The Perfect Seduction Read online

  It was after Walker's first failure to conquer Nicaragua that Gerald arrived in Belize and eventually approached my father about managing his publishing affairs."

  "And your father thought this was a good idea?"

  "Oh, Carden," she said, deeply regretting that he would never get to meet her father, would never know him for the interesting, loving person he had been. "My father was a good man. But all he wanted to do was his research.

  The writing and the organization of his notes were the interesting parts of it to him, but none of the rest of it appealed. And what didn't appeal to my father, he delegated to someone else. Since he felt that conducting business with London publishing houses was inappropriate for a female mind, he rejected my offer to attend to it and happily turned over all responsibility to Gerald."

  "Your father didn't know about his connection to this Walker fellow, did he?"

  "No," Sera assured him, pleased that he'd assumed her father to be the honorable man that he had been. "No one knew until after my father died and one of Gerald's former compatriots came to Belize hoping to enlist his assistance in planning yet another invasion of Nicaragua. Gerald was out when the man arrived and, not knowing that Gerald had kept his past a secret, he told me everything over tea and biscuits while we waited."

  "Assuming that since you were married to the man, you approved of Walker's goals."

  Sera nodded again. "But I'd been with Gerald long enough by then to realize not only the wisdom of keeping my opinions to myself, but also in pretending they were in sympathy with his own. He had accepted the Walker offer when Arthur and Mary heard the rumor about the ancient ruins and asked him to guide them into the interior."

  "Did-"

  "Yes," she hastened to assure him. "I had no secrets from Arthur and Mary. They were my friends. I told them everything. "

  "And yet Arthur asked him to be their guide?" he asked. "Had he taken complete leave of his senses?"

  "Arthur wanted to find his ruins and Gerald represented his best chances for doing so. It was a purely pragmatic decision on your brother's part. I desperately tried to talk him out of it, but Arthur was just as single-mindedly blind about his work as my father was."

  He muttered under his breath, but Sera couldn't tell whether it was over Arthur's priorities or the fact that the carriage had drawn to a halt in front of his house. She watched in silence as he opened the door, vaulted out, and turned back to assist her. Though moonlight softly gilded his face and shoulders, it did nothing to soften the hard light in his eyes. Scooping the precious book from the seat beside her, she took his hand and joined him on the walkway.

  He gave her a smile and, still holding her hand, led her to the front door and inside.

  In the silence of the sleeping house, Carden gazed down at her, wanting to gather her into his arms, kiss her slowly, thoroughly, and tell her that they were done with thinking and talking, that they were going to pretend that the world beyond the walls of Haven House didn't exist and that they were safe.

  But he couldn't. Only a fool closed his eyes when he sensed danger prowling in the shadows. "We're not done talking, Sera," he said quietly as he closed the door behind them.

  "I know," she whispered, giving him one of her bravest, steadiest smiles of the evening. "We've yet to come to the heart of the matter."

  "Would you care to sip on a brandy while we do?"

  "I don't recall ever having had a brandy. Will I like it?"

  Oh, if he were a truly predatory man ... "It's quite a bit headier than sherry," he explained, leading her toward his study. "I'll pour you a small glass." And do battle with his conscience if she smiled at him and asked for more.

  He was pouring and congratulating himself for self-restraint when she slipped his coat from her shoulders and laid it over the back of a chair. He paused, remembering the day she'd arrived here and how he'd vowed to put her in gowns befitting her beauty. Having so spectacularly achieved that goal, he couldn't help but recall the others he'd made regarding her. Having her willingly in his bed.

  And inside a week. The latter possibility was gone; life had swept away the days without his being consciously aware of their passage. But taking her to his bed ... God, he wanted her more now than he had that first day, more than he'd ever imagined he could want any woman.

  She looked over at him, smiled, and glided toward him, the lamplight soft on her burnished skin, lost in the lusciously sweet valley between her breasts. His loins tightened and he heeded the warning, marshaling enough of his wits to hand her a glass and admonish, "Slow, small sips or it will go straight to your head and make you regret it."

  Following his instruction, she sampled. And then, as though testing his control, she languidly touched the tip of her tongue to her lower lip. "I like it better than sherry," she said, softly interrupting his fantasy. "It feels like liquid velvet."

  Carden dragged air into his lungs and forced himself to think past the shimmering heat of desire. Sera wasn't willing to brave scandal for him. He'd given her a choice in the kitchen and she'd made it. She didn't want him with the same kind of hunger and desperation that he wanted her. He couldn't force her. Not and live with himself.

  He expelled a long, hard breath and deliberately focused his thoughts on the complexity of the world that had sprung up around her in the last hour. After several long moments he said, "Sera, I don't how to say this gently."

  "Bluntly will do," she replied, taking another sip of brandy.

  He was going to hate himself in a few minutes. "I believe there's a distinct possibility that Gerald either abandoned or murdered my brother and his wife in the jungle and made his way to Walker's camp to rejoin the cause. I think he's probably still alive, Sera."

  "And as ugly as those possibilities are, I think there's even more," she added evenly, stunning him with her calm. "If, as my father's agent, Gerald knew of the acceptance and publication of his work ... and if it's indeed the financial success that everyone says that it is ... the royalties would make for a very handsome contribution to Walker's cause, wouldn't they?"

  "Or to Gerald Treadwell's own pockets," he suggested, beginning to pace. "You're supposed to be in Belize, awaiting his emergence from the jungle. As he left you, he was reasonably certain you'd never discover that you'd been cheated of your inheritance. He couldn't have anticipated that a man named Percival Reeves falling face first into his porridge would bring you to England less than a year later or that you'd attend a dinner party a fortnight after your arrival and learn of the duplicity."

  Sera took another sip of the brandy and waited, not wanting to tell him what she had to.

  "I know it all sounds terribly far-fetched, Seraphina, but . . . "

  "No, it doesn't, actually," she countered. "I think I've seen Gerald."

  He whirled on her so fast the brandy sloshed over the rim of his glass. "What?"

  "In the park, the morning we rescued the puppies," she supplied, her heart thundering and her chest aching. "I saw him walking away at the back of the crowd that had gathered about us."

  "Why, for the love of God, didn't you mention this then?"

  He was upset by the news? He didn't even know Gerald! "What was I supposed to say, Carden?" she demanded. "Oh, by the by, there goes my dead husband'?"

  His shoulders slumped. "Damnation, Sera," he said, rubbing his forehead and somehow looking both furious and dejected.

  "I thought I was merely imagining things at the time," she offered in her defense. "But, now, given what I've learned this evening ... "

  "Do you think he saw you?"

  He was grasping at straws and as much as she wished she could let him hold the hope, she couldn't. "How could he have not seen me, Carden? Seen all of us? We provided everyone in the park with a grand performance."

  "I'm going to hire Barrett to find the bastard," he announced just before tossing the remaining contents of his glass down his throat.

  Her heart tripped and her blood raced cold through her veins. Sh
e drank all of her brandy in the same fashion as he had and then went to refill her glass. "I would much prefer to leave Gerald Treadwell forever in the past," she said, pleased with the calm she heard in her voice as she turned back to face him. "Please, Carden, if you care anything at all for me, don't prod the snake."

  He crossed to place his empty glass on the desk beside her. And stayed. Leaning his hip against the corner and crossing his arms as he always did, he said quietly, gently, "I don't have any right to ask and you certainly don't have to answer. But ... why did you marry him, Sera?"

  She knew the course their exchange would follow and resolved to be honest with him no matter how poor the light of truth made her look. There was nothing to be done but face the past squarely and hope he understood she'd done the best she could in the circumstances in which she'd found herself at the time. And perhaps, when she was done, he'd understand why she needed the past left in the past.

  "My parents were dying and they knew it. Both were worried about what would happen 'to me after they passed away. Gerald was fairly well educated and charming and they saw in him a deliverance for me."

  "You married him to please your parents?" he asked incredulously.

  "To give them peace in their passing, yes." She sipped the brandy, fortifying her determination. "But I'd be lying to you, Carden, if I were to claim that I didn't have concerns of my own. I knew that when my parents died, I'd be stranded in Belize without a shilling to my name. Being the wife of Gerald Treadwell, while less than an ideal situation ... It was never a romantic relationship, but, when sober, he was at least well-spoken and reasonably attractive. You have no idea what a rarity that is on the Mosquito Coast."

  "If only you'd known about your father's book," he said ruefully. "They'd already accepted it. They were probably setting the type as you were saying 'I do.' "

  "It's what you didn't know at the time that always makes the difference in looking back," Sera observed. "I might have chosen prostitution over marriage had I known beforehand of not only Gerald's association with Walker, but also of his excessive drinking and flagrant womanizing.

  Gerald becomes physically aggressive when intoxicated and I didn't like being struck any more than I liked having women encamped on my doorstep with one of his babes in their arms."

  "God, Sera."

  She didn't dare look at him. If she saw pity in his eyes, she wouldn't be able to get the rest of it said. She drank the brandy in two heavy swallows. "There isn't a great deal of formal social structure or expectation in Belize, but all of it was, nevertheless, sufficiently humiliating. It didn't take me long to fully regret having tied my life to his. But even quickly was too late. Arthur and Mary, once they realized how we had all been fooled by him, tried to intervene as much as they possibly could. I can't tell you the number of times they literally hid me from him."

  "Why didn't Arthur buy you passage out of Belize?"

  Carden asked, angry that she had been allowed to remain in a situation where hiding her had even been necessary.

  "He offered to. As I've said, your brother was a kind man." She shrugged her beautiful shoulders. "But where would I have gone and what would I have done for a living?"

  "Anywhere you wanted to go, and you're a very talented artist."

  Her smile was bittersweet. "I wasn't as brave in those days as I am now. When Arthur and Mary didn't return, I had no choice but to stand on my own two feet and make a way for myself and the girls. If I could go back and do it all again, knowing what I've learned about myself in the last year ... " Her eyes shimmered with tears and she turned away, lifting her chin and saying, "Things would have turned out very differently, Carden. For all of us. I just learned too late, especially for Arthur and Mary."

  He rose squarely to his feet, took her face gently between his hands, and brought her gaze to meet his. Her eyes were dark and sad and his heart ached for her. "What happened to them isn't your fault, Sera. Arthur knew what kind of man was leading him off into the jungle. He made the choice to follow, no one else. And I promise you, even if it takes the rest of my life, Gerald Treadwell will be found and held accountable for his actions."

  She instantly tensed and the sadness in her eyes was replaced by the unmistakable light of fear. "Please don't go looking for him," she pleaded, her voice quavering. "I don't want him back in my life."

  "I don't have a choice in the matter, angel," Carden said gently but firmly. "He saw you in the park. He knows you're here, knows you'll discover the truth sooner or later. Whatever house of lies he's constructed will collapse the moment you walk into the publisher's offices. He knows that, too. He can't afford to ignore you. If I don't find him, he'll find you."

  He could feel the coldness that came over her, the sudden lurch of her heart.

  "And assert that he's my husband and that he has every lawful right to control me and my father's estate in my best interest."

  “No, Sera," he said slowly and carefully. "He can be denied that right if it's proven that he's misappropriated and misused the money in the past. The fact that you haven't received a single tuppence of the royalties is proof enough for that. And it will also be sufficient grounds for you to petition for and be granted a divorce."

  Divorce? Was it possible? The scandal of it be damned.

  Could she actually escape the net that had ensnared her so long ago? Was Carden telling her the truth? Or was he giving her hope where none truly existed? Oh, dear God, how she wanted to believe him.

  "Trust me, Sera," he whispered, smiling at her, tracing the curve of her cheeks with his thumbs. "I'll see you through this."

  He would. She knew it to the center of her soul. Everything would be all right. Warmth flooded through her, and as the horrible tension was washed away, her knees weakened and the world around her began to slowly spin. "I feel ... dizzy."

  His hands went to her shoulders, steadying her as he chuckled and teased, "I have that effect on some women."

  "I think it's the brandy," she countered, closing her eyes and pressing her forehead into his chest. "You warned me about drinking it too fast."

  The world moved again, not around as before, but upward in a smooth, easy arc. Carden ... She smiled and twined her arms around his neck, burrowed her cheek into his shoulder and let him carry her.up the stairs. What she'd ever done to deserve such a wonderfully caring man, she didn't know, but she was glad that the path of her life had met his. She tried to tell him so, but the words tangled on the tip of her tongue and were lost. As they drifted away, a soft cloud of warmth stole over her senses and she surrendered with a contented sigh to the whisper of a kiss and the promise of sweet, dreamy sleep.

  "Someday, angel, I hope you'll let me carry you all the way to the bed at the end of the hall."

  Yes, she hoped so, too.

  CHAPTER 14

  Her head didn't really hurt. She was just very much aware of the dull knot in the center of her forehead. And that her entire body had felt a hundred pounds heavier than normal since the moment she'd awakened that morning.

  Carden had laughed at breakfast and told her that she shouldn't plan to make a habit of drinking brandy. She wasn't quite so sure. There was one most decidedly positive aftereffect: it took considerable concentration to move her limbs with anything approximating grace. Talking took even more focus. And as a consequence, she was too busy thinking to be the least bit nervous as they walked into the offices of Somers and Priest.

  The publisher's secretary looked up from his work as they came to a halt in front of his desk.

  "We would like to see Mr. Somers, please," Carden said, his hand slipping reassuringly to the small of her back.

  A thin, dark brow slowly rose above the rim of the man's glasses. "Do you have an appointment, sir?" he asked haughtily.

  Sera knew it wasn't to go well even before Carden very coolly replied, "We do not."

  The man sneered - sneered! - and went back to his work, saying dismissively, "I'm afraid that Mr. Somers has a full day on sc
hedule."

  Three long seconds passed before Carden calmly countered, "I'm sure he'll be willing to take a few moments of his time for us. Please tell him that Lord Lansdown and Miss Seraphina Baines Miller wish to see him."

  The man's head came up so abruptly that Sera held her breath, certain that it was going to snap off his neck and tumble to the floor. His eyes widening, he sputtered, "B-B-Baines Miller?"

  Having already had one experience with such a reaction to her name, Sera was able to smile and say serenely, "I am the daughter of Geoffrey Baines Miller."

  "She's also," Carden contributed, amusement evident in his voice, "the artist whose work illustrates the text you have published under her father's name."

  The secretary came out of his chair as though he'd been shot. His hands flew about and he fairly vibrated in place as he gushed, "Please, please have a seat, Miss Baines Miller, Lord Lansdown. I'll inform Mr. Somers that you are here." And then he just stood there, gaping at her.

  ''Today would be nice," Carden quipped.

  The man jumped and whirled while in the air. Unfortunately, his feet didn't come down quite squarely under him and he stumbled into the glass-windowed door some ten feet behind his desk.

  As she and Carden watched him knock-quite unnecessarily - and fumble with the knob, Sera quietly observed, ''That's the very first time I've heard you introduce yourself as a peer."

  "I thought it would be useful in opening the door for us." He chuckled as the secretary all but fell into his employer's office. "I was woefully mistaken."

  "I simply can't get over how awed people are at the mention of my father's name. It's such an unexpected thing."

  "Sera," he countered, his voice sober, his words quick and firm, "your father's work appeals to horticulturists.

  Your work, on the other hand, appeals to everyone. It is you of whom people are in awe, not your father. It is you who are responsible for the book's excellent sales. Bear that in mind as you speak with Mr. Somers. He'll most certainly be aware of it."