His Wicked Seduction novel Chapter 59

He didn't like that she'd gotten the better of him already. And the way she dressed was driving him to distraction. Her husband was dead less than a year yet she was not wearing the black crepe gown and veil expected of her. Instead, she wore a low-cut ruby dress that seemed to make her pale skin almost luminescent against the firelight. She looked more the seductress than the grieving widow. She knew her looks were an advantage and she wasn't afraid to use them. A dangerous lady. He'd have to remember that.

"And what of Shelley? Is he stationed in London? Perhaps I ought to meet with him instead."

A thin smile of victory teased her mouth. "That would be a waste of your time, my lord. I bought out Shelley's stock months ago and am now the sole owner of the company my husband founded. We will be changing the name before the next quarter. So it is in fact me you need to see." She punctuated this statement with no small amount of pride.

Ashton glowered. He was not one of those men who believed in discouraging women from the arena of business, but with Lady Melbourne he wished to make an exception. With her in the same room, he could not concentrate, not when his mind and body were conspiring against him like this.

"I've noticed that you are injured, my lord. Please sit. How did you come by such an injury?"

Lady Melbourne had the nerve to offer him a seat in his own bloody parlor? Oh, he'd sit down all right, and pull her body beneath his... Ashton locked the thoughts safely away in a dim corner of his mind, then he sought to regain his natural civility.

"Thank you." He seated himself in a chair opposite the settee. "In answer to your question, I was shot recently." He waited for her to show disgust or some form of feminine aversion to the mention of bloodshed.

She did nothing of the sort. Minor surprise transformed into open curiosity. Must be her damned Scottish blood.

"Were you dueling, my lord?" she asked bluntly.

"Dueling is outlawed. Do not make such quick assumptions about me, Lady Melbourne. I can guarantee you will be wrong on every account." His tone was so rough he barely recognized himself. It was the tone of his youth, before he'd learned to hone in his temper.

Lady Melbourne had awakened a very dangerous inferno in him. She raised her chin defiantly in a silent challenge to his temper, but the movement only brought her tempting lips closer to his. Ashton forced himself to back away from her as he spoke again.

"My apologies, Lady Melbourne. My arm twinges with pain and it has quite ruined my ability to play the polite host." It was the truth, though only part of it.

"I will accept your apology my lord-if you will satisfy my curiosity as to how you received your wound," she said. Her impertinence both infuriated him and astonished him.

"The business that led to my injury was personal in nature and I will not divulge it just to flatter your curiosity. Now come, let us speak of business, if you will."

She seemed as though she wanted to say something further, then thought better of it. "Very well," she sighed. At that moment a maid entered with a tea tray and Lady Melbourne took the pot from the tray and glanced at Ashton.

"May I pour?" It was usually a maid's job when a man did not have a wife or a lady of the house to perform the task, but the maid in this case took one look at him and scampered from the room without so much as a backward glance.

"Yes, of course," Ashton muttered curtly, once more resuming his seat as she poured two cups of tea.

"When your solicitor contacted my office I was informed that the business matter that concerned you involved the purchase of Southern Star Shipping."

"Indeed." Ashton didn't take his eyes off the woman as he took a sip of tea-and nearly spat it across the table.

The blasted woman had not added any milk, leaving it scalding hot. She seemed to be watching him for some reaction, some exclamation of pain, as he fought to remain calm and pretend that he hadn't just lost all feeling in his tongue due to sabotaged tea. The woman was ruthless.

"What puzzles me is why you crave the Southern Star ships." Ashton took another step in her direction, trying to recover lost ground. "As far as I can tell your business doesn't require them."

"Why does anyone want anything? I crave the power of the ships. And contrary to your no doubt thorough research on my interests, I do in fact need them for access to the Caribbean ports." It was a business answer, but not the truth, and for some reason her answer angered him. He could not negotiate with someone with such solid defenses around her. If only he could tear down those walls somehow.

"I propose a trade. If you tell me how you were shot I will cease bidding on the Southern Star."

This was unexpected. Another ploy to keep him off guard, perhaps? Ashton scrubbed his jaw with one hand, considering the proposal. Normally his affairs were kept private, especially those relating to the League, but he saw no harm in giving her a somewhat censored answer. He didn't trust her, however. Not one whit.

"You would relinquish the line to me that easily?"

She gave a graceful shrug of one shoulder. "There are other lines, of course. I have enough capital that I could build my own if I had to. Buying the Southern Star was simply a more efficient way to reach my goal."

"What is it?" Ashton asked.

Charles glanced about the house, as though searching for spies in every corner. Ashton's worry deepened like a gnawing pit in his stomach.

"I was going through my correspondence with Lucien's mother. They'd been building up for some time. You know how she writes to me about Lysa."

"Yes." Charles made few attempts to reply back to Lucien's mother since the letters more often than not included offers of marriage to Lucien's sister, which would never have gone over well with anyone for any number of reasons.

"Well, I noticed a strange pattern in her letters. She's been through several footmen in the last few months. Six in all. She writes about accidents, broken legs, being thrown from a horse, a few of them just up and left without any reason. I wouldn't have noticed except that I read all of the letters in one sitting and it struck me."

Ashton frowned. "What struck you?"

"The pattern, Ash. The pattern." He slapped a handful of letters against Ashton's chest. "She said the last footman hasn't had any of the problems the others had and that the curse might finally be lifted."

"And you don't believe it is a series of coincidental accidents," Ashton said, seeing where this was going. "You think he took out the other footman to gain a secure position at the Hall?"

"Exactly." Charles paced the entryway, and his eyes again searched around them. "The question is why Lucien's house if Cedric is the target. Perhaps it was Lucien who was the target all along? The carriage did attempt to run him over after all. Either way, we need to warn them."

"You're absolutely right," Ashton agreed. "But we must be careful. After our message to them about the cat, if we show up without cause, the man might act rashly. We should send Lucien a letter but address it to his mother. If the man is under Hugo's control he'd likely be instructed to open any mail addressed to Lucien or Cedric. Best to do this carefully."

"Good plan," Charles said.

Ashton winced as his arm panged. "I'll have you write the letter, if you don't mind."

He led Charles to his study and prayed their letter didn't come too late.