Page 2 of The Spinster's Seduction(The Lover's Arch #4)

In his almost forty years on this earth, there were few things that surprised Charles. This, he could say with certainty, was one of them.

“You must be out of your mind,” he repeated, more forcefully this time.

“Must I?” She looked at him in that clear, direct way of hers. “Why is that?”

“Because—” There were, he knew, countless reasons, but he said the first that came to mind. “It’s not right. Your husband should be the one to teach this to you.”

“I have no husband.”

“Well, perhaps not right this instant, but there’s no guarantee that in the future—”

“I will never marry.” Her voice held a rare note of steel. “If I have not now, I will not in the future. Besides, I have not met a man whom I would.”

“And yet you’re asking me for this ?”

“Of course,” she said, composed and gentle again. “If I do not ask now, you will have a wife, and we both know that however you should choose to live your life, I would not choose to be a married man’s mistress.”

Charles eyed her shrewdly. Evelyn never did anything in half measures, and if she had reached the stage of asking him for this favour, it meant she had already given the matter considerable thought. He doubted he could convince her what a terrible idea this was. Terrible—and dangerous. Ever since he was a boy, he’d had to exert considerable effort over himself to tame his less-than-brotherly feelings towards her. If he gave into any remaining urges now, he would be opening a door which should remain firmly locked. For both their sakes.

“I find myself curious,” she said, looking away from him and into the fire. “About the acts my friends have experienced. I hardly think it’s fair that young men may take their pleasures as they please, but ladies must not.”

He sat back in his chair, attempting to calm the adrenaline and heat that chased around his body. “I didn’t come here to engage in a philosophical discussion about the rights of women. You have, of course, every right to do what you wish to your body.”

“So you’ll help me?”

He held up a finger. “I said you could do whatever you wished, but I did not say I had to be party to it.”

Her gaze cast down again, and he frowned as he looked at her once more. Who would have thought that such a modest exterior could have hidden such illicit desires? “Then whom else should I ask?”

“No one. Any man you ask risks taking advantage of you.”

“And ruining my prospects?” she asked wryly, glancing back up at him. Although her hair had turned a rather stunning silver, her lashes were still dark, framing her blue eyes in a lovely way. She had always been lovely to look at, in a gentle, subtle way—a night-flower opening its petals to the gaze of the moon. “My dear Charles, I think we both know I have no prospects. A woman’s reputation only serves to provide her with a husband, and I am unmarried.”

“It also keeps her in society, and we both know you have a place in that.”

“Barely.”

“That does not make rejection from its ranks easier.” He braced his hands against his knees. “But even if we were not to take the matter of your reputation into account, you must know that a fellow prepared to do something like this might not be . . . kind. ”

A frown pinched her brow. “How so?”

“He might take advantage, as I said.”

“You mean he might be rough with me?” She tilted her head. “Are men usually rough?”

For one of the first times in his life, he found himself speechless. “I—” He cleared his throat. “That’s hardly relevant. The point is, you cannot trust just anyone with a task of this nature.”

“Well, I hadn’t intended to trust just anyone with it. That’s why I came to you.”

Irritation briefly sharpened his voice. “I also don’t seduce innocents, Pidge. I don’t know where you got this notion from, but—”

“Charles.” She laughed. “I’m not a schoolroom miss. Things are different between us. I have no expectations, and I’m not intending to get between you and your future wife.”

“Damn it, Evie, don’t you see how that makes it worse?”

Her brows creased with her frown. “I don’t. I think it’s a perfectly reasonable request to make, and I don’t understand your reluctance. Unless . . .” Abruptly, she looked down at her lap, fingers fussing over her pleated skirts. “You can say, you know, if you had rather not do it because I don’t appeal to you. I know I’m not the most desirable. I’d just assumed, perhaps erroneously, that because you have a great deal of experience, you might not . . . mind too much.”

“Good God.” A laugh barked out of him, though there was nothing amusing about this situation. On the contrary: he felt a little as though he had been punched. “Is that what you think? That you repulse me, but I’m experienced enough that I won’t let that matter?”

She flushed, looking now as though she would rather throw herself in the fire than continue this conversation. “I see now I made a mistake in asking you.”

Yes, she had. But not because he found her repulsive. Quite the opposite, if his body’s response was anything to go by. “Wait,” he said, reaching out a hand and taking hers again. Her skin was cool in his. “My refusal isn’t because I wouldn’t be honoured to—you are a beautiful woman, Evie. And you know I love you. The problem is . . .” He hesitated, chewing his lip. “The problem is, I would have to marry you.”

She ripped her hand from his, apparently appalled at the idea.

Years ago, when he’d been a mere boy and a fool, and she had inexplicably kept appearing in his dreams, he had proposed half in jest while in his cups. She had, rightly, refused his advances, and he’d vowed never to risk their friendship again. He’d distracted himself sufficiently elsewhere that, until this absurd proposition of hers, he had forgotten how luridly he used to imagine what lay under her buttoned-up layers.

“I have no aspirations in that direction, Charles,” she said faintly.

He clicked his tongue. “I’m well aware. If you had, this conversation would have gone differently, but that doesn’t change matters. My honour would not permit me to do anything without first receiving your consent to wed.”

“What a backwards notion.”

“You’re a lady, Evie. The daughter of a gentleman.”

“So if I were a milkmaid, you’d have no compunctions about ravishing me?”

“That is not what I meant.”

“Then for heaven’s sake what is your point, aside from outdated concepts of propriety? I certainly don’t care a jot for them, and I don’t see why you should. Why is this any different from any other kind of favour I’ve asked you for over the years? You have accompanied me to Vauxhall Gardens, to the opera, to any number of balls, and you deigned to dance with me when I had no partners. We played together as children, and I remember the time we skated over the old pond and I fell in, and—”

“How can you possibly compare dragging you out of frozen water to the art of seduction?”

She blinked at him, not at all unnerved by the sharpness in his voice. “Because you were assisting me then, just as I wish for you to assist me now.”

“It’s entirely different. I would not be assisting you. I’d be taking you as a lover. That’s—it’s utterly incomparable, Evie. ”

“Well, I’d think it poor-spirited of you if you were to deny me something you’ve had for years. Or are you telling me that I would be your first lover?”

The thought of Evelyn as his lover made something in his lower regions tighten. “Of course not, but—”

“Then I hardly see the issue. Unless you truly are not attracted to me, which I concede would be a problem we cannot overcome.”

He wasn’t entirely sure how the conversation had gone quite so awry. “That’s not the problem, Evie. I’ve never—that has never been the problem.”

She blinked at him, but he noticed the way her hands crept together in her lap. The anxious way her thumbs moved across her skin, soothing herself the way a mother might soothe a child. And he realised, with a pang of regret, that somewhere along the conversation he had managed to hurt her.

“Evie,” he said, and sighed. Dropping to his knees beside her chair, he took her hands in his. “Surely you must understand my reluctance has everything to do with your reputation and nothing to do with the—the physical ramifications.”

“I don’t find it logical.”

With a smile, he pressed her fingers to his lips. “Of course you don’t.”

“I mean it, Charles. Why should a woman be denied, merely because of her sex? Why has society degreed that I, if I do not marry, must die a maid, and you need not do so?”

“I am going to marry,” he said, unnecessarily. “And even if I were not—you’d be ruined.”

“Only if someone else knew. And will you tell them?”

“Of course not! But what if you do marry another?”

“I will not.”

Silence fell between them. He knew she meant what she said—likely she was right, too. Gentlemen did not usually look for wives amongst spinsters of her age unless they were looking for a second marriage and no children—and even then, she would not be the obvious choice, given she so infrequently attended social events.

Of course, if someone fell in love with her, it would be a different story altogether.

He dismissed the thought as quickly as it came. For a long time now, all he’d wanted from her was her happiness, and he doubted that marriage alone could solve that unless she entered into it with both arms wide and her heart open.

Would another man treasure her quirks as he should?

That did not seem his concern. But he lingered on the idea longer than he should before returning to the matter at hand.

Seduction.

“You don’t know what you’re asking of me,” he said, urging her to her feet so they both stood on the rug before the hearth. “You are asking for something a man does not give a mere friend.” He trailed his finger along her jawline, watching as goosebumps pinpricked her skin. “You want me to ravish you. I don’t think you understand what that entails.” He brought his other hand to her waist, holding her far more firmly than he ever had before. “Our friendship would not survive it,” he murmured, bringing his head down to the enticing curve of her neck and—just—letting his mouth brush her skin.

She stood still in his embrace, barely breathing. Like a deer caught in plain sight, or a rabbit trapped against a fence line. Lovely, but rigid. He could see the way her heartbeat pulsed in her neck, and he brought a thumb to it, counting the beats. Fast—though from fear or something else, he couldn’t be sure.

Little Evelyn, so proper and polite, who had made no advances towards him. He’d assumed all these years that she had no desires, no dissatisfaction about this aspect of her life.

Yet there could be no denying that she found even this overwhelming.

Her breath shuddered across his cheek as she looked up at him, and he stepped back. “You see? You would not be comfortable, and we would never be able to look at each other the same way again.”

“Charles—”

“I won’t hear any more about it.” He retrieved his hat and replaced it on his head. “We would not suit, Evie. And not because you are anything but beautiful.” He touched her chin, thumb grazing her bottom lip, and something stirred in him. Desire he’d put to slumber long ago, and that her request had awoken again. “You are lovely, and if I were another man, perhaps I would consider it, but I am not, and I will not. Give my regards to your father when he returns from the country, and tell him my father will call on him shortly.” With a bow, he strode from the room.

“If you were another man,” Evelyn said, though there was no one there to hear her, “I would not have asked you.”