Taste of Temptation Read online

  Appearing abashed and uncertain, he dawdled by the door. His coat was off, his golden blond hair gleaming in the candlelight.

  He’d brought a single red rose, and he held it out to her.

  “For me?” she asked.

  “Who else?”

  She sauntered over and plucked it from his grasp, pressing the fragrant petals to her nose.

  She was awfully nervous, worried that she was doing exactly the wrong thing, that he was taking advantage of her naivete, of her obvious infatuation, but he smiled at her, and she couldn’t help but smile, too.

  “I haven’t been with you for an eternity,” he murmured.

  “I know.”

  “Can you forgive me?”

  It was the last comment she’d expected, and she cocked her head, not sure she’d heard him correctly.

  “Forgive you? Whatever for?”

  “I’ve been so busy that I haven’t been able to sneak away. After what passed between us in London, you must think I’m contemptible.”

  “No, no, I never could.”

  He extended his hand, and she dropped the rose and leapt into his arms. Then, he was kissing her and kissing her, and as he picked her up and twirled her round and round, she laughed with joy—and no small amount of relief.

  He carried her into the bedchamber, and he deposited her on the mattress and came down after her.

  As they began to make love, she understood that it would be completely different from their previous encounter.

  He moved effortlessly, showing her how the sexual act was meant to be accomplished. He touched her all over, stripping off her nightgown so she was naked, and he sucked on her nipples, biting and pinching them until she was moaning in agony. She was so happy she wondered if she might die from contentment.

  After her initial experience, she was extremely anxious, but thankfully, it was the splendid event her virginal mind had frequently conjured.

  There was only pleasure and none of the pain.

  When he finally entered her, he slid in easily, their joining so perfect that the Good Lord, Himself, might have specifically created them to fit together.

  He thrust meticulously, watching her reactions. Eventually, the sweetest, most exotic wave of ecstasy swept through her. She gasped with surprise, her body tensing, which spurred him to proceed to his own conclusion.

  The speed and intensity increased, and very soon, he spilled himself far inside her. Gradually, he relaxed and drew away, stretching out so that they faced each other.

  They stared and stared, grinning like fools.

  “That was better than the first time, wasn’t it?” he asked.

  “Much.”

  “Since then, I haven’t thought of anything but you.”

  “I’m glad.”

  “I want to be with you as often as I can while we’re here in the country.”

  “I want that, too.”

  She could hardly keep from squealing with delight. She wouldn’t have to fume with resentment, terrified that some other girl had captured his fancy. She wouldn’t fret over where he was, because he would be in her bed.

  “I’ll arrive,” he said, “as near to midnight as I can manage.”

  “All right.”

  “We must be cautious, though.”

  “Yes, very cautious.”

  Verbally, she agreed to vigilance, but in all actuality, she was impatient to be discovered. If they were, they’d have to marry immediately. He would be hers forever, but she couldn’t risk detection until she was certain he was as madly in love as she. Once she was positive, she would notify the entire world of what they’d done.

  “Your reputation mustn’t be damaged,” he insisted.

  “It won’t be.”

  “The village dance is Friday.”

  “I can’t wait.”

  “I have to show the same amount of attention to everyone; I can’t play favorites. Don’t be jealous.”

  “I won’t be.”

  “I would dance every dance with you if I could.”

  “I know you would.”

  His respiration was slowing, his eyes drooping. He was dozing off in her bed, and the notion was too thrilling for words.

  “Are you tired?” she asked.

  “Yes. Let’s nap for a while, then we’ll do it again.”

  “I’d like that.”

  “So would I.”

  He pulled her close and hugged her, and she lay very still, eager to imprint every detail into her memory so that she would never forget. Yet, even as he drifted off, she was irked to find herself fussing over his presence.

  Wasn’t this what she wanted from him? Hadn’t matters turned out precisely as she’d planned? Why was she so apprehensive?

  The pesky morals upon which she’d been raised were niggling at her, and she tried not to heed them, but they wouldn’t be silent.

  “When you visit me ...” she murmured.

  “Hmm... ?”

  “My maid is here sometimes. She can’t catch you sneaking in. We should probably use some sort of signal to indicate that the coast is clear.”

  “Your maid is here? At midnight?”

  “If I’m up late.”

  “Who was assigned to you?”

  “Her name is Lydia.”

  “Lydia? Oh, I’ve known Lydia for ages. Don’t worry about her.”

  His eyes shut, and hers did, too. She slept, cradled in his arms, convinced that she’d made all the right choices.

  LYDIA walked down the empty hall, proceeding to her tiny bed in the attic room she shared with three other women. She was grumpy and exhausted and feeling gravely harried at having stayed up merely to tend Jane Hamilton.

  The servants were aware of how Captain Odell had rescued the Hamilton sisters from dire straits, how he’d ensconced them alongside the Seymour family when they didn’t deserve such an exalted spot.

  Lydia was consumed with rage over Jane’s good fortune and disturbed by how she constantly threw herself at Lord Hastings.

  Over the past few years, he’d showered Lydia with affection, and thus, she had cause to expect that great things were in store for her.

  She was buxom and willing, and there was no reason why she couldn’t be his mistress. Her mother had been the one to suggest it, and Lydia had quickly decided, why not?

  Why shouldn’t she set her sights so high? A girl could go far by allying herself with such an important man, and she’d just begun hinting at such an arrangement when Jane had arrived on the scene. Where Lydia was concerned, Lord Hastings had been blind ever since.

  Lydia hated Jane Hamilton. She hated her pretty hair and big green eyes and willowy figure. She hated the beautiful gowns the captain had bought for her with Lord Hastings’s money. Most of all, she hated how Jane was allowed to fritter away the day with no duties or chores, while Lydia had to work like a dog.

  In a furious temper, she was marching up the stairs when she heard male footsteps in the hall below. Curiosity had her peeking down, and even though it was very dark, a glimmer of moonlight made it easy to see Lord Hastings as he went by.

  Lydia’s pulse raced.

  It was the perfect occasion to seduce him, and she tiptoed after him and was about to whisper his name, when he stopped at Jane Hamilton’s door, spun the knob, and slipped inside.

  Lydia was so shocked that she had to count the doorways three times to be positive there was no mistake.

  She knew him well; he wasn’t in the bloody room to drink tea and eat biscuits! He was having a sexual affair with Jane Hamilton! The rat! And here, Lydia had stupidly thought it was a harmless flirtation.

  So ... Jane Hamilton was putting on airs, prancing about as if she owned the accursed mansion, but when it came right down to it, she was no better than she had to be.

  Lydia shook her head with disgust, her mind awhirl with the possibilities presented by Jane’s behavior.

  How much cash could Helen Hamilton be coerced into paying so that her sister’s foll
y wasn’t revealed? What would it be worth for Helen to save her plush existence?

  Even more intriguing, what would Maud Seymour think of Lydia’s discovery? Maud had grand plans for Miriam to marry Michael, and she loathed the Hamilton sisters more than Lydia did.

  What reward might she offer to be rid of Jane and Helen Hamilton?

  Or should Lydia keep the earl’s secret for him? Was there an advantage in silence?

  She couldn’t make a spur-of-the-moment decision on the matter, so she crept to an alcove where she could hide and wait to see what time Lord Hastings emerged. She snuggled down, eager to learn what benefits the night would bring.

  Chapter 12

  “GUESS what I heard?”

  “What?”

  Clarinda Dudley glanced over at her brother. Their wagon was parked on the lane that led up to Hastings Manor, and she could just see the grand house through the trees. It was a glorious day, the sky so blue, the grass so green.

  While she was delighted with their new location, and the world suddenly full of possibilities, his expression was so dour that she laughed.

  With their having traveled to the country, chasing after Helen Hamilton, he was in a foul mood. He’d agreed to come, but he was irked over the decision. He insisted that London held better prospects for his personal brand of chicanery, but she didn’t care where they camped. One place was the same as the other.

  Though she couldn’t explain why, it had seemed vital that she tag after the Hamiltons. Silly as it sounded, she felt as if she was destined to befriend them, as if fate had shoved them into her path.

  “The housekeeper,” Clarinda mentioned, “tells me that they’re hiring.”

  “Why?”

  “What with the earl being in residence, they’re throwing dozens of parties, and the guest rooms are all occupied. They need extra help.”

  “Bully for them.”

  “I thought I might take a job for a bit.”

  He gaped as if she were insane. “What is wrong with you?”

  “It would be fun.”

  He scoffed with derision. “My sister is not spending the next month cleaning chamber pots for a bunch of rich arseholes.”

  “We could use the money.”

  “We have plenty, and besides, with all the people arriving for the harvest festival, we’ll make out like bandits. You don’t need to work for Lord Hastings.”

  He looked so stern, as if he were her father and forbidding her from meeting with her favorite beau. He had an intense dislike of the aristocracy and didn’t wish to have any interaction with them—unless he was fleecing them out of cash. Then he was happy as a clam.

  As for herself, she had no deep feelings one way or another. According to tales told by their long-deceased mother, their father had been the duke of Clarendon, a notorious fiend who had kept their mother as a mistress.

  Clarinda didn’t know if the story was true, but Phillip was convinced that it was, and he hated all noblemen because of it. To her, it didn’t matter if they had been sired by Clarendon or not. It wasn’t as if they could show up on his stoop and ask to stay for supper. He was irrelevant.

  “Maybe I want to work for Lord Hastings,” she said, just to needle him. “Maybe I’d enjoy it.”

  “Don’t be absurd. You’re too independent, Clarinda. The first time some fussy butler gave you a stupid order, you’d punch him in the nose and quit.”

  “I might.”

  She chuckled, absolutely able to imagine it.

  She’d been on her own too long, had made her own schedule and followed her own rules, and she wasn’t one to suffer fools. Nor was there any reason to waste energy on tasks she loathed.

  Yet, as she stared at the manor, the sunlight reflecting off the windows, she was amazed at how desperately she yearned to be inside it, to explore the quiet hallways and study the beautiful things.

  “What is our plan while we’re here in the country?” she asked him.

  “Same as always: Sell, sell, sell to every gullible female who walks by.”

  “We’re low on bottles of Woman’s Daily Remedy. Shall I mix up another batch?”

  “I will.”

  It was a fruity alcoholic beverage that they marketed under the guise of it having medicinal qualities. Phillip claimed it eased stress, but mostly it left customers intoxicated so that they didn’t worry over their troubles.

  Earlier in the summer, Lord Redvers had warned Phillip not to dispense any more of it, but Redvers wasn’t present, was he? She and Phillip could do what they liked without the officious aristocrat horning in and telling them how to act.

  She was retrieving a basket of empty bottles, and Phillip combining the ingredients, when they heard voices down the road. Shortly, Jane and Helen Hamilton strolled around the bend.

  “Look who’s here,” Phillip murmured.

  “Just who I was hoping to meet,” Clarinda said.

  Phillip scowled. “Why?”

  “I like them.” She shrugged, perplexed by her interest.

  “I swear, you’ve tipped off your rocker.”

  “I’m trying to be friendly. Where’s the harm?”

  “When we saw them down by the harbor in London, didn’t you give Jane a potion?”

  “Yes.”

  “We must find out if love has blossomed,” Phillip said. “I’ll waylay Helen, while you chat with Jane. Perhaps she’ll buy something.”

  With Phillip, it was always about the money. He thrived on the verbal sparring, gleaning an enormous boost from persuading women to purchase items they didn’t need. She’d never liked his mercenary tendencies, and though she possessed many of them, she strove valiantly not to let them show.

  “Bonjour, bonjour,” Phillip gushed, his fake French accent firmly in place as he hurried down the lane to greet them.

  Clarinda waved at Jane, and Jane waved back, relief crossing her face, leaving Clarinda with the distinct impression that Jane was very glad to see her.

  “Mr. Dubois?” Helen’s smile was wide. “What are you doing here?”

  “We always travel near Hastings Manor this time of year,” he blithely lied. “It’s part of our regular route.” He was guiding her around the wagon. “I’m mixing a batch of my famous Woman’s Daily Remedy. Would you like to try a sample?”

  “I might, but I’d have to ...”

  Their words trailed off, and Jane rushed over to Clarinda. She stepped close, their heads together like a pair of conspirators, which Clarinda supposed they were.

  “I can’t believe you’re here,” Jane said. “What are you really doing?”

  “I was worried about you,” Clarinda admitted, whispering.

  “You came all this way just to check?”

  “Yes,” Clarinda fibbed, hating that her knack for fabrication was so ingrained. “Our tonics are very powerful. I had to be certain you applied yours correctly. How is Lord Hastings?”

  “I gave it to him that very same night, and for a while, it seemed to work.”

  “He fell in love with you?” Clarinda carefully shielded her incredulity.

  “Madly in love, but then, he started avoiding me to spend time with his cousin.”

  “The swine!”

  “I was afraid that the potion had waned or that he didn’t swallow enough of it. Do you have some more?”

  “Of course.”

  Clarinda grabbed two vials, and Jane stuck them in her purse.

  “Administer a double dose,” Clarinda counseled, “to be sure.”

  “I will. But what about his cousin? The family expects them to marry, and I’ve been so anxious about it.”

  Clarinda added another pouch to Jane’s burgeoning reticule.

  “Slip this powder to her.”

  “What will it do?”

  “It will make blotches break out all over her face.”

  Jane appeared gleefully horrified. “Will they be permanent?”

  “No, but after Lord Hastings sees them, they will have a dampening
effect. He’ll never gaze at her in a fond manner again.”

  “That’s just the sort of thing I need. Thank you, Miss Dubois. Thank you so much!”

  In a burst of youthful exuberance, Jane hugged Clarinda, and Clarinda hugged her back, charmed by the endearing gesture.

  “You may call me Clarinda if you like.”

  “I will,” Jane said, but she didn’t offer a reciprocal familiarity, and though Clarinda tried not to, she couldn’t help but feel annoyed.

  She knew who Jane’s father was—the disreputable Harry Hamilton—and she supposedly knew who her own was—Duke of Clarendon. Clarinda’s blood was much bluer than Jane Hamilton’s, but Jane was wearing a pretty dress and residing in the manor, so circumstances set them apart in ways Clarinda couldn’t counter.

  “Will you be attending the village dance on Friday?” Clarinda inquired.

  “Yes. Will you be there, too?”

  “Yes. I’ll want to hear how well the potions are working.”

  “I can’t wait to tell you everything,” Jane replied, and she went to find her sister.

  “WHAT is it, cherie?” Phillip asked of Helen Hamilton. “When I last spoke with you, you were so happy. Now you are very triste, very sad.”

  “Nonsense,” Miss Hamilton responded. “I’m perfectly fine.”

  “You cannot lie to me, mon amie. I see it in your eyes. What has happened?”

  “It’s nothing.”

  He moved nearer to encourage confidences.

  “Is it your dashing Captain Odell?”

  “He’s not my Captain Odell.”

  “You lie to me again, mademoiselle. After you drank my tonic, he was completely smitten. You told me so, yourself.”

  “I did not. I was merely curious about what seemed to be his ... ah ... heightened interest.”

  He studied her, thinking what a shame it was that such a beauty could be so worn down by amour. People always thought Phillip had psychic abilities, but actually he was simply a good judge of human nature.

  Women fell in love too easily and when that love was unrequited, their misery was plain for anyone who bothered to look.

  “And now?” he queried. “What is your opinion of his affection?”