Taste of Temptation (29 page)

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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In an instant, Harry would have helped her, but without his presence by her side, she had no idea how to raise the issue, how to force Tristan to behave properly.

There was no one else to speak for her, and while she’d flirted with the notion of proposing, herself, she never would. A woman simply didn’t ask a man to marry her—the prospect was outrageous—so she had to be content in the knowledge that he’d said he loved her, that he’d promised they would wed. It had been a drunken vow, uttered in the heat of passion, but it had been uttered nonetheless.

Eventually, he would do the right thing. He always did, and she wouldn’t consider, not for the merest second, that he might not.

He pulled on the oars, his strong arms working them away from the dock. She watched him, his chest muscles flexing, as he tilted nearer, as he bent away.

She remembered that chest, bared, pressed to her naked torso, and heat shot through her.

Glancing away, she trailed her fingers in the cool water. She drew them out, droplets careening off, and she flicked at him, wetting his face and shirt.

“Minx!” he teased, but he kept rowing.

They’d traveled far from the shore, and he paused in his movements, the boat drifting to a stop. It was so still, the stars a dazzling canopy overhead. Back at the party, a bonfire had been lit and sparks glimmered like fireflies.

“Penny for your thoughts,” he said.

“Actually, I was thinking of you and how lucky I am that we met.”

“You’re very beautiful tonight—with the moon shining on your hair.”

“Thank you.”

“I’m pretending you’re my very own mermaid.”

“I’m wearing entirely too many clothes to be any such thing.”

He laid a finger on her lips. “Sound carries out here. We must be cautious with what we say.”

Which meant that there would be no declaration of amour, no intimate discussion of their future.

They were quiet again, and she tolerated it as long as she could, but his reticence was driving her mad. She wanted him talking and talking, hoping that if sufficient words tumbled from his mouth, he might ultimately mention the right ones.

“What about you?” she asked. “I’d give a penny for your thoughts, but I don’t have a penny.”

Unable to look at her, he peered up at the sky. “I might leave for a bit.”

“Leave?”

“Yes. My crew is taking my ship to Scotland, to deliver some cargo. I might climb aboard for the ride.”

“How long would you be gone?”

“A few weeks. A month maybe.” He met her gaze. “Would you miss me?”

“No,” she petulantly replied.

“Liar.”

Something was wrong, but she wasn’t certain how to learn what it was.

Warily, she broached, “It’s been so enjoyable here in the country. Are you unhappy?”

For an eternity, he was mute, scrutinizing her. Then he said, “No, I’m not unhappy.”

“Good.”

Was this really happening? With how close they’d grown, how could he pick up and go? Clearly, he wanted to be away from
her
, and at the realization, she was hurt and furious. Why would he simply flit off? Was it his opinion that he had no reason worth staying?

“I feel as if I’m bursting out of my skin,” he tried to explain, “with all these people and these parties and these meetings with agents and tenants. I just need some breathing room.”

“It has been hectic,” she evenly concurred. “I’ve often wished I could sneak away. You’re fortunate that you can.”

It was a tiny opening, and she’d foolishly imagined he might ask her to accompany him—an arrangement that would be completely improper and to which she would never agree. But still, the prospect tantalized, and she was crushed when he didn’t extend the offer.

“You seem to have settled in with the family,” he said instead.

Settled
wasn’t exactly the word she would use. “Yes, I have.”

“You’re doing well.”

“I am.”

“So you’d be all right while I was away?”

“Of course, I’d be all
right.”
That wasn’t the point. The point was his leaving her. “I’m an adult woman. I’ve been taking care of myself since I was a baby.”

He assessed her features as if memorizing the details, as if this was good-bye. “You’re always so strong.”

“I’ve had to be.”

“You’re a survivor.”

“Yes, I am.”

“I like that about you. I’m a survivor, too.”

“Kindred spirits.”

He frowned as if it had just occurred to him that they had traits in common. Then without further comment, he grabbed the oars and tugged on them, deftly turning them around. Within minutes, he was tying the rope to the piling.

He reached down, clasped her hand, and with a quick yank, she was on the dock.

Her head was spinning with questions as she tried to deduce the precise purpose of their conversation. Was he hinting that their affair was over? Was he merely apprising her of his plans? Was he sending a message that there would be no proposal?

He was a male, so he wasn’t very adept at discussing personal matters. Did he need time away in order to arrive at a decision?

If so, why not just admit it? Why keep her in limbo, her mind in turmoil, her heart aching?

He picked up his coat and pulled it on, and she was a hairsbreadth away from seizing him by the lapels and shaking him till his teeth rattled.

He guided her to the rocky bank and made a show of helping her gain her balance. It gave him the opportunity to hover close and whisper in her ear.

“I want to come to your room. Later tonight”

Her eyes widened with surprise, but she couldn’t reply. Another couple was strolling down the path and might overhear.

“Let me,” he mouthed, and she nodded and stepped away.

“Thank you for the boat ride, Captain Odell,” she said, imposing distance. “It was lovely.”

“My pleasure, Miss Hamilton.”

He flashed a hot, torrid look, filled with sexual promise, then she blinked, and it was gone. He stared at her with the cool expression he displayed to the world.

“May I escort you back to the party?”

“There’s no need. I’m sure you’re busy with the guests. I can find my own way.”

She stumbled off, struggling to appear calm and composed, but inside she was reeling.

What did he want? Why had she acceded to the rendezvous? Would he propose? What if he didn’t?

Since she’d surrendered her chastity, her position was extremely precarious. If he wasn’t contemplating marriage, if he’d seduced her with wicked intent...

No, she wouldn’t consider it. She knew him. She understood him. He would do what was required.

Yet what if she was pregnant? What if—at that very instant—his child was growing in her belly? What then? What then?

She and her sisters would be back on the streets, with no money and nowhere to go.

In a terror, she skirted the crowd and fled to her room, where she paced and paced, her dread mounting, her panic increasing by the minute.

Finally, she noticed what remained of the bottle of Woman’s Daily Remedy that Mr. Dubois had given to her. She drew out the cork and gulped the contents, then she went to the window seat and gazed out, wishing she could see the lake, wishing she could see if he was still there, but her bedchamber was located on the wrong side of the house.

“All will be well,” she muttered. “All will be well.”

He was coming to propose. She would accept no other possibility.

She walked to the dressing room, took down her hair and brushed it out, then slipped into her robe. She was anxious to look as pretty as she was able from the moment he arrived.

“WHAT’S going on here?”

Clarinda stepped off the path and into a hedge where she could see the shoes and petticoats of two girls.

Lady Rose Seymour and Amelia Hamilton peeked out.

“Miss Dubois? Hello,” Amelia said.

“Hello, yourselves. Are you enjoying the party?”

“It’s been very exciting,” Rose answered. “Tristan allowed us to stay up late so we could dance and everything!”

“Lucky you.”

“How about you, Miss Dubois? Are you having fun?”

“Yes, I’m having quite a lot of fun, and actually, my name is Miss Dudley. My brother likes to play games. He likes to pretend our name is Dubois to fool people, but it’s not Dubois.”

She neared, curious as to why they were huddled in the bushes in the dark.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

They glanced at each other, a silent communication being exchanged, then Amelia said, “Will you promise not to tell?”

“Absolutely.”

“We’re spying on Captain Odell and my sister Helen.”

“You scamps. Whatever for?”

“We’re trying to decide,” Rose explained, “whether they’re in love. We thought they were, but now, we’re not sure.”

“They keep fighting,” Amelia clarified.

“Ah ...” Clarinda mused.

She peered through the bushes to find the girls had an excellent view of the lake. The moon was full, so it was easy to see Helen and Odell out in the middle in a small rowboat. The scene appeared entirely innocent. They were sitting apart, on opposite benches, and Odell had the oars in his hands, but Clarinda was aware that something more serious might be occurring.

“What do you think?” Amelia queried as Clarinda drew away.

“I don’t know.”

“She drank a love potion, though, right?”

“She might have,” Clarinda carefully replied.

“So it’s probably love, isn’t it?” Rose pressed. “I mean, Tristan hasn’t ever invited any other woman to go out on the lake with him.”

“Perhaps it is love,” Clarinda agreed.

The girls grinned, delighted to have their suspicions confirmed.

“Then why are they fighting?” Amelia asked.

“Adults quarrel occasionally,” Clarinda said. “It’s very common.”

“Have you another potion we could apply?” Rose inquired. “One that would make them live happily ever after?”

“We want them to marry,” Amelia said, “because we’d be sisters.”

“We’ve already administered plenty of potions,” Clarinda advised. “Now, we simply have to wait for the magic to work.”

“WILL that be all, Miss Hamilton?”

“Yes.”

“I could fetch some hot water if you’d like.”

“No, no. Please go!”

Lydia bit down a chuckle. Jane Hamilton was frantic to get Lydia out of the room, so Lydia was determined to remain. Obviously Hamilton believed Lord Hastings was about to visit her, but he would never risk it when there were so many guests in the house.

“I could bring a warming pan for the sheets.”

“No! Thank you!”

Lydia smirked and left. She never curtsied to Jane Hamilton, and if she was being disrespectful, Hamilton was in no position to complain.

Who would she speak to? Mrs. Seymour?

Ha! The prospect was laughable. Seymour hated her and would never listen.

She descended to where she could see the foyer, to where she could watch the front door. If Lord Hastings came in, Lydia would waylay him and initiate the tryst that was long overdue. She would restore herself in his life, while gleaning enormous satisfaction in stealing him back from Jane Hamilton.

He arrived much sooner than she might have predicted. After tiptoeing in, he scanned the area, checking that he was alone, then he started up the stairs.

Lydia moved into his path, tugging on the bodice of her dress, unbuttoning a button or two to reveal more cleavage. As he rounded the corner, he practically bumped into her.

“Well, well,” she greeted, “if it isn’t my favorite earl.”

“Lydia, you’re up late.”

“I’m finishing my chores.” Her gaze meandered to his crotch, and she was thrilled to note the bulge in his trousers. So he was glad to see her.

“Is there anything I can do for you,” she seductively said, “before I retire?”

Her message was clear, and he definitely received it. She stepped closer, not touching him, but near enough that she could feel his bodily heat.

“I just came inside to retrieve a warmer coat from my bedchamber,” he lied. “I only have a few minutes.”

“If memory serves,” she teased, “we only need a
few
minutes.”