Tainted by Temptation (8 page)

“I will schedule a trip to Plymouth. There are more shops there,” he said. More than paints could be purchased in Plymouth shops. Perhaps a new hat for Velvet. What woman didn’t like a new hat?

“That isn’t necessary,” said Velvet.

“It is only a day’s journey, and I have business there. Be ready to travel on Monday.”

Velvet jerked. She planted her hand on the desk’s broad surface. “I’m sure you don’t need me to go.”

Iris squirmed against his side.

“Iris would—”

“Miss too many lessons.” Velvet’s eyes flashed.

“—enjoy an outing,” he persisted.

“I can go?” Iris bounced against his leg.

Including Iris hadn’t been his original plan, but he couldn’t take her governess on a trip without it looking odd. Having the child along as chaperone should make Velvet feel safe. Hell, it would make her safe. He couldn’t seduce her with Iris hanging on his sleeve.

“Might I have a word with you, sir?” asked Velvet.

“Certainly, Miss Campbell.” He pivoted and stalked toward the door. “I’ll be in my office.”

Iris wanted to accompany him to Plymouth, and Velvet didn’t. He could use the child’s enthusiasm to force Velvet to take the trip, but it would hardly put her in a charitable frame of mind toward him. And using Iris to further his agenda was dastardly.

As he descended to the ground floor, his hand fisted at his side. Velvet wasn’t following him.

Why was she reluctant to sleep with him? If she’d been mistress to a fat old Member of Parliament, the undersecretary, and a former student, why would she shy away from gracing his bed?

He fingered the scars on his cheek. Most of the time he ignored the talon marks Lilith left on his face. Marks he’d received because he tried to restrain his wife from leaving the house. But he was all too aware of the way people, women, looked at those marks—as if he were a man of violence who took it out on the fairer sex. They weren’t entirely wrong. Lilith had pushed him to violence. He hated that she’d forced him to acknowledge the primitive side of his being.

And now his desire for Velvet was making him aware of how weak his will was. As much as he filled his hours on managing and expanding the shipping business his wealth sprung from, a void still gaped within him. He was brought to his knees by primordial urges to conquer Velvet and possess her body and soul, as if he could suck her inherent goodness into his blackened heart. He wanted the challenge to his fought-for sanity to go away. Yet, he stared at his office door, willing her to walk through.

*  *  *

“Meg, would you come in here, please?” Velvet knew the maid was in Iris’s room. She’d heard her shoveling out the fireplace.

Velvet took a piece of chalk and wrote the times tables up to five on the blackboard.

Iris’s bedroom door opened. “Is he gone?” asked Meg.

“He’s gone,” confirmed Velvet. “But I need to go downstairs to speak with him. Would you be so kind as to listen to Iris say her tables through fives?”

Iris scowled. “I don’t want lessons. I would
relish
going to Plymouth.”

Velvet sucked in a deep breath but continued scrawling the tables on the blackboard. Her hand shook and a cold dread crept down her spine.

“He’s taking you both to Plymouth?” Meg’s eyes grew large and she turned back and forth between them.

“Not if I can help it.”

Velvet couldn’t imagine traveling for hours in a carriage with Mr. Pendar, and then there would have to be at least one overnight stay in an inn. How could she possibly resist a determined seduction?

“You may supply Iris with the answer if she doesn’t remember.” She set down the chalk and brushed her hands. She resisted the urge to check and make sure her severely pinned back hair was neat.

Vanity is a sin
, her father’s stentorian pulpit tones echoed in her head.

“You just want to be alone with Papa.” Iris’s lower lip jutted out.

“There there, love,” Meg said, heading toward Iris.

“Stop!” said Velvet.

Both Meg and Iris jerked toward her. Her nervousness had made her speak too loudly. “I should much prefer to spend my time with you, Iris,” Velvet went on, tempering her voice. “Not your father.”

Lying is a sin
, echoed in her brain. But at least she knew her role with Iris. When Lucian was around, Velvet didn’t even know herself. Her errant mind kept returning to the feel of his mouth on hers, the feel of his hand against her breast, his whispered promise of
her
pleasure.

Tingles crept down Velvet’s spine. More than anything, that promise made her breath catch.

Iris wrinkled her nose and tilted her head.

“This is lesson time, not time for indulgences. Iris, you will recite your tables for Meg, please. I shouldn’t be long.”

“I want to go to Plymouth with Papa,” Iris wailed. Her blue eyes filled with ready tears.

Meg cast an uncertain glance in Velvet’s direction. “He’s never offered to take her anywhere before.”

Was he taking a new interest in his daughter or planning her governess’s seduction? “Perhaps a trip would be in order, when you have memorized all your times tables and can write the alphabet,” Velvet relented.

Iris managed to look hurt. As if Velvet had set the benchmark impossibly high.

Velvet sighed. “I will return as soon as I’m able, and I expect to hear you working.”

She turned and steeled herself.

Putting herself in the way of Lucian was probably a mistake. Persuading him to change his mind might prove impossible. Pining for what she couldn’t have was sinful.

Velvet was out of breath before she made it to the ground floor. She tried to chase the feel of Lucian from her mind, but her heart thumped and her palms grew moist in spite of her efforts. She couldn’t avoid him forever.

Alone in his office, would he attempt to touch her? Kiss her again? Her heart fluttered. Pausing, she tried to pull her emotions back. She couldn’t let him kiss her again. He posed far more danger to her virtue than any man before him. With the other men who attempted her downfall, she felt absolutely no inclination to do anything other than fight off their attacks.

With Lucian, her feelings were more complex.

She entered the library and stopped dead. Running from the floor to the fifteen foot ceilings were mahogany shelves. Leather tomes and more recent cloth and mill-board bound books filled the shelves. The smell took her back to her father’s study and simpler times in her life. Times when she always thought she’d have her brother, but to her eternal shame it was her fault she had no one.

In her haphazard tours of the house, Iris hadn’t shown her this room. A fire crackled behind the grate, and brown leather chairs flanked the fireplace in a way that would allow the firelight to fall on the page of a book.

She took a step forward onto the Oriental carpet. She touched a stack of books on the table near her. A novel by Dickens was on top. She slid it to the side. A slim volume with the name Alfred Lord Tennyson appeared below. It was like opening a clam and finding a string of perfect pearls inside. Never would she have expected this up-to-date cozy library in this cold house.

“Miss Campbell.”

Velvet jumped, startled out of her awestruck revelry.
David Copperfield
clunked open on the table.

Lucian stood framed in a doorway to her left.

“You read these?” she blurted.

He folded his arms. “I don’t bring them from London to cast into the fire.”

Her awestruck question perhaps deserved his derision. “Iris does not inherit her aversion to books from you, then?”

He snorted. “She gets nothing from me.” He pushed away from the door frame. “You wished to protest a trip to Plymouth?”

Velvet’s gaze shot to him. He seemed resigned, pensive even. And he had gone straight to the point.

“Iris is so far behind in her studies. You do know she does not read at all, don’t you?” Velvet paced away from the table.

“I’ve heard she is difficult and perhaps a half-wit.” Lucian’s dark gaze followed her.

How could he speak of his daughter so disparagingly?

“I find her very bright.”

He continued to watch her. How much of the trip was about getting supplies? Had she misread his intentions?

She rolled her shoulders, wanting to shake off the weight of his gaze. She focused on the shelves on the far side of the room. The volumes of Gibbon’s
The Rise and Fall of the Roman Empire
drew her. “She is bright, but terrified of instruction. I have barely begun to establish that schooltime is to be spent in learning. I need time to get her on the right path.”

“Is that really why you don’t wish to go to Plymouth?” he asked casually. Too casually.

His voice was a low burr. A shudder traveled under her skin. He knew why she was afraid to be alone with him.

“I don’t believe it would be a good idea.”

He tilted his head and looked at her askance.

Velvet fought to be forthright and brave, but her world had changed. Barely eating, barely existing, and every position evaporating before she could begin work had made her uncertain. She’d had to reevaluate everything in her life, and come up wanting. Perhaps virtue was not its own reward. She always tried so hard to live right and make amends for not taking better care of her brother, but it never seemed to be enough atonement. She hadn’t expected to be a spinster at her age. She’d expected marriage and children of her own. She’d expected to be a social equal to a man like him, not a servant.

“I don’t think Iris should have her routine disrupted so soon.” She ran her finger along the thick spines. Iris would likely never progress to needing to study this much history.

“Miss Campbell, come sit down in my office so I don’t have to shout across the library.”

“I should prefer to stand.” If she stood, she had a better chance of fleeing or evading his grasp. She kept him in her peripheral vision. To look directly at him made her heart hurt, and she couldn’t fathom why. She barely knew him.

“You have put me in an untenable position with my charge,” she said softly. “Going to Plymouth should be reward for her success, not an interruption to her studies. Now if we do not go, she will be angry, and I do not know how long it will take me to reestablish a routine. I wish you had approached me about this without her present.”

“How could I do that, when you are avoiding me like the plague?” He moved toward her.

She turned and faced him. Her heart skipped a beat. “I cannot teach her anything if I am not granted control of her time.”

“Already excuses.” Stopping in the middle of the floor, his expression closed off. “Have you given up on her so soon?”

Velvet felt her face work as she sorted through his accusation. He looked disappointed but not surprised. “I haven’t given up on her at all. She’s intelligent. I don’t know why she resists learning to read, but I am quite determined to get past it.”

The corners of his lips curled up just slightly. “Are you?”

“I am sure you do not mean to undermine my authority, but Iris uses every tool at her disposal to avoid lessons. A trip to Plymouth, even if it is just a few days, is likely to set her back at least a week. There is no reason that the remaining items we need cannot be sent for. I’m sure if I speak with a local shop owner, he would be happy to place orders . . .” Her voice trailed off at his expression.

“But I already have to take a trip . . . for business.” He took a step closer.

The shelves cut in bands across her shoulders and middle back. She hadn’t even realized she’d been backing toward them. Darting to the side, she paced the strip of wood flooring between the carpet and the bookcases. “I don’t know if Iris is neglected or spoilt.”

“A little of both perhaps.” His forehead furled. “It occurs to me that as she is no longer an infant, perhaps she should accompany me on some of my travels. I have undoubtedly been neglectful. I mean to remedy that. A trip would kill two birds with one stone.”

Which birds he meant to kill was the problem. She refused to be one of them. “Then I should ask to remain behind.”

He scowled. “Why?”

Instead of making him appear less attractive, his scowl only made her sorry to have disappointed him, which didn’t make sense. “If you must take Iris, then I am sure Mrs. Bigsby, Nellie, or even Meg could make the trip.”

“You are the one hired to supervise Iris. And while I am occupied by business, Iris could be engaged in lessons.”

Velvet searched for a better reason, but what came out was, “I don’t travel well.”

His expression shifted. “Is that why you arrived ill?”

She turned toward the center of the room but kept the table spread with a huge map between them. She’d arrived ill because she was nearly starved to death. Even after a few days of decent food, she was still incredibly weak. Walking around shopping might tax her more than she could manage. Right now she regretted not taking his offer of a chair, because her knees were quivering. “P-Partially. I hadn’t been eating well before I arrived.”

“Is that the only reason you don’t want to go, Miss Campbell?” His dark gaze cut through her, holding her hostage.

“I don’t want a repeat of the other night’s mistake,” she whispered. But as she stared at his dark hair, his long slender hands, all she could think was a repeat of the other night was exactly what she wanted, his hands on her, that mouth on her, and all the rest that went along with it. Echoing in her head was her father’s fist on the pulpit as he shouted,
Lust is a grievous sin.

L
ucian stared at Velvet.
The other night’s mistake.
She had come to his bedroom after midnight. Any man would have assumed she was there for a tryst, especially after his invitations. Then she had arched into him and participated. He hadn’t misunderstood.

“I would only consider it a mistake if you hadn’t kissed back,” said Lucian.

“You ordered me to,” Velvet snapped. She wobbled as if about to fall, then leaned against the library table as if it offered sanctuary.

She had a point. He had demanded she return his kisses. “I understand the word no, Miss Campbell. Never once did you utter it.”

Her gaze shot to his. She looked horrified. By her behavior or his? “You are my employer, and ‘no’ is often an unacceptable response in a servant.”

“Your
required
duties have limits.” Talking across fifteen feet of space was insane. “Besides, you have no problem speaking your mind about Iris’s instruction. Or the appropriateness of a trip.” Bloody hell, she’d brought up the manner of his wife’s death. She hadn’t seemed frightened of him before his first intimation that he wanted to be her lover, but he hadn’t demanded submission.

He paced the center of the room. He knew he didn’t have the right to insist she join him in his bed, but he had certainly suggested he’d welcome her stepping into the role of his mistress. Had she taken his suggestion as an order? Her position as his employee clouded the issue.

She watched him walk. Her green eyes flashed with a kind of hunger that mirrored his. Her lips parted and her breaths deepened. The sparks between them were not one-sided. She had kissed him back, and found her voice to protest only when he started to lift her skirts.

He took a step toward her. She instantly stepped back. She’d been backing away from him ever since the moment he let her leave his room. Perhaps she wanted to be coy and not give in so easily. Perhaps she wanted gifts to sweeten her mood. Perhaps in the dark she hadn’t noticed his scars. He grimaced.

Her color rose and she looked to the door. “I should return to the schoolroom. Meg will not be firm with Iris about her multiplication tables.”

He moved between her and the door. “We haven’t resolved anything.”

She hesitated. He wouldn’t stop her from leaving, but they would have to finish the discussion sooner or later. He refused to let a few kisses become a monstrous black unspoken barrier between them. And damn it, he knew how to exercise restraint. He reached for the bellpull as if that had been his destination. “I’ll ring for tea.”

She bit her lip. A longing to kiss her swept over him.

“If you will sit down”—he gestured toward the wing chairs flanking the fire—“I will promise to not ravish you.”

She stared at him as if he had grown devil’s horns. He lifted his foot. Swinging around the table, she scurried toward the fireplace and took a seat.

The door clicked open and he asked Mrs. Bigsby to bring tea. She looked past him and her lips turned down. Disregarding his housekeeper’s disapproval, he shut the door.

“Mrs. Bigsby will return soon with the tray. Now we should discuss Iris and her lessons.” That should reassure Velvet he didn’t intend to shove the maps off the library table and toss her over it. Although the idea had appeal.

He crossed the room and sank into the other chair. Velvet gripped the armrests as if she were in a rocking skiff and needed to hang on for dear life. At least the high chair back would prevent her from backing away.

“I am dismayed at how far behind she is.” Velvet didn’t quite meet his eyes.

Iris had never been a good student. He’d gone through governess after governess who’d told him she was intractable. It was probably only a matter of time before Miss Campbell gave up on teaching her. Like her mother, Iris couldn’t be made to see the value of learning anything difficult. “Yes, well you do realize she has been four months without a governess.”

Velvet nodded. Her back was ramrod straight. He missed the way she’d arched, and whimpered in the back of her throat.

“Now if including Iris on a trip to Plymouth is a bad idea and will be disruptive to her lessons, what would you suggest be done?” he said conversationally.

“It is not that it is a bad idea, just that it should come as reward for accomplishing several tasks,” said Velvet cautiously. “I told Iris she needed to learn to write the alphabet before she is rewarded with a trip of that magnitude.”

Exhaling heavily, he studied her. She confounded him. “Am I to assume you would refuse to chaperone Iris on a future trip too?”

Velvet looked down at her hands and pulled them into her lap. Color stole across her cheekbones. “If I felt that our inclusion was purely a reward for her achievements, I could hardly refuse. I as much as promised her that such a trip could be taken at some point.”

“So it is only my timing that is ill,” said Lucian.

“Iris is so hungry for your approval, I often use it as a carrot.”

Lucian winced. He wished the girl cared less what he thought. Her recitation of poetry to him the last two evenings and promise to play the pianoforte for him within a fortnight had him patting her on the head like a good lapdog. He’d asked her what else she’d worked on during her lessons. She frowned, before telling him she’d learned to do her scales on the pianoforte, which Miss Campbell assured her had to be mastered before a song could be played.

“If you could be more gracious with your praise and allow me to bring her up to the mark, it would go a fair way to making my job easier.”

He felt slightly chastised and annoyed. Velvet hadn’t yet realized how Iris was like her mother, in that praise went straight to her head. But perhaps he had been too stingy with his encouragement and recognition of progress. “Very well, Miss Campbell. I will endeavor to do better.”

Her lips twitched as if she restrained a smile. What would it take to get her to smile all the way?

Mrs. Bigsby entered with the tea trolley. The cups and saucers rattled, as she tipped it up to push across the rug.

“Thank you, Mrs. Bigsby,” said Velvet.

“Meg has duties to finish before she leaves for the day, miss.”

Velvet glanced toward the mantel clock. At half past four the day was nearly gone.

“I will require Miss Campbell’s presence a bit longer,” Lucian said. “Tell Meg she may complete her duties.”

Velvet’s lips tightened.

He was under no illusion about who had gone running to Mrs. Bigsby the minute Velvet left the schoolroom. “And inform Iris I am looking forward to hearing her recite her multiplication tables after dinner.”

He really should try to find a real housekeeper, one that knew better than to be manipulated by a pair of big blue eyes. But then that was how Mrs. Bigsby had been elevated to her position in the first place. She was always at Lilith’s beck and call. Iris showed every indication of being able to twist Mrs. Bigsby around her finger too.

“Shall I have Cook push back dinner?” Mrs. Bigsby’s scowl spoke volumes.

“No. That won’t be necessary. That will be all.”

Mrs. Bigsby sniffed, but headed toward the library door. He reached to pour himself a cup of tea, but Velvet’s hand was already on the pot. He leaned back. He had grown used to not having a woman around to do things like pour tea.

“That should serve to keep Iris on task. Thank you,” said Velvet.

“If a trip to Plymouth is out of the question for the time being, perhaps a trip to King Arthur’s birthplace tomorrow would be a good substitute.” Lucian offered.

“Tintagel Castle?” Velvet’s russet eyebrows pushed together.

He wanted to smooth out the lines with his thumb. “You know of it?”

Pink swept across her cheeks. “When I learned of the position, I read a bit about Cornwall.”

Why had she blushed? Her head dipped as she offered him a teacup.

“It’s not far, two to three hours in the carriage. Would that be too long for you?” He almost held his breath. He could take Iris alone, but he wanted Velvet’s company. “Cook could pack a picnic for the three of us.”

Velvet took a sip of her tea.

Feeling slightly desperate, he said, “It would perhaps be a good opportunity to instruct Iris on history.”

Velvet pursed her mouth. “Or at least the local lore.”

“Shouldn’t she know both?”

“I suppose.” Her face relaxed.

“You would be giving up your afternoon off, but I could give you the entire day next Saturday.”

Velvet met his gaze. He could read her uncertainty.

“Iris would be with us. I will not be alone with you.” He took a sip of his tea. Everything would be proper and aboveboard, and he’d be spending every second attempting to charm her into his bed upon their return.

“Very well,” she said. “I suppose it will save me from appearing too stern with my charge.”

“We can’t have that.” Did he even remember how to be charming? He’d known how once, before Lilith took his heart and shredded it. He stole a glance at the clock. They needed to go into dinner soon. It was time to contend with the more important subject. “Now, about the other matter between us.”

Velvet choked on her tea.

Her gasp as she sipped had been ill timed. Hot liquid burned where it didn’t belong. A cough erupted. She set the rattling teacup and saucer down on the tea trolley and fought to breathe. It was no use. Coughs burst from her burning throat while her eyes watered.

Lucian waved a snowy handkerchief in front of her face. She was mortified, but she took the square and swiped away the tears. Wanting to escape, she stood.

“Sit down, Velvet.”

“There isn’t anything to discuss,” she protested.

“Yes, there is. Quit acting as if I’m going to attack you.” He stood too and stepped toward her.

With the tea trolley blocking the path to the center of the room, he was too close. The back of her legs rested against the chair. She could sit or hold her ground.

The heat coming off his body encircled her. His scent, bay rum and something more male, intoxicated her. The warm and liquid way she’d felt when he kissed her came rushing back. She made the mistake of looking him in the eye. His eyelids lowered slightly and his dark gaze was mesmerizing. She tilted toward him.

He stepped closer, but there was still a modicum of space between them. Her skin came alive, tingling as if he touched her, but he didn’t. She raised her hand, but she couldn’t have said it was to draw him nearer or push him away.

His gaze dropped to her mouth. His breath feathered across her lips. Her heart caught, waiting for him to close the gap, waiting for his kiss. The slow ticking of the mantel clock echoed as time stretched.

He touched her hand, and her skin jumped. His thumb circled her wrist and brushed across the inside and down along her palm. The gentle touch was the last thing she expected and had her melting.

“I want to kiss you. I want to touch you,” he whispered. She shuddered at his every word.

“I want you in my bed.” He lifted her wrist to his mouth and pressed his mouth to the sensitive flesh.

Her heart fluttered and every fiber of her being quivered at his touch. Heat swept toward her woman’s core, and her inner muscles tightened.

“Especially after the other night. But I can wait until you . . .” He dropped her hand, and rubbed his thumb across her lower lip. “ . . . are ready.”

Velvet sat down hard. Her mouth opened, and she closed it without saying anything. She wanted to say she’d never be ready, but when he moved close, her brain turned to mush and her body hummed with an energy that was ferocious for being so long suppressed. Oh, she’d found men attractive before, but she never allowed herself to even think of more than a chaste kiss.

Lucian made all that seem like child’s play. He called to a raw and primitive side of her that wanted to lay skin to skin with him, to explore his physique. Her mind kept replaying that interlude in his room. His dressing gown had gaped open. In the dark of his room, she’d glimpsed the hard muscles of his chest, the ridged lines of his stomach, and lower, the stiff length of his manhood. Wanting to touch him had melded together with a need to be held, kissed, and loved.

He leaned over the chair, imprisoning her with his hands on the armrests. “I will not use your position as my employee to coerce you into my bed. But we are two mature adults here.”

Her mouth went dry.

“When you are ready to pursue this pull between us, you can cast yourself into my arms.” He straightened and twisted away.

Disappointment curdled her blood. Her voice low and tight, she said, “In spite of what you believe about me, I am not a loose woman. I will not compromise my morals.”

“Then you would deny us both immeasurable pleasure,” he growled.

A wash of heat settled low in her, and Velvet licked her lips.

He pushed the tea trolley out of the way and stalked toward the door. Pulling his cuffs down with a studied disinterest, he said, “You had best fetch Iris. It is past time for dinner.”

With that he left the library. Her rapture snapped. Lucian wasn’t talking about anything more than physical pleasure. He wasn’t offering to hold her or love her.

She had to remember that, even when she felt as if she was coming undone. Even when she felt she would die if he didn’t kiss her. She couldn’t allow him to think she’d welcome his touch, even if she did.

Lucian watched Velvet for any signs of traveling sickness. So far she seemed fine, albeit cool toward him. In the morning, he’d called for the traveling coach instead of just a gig and sent a four-horse team ahead with a post boy to make their travel quicker.

He worried that Iris’s constant bouncing might disturb Velvet. Right now she was engaged in drumming her heels against the wooden underside of the seat.

“Iris, stop kicking,” he said.

“Perhaps if we might stop and stretch our limbs soon,” suggested Velvet.

He looked out the window for landmarks. “We’ll be changing the horses in another mile or two. Will that be soon enough?”