s face was reminiscent of Mother Superior when Jemma’s frustration would get the better of her and let down her sociable mask. “Oh, I am sorry. I can image how unappreciative that must have sounded. I meant no disrespect.”
Giselle sat across from Jemma and held a teacup over her mouth to hide a smile, but did a dismal job of it.
A warm smile of understanding spread across her mentor’s face. “Please do not feel you cannot express yourself with me, Jemma. You will not open to me if you feel you cannot be genuine. I am confused, because I thought you wanted Anthony to fall in love with you?”
“Oh, I do, yes. We are joined for the remainder of our lives. I see no reason we shouldn’t enjoy those years with each other. We are going on two months and the more difficult I make life for Anthony, well there is nothing to tie him to me.” Jemma was more confused than she had been on their attempted wedding night which left her alone and him lord knew where, after he stormed out of their bedchamber. Either something was or it was not—wasn’t it?
Finna took a deep breath and looked at Jemma with such intent, Jemma thought she was reading her soul. Finally, unable to take the silence any longer, “Perhaps I was mistaken. I thought women used sex to make men fall in love with them. And since I could not persuade Anthony—”
“My dear, where did you learn that?”
“Nowhere really. I had always been told that wicked women would use their bodies to make men theirs.”
A knowing look settled on Finna’s delicate features. “This will be a corrective lesson, then. It is one I suspect would keep a lot of young ladies chaste if their mothers were wont to have the discussion. Sex does not directly affect how much a man loves you. But when a man is in love with the woman he is having sex with, it will make the act almost addicting. Sex on its own is pleasurable enough, don’t get me wrong. However, once one experiences sex with their emotions in play, well, my dear, let us say it is intoxicating. And if we can get Anthony to engage his emotions before the act, he will be lost to you forever after.”
Feeling her brow furrow, Jemma concentrated on that bit of information. That meant even if she could coax Anthony into her bed to consummate, it did not guarantee he would ever love her. It also meant that if Jemma got what she wanted in this moment, it could lead to a lonely existence. Why couldn’t a solution to a problem that was uncomplicated and timely show itself? She sighed.
Finna reached over and covered Jemma’s hands that had been twined together in a complicated knot in her lap, exposing her distress.
“Jemma, what is it? If you don’t confide in me, we are at an impasse. You have made excellent progress to this point.”
Looking at her hands, with Finna’s elegant ring clad one resting on top, she gulped in courage and pushed on. “We have not consummated our marriage yet. If Anthony decides I am not the wife he has envisioned, he can send me back to my brother and petition for an annulment. My brother has told me I will be sent back to the convent and there I will be expected to take my vows.” She looked up and into Finna’s eyes at that moment with all the courage and determination of a woman with few choices. “I would make a horrible nun. I want a family.”
Before she could respond, Finna pulled her into a strong embrace. And Giselle had moved to place a comforting hand on her shoulder. Finna held her for a long time, rubbing her hand on Jemma’s back. “Oh, how horrible for you to have been living with that fear. The one thing I know about Anthony is that he would never abandon you. He would rather live apart and be miserable before he backed out of his vow. Your brother should be flogged but good for his callous behavior.”
Giselle nodded in agreement. The conviction these women had that Anthony would not send her back lulled her concerns only a bit. Last night, her satisfaction when leaving the carriage melted quickly in the daylight when she grasped that even close, Anthony let her leave.
Pulling out of the embrace took effort. She felt safe with Finna and Giselle, like there were people who understood her. Since they sent her to the school, she had not felt understood. Her brother didn’t pay her any heed, and the nuns—well, she felt like she neither belonged there, nor did they want her to leave, like now, she was in limbo. At the same time, her brother had seen to her care, and that alone required a bit of loyalty. “Oh, my brother meant nothing nefarious. He does not have the time to care for me.”
“Really, and you are so demanding that you require a large amount of a man’s time to see to your comfort?” Finna rose and yanked the bellpull, then walked to a window that looked out on the street and the park across the way.
