Lessons in Seduction (Greentree Sisters 1)

He was still leaning forward in his chair. There wasn’t much space between them at all. His eyes were so dark and mesmerizing, she thought if she were not careful, she would fall into them. He may be bad—he was very bad—but unlike Toby he was not a man to dismiss lightly. Vivianna knew that despite what she had learned about him, despite his callousness toward the fate of the shelter, there was something about this man that attracted and captivated her.

She may well be a silly virgin, eager to embrace her fate, but it was too late to go back now; she could only go forward.

“I doubt my aunt would approve of a flower girl sitting at my table as my wife, Miss Greentree, worthy though you will no doubt tell me she is. The Montegomery family is an old and proud one. We prefer to marry like.”

“Anyway,” Vivianna said, ignoring the hint of a smile on his mouth and the way his eyes teased, “despite what your aunt says and wants, I think it must be you who makes the final decision. Remember, my lord, the woman you decide upon will be your wife. You will be bound to her, for better or worse, and even though it seems to me that you intend to ignore her as much as possible, there will be times when you may find it necessary to be on reasonable terms with her. You should at least find someone you can converse with without starting an argument.”

She was thinking of Aunt Helen and Toby.

“You are very practical.” He leaned back in his chair, and for a moment he looked bleak, as if what had begun as a joke had lost its ability to make him smile. Then his gaze lifted once more to hers, and she saw the dangerous spark in those depths.

“Would you like to throw your rather ugly hat into the ring, Miss Greentree? Would you like to supply the heir to the Montegomery name? Just think, you could turn all my properties into Shelters for Poor Orphans.”

He was not serious, of course. He was teasing her, and he had been drinking. And yet, even though it was a cruel jest, sensation washed over her. The idea of being his, and he being hers, was suddenly, blazingly wonderful.

Vivianna swallowed nervously. To escape his watchful eyes, she looked down at her hands clasped in her lap. There was her wool gown, sensible and unflattering, and beneath it her three petticoats. There were the tips of her shoes, plain and practical, and her stockings, thick and warm and made to withstand the Yorkshire moors. Again, all very sensible and practical. Because, she reminded herself, that was what she was.

Sensible and practical.

She might dream about stepping outside society’s boundaries with Oliver, but she could never be his wife. Nor would she wish to be. Being in the power of such a man had never been one of her dreams—quite the opposite, actually. She wanted to retain her freedom, to do as she wished, to help others. And yet…since she had met Oliver Montegomery she had begun to wonder whether that freedom of the mind and the spirit might also encompass freedom of her physical needs and passions. Men indulged themselves in affairs, why shouldn’t she?

Vivianna looked up at him again and discovered him still watching her, as if he found her features as endlessly fascinating as she found his. Now there was a touch of amusement creasing the skin about his eyes—or was it arrogance? Doubts began to gather. Maybe he hadn’t been seeking her help at all? Maybe he just wanted to embarra

ss her, to drive her from his life, to rid himself of her troublesome presence. Well, Vivianna would not be driven!

“I am afraid the Greentrees are neither an old nor an aristocratic family, so your aunt would not approve. But if I married you I would have to make a condition,” she said, and gave him a sweetly false smile.

He blinked; she had surprised him. Good! “Condition?”

“I would make you promise never to demolish Candlewood, and to pay for its upkeep and repairs into perpetuity.”

“Ah, I see. Unfortunately, that is not a condition I can agree to, Miss Greentree.”

“My lord, can you not see that Candlewood is perfect for the orphans? They are safe there, and there is room for them to run about and play. They can be children. Some of them have never been allowed to be, simply, children.”

He was watching her with a blank face and Vivianna heard her own passionate tones fade into silence. She was wasting her time, and suddenly to her despair she knew it. He wasn’t touched or moved; he simply did not care. And nothing she was going to say to him in regard to the orphans, no appeal she could make to him, would make the slightest difference.

Vivianna stood up. Her disappointment was a bitter taste in her mouth, but she did not let him see it. She made her voice cool and uncaring. “Perhaps, when you have chosen your bride, you can furnish me with her name? She may prove to be more amenable than yourself.”

He laughed softly and also rose to his feet. “I don’t know why I want you, Vivianna,” he said, and he did not sound drunk. He simply sounded cross. “There is something about you, something that makes me wonder what it would be like to undo your hair and take off your dress and your shoes, and lie you down upon my bed and make love to you over and over again. You are a distraction, and one I could well do without.”

Her face flamed, her voice was choked. “You seem to delight in trying to embarrass and humiliate me.”

“I do, don’t I?” He no longer sounded drunk, not at all.

“I had better go now.”

“Vivianna.”

He should not call her that—they were near-strangers—and yet her name sounded like a promise in his mouth. She looked down and saw that he was holding out her glove toward her. She had dropped it as she stood up, in her haste to leave. Vivianna eyed it warily, as if his hand were a viper ready to strike. He knew it, too, and again was amused by it.

“I can keep it if you like,” he drawled. “A keepsake.”

Vivianna snatched the glove from him, but not quickly enough. His fingers closed on hers, cool and strong and remarkably steady. As she had known she would be, she found herself drawn closer to him, though her feet were unwilling and her heart beating hard.

“Oliver, please…”

“I won’t hurt you,” he whispered. “Your lips are so soft and sweet, Vivianna, that I simply must…Ah,” a sound of deep relief, as his mouth brushed upon hers. And now the touch of him against her made Vivianna feel as if it had been she who had drunk the brandy, for her head was light and her skin felt too tight to fit her.