To Tame a Dangerous Lord (Courtship Wars 5)

“You are never afraid?” she said in surprise.

“Certainly I am, but I’ve learned to control it. It’s a matter of training and willpower. Take a deep breath, love, and try to relax. You don’t want to alert the Widow Sauville by appearing agitated.”

Of course he was right, Madeline acknowledged. They had a logical strategy to outsmart the widow and had prepared several contingencies in the event the initial plan went awry, including strapping the empty satin pouch to her stocking garter.

Still, Madeline couldn’t help the way her heart rate sped up when the carriage came to a halt five minutes later.

They had arrived at the soirée.

At least the first part of their scheme went according to plan. Upon being admitted, Madeline saw upward of thirty genteel guests mingling in the salon. Most were men, but there was a smattering of women among the crowd as well. Mrs. Sauville, Rayne had said, lived on the fringe of society, so holding intellectual gatherings of poets and artists and politicians afforded her a sense of importance.

The widow was an exotic beauty, stunning in a jaded sort of way, with raven hair and a milk-white complexion that only hinted at her clever use of cosmetics. Her ripe figure was garbed in a low-cut gown that had obviously been dampened to cling to her curves and display her generous bosom to alluring advantage.

It is no wonder Freddie fell for such a femme fatale, Madeline thought as Rayne introduced her to their hostess and apologized for their unexpected intrusion.

Mrs. Sauville appeared surprised but pleased that Lord Haviland had deigned to patronize her salon.

“Mais non, it is no intrusion in the least, milord,” she exclaimed in a somewhat breathless voice, her accent proclaiming her French origins. “You find me excessively honored.”

She was decidedly less welcoming toward his companion, however, surveying Madeline with a calculating eye that left her feeling dowdy, despite wearing her best gown and the elegant accessories Rayne had loaned her.

Thankfully, the widow seemed to accept their reason for attending—that Miss Ellis desired to meet some of her late mother’s countrymen and garner material for her French classes.

“But of course, milord,” Mrs. Sauville murmured. “I would be pleased to make your little friend known to my guests directly after the poetry reading. And you must sit beside me during the presentation, I insist.”

Taking his arm, she guided Haviland toward the front row of chairs, ignoring everyone else in the room. When the widow drew him down, Madeline followed and sat at Rayne’s other side. Absurdly, it stung her to be dismissed as no competition by the beautiful Frenchwoman, even though she knew she was only there to play a supporting role.

Rayne was certainly playing his part to the hilt, Madeline observed. He commanded the widow’s complete attention, smiling down at her with that charming, masculine smile that made feminine hearts quicken.

The sight made Madeline grit her teeth. It was not that she was jealous, she told herself firmly. It was only that if the alluring widow remained latched on to him for the duration of the reading, their entire plan would be threatened.

Resolved to allay any suspicions their hostess might have about their attendance at her salon, Rayne hid his boredom well as he flattered and charmed the Widow Sauville. He’d had ample practice at using seduction to gain his ends in his career; it was one of the tools of his former trade, and he was highly skilled at it.

The beautiful Madame Sauville was equally skilled, Rayne conceded, as she let the delicate silk shawl she wore “accidently” slide to the floor between their chairs. Giving a murmur of feigned dismay, she brought her hand to her heart, drawing his attention to the smooth expanse of bare skin at her bosom.

“Comment gauche de moi. Will you kindly assist me, milord?” she entreated, gazing up at him coquettishly through her long, kohl-darkened eyelashes.

Rayne responded with equally feigned gallantry. “It would be my pleasure, madame.”

As he draped the shawl around her shoulders, she canted her head to one side, making certain he had an enticing view of her lush cleavage. She even managed to press her fingers over his for a moment, encouraging his hand to move closer to her breast.

But this was a duel for which Rayne well knew the rules. Obliging her, he bent down slightly, letting his warm breath caress her bare neck, eliciting a delicate shiver from her.

“It is a shame to conceal such beauty,” he murmured, although he had to quell a grimace at the cloying heaviness of the fragrance she wore.

The widow gave a little trill of laughter and slowly smiled up at him. The artful gesture was meant to tempt and arouse, but Rayne found it intensely unappealing.

The truth was, he didn’t trust beautiful, seductive women. He’d learned that bitter lesson with Camille Juzet many years ago. As a result, this Frenchwoman’s obvious attempt to attract him only set his instincts on savage alert.

Rayne’s mouth curled sardonically when he recognized the sentiment. Even if he found little pleasure in the company of this beautiful woman, he should at least be enjoying the challenge of the game and the chance to once again match wits with a worthy opponent.

Therefore, when Madame Sauville offered him a husky murmur of thanks, Rayne masked his distaste and smiled back at her while asking her to comment about the poets she had engaged for the eveni

ng.

An hour later, at the conclusion of the reading, the guests all rose from their chairs and began to mingle. The widow, however, still clung to him. Rayne was debating how to extricate himself from her irritating possessiveness when Madeline spoke up to provide him a suitable excuse.

“I am so very parched, Lord Haviland. Would you be so kind as to fetch me some refreshment?”