He'd expected to have two months or more to accomplish it, but four weeks… he could seduce any woman in four weeks.
'We need society simply to accept our marriage — there's no reason it won't. As far as anyone knows, we suit to a tee. All we need do is lead them to the realization gradually, before we make any announcement.'
She nodded. 'Don't startle the horses.'
'Exactly. As I see it, the easiest, most believable path for us to follow is for me to start looking around — I won't need to look far for my eye to fall on you. You were bridesmaid to ray groomsman at Martin and Amanda's wedding. You're in Emily and Anne's company much of the time. Given we've known each other for so long, there's no reason I can't fix my interest on you more or less at first glance.'
Her expression told him she was following his reasoning, seeing the picture he was painting. 'Then,' he stated, 'we go through the customary stages of courtship, although as you insist on a June wedding, it'll have to be a whirlwind one.'
A slight frown marred her brow. 'You mean we should pretend that we're… attracted in the usual way?'
There wouldn't be any pretense involved, not if he had any say in the matter; he fully intended their courtship — her seduction — to be real. 'We do the usual things — meet at balls and parties, go on outings, and so on. With the Season slowing down and Emily and Anne to be entertained, we won't have any difficulty inventing occasions.'
'Hmm… that's all very well, but do we really need four weeks?' They'd reached the corner of the room; she halted and faced him. 'Everyone already knows
'Indeed — that will fit, too.' He looped his arm in hers and drew her on, still progressing slowly as if scanning the cases. 'We can mutually notice each other, and go on from there. You've had plenty of experience flirting over the last years — just play it by ear and follow my lead.'
She narrowed her eyes at him; her chin set. 'I still don't see why we need take
He bit his tongue on an unwise rejoinder and narrowed his eyes back. 'Four weeks. You offered, I accepted, but I call the play from now on.'
She halted. 'Why?'
He met her belligerent gaze, held it. When she simply glared back, unwavering, he quietly stated, 'Because that's the way it's going to be.'
He was adamant about that, and not at all averse to having the point broached thus early in their relationship. With any other woman, it wouldn't need to be stated, but Amelia was a Cynster — wise to have the lines drawn, the chain of command established. And this was undoubtedly the moment; she couldn't argue, not without risking what she'd already gained — his agreement to their wedding.
Abruptly, nose elevating, she looked away. 'Very well. Have it your way. Four weeks.' She stepped out, not waiting for him to take her arm. 'But not a day more.'
The stipulation reached him as she walked on; he didn't immediately follow, instead grasped the moment to tamp down the impulse she had, all but deliberately, evoked. He couldn't press her yet — not for a week or so. But once he had her tied up tight…
She paused, ostensibly to study a case of knives; he watched her, noting the way the light glinted on her curls.
Deception was not the best foundation on which to base a marriage, but he'd told no lies, and wouldn't; he'd merely omitted mentioning a pertinent fact. Once she was his and he was sure of her, then he could tell her the truth — once her feminine heart was committed, she wouldn't care
None of that, of course, required a public courtship. Whether he seduced her now or after they wed made no difference to his plan. However, while he felt no qualms over her imagining that he was marrying her for her money — given it was her idea in the first place — he had an absolute aversion to society imagining any such thing. That, in his lexicon, would be unacceptable conduct, conduct unbefitting a gentleman. Not only would the image be a lie, letting society think he was marrying her purely for monetary reasons, without any real affection, wouldn't reflect well on her. Especially coming hard on the heels of Martin and Amanda's love-inspired union.
In his view, she deserved better.
With a haughty toss of her curls, she moved on. He stepped out, prowling in her wake, his longer strides eating the distance between them despite his languorous pace.
She deserved to be wooed, resistant and suspicious though she was, impatient and dismissive. And it would give him the opportunity he needed to tie her to him with something other than prosaic pragmatism. With something that would render his reason for wedding her inconsequential.
By declining to examine what that reason was, he hoped it would remain in its nascent state, ephemeral — less demanding. Why such a compulsion had surfaced now, why it was so focused on her, the sudden realization that she was the only wife he wanted all contributed to his underlying unease; despite the craving she and that reason evoked in him, she'd shown no sign of any reciprocal emotion.
Yet.
Reaching her side, he took her hand. Met her gaze as she faced him. 'I'll need to meet with Emily and Anne soon — it'll be better if they don't see us together.'
She arched a brow. 'Plotting?'
'Indeed.' He held her gaze, then bowed. 'I'll see you at the Mountfords' tonight.'
She hesitated, then nodded. 'Until tonight.'
He pressed her fingers, then released them. She turned and looked at the glass case.
Two heartbeats later, he left her.
There was one person who had to know the truth. On returning home, Luc glanced at the clock, then repaired to his study and busied himself with various financial matters awaiting his attention. When the clocks chimed four, he set aside his papers and climbed the stairs to his mother's sitting room.
She would have been resting, but she always rose at four o'clock. Reaching the upstairs gallery, he glimpsed Mrs. Higgs in the front hall below, heading for the stairs, a well-stocked tray in her hands. At his mother's sitting room door, he tapped; hearing her voice bid him enter, he opened the door.
She'd been reclining on the chaise, but was now sitting up, rearranging cushions at her back.
A still beautiful woman, although her dramatic coloring — black hair, fair complexion, dark blue eyes the same as his — had faded, there remained some indefinable quality in her smile, in her fine eyes, that reached out to men and made them eager to serve her. A quality of which she was not oblivious but had not, as far as he knew, employed since his father's death. He'd never understood his parents' union, for his mother was intelligent and astute, yet she'd been unswervingly faithful to a shiftless wastrel, not just during his life, but to his memory, too.
She saw him and raised both brows. He smiled, entered, then held the door for Mrs. Higgs, who inclined her head and swept past to set her tray on the low table before the chaise.
'I've brought two cups, as it happens, and there's plenty of cakes — will you be wanting anything more, m'lord?'
Luc surveyed the small feast Higgs was busily laying out. 'Thank you, Higgs, no. This will be sufficient.'
His mother added her smiling thanks. 'Indeed, thank you, Higgs. And is everything in train for dinner as we discussed?'
'Aye, ma'am.' Higgs straightened and bestowed a beaming smile on them both. 'All's well on the way, and everything's right with the world.'
On that triumphant note, she bobbed and whisked herself out of the room, closing the door behind her.
His mother's smile deepened; she held out her hand and he gripped it, felt her fingers curl tight. 'She's been bouncing about all day as if she was eighteen again.' Lifting her gaze to his face, she continued, 'You brought us around, my son — did I tell you how proud I am of you?'
Looking down into her lovely eyes, glowing and suspiciously bright, Luc quelled a schoolboy urge to shuffle his feet and duck his head. He smiled easily, squeezed her hand, then released it and waved dismissively. 'No one is more relieved than I.'
He sat in the armchair facing the chaise.
Minerva's shrewd gaze traveled his face, then she reached for the teapot. 'I've invited Robert to dine tonight
