Captivated

'I wouldn't be here unless my situation were critical.'

'Look,' the marquis gently said, 'it's nothing personal. I've just decided to rusticate for a time. But there's any number of men who would be more than pleased to help you.'

'Unfortunately, my husband chose you.'

His lounging form stiffened at her words. 'Chose me?' he murmured, his voice chill. 'Who are you?'

'I'm not at liberty to say, but your reputation brought you to my husband's attention. While rumors of your most recent child by the Countess of Lismore last month apparently determined his final decision. I'm sorry.'

'This is preposterous, of course.' He'd relaxed again, the woman's story beyond the limits of possibility. He was wealthy, well connected; his ducal father was powerful, a personal intimate of the queen. This woman's proposalor her husband's proposalwas ludicrous. And he said as much again.

'Perhaps it won't take too long,' she only said, and added again, 'I'm sorry to involve you.'

'You haven't,' he snapped, reaching up to rap on the front panel, a signal for the driver to stop.

But rather than stop, the carriage picked up speed.

'Someone's going to pay for this,' he muttered, his hand on the door latch.

A second later, in response to his glare, she calmly said, 'It's locked from the outside.'

Flinging himself back onto the seat, he swore in a lengthy stream of invectives before settling into a moody silence, the streets of London flashing by in rapid succession. The irony of his position had not escaped his notice and he contemplated briefly whether some mysterious vengeance was being exacted for his past sins. He further considered who might be behind this grotesque form of retaliation, but the list of disgruntled husbands, fathers, brothers was too lengthy to contemplate with any certainty. The lady's faint accent wasn't Englishalthough his amorous activities hadn't been confined to England so that only narrowed the possibilities marginally.

Surveying her from under his long lashes, he tried to recall whether they'd met before, and while the blur of women in his life was a constant, her dramatic beauty would have made her memorable. She was the kind of woman he and Charles would have rated in their green youth as worth a week of their time. Even now, in their jaded manhood, she would have been unforgettable. And if he'd not reached the ultimate point of female saturationand had she not forced herself on him, and further had he not been adamned prisoner in his own carriage, she might have piqued his interest.

But in his current hot-tempered misogyny, she was anathema.

Surveying the passing landscape as they moved into the countryside outside London, he considered the possibility of kicking the door out and jumping from the fast-moving carriage, but outriders flanked the conveyance front and back, he discovered, the large troop conspicuously Slav, their flat-boned cheeks and dark coloring, the medieval character of their armament giving evidence of their Balkan heritage. A practical man, he realized how ineffectual any attempt at escape would be and came to understand as well that the lady in his carriage or her husband at least had roots in the area east of the Adriatic.

Although at closer inspection, the lady, opulently titian-haired, white-skinned, and emerald-eyed, had none of the look of the East. Richly dressed, her sapphire jewelry first-rate gems, her mildly imperious air all bespoke a patrician world, but her eyes, brilliant green even in the shadowed interior, had none of thejeunesse doree languor habitual to the beau monde. They shimmered with a barely restrained heat, like the husky contralto of her voice and the flaunting voluptuousness of her form would have lured a monk from his vows.

And now apparently he'd been selected to satisfy her husband's impulse for an heir. 'Is your husband old?' he asked, curious.

'Yes.'

'I see.'

'No, you don't. He prefers young men; he's always preferred young men, but in his position a wife is required. As is a child eventually.'

'Are you a virgin then?'

'Do I look like a virgin?' she coolly replied, blunt like he.

'You look like you probably seduced your first tutor.'

'Or he me,' she said in that same neutral voice. 'Was it a housemaid for youyour first time?' she blandly inquired. 'I expect your looks had them all giddy to sleep with the duke's son.'

'And you wouldn't be giddy.'

'I haven't been giddy for a very long time, my Lord Crewe.'

'Your husband's going to have to find someone else. You know that, of course.'

'You don't know my husband. He won't be finding anyone else.'

'He can't force me.'

'Actually, that's my job.'

'You're wasting your time.'

'We'll see about that, I suppose. A note has been sent to your family so no one will expect you in your usual haunts the next month. My husband is very thorough, you see… and very determined.'

'Fuck you,' the marquis brusquely said.

'Now there's a sensible young man,' she purred.

In a very short time, they turned off the main road onto a country lane, and moments later, the vehicle passed through an imposing gateway that offered a splendid view of a Capability Brown landscape, manicured to perfection so it had the look of a Lorrain painting.

Why didn't he recognize the estate? he wondered; there were only so many gardens by the Brown dynasty in England. This one had apparently escaped his notice.

'The Spanish royal family originally owned this,' she said, perhaps interpreting his reflective look or perhaps simply being courteous. 'A cadet branch, I believe. It passed to the Hapsburgs in one of the royal marriages. I think you'll find the stables excellent.'

'Will we be riding?'

'Of course. You're my husband's guest.'

'He's here?' Was the man a voyeur, too.

'Of course not. He has no interest in mein this… other than the end result.'

'There won't be any end result. Let me make that perfectly clear. I insist on sending your husband a strongly worded protest. And once he understands how useless his ploy, I'll bid youadieu and hope our paths never meet again.'

'I understand,' she calmly said, as though consoling a recalcitrant child. 'It's all quite barbaric. I suggested he adopt one of his nephews. His sisters breed like rabbits, but he insists on the fiction this child is his. I'm so very sorry,' she added in a dulcet murmur. 'But please, feel free to send your objections to him.'

The country home had been begun in Elizabethan times, the old redbrick and Gothic-arched windows covered with ancient ivies. As each successive generation added to the original structure, one architectural style overlay another, but the sprawling whole still looked as though it were wedded to the land, the grand scope of English history written on its exterior. They entered by the most recent Gothic-revival portico into a small secondary entrance hall gleaming with hand-rubbed paneling and massive silver pieces from India. No servants appeared, their escort two of the quasi-military troop that had flanked the carriage from London. Hugh was shown into a large bedroom suite on the main floor, the view of the rolling lawns falling away to a sylvan lake put there by Capability Brown like a perfect jewel in the green countryside.

'Pierce will be up shortly,' the lady said, standing in the doorway.

Hugh swung around from the windows. 'You've thought of everything,' he drawled. 'My compliments to your husband's thoroughness.'

'Since Pierce served as your batman in India, my husband considered him appropriate for valeting you in this rather rustic abode. The staff is minimal for obvious reasons.'

'While the mounted troop is large.'

'Exactly. We dress for dinner despite the rural setting. You'll find your clothes in the dressing room.' Although the marquis's brows rose at her last statement, she went on as though she were hostess under ordinary circumstances. 'We keep country hours here; dinner is at eight.' Moving back into the hall, she allowed the guard to swing the door shut.

It was locked, of course, but he had to check, and returning to the windows overlooking the lake, the Marquis