Page 77 of The Seduction of an English Scoundrel

“Let’s discuss it in comfort, shall we?”

She stared up at him as if he had just revealed he was the devil, and before she could reply to his incredible gall, he had turned to climb the remaining stairs, whistling as if he did not have a worry in the world.

“Well, come along,” he added cheerfully over his shoulder. “I won’t keep you in my bed every night. There will be times when you’ll need to be well dressed to entertain. No more pigeon gray for my little dove.”

Her limbs leaden, she followed him into a small chamber furnished with a dressing screen, two comfortable armchairs, a looking glass, and a rosewood table on which sat a crystal decanter of sherry and two glasses alongside a stack of pattern books.

His mistress.

One of the outrageous women who had attended her sabotaged wedding.

He meant for her to become another Helene or Mrs. Parks. A woman he visited for sexual pleasure. A woman he paid to see in private. A partner he would discard when his interest in her waned.

Jane wanted to push him down the stairs and jump on his offer.

A pair of seamstresses bustled her behind the screen and efficiently stripped her to take her measurements while Grayson poured their sherry and explained to the trim, bespectacled Madame Devine and her assistant exactly what he wanted from the samples she brought him.

“Not that.” His low, arrogant laugh made Jane’s blood boil. “Too many buttons. I’m a man who prefers to have a woman in bed with a minimum of fuss.”

Madame Devine gave a girlish giggle. “Mais oui, my lord. I understand. These undergarments, perhaps . . . ?”

“No. The lady doesn’t need her bosom enhanced. Nature has endowed her with all I can handle.”

“Ah. Well, then, this pink satin?”

“Oh, yes. And that black lace, too.”

Madame Devine’s assistant sighed. “Very, very nice together, under a ball dress.”

“What dress?” he murmured. “I thought she could wear them alone.”

The woman blushed. “These stays with the ribbon knots, my lord?”

“Why bother? I prefer the natural feel of a female’s flesh.”

At that the assistant rose to open a window; the atmosphere had grown so steamy that Madame’s glasses had fogged over. This was a man on a very wicked mission indeed.

Jane stuck her head around the screen to glare at him. “I think that will be quite enough of your nonsense, Sedgecroft.”

“Jane, you are surely not going to refuse me the indulgence of spending a fortune on you?” he said placidly.

She was aware that the ears of the seamstresses pricked to attention at this question. She replied, “Grayson, I am not a complete idiot. You may indulge me until you are bankrupt.” She paused. “But I am not promising anything in return.”

He fixed her with an infuriating smile. “Famous last words, my dear. I shall have as much fun taking those things off you as I will buying them. Now let me see what you have in the sheerest silk,” he instructed the modiste, settling back in his chair. “Something I can see through. Yes, those drawers with the slit are nice.”

Jane’s cheeks flamed, and her embarrassed gaze met the envious eyes of the two seamstresses in the mirror. He was a rogue to the marrow.

She told him as much when the four flustered women finally left them alone to discuss the details of her wardrobe. “Are you quite mad?” she demanded, taking the sherry he handed her with an innocent smile.

“I intend to lavish gifts on my mistress,” he said in an injured voice. “Is anything wrong with that?”

“Only that I have not agreed to any of this,” she said between her teeth. “My father will be livid.”

He examined the glass in his hand. “Sweetheart,” he said gently, “your father is a man of the world. He understands.”

“Why in heaven’s name would you say such a thing?”

“Because he and I talked at length last night about your future,” he replied with a shake of his head. “Yes, at first he resisted, but logic won out.”