Seduce Me, If You Dare by Alyssa Clarke

Chapter Four

Prue had not dressed for seduction tonight when she’d come to dinner. If what she wanted out of this marriage was a friendship, not only a lover, then she had to stop contorting herself into what she thought the earl wanted her to be. To that end, she had donned her favorite dress of soft burgundy muslin with sprigged roses, too dark to be fashionable among the ton. But it hugged her body like a caress and fortified her for the undertaking she had decided to make. One way or another, she was going to woo her husband.

As the footman cleared away the dishes from their evening repast, Prue leaned forward and caught Oscar by his sleeve. He always had an eye for fashion, and the deep green of his jacket tonight brought out his brown eyes and black hair. His muscles tensed beneath her touch. Though she wanted to slip her hand beneath the cuff of the jacket to touch his bare skin, to test whether his heartbeat was as fast as hers, she held herself still.

When he opened his mouth, she spoke first, to forestall the customary goodnight that ended each of their dinners together.

“Play with me.”

His lips parted as his jaw clenched, a contradiction in body language that she couldn’t reconcile. Despite the heat climbing into her cheeks, she held his unreadable gaze.

She cleared her throat and amended, “Chess, I mean.” Blast, but she was making a mess of this. Tightening her hand on his sleeve to keep him from leaving, she collected herself and tried again.

Be bold. Be confident.

“Would you like to adjourn to the library for a game of chess?”

That sounded far more like a poised countess than the garble of words she’d managed to get out the first time. But no, she wouldn’t chide herself for slips of the tongue. She would freely be herself instead of thinking she had to be countess-like always.

Yet it made her feel exposed.

With a slow, gentle tug, he pulled his arm away from her. Her stomach dropped with the certainty that he would refuse. Instead, he leaned back in his chair and assessed her with a contemplative expression. “I didn’t know you played.”

Chess. Fortunately, she had learned, and even if her skills were never enough to best Charity, she wasn’t an appalling player. Prue lifted her chin and fought not to fidget. “I do. A dear friend taught it to me.”

“And do I know this friend?”

Prue was decidedly curious about that dangerous throb in his tone. Did her husband by chance believe this to be a male friend? Biting back her smile, she replied, “Lady Charity Rutherford.”

“I see. I have heard her brother mention she is a most excellent player. I have a chessboard my father gifted to me on my 12^th birthday. I am sorry I did not know of your aptitude earlier. It has been growing tedious to play myself.”

Prue smiled slightly. “We barely know anything about each other. Don’t you think that ought to change?”

When he didn’t rebuff her outright, Prue grew bolder. She leaned forward, earnestly holding his gaze. “We barely speak. I’d like to remedy that.”

Her words seemed to puncture the strain between them. He laughed, a low sound that might have warmed her if it hadn’t infuriated her. “That’s outrageous, my dear. We speak all the time.”

He scraped his chair back and stood, fixing the fall of his jacket.

Prue stood as well, but she was far less formal about it. She rolled her eyes and turned away from him. “Oh, yes. We speak all the time—about the weather, or the newest style of carriage, or the dinner menu, or the delicate seating arrangements for the guests for your political dinner parties. Nothing of substance. You cannot know me like that.”

She crossed the length of the long table and all the way to the door before she realized that he wasn’t following. On the threshold to the corridor, she chanced a glance behind, only to find that he hadn’t moved from his spot at the head of the table. Over his shoulder, the visage of another earl, his grandfather, leered down a long nose that looked very like Oscar’s. But there, the resemblance ended. For as cold as the old earl and the painting was, Prue had to believe that there was more warmth in her husband. If she didn’t, Prue didn’t know how she would survive this marriage and the challenge she had taken up.

She raised her eyebrows in challenge. “So, to the library?”

That seemed to shake him free of whatever reverie had gripped him. He crossed toward her with long steps and indicated the door at her back. “Lead the way, my lady.”

Although she never lingered in the room, she knew the way to the library by rote. It was where Oscar had set up his desk, where he preferred to pour over matters of his estate, and correspondence, and the other businesses he occupied himself with rather than spend time with her. She’d chosen to enter his domain deliberately, because if she was to shake free from the cage her marriage had imposed upon their life, best to start here.

The moment he stepped in after her, leaving the door ajar, he offered her a libation. “I’m not certain I have sherry, but I can ring for a footman.”

She shook her head. “Don’t bother. I’ll have what you’re having.”

He gave her an incredulous look. “I drink whisky.”

“Two fingers, please.” She held his gaze with a smile that felt all teeth. With a curl of his lips that looked uncomfortably like amusement, he inclined his head and turned to the mantle to fill a pair of tumblers from a waiting decanter.

Prue made herself comfortable. She toed off her slippers as she pulled the pins from her hair one by one. Normally, she stuffed these into her reticule, but she didn’t carry it at home. Instead, she left the pins in a pile on the corner of his desk. As she shook out her hair, the golden-brown strands falling nearly to her waist, Oscar made a choking sound. She raised one foot onto the chair and peered over her shoulder as he coughed and set the tumblers down on the mantle. Since he didn’t seem likely to choke to death, she continued to reach up beneath her skirts and pry off her stocking. Prue rolled it down and off her foot, a swift motion rather than a seductive one. She always felt much better barefoot.

He was studying her now as though she was a curiosity. “Madam, what are you doing?”

“Getting comfortable. Feel free to do the same. I won’t faint at the sight of your neck if you’d like to remove your cravat.”

She’d seen much more of him bare in his bedchamber, after all. Ignoring the way her stomach tightened, she hastily removed her other stocking and shoved the wadded fabric into her shoes. Feigning a nonchalance she didn’t feel with his gaze burning into her, she found the chessboard and carried it to the lush carpet in front of the mantle. She set it on the rug and arranged herself to one side while she sorted out the pieces. From the corner of her eye, she could see her husband’s Hessian boots, polished and unmoving. My, she must have shocked him half to death. This time, the tightening of her belly was equal parts anticipation and nervousness.

He cleared his throat. “There is a perfectly good desk and chairs.”

She laughed and tipped her head back to look up at him. He’d reclaimed the glasses of whisky and no longer looked likely to choke on his own tongue, but he regarded her with the oddest expression.

Prue braced her elbows on the carpet, resting her chin on her open palm. “I think it’s best going forward that you learn who I really am.”

Her husband ran his tongue over his lower lip. He didn’t look away. Instead, he handed her the glass of whisky and lowered himself onto the rug opposite her. “I must admit, I’m intrigued.”

His response fizzled through her like champagne bubbles.

“I like the idea of intriguing you.” Her voice was throatier than usual. She swallowed down a sip of whisky to calm her nerves. She savored the taste before letting it slide down her throat. When she set down the glass within reach, she found him looking at her with that odd expression again.

“Who are you, Prue?”

Clearly, he was seeing a side of her he had never imagined. With luck, it would be a side of her he found compelling. With as provocative a smile as she could manage, she tossed her head and answered cheekily, “I’m your wife.”

She finished arranging the chess pieces on the board, giving him the honor of playing white. To his credit, he didn’t insist they turn the board, but moved one of his pawns two spaces.

Prue assessed the move, trying to anticipate his possible strategies. Never having played with him before, she was all but playing blind. It was thrilling. She freed her knight from the back row but left her finger on the horse’s head while deciding whether to commit to the move. When she lifted her finger, he moved another pawn. So it went as they set up their initial plays. A few more swallows of whisky and her confidence came naturally. As she took one of his pawns with her knight, she said in a casual voice, “If I win this match, I’ll expect a boon.”

He chuckled. “I must admit, I never played chess in quite that way before.”

She looked up at him from beneath her eyelashes. “You’ve never made a wager on a game?”

The smile that stretched his lips was almost boyish. At her invitation, he had unknotted the cravat from his throat and the starched cloth now hung to either side of his neck. He still wore his jacket, however, more’s the pity. “Never with chess. I’m curious, what boon would you ask?” He lifted the tumbler to his lips.

She met his gaze boldly. Without a hint of flirtation, she told him, “If I win, I’ll expect you to give me a proper kiss. Proper enough for my toes to curl.”

He choked on his sip of whisky. The color tinging his cheeks might have been due to the whisky going down the wrong way, or perhaps she’d managed to scandalize him. She was, however, utterly serious. As he set his whisky glass next to hers, where it wouldn’t be tipped over accidentally, she chose to prove herself. On impulse, she leaned forward and licked away a drop of whisky on his lower lip. The flesh was soft, but she didn’t linger. As she pulled back, he seemed frozen in place.

A wide smile tantalized on her mouth, but she feigned sincerity as she teased, “Oh, dear. You look as though you cannot breathe, husband. Should I call for a physician?”

He scowled and bit off two words. “No need.”

Turning his attention back to the chessboard, he made a more aggressive move and didn’t mention her proposed wager. Nor did he ask for something in return. But she had only to look at the fall of his breeches to see that she had had some effect on him. Pretend otherwise as he might, her husband wanted her.

Inwardly she crowed in triumph while moving another piece. His strategy was brilliant, and she pondered on a play for several minutes before making a move.

“Who taught you, Oscar?”

She was silently startled at how sensual his name sounded as it fell from her mouth.

“My father. I was a lad of six years when I snuck into his study and climbed under his desk while he worked. My nursemaid went in there, and she asked the earl if he had seen me, for she had looked everywhere.”

“Why were you hiding?”

“I wanted to avoid bath time.”

Prue smiled. “Were you naked?”

“Distressingly so.”

She laughed. “I cannot imagine it. You seem so frightfully proper now.”

“Ah, I can be a right devil. I’m afraid it started then.”

Prue made a decisive move that had him canting his head to study the board for an intense moment. “Smart,” he praised. “Very smart.”

His warm praise filled her belly with a thousand butterflies.

He made his move and, to Prue’s delight, continued with the story. “I pinched my father on the leg, and he looked down and saw me. He had been so engrossed in his ledgers he was surprised to see me there. He played along with my mischief. Denied seeing me and wondered what mischief his naked son might be up to. I think the nursemaid caught on, for she stopped searching for me.”

“And you spent the time in his office learning to play chess naked?” she demanded incredulously.

“My father was a man of immeasurable patience, and he saw the humor in life and his son’s antics.”

“He sounds like a man to be admired.”

“Yes, and I wish you could have met him.”

“I would have liked meeting him. Thank you for sharing the memory.”

They shared a smile, and Prue almost wept. This simple conversation felt beautiful. In the end, she lost the match. As Oscar used a bishop to place her into checkmate, she couldn’t help but feel disappointed. She covered it by standing, leaving her empty glass on the floor next to the chessboard. “Thank you for the game and the lovely conversation. Perhaps we can do it again sometime.”

He nodded, far less tense than he’d been at the beginning of their match. He’d even doffed his jacket partway through. She could imagine many more nights like this one, spent talking and teasing and playing chess.

“You play well. You almost had me,” he said, the glint in his eyes one of admiration.

Although she’d placed him in check twice, Prue didn’t believe him. He was more practiced at the game than she was, but at least he hadn’t seemed to be holding back on her account.

“Thank you. So do you.” She gave him a cheeky smile and turned to collect her belongings. He retrieved the glasses and began tidying up, never mind that they employed a veritable army of people to see that everything was in its place.

At the door, she paused to say, “I have something to confess.”

She caught him bending over the chessboard, gathering up the fallen pieces. Warily, he straightened. “And what might that be?”

Brazenly, she said, “I think you should know that I am wooing you.”

He made another odd sound low in his throat before he smoothed his expression into an inscrutable mask. She was coming to adore surprising him. Her earl had always seemed so chillingly civil and unflappable.

“What are you talking about? We are already married.”

Prue gave him an innocent smile. “You’re a smart man. I’m certain you’ll figure it out.” She was going to leave it at that, but the jealous side of her took hold of her tongue. “You aren’t allowed to take a mistress.”

He stiffened and his gaze narrowed thoughtfully, either at her audacity in making demands of him, or at the change in her. Mere weeks ago, when she’d been very much afraid that he already had a mistress, she would never have dared make the demand, fearing that he would tell her exactly how low she stood on his list of priorities. But knowing that he’d been celibate made her more confident. That, the casual evening, and perhaps the whisky.

When he found his tongue, her husband said, “Then the same must be said for you. You can take no lovers.”

She arched an eyebrow. “I am not the type to dishonor vows made before God and my husband.”

He held her gaze with steel in his expression. “Neither am I.”

She believed him. Most men of the ton would have scores of mistresses, whoever pleased them at the moment. They were powerful men with powerful desires. But something tentative had formed between her and Oscar tonight. So yes, she believed him.

But in that conviction, she lost her glib tongue. “Good.” Before she embarrassed herself, she turned to leave. “Goodnight, my lord.”

“Wait.”

He crossed to her with quick strides and took her by the elbow. His bare skin on hers lit her on fire. Would he give her that kiss, after all? She turned her face up to his and whispered, breathy with anticipation. “Yes?”

He cleared his throat and dropped his hand. “I have neglected you.”

Shock jolted through her. “I…” What could she say?

“I held the belief that you were not comfortable in my presence, and I made little to no effort to seek you out. For that, I am regretful. Please accept my apologies, my lady.”

Prue nodded, too at a loss for words.

“I’ve also been an intolerably boring conversationalist. I shall rectify the matter.”

“I shall anticipate it.”

A small smile touched his mouth, and there was a look in his eyes she could not decipher. But how she wanted to know what he thought.

“Would you like to see a play with me tomorrow evening? I believe there’s one playing at Vauxhall.”

Prue couldn’t stop the effervescent glee that bubbled up inside of her. “Vauxhall? Truly? Yes! Yes, of course.”

She’d never been to Vauxhall Gardens before, despite her family living in London. Impulsively, she leaned forward and hugged Oscar, hearing the thump of his heart against her ear as she pressed herself to his chest. She pulled back every bit as quickly, excitement still coursing through her. “Yes,” she said again. “Thank you.”

He looked at her in a strangely tender way. “My pleasure, countess.”

As she walked barefoot through the townhouse in search of her bed, Prue couldn’t help smiling. Perhaps she just might be able to win it all.