All About Seduction(25)

It was not lost on her that he had used her sister’s first name. Was he one of Amy’s castoffs? Her cheeks burned with humiliation and not a little anger.

He answered himself. “No, I don’t believe so. There is a deeper game afoot.”

“I am not looking for my next husband.”

His arched eyebrow said he doubted her words. The first time she had given him a truth, and he didn’t believe it. She bit her lip. She should just blurt out she wanted a baby.

“Perhaps you should just have Robert approach your next choice with a proposal—after he makes sure that the man will not object to a barren wife.”

She felt as though she’d been slapped. How had this exchange gone so horribly wrong? “I’m not . . .”

“No?” Again he lifted an eyebrow. “You have been married at least a dozen years without issue. I certainly would not gamble with those odds.”

She should tell him the fault lay with her husband, but it felt so disloyal to speak of such a thing. Not knowing what to say, she said nothing, while heat rose in her face. Her tongue had never been nimble and it was wooden and mute now.

He took a step back. “Surely you realize I cannot help your brother with his petition.”

“I don’t know anything about that,” she said.

He rolled his eyes. “I shall return to the drawing room and let it be known you have stayed with your patient. I wouldn’t want to impede your chances with your next mark.” He smoothed his jacket as if it had been disturbed in their exchange. “The next time I accept an invitation to a hunt, I shall make quite sure I am not the prey.”

Her ears burned as she watched him walk away without a glance back. Her nose tickled and her eyes stung. To top that off, he had called her passably pretty.

Jack had done much better, although to be fair, it was likely her fine feathers. A lowly millworker wouldn’t be familiar with fashionable evening gowns, while Lord Tremont saw the like on a regular basis in London. Still, he could have done better.

She’d picked Lord Tremont because Robert had insinuated he would be the easiest, but he had scorned her. She didn’t have Amelia’s coyness or Sarah’s charm. Even the twins found it easy to tease men.

As Caroline marched to her room, determined to be free of the ridiculous gown, she thought of a dozen retorts, a half-dozen suggestive comments that might have smoothed the way. She could have told him that she longed to know what relations were like with a man her own age—or at least one not older than her father. She could have told him some nonsense about finding him manly or dashed handsome—he was probably used to such tripe.

But none of those rejoinders had occurred to her when they would have been useful. She yanked open her door, determined to shed her London gown and have done with seduction attempts this evening. Perhaps she shouldn’t kiss a man in the hallway.

She kicked her train out of the way as she closed the door.

“You are not done so soon.” Her husband’s voice grated like machinery needing oil.

“What are you doing here?” she hissed.

Choosing a most ungentlemanly way of sitting, he crossed one ankle over his knee. “Making sure you don’t leave the company early. I should hate to think you weren’t putting your best effort into this.”

“I was just chilled,” she improvised. “I came to get a shawl.”

Mr. Broadhurst lifted his bushy eyebrows. “Really? For you look quite flushed.”

She bit her lip, rather than blurt out she was returning to the drawing room. It would have smacked of protesting too much.

She marched across the room to her wardrobe and threw open the doors. Mr. Broadhurst’s eyes followed her. The stupid box containing the negligee fell out. Caroline shoved it back inside, searching for a wrap that wouldn’t clash with her dress.

She grabbed a brown and green paisley shawl. Deuce take it. What difference would it make if she were unstylish?

“Need I remind you that you agreed to—”

“No.” Caroline whirled. “You needn’t. I have done as I said I would and have begun a flirtation.” It was hardly her fault if the gentleman had ended it before it came to fruition. All right, it was a bit her fault for being so poor an actress, but pretending to want such a despicable thing was nearly impossible. Her hands shook, her whole body shook. “I will honor my word.”

But she didn’t know if she could. She had bargained for Mr. Applegate to remain in the house long enough to heal and to get the youngest of the children out of the mill. And she wanted to answer only to herself in the future—not a husband, not a brother, just herself with the power of the mill and the money it generated behind her. That was worth submitting to a man for a few weeks.