Chapter Two
John Considers It
"I want you to marry me."
John didn't know whether to laugh outright or bang his head against the brick walkway.
He settled for the former. Leaning against the tree behind the bench he was sitting on, he threw back his head and let loose a huge, guffawing laugh.
Chloe patiently waited for him to get it out of his system.
Wiping the tears of mirth from his eyes, he finally managed to croak, "You what?"
The secret to John was never to let him know she cared one way or the other. Chloe was surprised—but thankful—that no other woman had figured this out. Knowing him as well as she did—not to mention the fact that she had been an excellent spy in the past during several of Grandmere's soirees—she also knew that John never revealed himself beyond a very superficial point to the women with whom he consorted.
Chloe was never sure why he had such barriers in place; she only recognized their existence. It was said that John gave untold pleasure but never gave himself; he never became emotionally involved. Women commented that when Lord John was engaged in a liaison, he was strictly business for the task at hand.
In light of this, Chloe had always known that their special closeness had resulted only because John had never viewed her as a possible conquest. So there was a very real chance he might pull away from her now.
However, due to their past closeness, she was fairly confident she could muddle him into thinking he was safe. Safe. Chloe snorted. The poor unsuspecting scoundrel!
She was not the least put off by his reaction to her proposal. Au contraire. She was a woman with a mission.
"You heard me, John; I want you to marry me."
John shook his head—both to clear out the cobwebs and negate the horrifying image from his mind. Married. Him. As if he would know what to do with a wife!
What could she be thinking? He said as much. "Have you lost your mind?"
Chloe put up her hand to forestall him. "Please hear me out, John. I think once you hear what I have to say, you'll agree this is a plan that could benefit us both."
John placed one booted foot up on the edge of the bench he was sitting on and laced his hands around his knee. Bending his head forward, he purposely made his green eyes go round with feigned interest. He did nothing to disguise the mocking dimple in his cheek.
"I'm breathless with curiosity, dearest."
Pursing her lips at his annoying attitude, Chloe began her practiced speech. "As you know, I have always admired you—"
"I'm touched." He placed his palm over his heart.
Chloe decided right then and there she would pay him back for this at a later time. "Your life is one that I wish to emulate—you see, I believe you have the best of all possible worlds."
John rested back against the trunk. "How so, Chloe?"
"You enjoy whatever pleasures come your way, yet you are not confined by the dictates of society."
John raised a dark eyebrow. "There is a difference between—"
"I'm not finished. While it is true I am only nineteen, I am not naive."
"So you've intimated." He glowered. "Just what kind of experience have you—"
"John, please. You presume too much." Especially if he expected her to answer that! The truth was she had no experience whatsoever. It was the one thing she could not let him find out if this scheme had a hope of working.
"The point is—I like what I have discovered and I wish to pursue the—the… pastime."
"Pastime?"
"So to speak." She cleared her throat. "While I now have practical knowledge, I lack refinement of technique. This is where you come in."
"You have lost your mind." He stood up, towering over her. This was bordering on insult! He couldn't believe what she was asking of him. He was no one's practice drill—he was the bloody battle! "What game are you playing?"
"No game, Viscount." Chloe turned away from him. She hated having to make him believe this, but it was essential to her plan. "Grandmere is already talking of coming-out balls and such. Under the circumstances, that just won't do."
His fists clenched. "Are you saying what I think you're saying?"
Chloe bit her lip and nodded.
John ran his hand through his long hair. The slight tremor in his fingers obviously was due to shock at her disclosure and not because he was bothered by this bit of news. It was just that he had never actually thought of Chloe… in the arms of someone else.
But a second, more disturbing thought followed.
His palms rested gently on her shoulders. "You're not… ?"
"No!" She gasped, turning to face him. She hadn't meant to imply that she was! It was bad enough what she was implying. Grandmere would have the vapors if she ever got wind of this. The Fonbeaulard women always went to their marriage beds pure. How they behaved afterward with their husbands was another matter.
John let out a breath of relief. For some strange reason, the terrible tightening in his chest did not ease.
"Such is not at all the life I'm looking for—your life is one of great adventure and pleasure. Why should I be denied this simply because I am a woman?"
John groaned. This was worse than he thought.
Chloe pressed her case. "You know that society frowns on unwed misses seeking their pleasures. However, a married woman doing the same is ignored or even applauded by the ton. So you see why I want you to marry me…"
Now she had crossed the line! "Chloe, this is the most ridiculous thing you have—"
She kicked his shin.
"Chloe."
"Listen to me! Who better to ignore my indiscretions than you—Lord of Sex?"
His eyes narrowed ominously. "Where did you hear—"
"Who better than you to teach me the subtleties of the boudoir?"
That stopped him. Red hair draped across silken sheets… His sheets.
He squelched the disturbing image immediately. Unbelievably, a flush of bronze highlighted his cheekbones.
Chloe pressed on. "And who would I trust more to care for my estates and my well-being than you, John? You have been like a part of the family for years, as well as my dear friend."
Her sentiment touched him more than she would ever know. He realized in that moment that he had always felt closer to Chloe than any other living being. His mind on the revelation he had just had, he was caught off guard by her last statement.
"Estate? What do you mean, your estate?"
Chloe honed in on what she considered a chink in the wall, deciding to play that trump. She wanted John, and if he wanted the mansion more than her… well, it would just give her more time to work on him. Unfortunately, it appeared she was going to need a great deal of time for this project. Chloe never deluded herself. Rakes were a very difficult breed to reel in.
"Did you forget that Chacun à Son Goût belongs to me? Whosoever I wed will gain control of my property, the estate."
Noting his surprised look, she played to it by throwing her arms up in the air. "Would you let it fall to anyone? Who would care for it like you? I know you have always loved this house, John."
Her words gave him pause. Actually, he had never thought of that. Who would take over his room? What would happen to this wonderful house? He stared at Chloe as if he had never seen her before. And who could he trust to take care of his little Chloe? She had always been his responsibility.
He had never considered this before. Somehow, he had just assumed that everything would continue on as it had always been. Suddenly he was a man with concerns.
Chloe noticed his hesitation. She drew a bead on him and fired. "Think of it, John. Chacun à Son Goût, yours."
The sensual lips firmed; the dimple, which was normally deep-set when he smiled, indented slightly. It was John's look when he was thinking about something that he was not sure sat well with him.
Chloe took a deep breath and barreled ahead. Everything that meant anything to her was standing right befor
e her. She looked him straight in the eye. "I know what I want."
John wondered if she had any idea of what she really would be getting into with such a bargain. The moniker Lord of Sex was better earned then her young mind could ever imagine.
A provocative flash of emerald glittered beneath the spiky crescents of his lashes.
"You think you know me?" he drawled silkily; the long lashes swept down.
"Yes."
"Everything you've heard about me is true; I have done all those sordid things." He baited her. "And probably a great deal more."
Chloe didn't even flinch. Oh, she would curse him later in the privacy and safety of her armoire, but right now, she knew he was considering her proposition and it unnerved him. He was trying to scare her off.
It was almost decent of him, considering.
"You know, John, you are very like Don Giovanni; perhaps Mozart had you in mind when he composed it."
The corners of John's mouth curled. "Not exactly. I might engage in a dual with a husband, father, or lover, but I would never invite his ghost to dine with me. I can barely tolerate Deiter at the supper table."
"Do be serious, John."
He laughed.
Even knowing him all these years, she felt her heart flutter. Lord of Sex, indeed. That deep, full-throated sound was enough to give any woman tingles.
"Once a rogue, always a rogue, I suppose," she said under her breath. "In any case, I shan't be disappointed in my choice of tutor." She didn't know where she got the gall to point that out to him.
Silently, John continued to watch from under veiled eyes.
Nervous with his scrutiny and completely misinterpreting it, Chloe added, "Of course, I could find someone else for that part of the job, but I thought with your vast experience, you were the best man for the—Oh!"
John pulled her down with him onto the bench. Right across his lap.
Flames of hot anger shot out of those watchful emerald eyes. "If there's any instructing to be done, Chloe-cub, I'll be the one to do it." His broad palm came down across her backside.
It was more of a response than she could have hoped for. Why, John seemed almost jealous! It had been years since he'd done this.
Chloe's spirits immediately sank. What was she thinking? This was the Lord of Sex, for heaven's sake. Jealous was not in his vocabulary.
Yet.
Chloe wiggled around so she could sit up. "If you insist." She purposely yawned as if bored with the topic.
John's pupils contracted to pinpoints.
Chloe took that as an encouraging sign.
"There is one thing, Chloe." He spoke in a low, measured voice.
"Yes, John?" She arranged a lock of his hair behind his ear for him.
"If I consider this"—Chloe perked up on his lap—"I said if—then I have my own condition to make."
"Condition?"
"Yes. While my 'tutelage' is going on, I don't want you seeing other men."
The pronouncement shocked them both. However, John recovered first. He didn't care to examine why he wanted this condition, only that once it had popped out of his mouth, he liked the idea. More than liked it. He was obsessive over it.
"I don't want my guidance interfered with." He tried to smooth over the odd request. "I have an expert technique; I don't want someone else spoiling my lessons by confusing you."
Oh, really. It was all Chloe could do not to give a victory yell. It was more from him than she could have hoped. She carefully hid her elation.
Thinking fast, Chloe interjected, "I will agree to your condition if you will agree to the very same terms, John. No other women for you—while you are instructing me."
His eyelids flickered, and Chloe knew she had caught him at his own game.
"It's only fair." She smoothed out his lapels. "Improbable as it seems, I might teach you something. But if you don't want to, it's all right with—"
A muscle worked in his jaw. "Very well. But just until the instruction is over."
Chloe gave him a gamine grin. "Which begins after we wed."
His nostrils flared in annoyance. How had he allowed this to happen?
"Does this mean you agree to the plan?" she asked in a composed voice.
John was not ready to make such a momentous concession. He shook his finger at her. "If, Chloe-cat. If."
Chloe nodded, smiling innocently up at him.
An answering dimple curved into his cheek.
I've got him, she exulted.
John strolled through the extensive gardens of Chacun à Son Goût.
The solitary journey always brought peace of mind to him. The beautiful, fragrant surroundings seemed to aid the thinking process. And he had much to think on.
Wed Chloe?
Him. The most notorious rake in England!
Is she insane?
She could do a lot better than him, he was positive. He kicked a pebble in his path.
Well, maybe not better, but surely as good.
He stomped his booted foot, scaring a flock of quail into flight. All right, so no one came close! He had certainly spent years acquiring and refining his expert technique.
Yes, he was the best man for the job; he could see that. He could even applaud her reasoning.
Truthfully, he had never considered marriage before. Despite pressure from his uncle to produce an heir, as well as being at the wrong end of several pistols held by irate fathers, brothers, and guardians, he had never been moved to the deed.
Despite his notorious reputation, he had never been a despoiler of innocents. On the contrary, he preferred knowledgeable bedmates, women who knew exactly what they wanted and exactly what he was prepared to give. No less and certainly no more.
He had never been a man who was hungry for money or property. John's true interests lay much deeper.
This could be tricky.
Exiting the rose garden, he turned left, heading into the maze.
Paying scant attention to the path he was taking—he could negotiate the labyrinth blindfolded—he continued to ponder Chloe's proposition.
The positive side was that she had set the parameters of the relationship, taking some of the pressure off what was to be expected. It was not as if this would be like a real marriage.
Something about that thought bothered him.
John ran his fingers through his thick, golden hair as he tried to view the proposition from another angle.
Of course it would be a real marriage! It just wouldn't seem like one.
And when they both were ready to… That is, when he had taught her all she needed to know…
Annoyed, he dropped that line of thinking.
Leaving the maze behind him, he headed toward the perennial gardens and the lake beyond. Chacun à Son Goût was breathtaking this time of year. Although, to him, the estate was incomparable every season of the year.
The idea of spending the rest of his days here with Chloe suddenly held enormous appeal. They had always gotten on famously.
For some reason, he had always been especially close to the girl. While he admired his uncle and felt very comfortable with him, it was Chloe that he always thought of when he connected to a place that dwelled deep within him called "home."
Maybe it was because he was responsible for the chit.
His lips tilted in a faint smile. Despite her mischievous streak and her tendency for headlong behavior, she had always been the sweetest of girls. He remembered one time when she was about eight—
A goose honked at her mate, breaking his concentration.
He sat down in the soft grass by the edge of the pond beneath a weeping willow tree. A gentle breeze stirred his shoulder-length hair. Gazing across the water, he thought back on his childhood. It was not something he liked to do often.
Like him, his father had been a wastrel. Only it was not women that called to the prior viscount—it was the gaming hells. By the time John had been five years old, his father had been well on the road to ruin. When
John reached the age of eight, his father was found with a bullet in his head. Presumably self-inflicted.
The strange part was that John's mother had still fancied herself in love with the ne'er do well, even after he had left them practically impoverished. The estate was gone, his inheritance gone; they barely had a roof over their heads. That roof was a small crofter's cottage.
His mother did what she could to protect her young son. Sometimes it was not enough. She died a few years later, leaving John alone.
It was believed she expired from a congestion of the lungs, but John knew better. In the young viscount's mind, it was his mother's love that had made her vulnerable; it was his father's weakness that had ruined them.
It was not the best of examples of the joys of matrimony to an impressionable mind. Nor was it a testimony to the noble aspects of love. Over the difficult years that followed—years that John never spoke to anyone about—the sensitive boy had learned how to protect himself. In body, mind, and heart.
By the time his uncle found him at the age of sixteen, he was half-starved and wild. Still, somehow, throughout it all, he had retained his unique sense of humor and his brash attitude.
Maurice was convinced it was John's bravado that had saved him from worse horrors. But the trait also shielded him from having to face his emotions.
As he matured, the devil-may-care attitude continued to cloak him; a thick, impenetrable shield.
That year, he had met Chloe.
She was six years old. A tiny girl with laughing violet eyes and carroty hair. And no parents. Her beguiling ways, winsome personality, and mischievous streak immediately captivated the young viscount. Chloe became the focus of his concern. He watched over her, protected her, cherished her.
From that moment on, John made himself responsible for her.
He believed he was the only one who could understand what could happen to her, so he was the only one who could shield her. Not once did it ever dawn on him that Chloe was never in any danger. He saw his own situation in her, and the young viscount guarded her zealously.
It was only to Chloe that his true vulnerability was revealed.
John threw a rock across the water, watching it skip across the surface. Remembrances of his past always brought on a melancholy mood. Why had he even ventured there? It had no place in his life today, no bearing on his current situation.