Page 14 of Enticing Odds (The Sedleys #5)

She was, thankfully, not in the conservatory.

Instead, she was in a small sitting room, one he’d never been admitted to. The entire manse was a labyrinth, its numerous pathways leading to enticements like the library or, in this case, Lady Caplin in a charming tea-gown made of silky, ivory fabric and adorned with wide swaths of black lace and large black velvet bows. She was seated at a small secretaire, pen in hand.

“Dr. Collier,” she said, returning the pen to its stand. “Come in, and sit. There’s something I must speak with you about.”

Matthew stepped forward nervously. Oh no . She must’ve already heard from Sir Frederick. He removed his spectacles and rubbed a hand over his face.

“Please, my lady, allow me to apologize, to explain, only I would never dare deliberately tell a falsehood on your behalf. I was only trying to follow your lead, to prevent Sir Frederick’s knowing of your true purpose in…” He frowned, not quite sure how to describe the arrangement between them.

“My true purpose in… what?”

She stood now with one hand splayed elegantly across her breast. Matthew was grateful that the tea-gown was modest, covering even her neck with a fanfare of lace. Conservative as it was, though, it did frame her face quite nicely, he noted regretfully.

“In… engaging me.”

She laced her hands before her, a teasing smile upon her lips as she drifted across the room toward him. How could she move so fast while affecting such languor? Matthew replaced his spectacles. His heart sped up.

“I see,” she purred, pausing an arm’s length before him. “And you… lied, then? So that my brother might remain ignorant?”

He swallowed, and nodded.

“Why Dr. Collier, how very kind of you. Being deceitful against your better judgment? For me?” She turned about, her skirts twirling in her wake. “I confess, I’m quite flattered.”

She walked across the room to a couch and lowered herself onto the center of it, like a monarch alighting upon her throne.

Matthew followed her; it was impossible not to. She reigned here, and he, the penitent peasant, was drawn into her orbit, awash in her splendor. He halted before her, towering over her perch upon the couch. She looked up at him from under her dark lashes, and it so recalled his fantasies of her down on her knees that Matthew almost fell to his own.

“And this true purpose is…?”

Matthew furrowed his brow.

“Only that you wished me to instruct Master Caplin in betting on cards and other games, so that he not be such a mark to his peers. I’m sorry, I thought we both understood—”

“Pah,” she said, waving a hand. “I confess I was hoping for an answer a little more exciting than that.”

“Exciting?” he repeated dumbly, feeling flustered. “What other purpose could you have for me?”

She drew in an audible breath, then released it, looking off to the side.

“Oh, I’m sure I could imagine quite a few…” Suddenly she looked back up to him, her gaze burning through him with its intensity. “Couldn’t you?”

All thoughts of Sir Frederick Catton, of Charles Sharples—hell, even of accompanying young Master Caplin to the museum—vanished. Instead there were only him and her, here, locked in this long, heated moment. How he so desperately wanted to fall to his knees, shove her skirts up about her waist, and bury his face between her legs.

“Of course,” she said somewhat sharply, turning away once more.

He wondered if he ought to respond, but she spoke again, her voice now aloof and disinterested.

“What lie did you offer, then? In lieu of the tedious truth?”

Matthew balled his hands into tight fists to keep them from fidgeting.

“That you enlisted me to examine your library. To make sure it was adequate for Henry’s educational purposes. I apologize, my lady, I never should have overstepped my—”

She laughed, cutting him off. He’d never heard her laugh before—not a true one, at least. A smug chuckle here and there, yes. But this was a joyous sound, the pealing of a bell, the trill of a songbird.

Matthew wished very much to make her do it again.

“Examine the library? Why, how charming, how perfect! For I must tell you, then. I’ve a gift for you.”

“A gift?” Matthew asked with confusion.

He could barely keep up with her; one moment she was looking at him as if she wished he’d tear her fashionable little gown from her person, and in the next she’d burst out laughing at his answer, before suddenly turning about and steering the conversation back to the mundane as efficiently as a flag officer.

“Yes, at first to express my gratitude for Henry’s progress, and now for foiling my weasel of a brother’s attempts at prying into my life.” She leaned back into the couch, more at ease than Matthew could recall seeing her. “For that I ought to gift you an entire country,” she said with a wry smile. “Alas, that likely exceeds my poor dead husband’s fortune, don’t you think?”

Suddenly the atmosphere in the room felt different. More intimate. Lady Caplin had never appeared this relaxed before him, nor spoken about herself or her family so flippantly. He felt uncomfortable discussing money, so he declined to answer, his heart still hammering.

Lady Caplin leaned further back into the couch, draping an arm over its back. “I daresay, though, based on your little white lie, that this gift might be more meaningful to you than an entire country.”

“Even in my ignorance I would agree. Governance holds no appeal for me, my lady.”

“Of course it wouldn’t. You’re no greedy bastard, you’re a wee lamb.”

She placed a hand upon her cheek and regarded him fondly. Matthew’s stomach leaped. If only it were somehow possible. And yet, still she played her games with him. Perhaps it wasn’t so far-fetched.

“Aren’t you going to ask me what it is?”

He shut his eyes, trying to will away his fantasy. It was impossible.

“That, I fear, would be terribly rude of me.”

She sighed in exasperation.

“I shall have to drag the suspense out somehow.” She stood up, bringing herself as close to him as she’d ever been. “If you will not play, I will force your hand.”

Matthew’s breath caught.

She studied him, her grin widening, bringing forth those lovely little dimples he so fancied. He very nearly smiled in return, but caught himself.

Only just.

“My lady,” he said, then swallowed. “We’ve been at this… impasse, if you will, for some time now, and—”

“Impasse? There’s no need for histrionics, Dr. Collier. It’s merely a dance.”

With that she breezed past him, her skirts swishing gently against his trouser leg as she glided toward the door.

“Coming?” she called lazily over her shoulder, as if she didn’t actually care whether he followed, or really, where he went in her house.

But that was far from the case, Matthew knew. He knew the only thing she wanted in this moment was him to heel.

So he dutifully followed her. What else was he to do? It was agony, allowing her to tease him, but it was more agonizing to be removed from her presence.

“Come along, Doctor,” she chirped as she drifted through the halls, keeping several paces ahead of him despite her shorter stride.

At last they came to the library, where she stopped before the massive pair of doors. She placed her hands upon both handles, then turned and flashed him a dazzling smile.

He wanted her, like he’d never wanted a woman before. Not like Harriet, who had seemed so innocent, so na?ve. Not like any of the ladies on display in the pornographic material he regularly perused. But in a deeper way. He was desperate for her laughs, her smiles, her moans and cries as she came undone, her body lurching against his in pure, carnal need.

She threw open the doors.

“There. It’s yours.”

“I’m… I beg your pardon, I must have misheard you,” Matthew stuttered.

“Of course you didn’t. Your hearing is perfectly adequate. I’ve instructed all the household staff. You must avail yourself of Rowbotham House’s library whenever you wish.”

Matthew tried to open his mouth to respond, but found that he couldn’t. He was paralyzed.

A library like this, at his disposal, whenever he wished.

Lady Caplin stepped over the threshold, then turned and beckoned for him to do the same. He followed, hypnotized in her wake. She was a siren, a gorgeous, ethereal being, radiating a capricious sort of power that could fulfill his every desire… or be his undoing. He stumbled toward a shelf, reaching up to run his fingers along the spines, the feel of the leather bindings reassuring him that he wasn’t dreaming.

“I visited the strangest little shop near the docks, searching for something unusual that might thrill you. Indeed, I’d wager you would find nearly anything in their collection to be utterly fascinating. But it all seemed so…” She paused, and hummed. When she spoke again her voice was lower, almost raspy. “When I had the occasion to speak with Mrs. Rickard, I realized nothing would suit you better than a book, except perhaps…” She sauntered up to him, her slim hand selecting a book from the shelf without looking. “An entire library of them.”

She offered him the volume she had pulled. He took it, the world around them fading away as he did. Nothing existed but the two of them, and this gorgeous, awe-inspiring temple of knowledge.

He looked down at the book.

“Spinoza?” he breathed.

“Know him, do you?” she cooed, sliding her body closer until it seemed nothing could keep them from colliding.

“ But love towards a thing eternal and infinite… feeds the mind wholly with joy, and is itself unmingled with any sadness ,” Matthew quoted, as if to himself, thumbing the gilt title on the spine.

His heart felt heavy as it palpitated, but light at the same time, light and free.

“Love towards a thing eternal and infinite? That sounds rather daunting,” Lady Caplin said, her voice airy. “I’d much rather love things human and mortal. Far fewer expectations. Far more enjoyable.”

Had she ever loved before? His heart seized at the unspoken question. She acted as if not, but, well, the thought of it hurt him somehow. Matthew closed his eyes. Control yourself, man. She’s a bloody viscountess, not some swooning village girl.

“This is the kindest thing anyone has ever…” he finally said, his throat thick.

“You,” she interjected during his long pause, taking charge, “are a kind man. And though you may find me flip at times, believe me when I say that you, Doctor, are deserving of many a kindness.”

Her eyes softened, her expression guileless.

When she gazed upon him with those dark, earnest eyes, words utterly failed him. He felt entirely unlike he ever had before. As if he could ask her anything about himself—his character, his philosophy, his desires—and she would answer correctly. As if she knew him. Saw inside him. Respected not only the man he was, but the man he strove to be.

Nothing could prevent the collision of their astral bodies, high above the earth, beyond myriad stars and books and treatises and volumes of great truth and immense feeling.

She would have him; it was on him to allow her. If only he’d submit to his own desire. If only he could survive the aftermath, and all of its daunting emotions. But he was strong. He knew he was.

He’d had to be, spending all these years alone.

Matthew’s heart raced, his body like a compressed spring.

Slowly he lowered his head, erasing the distance between them. Her lashes lowered in turn.

And he kissed her.