Bound By Temptation (15 page)

She would have thought he would dismiss her comments. Everything she had seen and heard of this man indicated his low regard for women. Instead, he stopped in his tracks, his horse taking the chance to lower its head and nibble at branches.

He turned and faced her dead-on. “I must confess it seems a simple thought, but I have never thought of it in quite that fashion. I would suppose that a woman had no need of the details, because she could trust her husband or father to protect her interests.”

“And why should his interests be the same as hers?” Clara felt fire rising in her belly.

“Because he is her husband. Man and wife are one person and that person is the husband.” He spoke with all seriousness.

All she could do was laugh. It began deep within
her, first bubbling and then roaring. She was surprised the whole park did not stop and stare.

Masters’s shoulders rolled back and his chin went up. He tried to chill her with his glance, but it only made her laugh harder.

Miss Pettigrew stopped a few yards ahead and stood staring back at her as if Clara were possessed. It made Clara laugh still harder.

“You actually believe that.” It was hard to speak while her chest still vibrated, but she forced the words out between laughs. “You think that a woman ceases to exist when she marries.”

“I did not say that.” Masters pulled up so straight that he appeared to gain several inches.

“Then what did you say?”

“I merely meant that the man is in charge after marriage.”

Clara sucked in a deep breath, regaining control. “I don’t believe that is what you said, but you may believe what you like.”

Masters took a step closer to her. “Don’t worry, I will. As will most of society.”

She moved nearer. “I think you would be surprised what society believes. And the men that do believe so, do so only because their wives allow them to.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Masters said. And the poor man probably didn’t. His lips pursed as he spoke and she almost reached out to stroke them. There was something about his pontificating and arrogance that she found most attractive—as well as most maddening.

“I am afraid I don’t either.” Miss Pettigrew did not want to be left out.

They were close enough that Clara could see how his breath disturbed the mist in the air. There was temptation to move closer, but instead, she glanced over at Miss Pettigrew and stepped back. “Do forgive me, Miss Pettigrew. I am forgetting the time. I must return you to your mother.”

“But…”

“No, my dear, we really must go.” She turned back to Masters but moved away as she did so. “I do hope you will forgive us, Mr. Masters. It is important that Miss Pettigrew has time to rest for this evening. She’s attending a soiree at the Blakes’. Are you planning to attend?”

That had been more direct than she had intended, but she’d never had a talent for dissembling.

“I was considering it,” Masters answered. He, on the other hand, clearly had mastered the art.

“Oh, I do hope I see you there,” Miss Pettigrew gushed.

Masters smiled at Miss Pettigrew and then turned to Clara. “And you, Lady Westington, will you be attending?”

She had planned to. Clara attempted a smile as her mind fought for the right words. What was the right thing to do? She needed to be sure that Masters didn’t spend the evening lecturing the poor girl on the proper etiquette of a wife, but she also could not afford the temptation he offered whenever she got too close.

“Perhaps,” she answered, delaying the decision.

“Oh, I thought you were accompanying me. I am sure Mama has it all arranged,” Miss Pettigrew spoke up again.

“Well, if your mama has it all arranged, then of course I will not disappoint.” A slight tension began to build at the back of her skull. How could such a simple plan turn so awry?

“Then perhaps I will see you there.” Masters nodded at them both and swung back up on his mount.

Perhaps
. Was she destined to be aware of every time a word was repeated in conversation?

“Perhaps.” It truly was the only possible reply.

She saw his eyes crinkle for a moment, and then he turned the horse away.

He had already danced with two of the prospective brides from Clara’s list, one of the Miss Thwaites and Miss Burke. Miss Thompson was not to be seen despite the fact that he had spied both of her parents and her grandmother. Her father admittedly had been hurrying to the card room as quickly as possible, but even so he had stopped to give Masters a quick hello.

Miss Pettigrew had also failed to make an appearance. He found himself glancing around the room in hopes of spotting her. She had said she was coming, and she did not seem a young lady who would go back on her word once given.

Not that it had exactly been a promise—one couldn’t place saying one was attending in that category.

He scanned the room again, looking for that ebony hair. No, Miss Pettigrew had strawberry blond hair. He didn’t know why he’d been looking for hair so dark it looked black.

Damnation, of course he knew whose hair he was looking for, knew whose presence had made him decide to attend one more of these blasted affairs.

Clara, Lady Westington.

He had to stop thinking of her. He had a purpose here—to find a bride. Clara could never be considered in that category.

Even the thought of Clara and the word
bride
sent an unwelcome shiver running through him. She would make a most dreadful wife, always disagreeing and never giving a man a moment’s peace. She’d leave a man most unsettled—not what one desired for a lifetime. Although, desire—there’d certainly be plenty of that. His lower anatomy stirred at the thought.

And then, as if on practiced cue, he heard her low purr behind him. “Why aren’t you dancing with one of the chosen few? Or at least conversing over lemonade?”

He turned and there she was. Her hair was swept up in an elaborate knot with soft curls left to caress her cheeks. Diamonds were scattered throughout the waves and curls, looking like stars on the clearest of nights.

And her dress—it must have been sewed on, so tightly did it hug her full curves. It was gray. It should have looked dull and drab, but it was lay
ered in some mysterious way that made a rainbow of color shine through, making her look encased in mist. It made a man dream that if he got close enough he’d see right through it—see through to her.

He swallowed, feeling a lump rise in his throat. He’d never seen her naked, despite all they had done together, and now his eager mind was filling in all the imagined bits.

“You’re staring,” she said. “I do hope you don’t look at Miss Thompson or Miss Pettigrew in such a fashion. It would frighten them right off. A woman does not care to feel that she might be eaten at any moment.”

His mind filled with an image of her spread before him, a veritable banquet. He stepped closer, forcing her back against the wall. “Are you sure? Experience has taught me otherwise.”

As he watched, her pupils grew large. Her tongue flicked out to moisten dry lips. Like a kitten following a string, his eyes traced the movement.

“I had not taken you for a man of such experience.” Her voice cracked slightly as she spoke. She was as affected by their closeness as he.

“Just because my experience is not as varied as your own does not mean—” He stopped midsentence as he watched her face grow shuttered.

She slid to the side and stepped away from the wall. “As I was saying. It is not appropriate to look at a woman in such a manner in a public setting. For all your lectures on decorum, I am sure that you know that to be true. Please do not forget your
self again. I must go and find Miss Pettigrew and inform her that you are here. She is most anxious to find you. Her mother also wishes to converse.”

“I am sure she does.” It had not escaped his notice that Lady Pettigrew was most eager to find a husband for her daughter. He imagined that with half a dozen husbands to find, a woman would be enthusiastic if the porter expressed interest.

“Do not sound so put upon. It is you who seeks a wife within such a narrow parameter of specifications. If you were to choose to seek a woman that you liked instead of a girl who fit your plans, it would be a much easier task.”

“Nonsense. It is planning that enables anything to get done.” He couldn’t tell if she looked cross or was about to burst into laughter.

“If you say so, my lord.” She spoke softly and he still could not catch her tone.

“I am no lord,” he replied.

“Your voice says otherwise. You sound almost regal when you speak so solemnly with your chin tilted in such a high-minded fashion.”

“You do not seem to be intimidated.”

It was clearly a smile now, she was working to suppress it, but there could be no mistaking that upturn of her lips. “But then I have never been an obedient subject—only a loyal one.”

There was some message in that last and he struggled to understand. She always left him with the feeling that there was more he should know.

“Were you not looking for Miss Pettigrew?”

Her nose wrinkled. “Yes, Your Majesty, I hurry
to obey.” She turned and disappeared into the milling crowd.

He had not meant for her to go. He had meant it only as further banter. The room seemed to dull the moment she was gone.

He closed his eyes and took a moment to regain control. It was better that she was gone. He needed to concentrate on the task at hand.

He turned and looked out over the crowd, glad of the height that let him look over most people.

“W
hat are you doing here, Robert?” Clara asked as she entered her parlor. It was not the most gracious of greetings, but then she truly was surprised. She had spent the afternoon shopping with the Miss Thwaites and her mind was numbed. Masters had strolled with them, after a bit, but he had been surprisingly silent and unengaged, a far different man than he had been last night at the Blakes’.

Her stepson grinned at her from his spot near the fire. He’d built it up so high the flames licked at the edge of the stonework. He caught her glance. “It was a cold journey. The bricks weren’t properly heated at the last inn and my feet are frozen.”

“You didn’t ride?” She was falling into his trap of avoiding the issue.

“No, my mare picked up a pebble and I didn’t want to lame her.” He settled back in his chair, lifting a glass of what had to be her best brandy. “And to answer your other question, I came to find a gift for Jennie. Her birthday is the end of May
and I want to get her something that shows how deeply I care.”

That probably was the truth. Didn’t the boy know that men weren’t supposed to care about things like presents except when they were part of a transaction?
See these diamond ear bobs—sleep with me and they’re yours. See these emeralds—don’t make a fuss that our relationship is over.

When had she gotten so cynical? She’d never been given such gifts—had always played on an even field.

It must be Masters. It was listening to him talk about finding a wife with as much passion as selecting ham or beef for dinner and considerably less than he’d put into choosing a vintage of wine that had her thinking this way.

She softened her voice. “And what are you thinking of giving her?”

“I am unsure. I would like to give her jewelry, something that can truly be hers instead of a family piece, but I can’t think of what would really explain the way I feel. I thought of horses and a phaeton, but I am not sure her father would permit her to drive before we are wed. He finds it unfeminine.”

“Your father once gave me a hunter, a great, majestic beast of horse, but I imagine that Lord Darnell would find that even less acceptable.”

“Fury,” Robert said. “I remember him well. Father took me to look him over before buying. I felt like such a man.”

“I loved that horse.”

“And yet you sold him.”

“After the accident I lost my desire to ride, and it didn’t seem fair to keep him stabled. I never loved riding hell-bent-for-leather as your father did.”

They were both quiet for a moment. Clara could see in Robert’s face that he too was remembering the horrid morning when the grooms had returned with Michael’s limp body. He’d still been warm. She could remember holding his hand and thinking that he couldn’t be dead.

Of course, he had been.

“Father would not have wanted you to give up riding,” Robert said, at last.

“I know. And I haven’t. I still go out some mornings early, but my mare is a more gentle beast. I don’t feel a need to race the wind anymore.”

“He would have thought that didn’t count as riding.”

She chuckled. Robert was right. Michael would have shaken his head in despair if he’d seen the sedate pace she kept to now. “I know, but the truth is that I’ve always liked a quiet ride. I won’t deny that a good gallop can lighten my heart, but I am happier crossing a smooth field on my mare than jumping fences on a beast that wanted to pull my arms from their sockets.”

“That was Father.”

“Yes.”

Robert opened his mouth to say more, but then closed it again. She was glad. She knew that he wanted to ask her more questions about those years following Michael’s death, but luckily he re
frained. She was not eager to talk about that time when she had lived as if there were no tomorrow. He was still her stepson for all that he seemed more a brother than a child.

“So no horses for Jennie,” Robert said as he turned back to stare into the fire.

“I do hope I haven’t discouraged you.”

“No, it wasn’t the right thing.”

Clara picked up a china figurine of a pair of young lovers off the table and ran a finger along the curves of the woman’s skirts. “What about a dog? I’ve seen some of the most delightful creatures recently, some so small you could almost fit them in a reticule.”

“Given the temperament of Lord Darnell’s hounds, I think that also is a gift that should wait until after the wedding. Although I do think she would love such a fanciful creature.”

“I suppose that leaves out a kitten as well. Lady Smithington has a cat with hair as long as my fingers that is due to kitten any day.”

“I am afraid not.”

Clara placed the statue back on the table. “I am sure something will come to you.” She waited until Robert turned back to her before proceeding. “Tell me the rest of why you have come. I cannot believe that you came to London searching for a gift without knowing what it would be. While I will admit you can find almost anything in this city, you can find much of the same closer to home.”

Robert shrugged. “I would admit to being worried about you. You left rather suddenly. I was con
cerned that perhaps you felt unwelcome as Jennie makes herself more at home at the manor.”

“Oh, I do hope I did nothing to leave you with such an impression. I merely felt the desire to be about Town. With the season starting it was time for me to be here.”

Robert looked doubtful, but accepted her answer. He rose and stretched. “Are there any invitations I should know of? I was fancying a quiet evening at home. But I’d be happy to accompany you if you wish.”

Did she wish? Having Robert with her would make her even more desirable company. There was nothing like an unmarried earl to attract every matron in the building. It could be almost comical how quickly the word would spread, that a marriageable man was about. If word of his engagement spread, then a few would disperse, but only a few.

His presence would also help keep things under control with Masters—or at least she hoped it would. On the other hand, Robert might notice the sparks that flew between her and
that man
. Her stepson often saw more than she might wish. “I’ll be fine on my own—or perhaps I may even stay home. How would you fancy a light dinner and a few hands of cards before the fire?”

Robert pretended to consider, but she could see he was more than willing. “That would be perfect.”

“It’s decided then. I’ll send my regrets and apologize to Miss Pettigrew that I won’t be accompanying her.”

It was not Miss Pettigrew who filled her thoughts, however. Masters would not let her be. It was the right decision to leave him on his own for the evening. If he was determined to marry one of the girls they had selected, he needed to talk with them for an evening. Any tolerable marriage would require conversation.

She could not always be there to correct his faults and guide him along the correct path. He must learn to catch himself when his tendency to dominate grew too strong.

She grinned at the thought.

“What has you smiling?” Robert asked. “I haven’t seen that look on your face for years.”

“Oh, nothing. Just my own fanciful thoughts.”

“Well, two of them are out of the running,” Masters exclaimed as she entered her study the next morning. The porter had settled him there when he’d arrived before she was fully dressed.

She walked to the settee and stared down at him. “Is that why you are here? You really must stop making them sound like horses. The analogy grows tiresome.”

“I’ll just say that two of them will not suit then.”

“You could still refer to them by name. I do think any woman you consider marrying deserves a name.” She sat down beside him, careful to keep a respectful distance between them. He smelled of pine this morning. It must be his soap, but she had an image of him striding through the forest at sunrise.

She shook herself. “And how could you lose two contenders in one evening? Can I not ever leave you by yourself?”

He mumbled something under his breath. She caught the “silly twit” but was not sure if he referred to her or to one of the young misses.

She glanced down at her hands, folding them in a most ladylike fashion. “So tell me what happened.”

“It is really quite simple,” he said. “I cannot stand to speak to Miss Melinda Thwaite for another moment and therefore do not believe that marriage is an option. If I have to hear one more time about why she chose only a blue bow for her hair while her sister decided to weave their mother’s pearls amongst her curls, I will surely become crazed. I can only imagine a lifetime of mornings spent discussing notions and ribbons over breakfast. It could not be borne. I fear that her sister, Belinda, may be the same, but I have not had much chance to speak with her.”

“At least now you begin to understand the reasoning behind letting your companion speak. Can you imagine not finding out until after marriage that your wife’s conversation begins and ends with discussing Ackermann’s fashion plates?”

“You send shivers down my spine.” And based on the sudden pallor that had dulled his skin, he spoke only the truth.

“And who is the other that you no longer wish to consider? Miss Thompson? She seems to be able to hold her own in conversation, and is, I believe,
rather well read. Miss Wilkes? She is certainly tall, slim, and blond. Her children will be beautiful. Her entire family is. Miss Pettigrew? She seems quite taken with you.”

He placed his hand over hers. “Miss Wilkes, I am afraid. She made a point of inviting me to look at the long gallery. I must admit I had hopes that I was gaining in her affections.” His thumb stroked the crease between her thumb and fingers. It was all she could do not to open her hand to him. The sensations he evoked were really quite incredible.

“Oh dear, what happened?” She held her voice flat.

“Her affections are engaged by another. She took me aside not for some lovers’ interlude, but to tell me that she wished I would not call again. Apparently her other suitor owns no lands and she is afraid that her parents will look unfavorably upon him. It is the first time I have felt my estates too grand.”

“You are too modest now. I do believe you ignore your work of the past decade or more.” She turned her hand so that his thumb was centered in her palm. “I have heard nothing but good about the growth and upkeep of your lands.”

“Why should you have heard anything?”

Could she admit she had asked? She had not meant to, but somehow several recent conversations had turned to the subject of Masters. And it was true, everything she heard had been good. There were rumors of his parents and the near-destitute state they had left the estate in, but now
there was only admiration that one man—a boy, really, when it had all begun—could have rescued everything so completely. Even Violet had given grudging praise on the subject.

“One just hears.”

The corner of his mouth quirked but he made no comment. He merely continued his slow massage of her hand, the fingers now moving to the thin ruffle of lace at her cuff.

She found herself leaning toward him as his fingers slipped beneath the fabric, his touch so gentle it could have been the merest breath of wind. But no wind had ever affected her as did his stroke.

She lowered her glance from his eyes and stared at the top button of his shirt, barely visible beneath his cravat. There could be nothing attractive about a button. If she focused on nothing but that, surely her thoughts would remain under control. It was mother-of-pearl, the iridescent swirl of blue and purple running through the snowy white as the froth of foam danced upon the ocean’s waves.

There, that was a good thought. Now she could speak. “So it is to be Miss Thompson or Miss Pettigrew?”

“Yes, I have been thinking—”

Before he could answer, the door pushed open and Violet entered. It really was the morning for unexpected, uninvited guests.

Clara pulled away from Masters quickly, returning her hands to her lap.

“Oh good, you are here,” Violet said.

For a moment, Clara did not understand. Of
course she was here. It was her house. Then she realized that Violet did not address her at all. Violet’s eyes were firmly on her brother.

“Why yes, apparently I am,” Masters answered. “But how did you know?”

“I heard from your porter.”

Masters moved farther from Clara and focused slowly on Violet. “And why should he have told you?”

“Oh, don’t take that tone with me,” Violet said. “He told me because I asked him to.”

Clara would have used that tone herself. As always, it amazed her that Masters did not argue. Instead, he considered the words and answered with reason.

“You must have expressed that the matter was of some importance that he shared my whereabouts with you,” he said.

Violet strode over to a hard-backed chair and sat. “Yes, it is most important. That is why I have come.”

“And are you going to tell me?” Masters asked, his impatience clear.

This time Clara admitted that she had to take Masters’s part. Violet was being remarkably slow in getting to the point.

“Well, yes, it’s Isabella,” Violet said after a considered look at Clara.

Masters exclaimed, “You’ve found her.”

His whole body tensed as Violet spoke. He might have relaxed his search, but it was clear how important this was to him.

“Well, no,” Violet answered. “I really am making a hash of this.”

Masters did not answer, but raised a brow. He was trying to act unconcerned, but Clara could not mistake the intensity of his gaze. His fingers shook as he tapped them against his leg.

She could only sit back and watch the interaction between Masters and Violet.

Violet took a settling breath. “I will begin at the beginning. I came to call on you because I wanted to invite you to a small dinner party I am holding.”

“You wished to invite me to dinner? Why did you not just send an invitation?” His voice rang with surprise.

Clara could hear all that he did not say. He wondered that Violet wished to invite him to her home and wondered if this was a sign that they were truly reconciled. He longed for this to be true, but could never have said the words. It was easier for him to ignore his first question and move right on to the second.