The Seduction (Notorious 1)

“Still… would it be wise? Revenge is never as satisfying as it is made out to be. Seeing Aubrey again will only prove a torment to you.”

“Perhaps so, but if he is telling the truth, it will prove a greater torment to him. If he truly feels remorse as he claims, then he can wallow in his guilt. Seeing me in that hateful chair should remind him of the consequence of his heartlessness.”

“Olivia…”

“Please, Vanessa, do not try to change my mind. If you won’t summon him for me, then I shall drive into the village in search of him myself, and then the fat will really be in the fire!”

As the curtain rose, a chorus of appreciative masculine applause greeted the tableau upon the stage. Lounging in a chair amid the audience, Damien plucked at the ruffle of his sleeve to hide his boredom.

Clune had arranged an entertainment for the benefit of his guests, all male. On stage, three nubile beauties engaged in a writhing dance upon a huge bed, their naked bodies undulating, their limbs contorting in fanciful positions, while a half-dozen other lovelies posed in diaphanous costumes that left nothing to the imagination. Their lips and nipples and feminine clefts were rouged to make them appear more luscious and inviting, but Damien remained strangely unaroused.

Once such delights would have cured him, at least temporarily, of his ennui. In years past he had enjoyed Clune’s house parties; indeed, he’d often led the revelry. Yet he had attended this affair for one reason only. To escape Vanessa Wyndham.

It was said the best way for a man to banish a particular woman from his thoughts was to lose himself in the pouting lips and welcoming thighs of another.

Damien narrowed his gaze, trying to banish the memory of that last night with Vanessa… the dark luster of her eyes as she took him to heaven and back.

What the devil was wrong with him?

Always before, whenever he felt dissatisfied with his life, he had sought out some fresh diversion or excitement, some new lover who could satisfy his sophisticated tastes. His wild pursuit of sexual gratification in the glittering ballrooms and bedrooms of Europe was calculated to provide relief from his restlessness.

He’d never had difficulty finding willing partners. He had discovered that most women, be they noble or common, married or sweetly virginal, were his for the taking. Sex was a fine art to him. He never allowed his emotions to become involved.

Except with Vanessa.

He tensed, still feeling the thrust of her soft hips against his loins. Making love to her that last time had been unique, shattering. Never before had he been so lost in a woman…

God’s blood, his infatuation had gone on long enough. But how the hell was he going to end it?

A shout of ribald male laughter brought him back to the present, making him conscious of the lewd entertainment before him. The profound, familiar restlessness seized Damien, and his mouth turned down in distaste.

Perhaps he was as dissipated and jaded as Vanessa thought him. By choice he was a devoted pleasure seeker, not an unusual pastime for an idle, rich nobleman. Admittedly, he was a profligate man. But these prurient amusements were becoming less and less appealing.

His dissatisfaction must have shown on his face, for a moment later his host, Jeremy North, Lord Clune, sat down beside him.

“You don’t appear to be enjoying the entertainment, my friend.”

“On the contrary,” Damien lied. “I’m fascinated by the slender redhead with the beauty mark on her thigh.”

Clune’s mouth curved in amusement. “You show excellent taste, as usual. She is imported from France-the daughter of an aristocrat fallen on hard times during their hideous revolution. Speaks only a few words of English, but her talents are amazing.”

Damien feigned a smile. “High praise, coming from a man dedicated to debauchery.”

“Indeed. What is this I hear about the new beauty you have in your keeping?” Clune asked.

“Beauty?”

“A widow, I’m given to understand. Rumor is that you’ve actually ensconced her at your own estate. A bold move, even for you. Do you mean to share her with your friends, or will you selfishly keep her all to yourself?”

Damien exhaled a slow breath, troubled by the mistaken conjecture that Vanessa was in the same category as his usual mistresses. Just as troubling was the shaft of fierce jealousy he felt at the thought of sharing Vanessa with other men. Jealousy was a foreign notion to him-or it had been, until her.

“I fear your assumption is off the mark, Chine,” he said casually. “The lady is employed as my sister’s chaperon, nothing more.”

Clune looked somewhat skeptical but didn’t challenge the lie. Instead he lifted a hand and beckoned to the red-haired dancer upon the stage.

Damien surveyed her as she floated down the stairs to stand before him. Her eyes were huge but glazed. No doubt she was drugged with an opiate to make her task of welcoming the wicked perversions of a dozen gentlemen more palatable.

Damien frowned, realizing she was younger than he had first assumed. “Have you sunk to robbing the cradle, Jeremy?” he queried with a raised eyebrow.