One Forbidden Evening. Jo Goodman
is that you will seduce me.”
Chapter Two
Although Ferrin was certain he’d heard Boudicca correctly, he believed it was incumbent upon him to put this highly unusual disclosure before them again, lest there be a misunderstanding. “You are hoping to be seduced?”
“Yes.”
“I cannot help but wonder if I am the candidate of your choosing or the candidate of your desperation.”
“Will it wound your pride to know that you are the fourth rakehell I’ve put this matter to this evening?”
He laughed outright at that. “I would be devastated if there was a grain of truth in it. However, I am confident there are not three rakes in all of London who would refuse to grant you what you say you wish above all things. If someone turned aside your proposal, then it is either because he is not a libertine of the first stare or because he was struck dumb. Nothing else explains it.”
“You are very sure of yourself,” she said. There was no accusation in her tone; it was merely an observation.
No amount of inducement could have tempted Ferrin to admit he had never been put more off his stride. He wondered what was to be done about her, for clearly she was a danger to herself. It occurred to him that finding the shepherdess was perhaps where he needed to begin. He was also very aware that Boudicca was waiting for an answer.
“You will appreciate, I think, that it will be difficult to seduce you when you seem to be agreeably inclined toward that end. It is in the nature of seduction that one participant is persuaded to engage in an activity that they might not typically consider to be prudent.”
“I understand the definition. Perhaps I could seduce you, as you do not seem eager to go about the thing.”
“It is timing,” he said, “and opportunity. Neither are in our favor.” Ferrin looked around the gallery. “You saw for yourself that the library is in use.”
“Is that a usual place for seduction? I confess, I’d thought it would be better accomplished in a cupboard under the stairs.”
“Not even if you were one of the housemaids,” he said. “Deuced uncomfortable.”
“You have familiarity, then.”
“With the cupboard, not the housemaids. I was fourteen and not by any measure a practiced libertine. My companion—I will call her Lady M—was herself a freethinker and introduced me to the advantages of that state of mind. The cupboard, though, had no advantages. I doubt that’s changed.”
“I am persuaded you know best.”
“Good.” Having made a full circle of the gallery, Ferrin paused when they reached the doorway. They broke apart as a Viking with long pale hair filled the entrance from the other side with his broad shoulders. He clutched a horned helmet to his chest. “Have a care, Restell,” Ferrin said, putting out his hand to stay his brother. “You’ll gore yourself. Are you invading or fleeing?”
“Fleeing. I have never made the acquaintance of so many determined mamas in one evening, every one of them with a daughter they swear is a veritable diamond.” His attention shifted from Ferrin to his companion. He made a slight bow. “Queen Boudicca, your servant.”
She nodded regally. “A Norseman. You are welcome here if it is your intent to slay the Romans.”
“Romans. Dragons. Mothers. You have but to point to whatever offends you, my queen, and I shall slay it. Is it your command that I begin with this scurvy-ridden, half-blind buccaneer?”
Boudicca was long in responding, making clear her intent was to carefully consider the suggestion.
Restell laughed when he observed Ferrin give her an arch look. “Oh, I believe she is baiting you, Kit. This is a good turn.” He glanced over his shoulder, saw a determined mother approaching, and excused himself hurriedly. “I am for my longboat,” he said.
Ferrin and Boudicca turned as one to watch him go. His long-legged stride made short work of the length of the gallery. He disappeared through a paneled door set into the wainscoting.
“I wonder where he keeps his longboat,” Boudicca said.
“Unless I miss my guess, he’s headed for the wine cellar.”
“That is rather presumptuous of him, is it not, to pillage your wine cellar?”
“That was Restell.” When she regarded him blankly, he realized the name meant nothing to her. “My brother. My stepbrother, actually. Netta’s older brother.”
“Is he a rake?”
“He certainly aspires to be one.”
“You disapprove of him following in your footsteps?”
There she had him. He reminded himself that he would have to be cautious not merely with what he said but also how he said it. Boudicca was a clever one for hearing the fine nuances of his tone. “One rakehell in a family is generally considered quite sufficient,” he told her.
“I had not realized.”
“It is a matter of the family marshaling its resources to manage a scandal and quell the gossip. There is bound to be a nine days’ wonder now and again, but no family, not even an eccentric one, tolerates abusing their good graces.”
“And since you are the oldest…” Her voice trailed off thoughtfully.
“That’s right. I am the designated rakehell.”
“A title. A fortune. And a reputation. It rather takes one’s breath.”
He caught her by the arm and escorted her back into the ballroom. “I have not noticed it taking yours, at least in any way that it affects your speech. You never seem to be at a loss for a rejoinder.”
“You are not the first to remark on it.”
Ferrin kept a firm link with Boudicca’s arm as they wended their way through the crush yet again. He inclined his head politely whenever one of his guests caught his eye, but he did not linger for conversation. He observed that Wynetta was looking flushed and happy to be taking a set on the dance floor with a wizard. Wellsley, he noted, did not look particularly pleased to be watching from the perimeter of the room. Imogene had collected several other shepherdesses to her side—though none with green ribbons on the crook—and was engaged in animated conversation. Her husband stood nearby, patiently awaiting her pleasure. Ian, Imogene’s twin, was partnering his wife in the set, and Sir Geoffrey was at his most persuasive, urging his wife to join him in the steps.
“Do you see your friend?” Ferrin asked.
“No. Perhaps the wine cellar.”
“Let us hope not. She will not be at all glad to make Restell’s acquaintance there. Perhaps the garden.”
“The garden? I had not considered she might step outside.”
“Then you have not found it as warm as I have. It is not unreasonable to suppose hothouse flowers would thrive in here. Come. This way. It will not take long. The garden is not large.” He led her to the entranceway and through the drawing room to the rear of his town residence. “Unless you intend to skewer your friend, mayhap you will want to leave your spear on this side of the door.”
Boudicca’s glance shifted to the spear. One corner of her mouth lifted, shaping her lips in a mildly scornful smile. “Of course.” She leaned the spear against the doorjamb.
“Where did you find that weapon?” Ferrin asked, opening the door for her. His nostrils flared as the introduction of the cooler air lifted the scent of lavender in her hair. “It looks as if it might be an artifact.”
“It is. I took it from my—” She stopped, looking up at him. “I think you are fishing again. It doesn’t really matter about the spear, does it?”
“I