Free The Seduction of Sara by Karen Hawkins Page A

It would irk him, but his pride would allow no less.
    All she needed was to win the viscount’s acceptance to a whirlwind courtship. If that didn’t work, more drastic measures would be needed. Shivering slightly, Sara didn’t even want to think what those might be. Yet even as she had the thought, she had an image of Bridgeton’s face. Resolutely, she banished it. Viscount Hewlette had to be her answer. She wouldn’t accept any other.

Chapter 4
    I f there was one thing Nicholas Montrose knew, it was the game of seduction. It would not do to appear too eager to reengage the delicious Lady Carrington in flirtation so soon after the Jeffries ball. He decided to wait at least another week before arranging a “chance” meeting with his intended quarry.
    So for several days after his conversation with the comte, Nick stayed occupied with the repairs of Hibberton Hall, taking a personal interest in the hiring of the various craftsmen. To those who did not know him, he appeared completely absorbed by the tasks at hand. Yet every once in a while, he would look up and imagine himself fixed in the finished manor house, his reputation reestablished, his staff well trained, a vague shadowy figure by his side. Asthe days progressed, the figure took on a more substantive form. One with a cloud of raven black hair and eyes of the palest blue.
    He wanted Sara Lawrence. He wanted her in his house and in his bed. The comte was incorrect in thinking Nick needed a deeper, more permanent relationship. He wanted only passion. A tantalizing companion who could make him forget the shadow that hung over him, and nothing more.
    Sara was perfect—well-bred, fascinating, and a widow, which meant she had a certain amount of knowledge, however limited it might be. In his experience, Englishwomen were less likely to have been educated in the erotic art of dalliance as the women were in Paris. With the exception of a few dashing souls like Lucilla Kettering, who spent more time abroad than at home, most Englishwomen were unaware of the more erotic physical pleasures.
    The thought pleased Nick no small amount. He was more than willing to teach the lovely Lady Carrington the secrets of the boudoir. After all, he’d spent a considerable amount of time perfecting those very pleasures, and it would be wildly exciting to explore them with someone less versed than he.
    To learn about his quarry, he sent one of the stableboys to watch the house she occupied. The stableboy faithfully reported Lady Carrington’s activities each morning. Nick was pleased to hear that her aunt rarely left her alone and that few of her visitors were men who offered him any competition. Few, but not all.
    He scowled at the thought of someone else touching her white skin, kissing her soft lips. The image of Sara Lawrence locked in another man’s embrace made him grind his teeth.
    It was madness, for Nick had never been a possessive man. He’d taken pleasure as he’d found it, and given it freely. In his experience women were far too ready to commit to him without being asked. Far too anxious to own him.
    As the days progressed, Nick found himself thinking of Sara more and more, imagining her velvet-soft voice murmuring his name, her black hair spread across his pillow, her lavender scent mingling with the cool, crisp sheets of his bed. Just as he always did, once he set his sights on an object, he focused on it to the exclusion of all others, and his determination grew each day.
    Even his renovations at Hibberton Hall were subtly affected by his preoccupation. He actually ordered a striking red wallpaper for the library because he’d had a wayward thought that it would contrast well with the rich black of her hair.
    So, despite his decision to wait, only four days passed before Nick found himself riding into Bath. Henri had reported that Lady Carrington rode in the east park each morning with a small group of her friends and