Seduce Me, If You Dare by Alyssa Clarke
Chapter One
Three years later
If Lady Prudence Campbell, Countess of Wycliffe, was destined to be no more than a jewel in her husband’s house, then she would damn well outshine them all. She’d spent two years in the country, overseeing the renovations and redecoration of his house, and making friends with his sisters—both older than she—until, one by one, despite claiming they were firmly on the shelf, they had gone to London and found suitable matches, having grand adventures of their own. Meanwhile, she had been married to her earl for three years and hadn’t even had a proper kiss to show for it or any sort of fun. The chaste peck on the lips he had given her the day of their marriage certainly didn’t count. After all her hopes and dreams of drawing his attention, the reality had fallen disappointingly flat.
But rather than languish away in the countryside, Prue had come to Town determined to make a point. Clearly, she couldn’t compare with the charms of whichever woman he had fallen in love with. She couldn’t compare to a more worldly, experienced woman. Although her figure had filled out more since her marriage, she never did manage to lose the sharpness of her chin. If not for her friends at 48 Berkeley Square, she might have given it all up for lost.
But the ladies at 48 Berkeley Square were not the sort to quit, and neither was Prue. Perhaps she had been young and naïve when she had married, but the intervening years had taught her something of how to be a wife, how to manage a grand household. The only thing left was to ensconce herself so firmly into her husband’s life that he couldn’t dislodge her if he tried. Hence the reason she had decided to host her very first London ball.
This evening, she had chosen a dress of vivid color and daring cut in the hopes of drawing the eye—the eye of one man in particular, Oscar George Campbell, the Earl of Wycliffe. That man, unfortunately, had only remained next to her while doing his duty in the receiving line. The moment the room filled with people, he suddenly found inescapable things to do on the other side of the ballroom.
Something was out of sorts with their marriage, and it wasn’t only her suspicions that her husband kept a mistress in Town. After all, he hadn’t come home to their country estate except for a couple of too short months in the summer after Parliament disbanded. Since she had been in Town for this season, she had done her utmost to attempt to connect with him, to forge a friendship of sorts and find a way to make their marriage more pleasing than this barren landscape.
And yet he spent more time at Parliament or at the club than he did with her. Their conversations were…boring. Frightfully mundane and tedious as they only spoke about generalities and polite chit chatter about the weather and which social event they intended to attend. Tonight, that would change. If acting the jewel had drawn his eye to begin with—well, that and happenstance—then she would do it again.
Except, her husband did not approach her, though she occasionally caught him looking in her direction. The waltz would be called soon. Everyone present would expect them to dance together, as the hosts of the ball. What if he didn’t ask her to dance? Prue didn’t think her heart could bear the mortification.
Lady Theodosia, one of Prue’s dearest friends, and the lady in charge of 48 Berkeley Square, their secret lady’s club, laid a hand on her arm. “You’re doing wonderfully.”
Her friend’s voice was warm, her expression open and encouraging. It was easy to smile for Theo, even if privately Prue didn’t believe the encouragement. She admitted, “I’m a touch nervous. I planned for everything, but…”
“You’ve no reason to fret. Everything will go wonderfully.”
“I cannot believe so many people came,” she said with a wide smile. “My very first ball is a success. I am so very glad I accepted your dare, Theo, and you owe me fifty pounds which I will be donating to my beloved charity!”
Theo smiled, appearing even more beautiful. “I knew it would be splendid. You are the Countess of Wycliffe. It is time the ton knows it, and that is best done with a lavish ball.”
“It is also time for my lord to know I am his countess,” Prue said, trying not to be too obvious in the glance she cast at her husband.
How imperious he looked as he surveyed the throng, and how superbly handsome he appeared. His gaze rested on her a brief moment and then he looked away. There was so much she wanted to say to Theo, but the words would not come.
“Since his entrance, he has not stopped staring at you,” Theo said with a light laugh. “That is most glorious.”
Has he? She wanted to ask, and then she feared she would confess her husband did not kiss or make love with her. Ever. Perhaps this wasn’t the best time to air her every fear. Prue had invited every viper who, prior to her marriage, would have cut her to ribbons. She had no reason to believe that their opinion of her had changed simply because she’d married well. If only her sister were here, but Temperance was far too busy with her new baby to attend such a late-night event.
If the earl had done more than look at her with a vague sort of indulgence since their hasty marriage, perhaps Prue would have a baby now, too. A surge of longing pierced her, and Prue pressed a hand over her waist. She and her sister could have shared in the journey together. It would be something more than feeling like she was on the outskirts of even her own ball.
Perhaps it was a blessing that Theo was a bit distracted this evening. Every second closer to the expected waltz made Prue that much more nauseous. They spoke a bit more, and then to Prue’s shock, she noted the Duke of Hartford, a handsome and coldly arrogant man, approaching them with a single-minded concentration.
“Upon my word, someone very eligible and a bit wicked this way comes.”
Prue listened in shock as Theo confessed the reason; she had recently denied Lady Perdita—a young lady they all liked and admired—further association with 48 Berkeley Square because of this arrogant dolt. And he was also Perdita’s brother.
The orchestra of twenty souls leaped to life as the duke approached Theo and asked for her hand in a dance. Theo looked thrilled and a bit intimidated as she allowed him to lead her to the dance floor. That Prue had not expected. Theo ever looking so bowled over by any gentleman.
With her friend’s attention completely captured by the arrogant duke, Prue was able to slip away from the chatter and crush of the ballroom and into the cool spring air unobserved.
These gardens, Prue had walked often enough to know them in her sleep. She had set out lanterns for those wishing to tour the hedgerows, a far cry from the gardens in Fairfax Manor, but a small comfort in London, nevertheless. The moment she stepped between them, she felt invisible. Unobserved. Tension she hadn’t known she was holding drained away from her shoulders. Here, she didn’t have to act as if she and her husband had the perfect marriage. Here, she could acknowledge how close she was to falling to pieces.
But still, it was better to lose her composure away from the lit path. Only one turn away from the main path was an empty alcove, still awaiting the statue she’d commissioned. It was too small to fit a bench, but big enough to swathe her in shadow and give her the transient comfort of the hedgerows at her back to lean against. She took a deep breath of the scent of verdant green that almost seemed to wash out the acrid London smog. She wished for the stars she’d come to love in the country, and she closed her eyes and imagined she were there.
But if you were there, Oscar would not be.She gritted her teeth and tried to remain in the moment.
The clip of footsteps and distant voices made her breathing come shallowly. She held herself perfectly still, waiting for her guests to pass her on the path. Instead, they stopped. Out of sight, but not out of earshot.
“Come now, Wycliffe, you can’t go growling at every man in the ballroom,” a voice mockingly said.
Prue pressed her hand to her mouth to smother a gasp at her husband’s name. She recognized the voice of the man speaking, as well. A close friend of Oscar’s, judging by the frequency with which he visited the house: The Marquess of Trent.
“I am not growling,” her husband said, in what was most definitely a growl.
Trent, always an affable fellow, laughed warmly. “You’re growling at me right now.”
Her husband made a strangled sound.
Trent continued, “And this isn’t the first time this week. You skewered half the members of Parliament and may have even created some enemies with that bill you’re trying to push through.”
The crunch of gravel sounded at first as if the men would continue on their way. When the sound continued, Prue realized her husband must be pacing. “That bill is good governance, and you know it. What use is the money lining our pockets if the people under our care are starving?”
“That’s not why you’ve been so testy. And it certainly isn’t why you look ready to blacken the eye of any man who looked at your wife tonight.”
An unexpected thrill surged through Prue. Her husband had looked possessively at her tonight. She waited breathlessly for him to say something, but he made no reply.
Trent made a sound low in his throat. “Come now, man. It’s clear you need to tup a woman. If your pretty wife does not oblige, why don’t you take that lovely opera singer? Clarice has had her eyes on you for months, more’s the pity.”
Dear God. Prue tightened the grip on her mouth lest her outrage and pain slip out. How casually it was for men to suggest taking other lovers when they made vows before God and to their wives. Where was their honor?
A heavy sigh sounded. “I am not interested in Clarice.”
“You have shown no interest in any woman, and that is your problem. Take a bloody mistress.”
“No.”
Her husband sounded frustrated, but his tone made her wonder if maybe she had been wrong. If he hadn’t taken this opera singer to bed, if he hadn’t taken a mistress at all, that meant…he, like she, had been celibate. Prue clasped her hands together to stop them from shaking. Good heavens. Had she really misjudged his character and honor? A fierce ache bloomed in her heart. She hated that they hardly knew each other. It was entirely preposterous.
“It is expected. None would judge you for it man.”
“I wonder at your need to convince me to take a lover when I am not interested.”
Trent made a reply she could not discern. Thank you, she said silently to her husband. But for how long would he remain without a lover, with his friends prodding him toward taking a mistress? Prue clutched her lower lip between her teeth, biting hard to keep from moving.
Trent laughed again and said, “Clarice has been looking your way now for months and will take no other protector. A tiger she may be, but trust me, a warm and willing tiger in your bed is far better than doing battle with a prickly wife.”
Prue balled her fists. She was not prickly! She was nothing but cordial to her husband. Openly friendly, in fact. It was he who kept himself at a distance, not her.
His voice every bit as much a growl as his friend had accused, Oscar said, “I’ll thank you not to think about my wife in or out of bed, Trent. I will not hesitate to knock your teeth loose!”
Her heart leaped at the protective way her husband sounded.
“Oh, give off, man. I’m only trying to help. The more you stomp around, the more enemies you’re going to make and the harder it will be for you to push through your bleeding-heart bills. Take a breath. Have a cheroot. Let’s get back before your wife realizes you’ve absconded with me.”
Prue heard a rustle of clothing, the creak of hinges. A moment later, the bitter smell of cheroot smoke curled into the air.
“Better?” Trent asked. He sounded amused.
Her husband grunted. “You’re right. We ought to get back before the supper waltz is called.”
Prue waited for the footsteps to recede before she stepped out of the alcove. She took several breaths to steady herself, to push down the swirl of emotions still trying to dig their claws into her. Among them, outrage, shock—and hope.
Since her husband hadn’t come to her bed in all these years, she had expected him to have taken a lover, perhaps a woman who meant more to him than she did. In truth, she had even started to believe he must have had great affections for someone else, and his honor had forced him to marry her. Nothing she had heard made her suppositions likely to be the case.
At least not yet.
Perhaps she still had a chance to set her marriage to rights, and without fighting for his love and affection with another woman. That had been her dreaded fear. That Oscar would have no room for her in his heart because all that space was already occupied by another woman, even if he was not in love with that phantom lady.
How silly I’ve been.
Prue smiled, tightly wrapping her arms around herself. Whatever her plan, she couldn’t enact it tonight. She had to be above reproach, and to that end, she fiddled with the low neckline of her gown. Once she felt composed, she returned to her job as hostess. Prue stepped into the ballroom the moment the supper waltz was announced.
Her stomach lurched. She should have hidden away in the garden a moment or two longer. As the guests dispersed like ants in search of their partners for the dance, Prue held herself still. She would be mortified beyond reproach if her husband did not dance with her for this waltz as everyone expected. It would lend negative speculation to the state of her marriage. The dratted man was nowhere to be seen. A wall of emotions rose around her. She felt as if she stood in the eye of the storm.
And then he stepped out of the crowd. Oscar, her husband. The man never quite far from her thoughts even when she chided herself for being so naïve and foolish. She may not have a chance of claiming a marriage as loving as that of her parents, but she could still salvage something between them yet.
Especially when she found that he was not angling himself to walk past her but was approaching her. She couldn’t remove her gaze from him. He still kept his hair a bit untidy at the front, falling into his eyes as if he tried to shield himself behind it. But now she knew the shape and color of those eyes. Now she felt the touch of them even when they stood a ballroom apart.
He stopped an arm’s length away and offered his hand. “I trust you saved this dance for me?”
His voice was rough, but not quite the growl she had heard in the garden. She licked her lips, triumph flushing through her as she found his gaze dropping to her mouth. Prue slid her hand into his, both gloved and yet the touch so hot she could feel it through the silk. She wanted to say something sophisticated, something seductive and alluring.
Instead, all that came out was, “You know I’m yours.” Oh, no, I should have said something else!
His fingers tightened on hers before he led her out to the dance floor. They found a spot in the center, and although others had taken up their stances around them, Prue couldn’t help but feel as though they were in a world of their own. She realized, with a start, this would be their first dance. It made her fingers tremble as she laid them on his arm. The press of his palm on her back made her long to step closer, but they weren’t alone. They were in a room full of people, most of whom were watching for any hint of stumble or scandal. Prue clung to her composure by her fingertips as the music started to play. She and Oscar started to move in tandem as if they had danced like this all their marriage. As if they had danced even closer.
As Prue’s cheeks burned, mirroring the ache in other parts of her body, she was struck by how much she still wanted her husband.
If he was to take any woman to his bed, she wanted it to be her…and only her.