A Season of Seduction Read Free

is formidable. If they were to discover that you planned it—”
Jack raised his hand. “Easy, man. No one else knows. No one will ever know.”
Stratford was the only man in London he trusted with his plan. Jack had returned three months ago after a twelve-year absence from England to discover most of his childhood acquaintances had matured into weak, foppish creatures. He’d met the earl one night at a tavern on the Strand and discovered he was neither.
In the past weeks, Jack had learned a little of the man’s past. Like Jack, the earl had suffered a great loss. That experience had done much to form the man he was today. He was well known as a profligate rake, immoral and debauched. He was the kind of man the mamas of the ton cautioned their innocent daughters against.
Despite the abundant warnings against him, however, with his devil-may-care indifference, his stylish good looks, his sandy blond hair several shades lighter than Jack’s, and his pugilist’s build, Stratford managed to lure every female that came within his proximity. The earl managed his reputation with a devilish glint in his blue eyes and a carefree smile. If Jack hadn’t been accustomed to such feelings himself, he never would have recognized the bone-deep misery and weariness within his friend.
The two men walked through the front door of the earl’s townhouse and into St. James’s Square. The sun streamed through a thick haze, and leaves and rubbish tumbled down the street, propelled by a stiff breeze. The wind had whipped away the sooty smells of the city, leaving the crisp scent of the late autumn air in its wake.
Staring over the windswept square, Jack tugged at the black woolen lapels of his coat, pulling it more tightly about him. Two carriages rattled past, followed by several men on horseback and a milk cart. He glanced at his friend, who had paused at the top of the stairs to button his stylish dark gray topcoat.
“I need this,” he said, just loudly enough for the earl to hear over the sounds of the street.
Stratford paused, his hand on the stair rail. An amethyst ring winked at Jack from the earl’s fourth finger. “I know.”
Jack spoke flatly. “It is the only way. I haven’t much time. I’ll not run from England with my tail between my legs.”
“Of course.” Stratford’s tone was mild, but he gazed at him from beneath the brim of his hat, his blue eyes probing. “I’d choose a different course. But I am not you.”
“No,” Jack agreed, his voice tight. “You are not.”
The earl shuddered, the stiffness in his shoulders evaporated, and he descended the remaining two steps with easy grace. “I possess no desire to be shackled to anyone. Ever.”
Neither had Jack. Not until he’d seen Lady Rebecca— Becky . He’d first glimpsed her six weeks ago at the British Museum. He’d followed her at a distance, observed how she’d clutched her arm to her chest as she studied the artifacts in studious silence while her companions gossiped and chatted amongst themselves. A part of him had softened. Standing apart from the others, she looked fragile and distant. She was beautiful, delicate, seraphic. But something about her, some dark edge he couldn’t quite place his finger on, reminded him of himself.
In the ensuing days, he’d learned she was the widowed sister of the eccentric Duke of Calton. At the tender age of eighteen, she’d lost her husband and then she’d injured her arm badly in a carriage accident, which explained the way she’d guarded it so carefully at the museum. Though four years had passed since the accident and the death of her husband, her family reputedly hovered over her and protected her virtue as though she were a virgin debutante.
As Jack learned more about her, understanding dawned. She was the answer to his dilemma.
He’d discovered that Cecelia, Lady Devore, was a bosom friend of his target. Fortunately for him, the lady had been one of Stratford’s conquests, and they remained on civil