Taste of Temptation (28 page)

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Authors: Cheryl Holt

Tags: #Romance - Historical, #American Light Romantic Fiction, #General, #Romance, #Fiction, #Fiction - Romance, #Love stories, #Romance: Historical, #Historical, #American Historical Fiction, #Regency novels, #Regency fiction

BOOK: Taste of Temptation
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She scanned the crowd until she espied Jane Hamilton. The girl had crept out of the shadows, and with her having the morals of a strumpet, she might have been off cavorting with any village boy.
Maud was fixated on the dancing, but Jane was, too. She followed Miriam’s every move, envy written all over her face. No doubt she was remembering the prior dance, how Michael had singled her out. She’d made a spectacle of herself, but Tristan had put a stop to her nonsense quickly enough.
Michael passed directly by Jane, Miriam twirling on his arm, and he didn’t so much as glance at Jane. She might have been invisible.
At the snub, Jane appeared stricken, and Maud’s smile was grim, but satisfied.
Jane Hamilton had no concept of rank or station, so she was learning a hard lesson: She would never be one of them.
Someone exited the house, and she peered behind her to see that it was Tristan. Jane Hamilton was instantly forgotten.
Maud wasn’t certain what had happened with him. For several glorious weeks, he’d showered her with attention. Then, nothing. He’d reverted to his usual courteous demeanor.
She had been slow to realize that he no longer wished to consort with her, so she’d posed numerous invitations to fraternize—invitations that had been politely rebuffed—before it dawned on her that she was making a fool of herself.
With anyone else, she might have simply been furious, but she was aghast to admit that she was crushed by the change. A match between them would have solved so many financial problems.
She had no idea what she’d done to push him away, and she was a teeming wreck, spending her days in useless contemplation as she tried to figure out how he could once again be bewitched by her.
Since she had no clue how she’d managed it the first time, her mental castigation was a futile exercise in frustration.
“Captain”—she struggled to be cordial—“I was wondering where you were.”
“Hello, Maud.”
He came down the stairs to stand next to her, and he studied the crowd as if he was searching for someone. A woman was walking down by the lake, and he was like a dog on the hunt, completely focused on her and oblivious to Maud.
She pretended not to notice, but she was livid that a female strolling hundreds of yards away—in the dark—could intrigue him while she, Maud, could not.
“The dancing just started,” she said, pointing out the obvious.
“Are people enjoying themselves?”
“They seem to be.”
“Good.” He was very distracted, his disinterest annoying.
“Michael asked Miriam to lead the opening set.”
“Marvelous.”
“I guess he listened to you, after all.”
“I guess he did.”
She had had a lengthy chat with him about Michael and his friendship with Jane Hamilton. Maud had assumed the private discussion had placed her on solid ground with him again, where she was an equal partner, reviewing family issues, but apparently, it had been a wasted effort.
“Will you be dancing?” She sounded pitifully anxious for him to ask her.
“Not tonight. I’m weary of all this socializing. It’s such a beautiful evening; I thought I’d row the boat across the lake.”
“Row the boat?”
“The moon is up, and I’m having the worst craving to be out on the water.” He turned to her, as it occurred to him that he should invite her. With visible distaste, he offered, “Would you like to join me?”
In a rowboat? Out in the water?
Of all the things he could have suggested! She was wearing her best gown, her most expensive pair of shoes.
The request was too ridiculous to consider.
“I’d better not.”
“Are you sure? We could have a ... talk.”
The word
talk
rang like a death knell.
“I’m afraid of the water,” she wanly said. “I fell in as a child, and... well...”
She trailed off, making a dismissive gesture with her hand, and he scrutinized her, glaring as if he finally understood what was wrong with her.
“You should probably stay and dance then.” At her refusal, he looked relieved.
“Yes, I probably should.”
“Have fun. The men will be lining up to partner with you.”
He continued on, giving no explanation for the past few weeks, and her temper sizzled.
How dare he treat her so shabbily! How dare he tempt and tease, then ignore!
He’d been so blatant in his flirtation that even dense, self-centered Miriam was aware of their brief alliance, and the abrupt ending. She’d asked Maud about it, but what was Maud supposed to tell her?
Maud climbed nearer the door, so that she could see all the way to the lake.
As he moved out into the park, he bumped into the woman he’d been watching. He’d stopped under a lamp that was hanging from a tree, and the woman stopped, too, so her identity was perfectly clear.
Helen Hamilton! Ooh!
Tristan smiled and murmured something, which made Hamilton grin. She sidled closer, not touching him, but acting in a very familiar manner.
He extended an arm, and she grabbed hold, their heads pressed together in conversation. Then he escorted her toward the lake, toward the intimate boat ride that could have been Maud’s if she’d been braver.
Darkness swallowed them up, and Maud tarried, speculating, enraged, and plotting how Helen Hamilton could be most swiftly dispatched from their lives.
Chapter 16
“HELLO, Captain Odell.”
“Hello, Miss Hamilton. Fancy meeting you here.”
“Yes, fancy that”
Helen smiled at Tristan, her heart jumping with the silly fluttering motion it always made when he was near.
The party was exhausting, so she’d taken a walk for some quiet contemplation, but there was scant privacy to be had.
There were people everywhere, exploring the lighted paths through the massive gardens. Music and laughter rippled across the grass, disturbing the calm evening air.
She was weary of the festivities, of the unending flow of visitors, many of whom were staying at the manor. In some ways, it was like living in a grand hotel, where she would come down to breakfast but never know who would be sitting at the dining table with her.
“Why aren’t you dancing?” she asked.
“Why aren’t you?”
“Haven’t you heard? I’m extremely popular, so I’ve been run ragged with partners. I needed to rest.”
“Should I be jealous?”
“Yes, absolutely.”
She grinned, and he chuckled.
They stared at each other like besotted fools, and it was a good thing night had fallen. Anyone watching them would have noted their heightened affection.
“You still didn’t tell me,” she said, “why you’re not dancing.”
“Because I’m terrible at it.”
“You are not. I’ve seen you; you’re graceful as a ballerina.”
“As I deem myself to be a very masculine fellow, I’m not certain that’s a compliment.”
She glanced about, and since no one was close enough to observe them, she grabbed the lapels of his coat and shook him. “Tell me the real reason.”
“I’m tired of all these blasted parties.”
“So am I.”
“I just don’t know how long a man is supposed to smile and bow and engage in vapid conversation with the ladies.”
“Or how long the poor ladies are supposed to fuss and flatter and flirt with the gouty, drunken men.”
“Precisely. I miss my ship,” he surprised her by saying, and he sighed as if he’d lost his last friend.
He rarely offered a personal comment, and she held onto it like a precious memento.
“I know you do.”
“I can’t stand it that I’m never out on the water anymore, so I’ve decided to do the next best thing.”
“What is that?”
“I’m taking the rowboat out to the center of the lake, so I can gaze up at the stars and feel sorry for myself.”
“Why are you woebegone? Is it because you reside in an enormous mansion and have fine clothes to wear and plenty of food to eat?”
“Yes. Will you join me?”
“Out on the lake? Or in feeling sorry for yourself?”
“If you come with me, I won’t be quite so glum.”
She pretended to consider, then took his arm. “Oh, I imagine I can make the sacrifice.”
They strolled along like sweethearts who were courting. The moon was bright, the weather balmy. The sounds of celebration faded until it seemed they were very much alone.
It was the most romantic moment of her life, and she knew she ought to be more circumspect, that she should be worried about propriety, but it was a party. Surely, the social rules had been relaxed.
They arrived at the lake’s edge, and he guided her out onto a wooden dock. A small boat was tied to a piling, and it floated several feet lower than the spot where she was standing. How exactly was a female in a pretty dress and slippers to maneuver herself into it?
She hesitated, turning to look at him. He was very close, peering at her with such an intense expression that it made her knees weak. She was positive he would kiss her, right out in the open, where anyone could see, but he didn’t, and she couldn’t decide if she was relieved or disappointed.
“Have you changed your mind?” he asked.
“About getting in the boat? Are you joking?”
“Some women are afraid of the water.”
“Not me.”
“Can you swim?”
“Probably better than you.”
He laughed. “Let me help you down.”
In a swift move, he lifted her and plopped her onto the wooden seat. The vessel rocked wildly, and she squealed with alarm.
“I thought you said you could swim,” he complained from up above.
“I can, but that doesn’t mean I want a dousing in my party clothes.”
“Maybe I’d enjoy seeing you all wet. The damp fabric would outline some very interesting attributes.”
“Would you forget about my anatomy?”
“An impossible task.” He shrugged out of his coat and laid it on the dock. “You won’t swoon, will you, if I’m in my shirtsleeves?”
“I’ll try not to.”
He snorted, then untied the boat and, like a nimble cat, he hopped down into it, causing it to pitch precariously again. She grabbed the sides, as if a firm grip could prevent them from tipping over.
He sat across from her and clutched the two oars.
“You’re awfully jumpy,” he said.
“You make me nervous.”
“I do? Why?”
“I always presume you’re up to no good.”
“You might be correct.”
He leaned forward and squeezed her hand, a furtive gesture hidden from people strolling the banks.
“I’m glad you came with me,” he murmured.
“I’m glad, too.”
“I can’t abide a timid female.”
“I know that about you.”
“You’re not timid.”
“Definitely not.”
For a long while, he studied her, and she held her breath, convinced he would say something relevant to her situation, but he was annoyingly silent.
Since the night she’d stumbled into his bedchamber, when they’d both been too intoxicated to think clearly, she’d been waiting for a certain conversation to ensue, but it hadn’t, and she hadn’t a clue how to initiate it herself.
If her father had been alive, she’d have gone to him immediately, would have advised him that a marriage proposal needed to be tendered, and he’d have seen to it at once.
Dear Harry wouldn’t have judged or condemned. He, himself, had eloped with Helen’s mother, much to the horror of her mother’s parents, which was why Helen’s relatives wouldn’t claim her. All these years later, they were still bitter.

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