The Seduction Of Ellen - Nan Ryan

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do you, Ellen?”

      “If I ever gave you a thought,” she responded, “I’m sure I wouldn’t.”

      “Oh, you’ve given me a thought or two.”

      Her head snapped around. “I most certainly have not! I have much better things to do than—”

      “Like what?”

      “Like…oh, for heaven’s sake, Mister Corey, what is it you want from me?”

      “I don’t know, Ellen,” he drawled. “What are you offering?”

      Ellen felt her face flush hotly. Anger rising with her growing discomfort, she said, “Nothing for you. Get this straight, Mister Corey. You may be able to hoodwink my aunt, but I am not quite so gullible.”

      An infuriating half smile touched his full lips and he said, “You don’t want me to put the bloom of the rose back into your pale cheeks?” He lifted a hand and lightly brushed her face.

      She stiffened and pulled away from his touch. “I want nothing from you,” she said firmly, “except to have you out of my sight!” Lifting her chin, she added, “If you think for one minute that I intend to stand idly by and let you and your band of thieves steal all my aunt’s money, you are sadly mistaken.”

      “How do you know we are thieves?” He was unfazed by the accusation. “What if we’re telling the truth and there really are waters of magic?”

      “You stopped recognizing the truth years ago, Mister Corey. Your entire life is a lie.”

      “And yours isn’t?”

      The offhand remark cut too close to the bone. Flustered, Ellen said anxiously, “If you’ll kindly excuse me.” She turned and hurried away.

      Ellen blamed Mister Corey for this whole outlandish fiasco. The others were merely pawns in his elaborate con game. It was, she felt certain, Mister Corey who had hatched the far-fetched scheme. He who had rounded up the players and he who would claim the lion’s share of the money they managed to swindle out of Alexandra.

      Ellen strongly suspected that the cold Mister Corey would not be content with the sum—however great it was—that her aunt had agreed to pay. He had undoubtedly read about Alexandra Landseer’s visit to London in the London Daily Express. He knew that her aunt was an extremely wealthy woman and extremely vain. It was as if he had purposely placed the advertisement in the paper knowing that Alexandra would see it and respond.

      Would a man like that be satisfied with what he’d been promised or would he try to relieve Alexandra of the bulk of the Landseer fortune?

      These doubts were nagging at Ellen on the fourth evening at sea when she accompanied Alexandra to a shipboard dance. She found herself hoping that the cool, confident thief wouldn’t be there.

      But despite the fact that she knew exactly what he was, she couldn’t deny the attraction he held. A fact that shamed and frightened her.

      She shuddered to think that such a flawed man could nonetheless so perfectly symbolize the fortuneteller’s prediction and the mysterious, dreamlike vagueness of her own romantic fantasies. Fantasies that had long been forgotten until she’d had the misfortune of meeting Mister Corey.

      Thank God he couldn’t read her thoughts.

      Midway through the evening’s dance, Ellen finally began to relax. How foolish she had been to worry about Mister Corey appearing at this gala affair. Surely his kind had not been invited. And even if he had, he couldn’t possibly own the proper attire for such an occasion.

      Bored and growing warm in the stuffy, crowded ballroom, Ellen told Alexandra that she was going up on deck for a breath of fresh air.

      “Don’t stay out too long and catch a cold,” her aunt berated.

      “I won’t,” Ellen dutifully replied.

      Four

      Lifting the skirts of her well-worn ball gown, Ellen made her way toward the wide center staircase, paused at the base and looked up.

      And lost her breath.

      His lean, tanned hand resting carelessly on the smooth marble balustrade, Mister Corey stood at the top of the stairs. He was elegantly dressed in dark evening clothes and a pristine white ruffled shirt. His hair had been carefully brushed and was shimmering in the light from the crystal chandeliers. The curving scar on his right cheek shone pale white against the darkness of his olive skin. The left corner of his mouth was lifted in the hint of a teasing smile, but his black, brooding eyes were as lifeless as ever.

      Mister Corey was looking directly at Ellen and she at him. She wished she could return to her chair. But it was too late. Holding her gaze, Mister Corey leisurely descended the carpeted stairs, took her elbow and guided her onto the polished dance floor.

      In his arms, Ellen was more than a little uncomfortable. His nearness—the closest she had been to a man, other than her son, in ages—was so intimidating she was momentarily tongue-tied and unduly flustered. Heart pounding, face flushed, she made a misstep. Mister Corey caught her, held her tightly and suggested she relax.

      Which made her all the more nervous.

      Fully aware that she was behaving like a foolish, frightened old maid, Ellen realized—miserably—that the perceptive Mister Corey had already picked up on her involuntary response to him.

      But Ellen was also an astute woman.

      While Mister Corey had that insolent, nothing-bothers-me manner of a totally secure man, she sensed that his caustic wit and sardonic grin likely masked some deep, underlying pain.

      She knew enough about concealing pain behind a brittle facade to easily recognize the practice in others. Somewhere in Mister Corey’s past, he had been hurt. Badly. She would bet her life on it.

      But that was his problem, not hers. Her once-fragile heart had long since hardened. This dark, mysterious man warranted no compassion from her. He was, after all, a thief and a fraud and she had no use for him.

      Mister Corey didn’t know what was going through Ellen’s mind at that moment, but he was well aware of his unsettling effect on the lonely woman. Her dislike of him was elemental and impersonal. She firmly believed that he was after her aunt’s money. Ellen Cornelius clearly didn’t approve of him, didn’t like him.

      But she was attracted to him on a purely physical level. It was not a mutual attraction. While he had no doubt that she had once been quite beautiful, there was now little about her that was appealing. She was too thin to suit his taste. With his arm around her, he could feel her ribs and there was no generous swell of bosom rising above the square-cut neckline of her sadly out-of-fashion pink ball gown.

      Her brown hair didn’t gleam with golden highlights and she wore it pulled severely back from her face and twisted into an ugly pinned-up knot at the back of her head. Her green eyes were large and almond-shaped, but they held no spark, no glow. And her lips seemed to be permanently drawn into a stern line of disapproval that strongly discouraged any temptation to kiss them.

      The years had been unkind to Ellen Cornelius and she obviously was not a happy woman. But he had no real interest in learning the cause of her disillusion. Her problems were the last thing he needed.

      Feeling awkward and anxious and wishing the dance would end, Ellen was conscious of the fact that dozens of ladies in the ballroom were far prettier than she. She wondered why Mister Corey had chosen to dance with her. Was it simply that he was mean-spirited and cruel and enjoyed upsetting her, liked having her make a fool of herself in his arms?

      Her forehead pressed against his cheek, Ellen nervously glanced around, convinced that everyone was watching them. She wasn’t that far off the mark. Within minutes of his late arrival, a number of interested females were twittering and smiling, intrigued by the dark, enigmatic Mister Corey.

      As soon as the dance

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