Page 2 of Seducing Sophia (Scholars of Seduction)

His face darkened and he drained his glass and waved it at a passing footman who returned with a decanter and refilled it.

“Still no luck?” Adrian asked.

Peterton shook his head. “I doubled my offer and the damned woman still won’t sell.”

Mrs. Huntington—widow of the industrialist Edgar Huntington—was the owner of Summerton Hall, and a particularly large thorn in Peterton’s side. Summerton Hall was Peterton’s ancestral London town house, which his grandfather had been forced to relinquish to the bank as a result of gaming debts. Since purchasing the building for, no doubt, a very pretty price, Mrs. Huntington had established the place as some sort of haven for women, and—despite numerous petitions on Peterton’s part—she was refusing to sell. Peterton, who valued lineage and family honor more than most, had lately become obsessed with the woman.

“You should increase your offer again,” another of their companions said—Charles, Earl of Axford, the richest of the set, and with no known weaknesses. “Every woman has her price.”

“As does every man, Charles,” Adrian said.

Axford shifted in his seat. “Not I.”

He spoke the truth. Axford had little notion of the kind of hardships brought about by a hedonistic lifestyle. And consequently, he looked down on anyone who suffered them.

“Women are all harlots,” Peterton growled. “But there comes a point where even a man as desperate as I to regain his birthright refuses to be fleeced. Summerton Hall is mine, and I intend to take it on my terms.”

“Summerton Hall!” Oxton let out a laugh. “Have you not heard that it’s been popularly renamed as Harridan House?”

“And quite right too,” Axford said. “A house full of women that is not a brothel—I’ve never heard the like!”

“Which is why I want the property back,” Peterton said. “And I shall have it, whatever it takes. Mrs. Huntington will suffer for her belligerence. Her greed will be her downfall, FitzRoy, and you’ll be the man to take the first step.”

“How come?”

“Each of us will seduce an inmate of Summerton Hall,” Peterton said. “If the place becomes renowned for immoral activities, then Mrs. Huntington’s current clientele will shun her and she’ll soon be forced to quit it. And I’ll be there to offer her a pittance.” Peterton’s expression darkened. “She’s already tainting the building with her hoydenish ways—I’ve seen her parading about the park with her women, like a clutch of hens ready to peck at all comers. One of them is even surrounded by a gaggle of noisy dogs, yapping at passersby. But I dare say she’d have something to say about being famed for running a house of ill repute.”

“And here’s me thinking we were merely indulging in an exercise in the art of seduction,” Adrian said.

“That too,” Peterton replied. “But my intention has always been to reclaim my birthright. If her residents earn a reputation for tossing their skirts up, that can only help me achieve my objective.”

“You value lineage too much,” Adrian said.

“That’s because you’re a younger son, and therefore have no idea of the responsibility that comes with being the heir.”

“Neither does my elder brother,” Adrian replied, with a laugh. “Rupert’s been in Europe these past five years, indulging in Lord knows what, and with Lord knows whom, without a second thought for his title.”

He turned to Peterton. “So—what must I do as my forfeit?”

Peterton smiled. “I’d hardly call it a forfeit. You’ve won the right to be the first to seduce one of Mrs. Huntington’s boarders.”

Oxton rolled his eyes. “How unoriginal.”

“On the contrary,” Peterton said. “We’ve agreed that each of us should use our particular academic talents to full effect as an exercise in the art of seduction.” He gestured toward Adrian. “As a musician, it’s only fitting that FitzRoy here should use his prowess in the field to further his quest.”

“And do you have a particular lady in mind for me?” Adrian asked.

Peterton nodded. “One of the women at Summerton Hall teaches the pianoforte. Given that’s a passion of yours, you should find it as easy as breathing to convince her you’re an able and willing pupil.”

In that respect, at least, Peterton was right. Music had always been Adrian’s passion. But the FitzRoy tradition, ever since the earldom had been bestowed on his great-great-grandfather by a grateful monarch, was for the second son to take a commission in the army. The pursuit of the arts, according to Adrian’s late father, was best left to the women, to indulge in their parlors. So, Adrian had been confined to listening to debutantes display their lackluster talents in front of an ignorant society to be applauded by overbearing, adoring mamas.

But now, with Papa gone, and Adrian having now returned from the militia, he had both the time, and the opportunity, to resume his pursuit of music.

“My footman has secured an audience with her tomorrow on your behalf, Adrian,” Peterton continued.

“You’re very sure of yourself,” Adrian said.

“On the contrary, dear boy, I merely predicted, quite rightly, that you’d lose the bet given your aversion to brandy.” Peterton’s lip curled in a sneer.

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