Free The Seduction of an English Scoundrel by Jillian Hunter Page B

not to be observing his every unrestrained move.
    â€œListen to me, Sedgecroft,” she said in an undertone, determined to get her point into his thick head.
    â€œOf course.”
    Oh, his eyes were so intense, so alive, so . . . inviting. Who cared if he was the most arrogant man on earth? His merriment was catching. “I have thought over your generous offer to use you as my ticket, as it were, back to social acceptance.”
    He grinned, giving her the impression she ought to be flattered by his involvement. “Good,” he said with a gracious nod of his head as if that were the end of that.
    â€œAnd I’ve decided—”
    Her thoughts scattered as he slid his large hand up to her wrist to steer her toward the old wooden gate concealed in the brick wall. She felt the delicious stone-hard support of his body behind hers.
    â€œI think we can reach the street this way, can’t we?” he asked, not giving her a chance to answer. “My carriage is parked there. What a tangle of traffic I fought to get here, cows and costermongers.”
    She raised her voice, a sense of panic overcoming her. “I believe I shall have to decline.”
    He marched her through the poplars, glancing up at the two gardeners, their shears suddenly frozen in midair. His mild frown set them instantly back into motion. He was a man others instinctively obeyed. “We can discuss this on the way. In private.”
    She stared up at him in grudging awe, wondering how a human being could plow through the world with such unfailing arrogance. “Sedgecroft, I am not ready for public exposure.”
    â€œNonsense.” He paused to examine her in detail. “You look good enough to—to take out for the afternoon, although I have to admit . . .” His deep voice faltered.
    â€œAdmit what?”
    â€œNever mind.” He glanced back thoughtfully at the three women who had trailed them at a polite distance. “I suppose it doesn’t matter,” he murmured, giving a small shrug. “We’re too late to do anything about it now.”
    She dug in the heels of her silk pumps. The handsome beast had piqued her female vanity with his implication that there was something wrong with the way she looked. She ought to tell him how
he
had looked in the dream last night.
    â€œIt does matter,” she said in a firm voice. “At least I’m sure it would if you’d kindly explain what in my appearance displeases you.”
    He tapped the side of his cleft chin in contemplation. His gaze met hers for a moment. “It’s just—no, I don’t want to offend you. Not after yesterday.”
    Her brows lifted over her narrowed green eyes. “Offend me.”
    â€œWell.” He dropped his voice, sounding a little embarrassed on her behalf. “Is
that
your idea of daring dress?”
    Oooh.
“What is wrong with my dress?” she asked, wishing she did not care what he thought.
    â€œNothing shows. Nothing except ruffles and . . . gray. All those gray ruffles on your front.” He made a face. Then to her horror, he puffed out his chest to pantomime her. “It puts one in mind of a pigeon. An
attractive
pigeon,” he added hastily at the look she gave him.
    She ground her teeth. “Nothing is meant to show, Sedgecroft.”
    â€œWhy not?” the devil asked.
    She folded her arms across her ruffled breasts. “I am not one of your demireps.”
    He cleared his throat, obviously enjoying this. “You most assuredly are not.”
    Jane wondered why that remark felt like an insult. A proper young lady would have been proud of her . . . pigeon appearance. “This happens to be my favorite dress.”
    â€œMy grandmother had a pair of parlor curtains exactly the same color.”
    â€œDid she remind you of a pigeon, too?”
    â€œNot exactly, but I am not going to enjoy our afternoon if every time I look at you I think of my