An Invitation to Seduction by Lorraine Heath

expected to come face-to-face with Weddington.
    Seeing him again, standing beside Farthingham, was like comparing night to day. Farthingham of the fair features and the easy smile. Farthingham who thought all oflife was a game to be enjoyed. Who made her laugh and teased her when she was melancholy. Dear, sweet Farthingham, who made her feel safe.
    Weddington, on the other hand, was as dark as her fears. If eyes were the windows to the soul, the obsidian depths of his served as frightening barriers. They hinted at an overpowering darkness she didn’t wish to uncover. He possessed a sensuality that lured her when she didn’t wish to be tempted, an attraction that she didn’t want to acknowledge.
    He was not for her and she was not for him. She knew that as surely as she knew her name.
    Nervously, she patted her hair beneath her hat, fearful that the brim was not wide enough to shade her eyes, to hide all the raw emotions she was feeling.
    “I brought you some worthy competition, my sweet,” Farthingham said, beaming as he took her gloved hand and bussed a quick kiss on her cheek. “You remember Weddington from Ravenleigh’s ball?”
    Nodding, she forced her lips to form a smile. “Yes, of course.”
    Weddington tipped his head slightly. “Miss Robertson, it’s my pleasure to have the opportunity to see you again.”
    “And the lovely lady standing beside him is Lady Anne, his sister.”
    Kitty was incredibly embarrassed that she’d not noticed the lady before—that her world had narrowed down until she was only vaguely aware of Farthingham and intensely conscious of Weddington’s presence. She broadened her smile. “Lady Anne, it is my pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
    “I’m so frightfully glad that Farthingham invited us,” Lady Anne gushed. “I’ve been dying to meet the lady who stole his heart.”
    “Only after he stole mine,” Kitty said easily.
    “Oh, splendid!” Lady Anne squealed. With her racket, she tapped Weddington on the shoulder. “There you see? I told you it was true love.” She turned her attention back to Kitty. “Richard, the beast, said your marriage was based on—”
    “Anne!” Weddington’s voice rumbled with authority, hissed with warning. “That’s quite enough.”
    Lady Anne pressed her mouth into a tight line until her lips were almost invisible, her cheeks blossoming into a shade that rivaled the pink petals of some of the roses in the garden.
    Kitty angled her chin defiantly. “Now my curiosity is piqued, Your Grace. Upon what exactly did you think our marriage would be based?”
    He narrowed his dark eyes, and she saw the tightening of his jaw. A remarkable jaw, really. Unlike Farthingham’s, which looked as though it would crumble like week-old bread with a single punch, Weddington’s gave the impression that he could use it to drive nails into fence posts.
    “I thought that, like most American ladies who seek out the aristocracy, you were lured by the title rather than the man who holds it.”
    He’d surprised her by answering, and she was beginning to understand why he’d sounded disappointed the first morning that she’d spoken to him. “You don’t seem to have a very high opinion of Americans.”
    “Oh, he despises them,” Lady Anne confirmed.
    “Anne!” Weddington barked.
    The irony made Kitty smile, until she read in his eyes that he, too, was struck by the paradox of his attraction for her. And she could not help but recognize that he was drawn to her, enough so that he had proposed marriagewhen they knew almost absolutely nothing about each other, at least nothing of any importance.
    “Perhaps you despise these American ladies because you view them as being as narrow-minded as you are, Your Grace. Judging a woman based on her country of birth and upbringing rather than on her true self.”
    He angled his head and smiled. “I have indeed developed a bias where American ladies are concerned. Perhaps time spent in your company will show me