Tempted (15 page)

She wiped it away angrily, wondering what the blazes was wrong with her. She hadn’t cried since she fell off that big stallion of Mr. Hughes; it’d hurt like the very devil. Demme, she hadn’t even cried when she’d been laughed out of London for wanting to ride horses for a living. Nor when she’d been unable to find a place to sleep and food to eat and been near starved to death before some fancy swell had taken pity on her and handed her a shilling. And yet here she was, in an earl’s bleedin’ privy and turning into a water pot. She’d gone crackers for sure.

“Mrs. Callahan?”

Mary stiffened.

“Mrs. Callahan, are you in there?”

Mary wanted to bury her face in her hands. Instead she wiped her ridiculous, silly, unwanted tears away and said, “What do you want, m’lord?”

Silence. Mary thought Alex might have gotten the hint and left her alone. But one thing Mary had learned after working with the masculine persuasion. They were a bunch of slow-topped fools.

She should have known better.

“The footman told me you were ill,” he said.

Indeed. Likely he’d been worried she’d mess up the bloody water closet. “I’m not ill,” she said. “I just needed to empty my bladder.”

Silence again. Good. Perhaps she’d embarrassed him into leaving.

“You’re lying.”

Mary lifted her head. Lying— Why that—

“Go away, m’lord.”

“No.”

She couldn’t believe her ears. And what really fair bogged her mind, what made her feel like screaming, was the silly, daft-witted urge to cry all over again.

“You’re not overwrought by what happened, are you? My cousin says that you are, but I find that hard to believe.”

She was. Damn it all to hell. She really,
really
was. “Go away,” she said again, feeling the soddin’, ridiculous urge to cry. And it prickled at her heart that he didn’t know it.

The door opened.

Mary gasped, wiping away tears before he could see them.

Too late.

“You’re crying,” he accused, all but pointing an imaginary finger at her.

“I am not.”

He stared at her as if she’d jerked off her arms and handed them to him. “Why are you upset?”

“I’m not upset. And if you’re finished disturbing my peace, you can leave.”

But he didn’t leave. Instead he stepped into the small room, his height making the walls seem shorter. “Why are you crying, Mary?”

Sod it all, why did he use her given name? She didn’t like it when he did that. She truly didn’t.

“Please, m’lord. Go away.” And then—oh, blast it all—a tear darted out of her left eye and made its way down her cheek like an errant bug.

He knelt in front of her, clasped one of her hands, stroking it in a way that made it suddenly hard to breathe.

“Don’t,” she said, trying to draw a breath.

But he wouldn’t let her. “Tell me why you cry.”

“I started me menses.”

He drew himself up, then just as quickly narrowed his eyes, still holding her hand, still rubbing it tenderly.

Funny thing about that hand, for as Mary turned her gaze to it, it didn’t look like a nobleman’s hand, it looked like any other man’s hand. Long fingers. Soft skin. And that disturbed her to the point that she pulled her hand away, under the pretext of wiping her eyes, of course.

“You’re lying to me, Mary Callahan, and I want to know why.”

She remained mutinously, determinedly silent.

“I want to know why a woman who walks across English fields, shivering with cold, feet bleeding, stomach raw from hunger—but who never once shed a tear—is suddenly crying.”

“I told you, I started my menses.”

He frowned, even shook his head a bit. “Are you upset over injuring the earl? For if you are, you shouldn’t be. The bump is near gone, in reputation, that is.”

“Well, there you have it,” she said, beginning to lose patience. “’Tis exactly what I’m upset about. I caused a nobleman a great injury, one I’m sure he’ll never recover from. Indeed, I shall never be able to live with myself again.”

He stared.

Mary returned it.

“Well, if that’s not what’s bothering you, then what? Is it my daughter you’re worried about? If so, have no fear, I’m sure all is well with her at Wainridge. The Runners I hired will see to that.”

No, she wanted to scream. Couldn’t he see? Couldn’t he? She stood up on her aching feet, brushing by him, went to the door, swinging it open, hoping, nay, praying, he would leave.

“I told you what was bothering me, but if you don’t want to believe it, I suppose there’s not much I can say that’ll convince you otherwise. So I’m asking you to leave. Again. Leave me in peace, m’lord. And while you’re at it, tell Lady So-and-so that I’ll have her dress back to her just as soon as I get up to me room. Beg her pardon for my thinking I might be good enough to wear it. For thinking maybe someone in the room might like me for all that I’m common bred. For daring to want to experience what it’s like to sit down at a fancy table and eat a fancy meal.”

“But you did get to sit down at the dining table.” “Oh, you silly, daft, fool man. You don’t understand.” She thought she heard him hiss in frustration before he said, “Then
tell
me.”

“I wanted to see how the ladies ate. Wanted to hear what they conversed about. To experience, for once in my life, what it’s like to be gently bred, and not be treated like a boil on a pig’s bum by some fool footman what thinks I’m your tart.”

He appeared suddenly thunderstruck. Mary wanted to shake him. Wanted to say, “Do you finally understand? Finally?”

Instead she turned on her heel and, unfortunately, she forgot about her lacerated foot. Pain shot up her legs and made her gasp, “Bloody hell.” Lord, she thought, why didn’t someone just chop off her feet and put her out of her misery? And the bloody tears were back. Damn. Bloody. Tears.

“Mary, stop.”

But Mary had had enough.

“Mary,” he repeated, tugging on her arm. She tried to resist, but resisting put too much weight on her feet and so she gave in and turned around.

And when she met his gaze—oh, horrors—to her utter and absolute embarrassment, she started to sob. Good lord. Big, gasping sobs. What the
devil
was
wrong
with her?

And then he pulled her into his arms.

“You’re far and away the most courageous, head-strong, outspoken woman I’ve ever met, and sometimes you drive me daft, but those ladies who left should have been fortunate to make your acquaintance, Mary Callahan. At least, in my opinion.”

Funny how one could stop breathing, how one’s whole world could still and time could stop. For that was exactly what happened to Mary. She froze. Didn’t breathe. Didn’t move. And as she was held in his arms, as she was tenderly held, for the first time, no, for the
only
time in her life, she realized that
this
… this one moment, was one she would never forget. Never. Held by a marquis.

No, held tenderly by a man.

Her tears abruptly ended, Mary’s mind completely taken over by wonder. And then he pulled away, as if suddenly recalling where they were, or perhaps who he was, or more importantly, who
she
was: A servant. Trash. Nobody.

And Mary felt the absence of his arms like the loss of a friend. He stepped back from her, straightening his waistcoat and cravat as if afraid it might’ve gotten mussed.

“Now,” he said, “if you would be so kind as to join my cousin and myself in the drawing room, we would like your opinion on some verses Edward favors.”

Verses? Didn’t the man know what holding her had done to her? How just the feel of his arms had made her feel things she’d never felt in another man’s arms? How for a fleeting moment their two worlds hadn’t seemed so far apart?

Ach, Mary
,
no. He hadn’t.

He’s a
man,
yelled another voice.

“I—” and the words just bottled up in her throat. How to play it? As if she hadn’t been melted by his kindness.

As if she hadn’t just been sobbing in his arms? As if she hadn’t a care in the world.

Aye,
answered the voice again,
for isn’t that what you always do?

And it was.

He offered his arm, bowing slightly, just as he had upstairs, only this time, she didn’t think he was mocking her. So she took it.

Chapter Fifteen

Love is a fart

That permeates a heart;

Oft times it don’t smell;

Other times it repels

Like a rotted cabbage fallen off a cart.

Alex stared at Mary, aghast at the utter crassness of the verse, while his cousin Rein, that wretched man, doubled over in laughter.

Good lord.

He blinked, looked at Mary in wonder. What had happened to the crying woman? What had happened to the tender sparrow he’d held so closely and wanted to comfort? She’d disappeared behind the face of a naughty harridan.

“Oh, my good lord, Alex,” Rein gasped, hand across his stomach. “Wherever did you find her? She’s a treasure.”

That treasure was smiling brightly, the ridiculously big dress that she wore looking all the more silly now that she sat upon a large couch. Rather like a child playing dress-up, Alex thought, only the face above that gown was far from childlike.

“Do you know any more?” Edward asked. “I think that is quite enough,” Alex said.

“Indeed, I do, m’lord,” Mary said. “Quite a few of them, actually.”

“Tell me another one.”

“I’m sure Mrs. Callahan is tired—” To which Mary began again:

There once was a maid named Gert,

Whose master was oft up her skirts,

He’d call for the duck,

Then say, ‘Let have a quick—”

“Enough,” Alex shot. “Mrs. Callahan,
really.
Surely you must own that to use such a word is highly un-ladylike.”

“What word?”

“
That
word.”

“What word?”

“Mrs. Callahan, I can hardly say the word aloud. To do so in the presence of a lady would be highly unseemly.”

“Well, m’lord, as the earl’s guests have determined, I’m far from a lady.”

And whereas an hour ago she’d been in tears over that, now she smiled.

Lord, he would never understand a woman’s mind. “And I was about to say ‘nip n’ tuck’ for the last line deals with what he had to drink for dinner.”

Alex narrowed his eyes, not liking the way Rein laughed at her comment while somehow managing to eye her up and down. Never before had he been bothered by his cousin’s reputation as a rogue. Certainly, he didn’t approve, preferring to lead a more restrained life. Only now he found himself wondering what it would be like to be more like his cousin. A ridiculous thought, but there you had it. And, indeed, that was the problem. He’d been having those thoughts about Mary Callahan since the moment he’d first met her.

Why? Never before had he been so tempted to seduce a woman, and yet there could be no denying it. After yesterday’s brief kiss, and then being with her this evening, there was little doubt that he desired her. No, even that was too tame a word. He wanted. Oh, how he wanted …

To bed her.

“Well,” Rein said, leaning forward to place a hand over hers. Alex’s eyes narrowed further. “You are lady enough for me.”

“Why, thank you, m’lord.”

Lord, the way the two were going at it, she’d be Rein’s mistress by night’s end.

Over his dead body.

And, indeed, there was no sense in fighting it any longer. Though he’d fought all his life against the stigma associated with his family name, against being held as much a rogue as his father, suddenly Alex wondered if asking her to be his mistress wasn’t exactly the right thing to do. He could return to Wainridge, ensure Gabby was well, then head to London where he could secure lodgings for Mary.

And once the idea took hold, he couldn’t seem to dispose of it. He sat there, watching her trade sallies with his cousin. Sat there quietly as Rein made every appearance of being as besotted with her as she was with him. Sat there silently and stewed, mulled and then ultimately, made the decision. And in the end, he had to ask himself, had there ever been any doubt?

“Well, I think I shall go off to bed,” he said, standing, his heart thudding in his chest in the same way it did when chasing a smuggler. “Mrs. Callahan, I should be happy to escort you upstairs.”

And now that he’d made his decision, he allowed himself the fantasy of bringing her to his room, of removing that ridiculous dress she seemed to all but cherish. Of seeing her with her hair down again, in her chemise—

“If it’s all the same with you, m’lord, I think I’ll sit with the earl a bit more.”

He stiffened.
I should say not.

“Mrs. Callahan, leaving you here with my cousin would be highly improper.”

He thought he heard Rein choke back a laugh. Or perhaps a snort, Alex couldn’t be sure, only knew it was time his cousin got the message.

She’s mine.

“I don’t think we’ll need to be worrying about that,” she said with a smirk.

No, of course not. Ridiculous thing to say. He knew that. But
demme
if he could have something to say other than being blatantly honest.

Leave us, Rein. I want her for my own.

But he couldn’t say it aloud, so he said it with his eyes, Rein seeming to instantly get the message, judging by the way he sat up.

“Actually,” Rein said, “I think I shall retire for the night, too.”

Alex relaxed a bit. Apparently his cousin wasn’t such a nodcock after all.

“Care to join me, Mrs. Callahan?”

“I
beg
your pardon?” Alex said.

Rein looked up at him. “I don’t believe I was asking you, old man.”

“No, but your suggestion that Mrs. Callahan might be willing to engage in a liaison with you is an insult to her character.”

“I didn’t invite her to my room. I invited her to join me in retiring for the night.”

“In your
room.
”

And if Alex had been looking closer, he would have seen the devilish gleam in his cousin’s eye. Would have seen the way he leaned back against his settee, his arms splaying out on either side before joining at the back of his head. Would have seen the gleam of unquestionable amusement. But he didn’t see it, and so when Rein replied, “I never said any such thing, but now that you say it, ’tis a smashing good idea. Mrs. Callahan, would you care to join me in my room tonight?”

“Devil take it, Rein. You go too far.”

“Enough,” cried the object of their discussion.

They both turned to look at Mary, Rein lifting a brow. “I don’t know what gave either of you the idea that I wanted to go upstairs with you, to your room or otherwise. So while I thank you for your offer, m’lord earl, I assure you, I have no interest in joining
either
of you for fun and frolic.” She stood. “Thank you, m’lords, for a pleasant evening. I bid you goodnight.”

“Mary, wait.”

“Mary, is it?” he heard his cousin say.

Alex shot him a look, one that clearly said,
Bugger off
, not that he took the hint.

“I wish to speak to you privately,” Alex said when she’d turned back to him.

“I’ll wager you do,” Rein added.

“What about, m’lord?” she asked with narrowed eyes. “I truly do like the woman,” his cousin muttered.

“Will you please leave?” Alex all but shouted in Rein’s face. Good lord, would the man not take a hint?

“Why certainly, my good man,” Rein said in a tolerable imitation of him. It made Alex want to plant him a facer.

“Don’t leave, m’lord. Stay. I’ve a feeling whatever it is the marquis has to say, can be said in front of you.”

“That, my dear, I doubt.” He smiled. “If I read my cousin correctly.” He turned back to Alex. “I wish you luck, cousin. Rest assured, if she tells you no, I am next in line.”

“The devil you say,” Alex shot.

“Ask me what?” Mary asked, and much to Alex’s surprise, she appeared genuinely curious. Could she be that naïve? Could she truly not understand the undercurrents swirling around her? It seemed extremely unlikely given her knowing airs. And yet…

He shook the notion away, glad when Rein gave him a nod, then a bow, then took his leave.

“Ask me what?” Mary repeated, hands on her hips. But now that the moment had arrived, Alex was surprised that he wasn’t at all sure he knew how to proceed. He’d never asked a woman to be his mistress before. Oh, certainly, he’d had women, but he’d never felt strongly enough to settle upon one or the other. But as he stared at Mary Callahan, he knew that this was one he wanted.

“Are you going to answer, or are you going to stare at me all night?”

He took a step toward her. And perhaps it was the look in his eyes that tipped her off. Perhaps it was the carnal need that not even she could be so innocent as not to see. Whatever it was, suddenly her eyes widened. She took a step back.

“You’re going to ask me to be your mistress, aren’t you?”

And damned if she didn’t look surprised. He’d expected her to be shocked. Flattered even, but never surprised.

“You are, aren’t you?”

“I am,” he admitted aloud. No matter that it went against his moral fiber, the very essence of who he thought he was. No matter that he’d sworn to never have a mistress such as his father kept. He wanted Mary Callahan, and in the end, that was all he could think of.

“Well, now, that’s rich.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“A home in London,” she went on to say. “Fancy clothes? An allowance, and more than likely a bairn or two? That’s what you’re offering, isn’t it?”

“You needn’t worry about children,” he added in case that was an issue. “I am well versed in ways to keep a woman free of child.”

And then she looked amused. It threw him for a moment.

“Well, in case you hadn’t noticed, m’lord, your technique needs some finessing. Or have you forgotten about Miss Gabriella?”

“No, I have not forgotten. An unfortunate lapse on my part. It will not happen again.”

“Are you sure?”

“Quite.”

“Absolutely sure?”

“Devil take it,” he said, frustrated. “You are teasing me.”

“I am. ’Tis either that or I slap your face.” “Slap my face?”

“Aye. Isn’t that what most women do when propositioned by their lord and master?”

“I am not propositioning you.”

“Are you not, m’lord? Oh, I’ll grant you, what you offer is marginally better than a quick tumble and a few quid for my services. But asking me to earn blunt on me back is a slap to
my
face, so tell me why I shouldn’t slap yours?”

“Is it money you want?”

“No,” she answered quickly, too quickly for there to be any doubt as to her honesty.

“Then what
do
you want?”

And lord help him, he’d begun to feel desperate. Only now did he realize that to have her in his presence and not actually have her would be the worst torment of all.

She tossed her chin up, her eyes suddenly and completely serious. “I don’t want nothing from you, m’lord.”

And then she turned on her heel and left.

As the door closed all Alex could do was mutter, “Damn.”

It seemed amusing that Mary finally found the garden when she wasn’t looking for it, but that was exactly what happened.

His mistress.

She wanted to howl at the moon. She even tipped her head back as if about to do that very thing, rain dotting her face and pelting her dress so that it spotted like an ermine stole. No, it was Lady Dalton’s dress. For such a fine garment was never to belong to the likes of Mary Callahan. No, indeed. Mary Callahan were only good enough to be a man’s mistress. Never anything more.

Aye, and what were you expectin’? The offer of a ring and a fancy title?

She closed her eyes, wrapping her arms around herself for warmth. Light from the windows spilled out to illuminate a wet walkway, the rain starting to come down in earnest whilst she’d been flirting with the earl.

And she had been flirting. Some reckless need to act like a tart had made her say and do things she would never have had the courage to say under normal circumstances. But things were far from normal. They hadn’t been since the moment the marquis had lifted her chin and gazed into her eyes.

And for the second time that day, nay, likely the second time in her life, Mary felt tears rise.

What the devil was wrong with her? First those nasty nabobs had turned her into a watering pot, and now the marquis—

No, Mary
, said a voice.
Do not think about how his offer stung.

Blindly she headed for the glass house she’d spied from her room earlier. It jutted out from the side of the house like a finger, light from the second-story windows shining down upon it.

Mary headed straight for it, pushing on a door that dragged on her hands due to the difference in room temperature. The warm, sticky air was a shock to her system after the cold of outside. Her hair hung on her head, drenched already. The door closed behind her with a
boom
, Mary pausing just inside the door as she hugged her arms close to herself again. Rain fell onto the glass above, sounding like a dull roar in the silence. Three rows of plants stretched before her, the smell of roses and citrus mixing with chives and basil. Lightning flared. Mary jumped, looking up at the sky just as thunder boomed above.