Bound By Temptation (3 page)

“I have not found that theft is always based on need.”

“That is true, but nonetheless it was not me.”

“I saw you take it. What other explanation do you offer?”

She rubbed her temple. Perhaps his headache had spread to her. No, more likely it was merely the remainder of her indulgence of the previous night. “I do not feel the need to offer any explanation to you.”

“Then perhaps I should have the local magistrate summoned. Even in a backwater such as this I am sure he is up to the task of demanding an answer.”

At his words he saw a flash of concern.

She massaged the tight lines of her forehead. “Robert would not take kindly to hearing he lived in a backwater. And it really would complicate everything.”

“Robert?”

“My stepson—the current Earl of Westington—and the local magistrate.”

“Ah.” That explained so much.

“Yes, ah. Normally I would not object to his being summoned. He would vouch for my honesty and none here would gainsay him. The situation is, however, complex. I would rather he not be involved at present.”

“I can well understand that. But in truth, my interests are not in what pleases you. I am rather more concerned with justice. And I have only your word that he would speak for you, and I am not inclined to accept that at present.” Again he saw that flash of worry.

“You doubt me, but of course you do.” She lifted her head and stared at him. Her eyes spoke of knowledge beyond her years. She smoothed a hand across her temple once more and then straightened. He could almost see her muster her forces. “If you are going to summon him, then do so. It will be of inconvenience to me and embarrassment to him, but you have already said that my pleasure does not matter.”

There was something in her tone that made him think of other pleasures. She did not speak seductively or with flirtation, but somehow he was
left wondering if she doubted him as a lover. He actually opened his mouth to reply to this baseless accusation. He slammed it shut. This was why he hated dealing with women. They confused the issue even when they did not mean to—although it was hard to tell exactly what she meant.

“Well, are you going to summon him?” She sounded suddenly tired. He found he preferred her full of fight and ire. He did not wish to win so easily.

“Jake, the landlord’s son is normally about,” she continued, rubbing her temple again. “He’d know where to find Robert.” Then she changed. Her eyes came up and met his. The fight was not over. She took a step toward him. Daring him on. “Would you like me to call down? Or perhaps I should scream? It isn’t acceptable to abduct a lady, you know. I wonder which Robert would find more persuasive—that you claim I took your watch, or that I was found in your rooms after being tied to your bed?”

“Are you sure he’d find it unusual to find you tied to a bed in a strange man’s room?”

Oh, she didn’t like that one. She spun on her heels away from him. He could hear her pull in each angry breath.

“Then do it. If you do not, I am leaving. And if you try to restrain me I will scream. Based on your words, I no longer have much to lose.” She waited a moment and then marched to the door.

Without even trying the handle, she held out her hand to him. “Key.”

The command was back in her voice, and it was enough to make him hesitate. He did not want to give in to her.

His mind sped. He could see no point in continuing. He was not going to call the authorities; in truth he had never been going to. Doing so would only delay his journey and complicate matters. Explaining the true situation to her stepson would not be easy.

“Key,” she demanded again. “I am weary of this game.”

It was only as she spoke the words that he realized how much he had enjoyed the battle. He resented it. He fought against it, but he could not deny that he relished it.

He reached into his trouser pocket and drew out the key. He held it out to her, not moving toward her.

Another of those heavy breaths passed her lips. She measured the distance between them with her eyes and then moved toward him warily. Her wrist shook as she reached out for the key, and he wondered if she thought he’d grab her. Surely, she must know that if he’d been willing to resort to physical force the game would have been long over.

With extreme care she lifted the key so that only the tips of her fingers brushed his palm. Even so, a shiver of awareness ran through him.

He held his palm flat even after she had lifted the key. He watched her walk to the door. When her hand was on the handle he found himself
floundering for something to say. It didn’t seem fitting that their encounter should end on such a note.

But nothing came.

He watched as she opened the door and stepped through. There was a moment when he thought she’d turn back, but with a decisive click the door shut.

He didn’t even hear the tread of her feet as she walked away.

He should be glad that she was gone. That he would be back on the road later this day. He only hoped the rains were delayed.

He stared at the door longer than he should have.

Clara barely resisted the urge to speak. She didn’t know what there was to say, but it seemed there should be something. Her honor had still not been defended. He clearly did not believe that she had not taken his watch. Then there was the matter of her shoes, stocking, and cloak.

Her skirts were long enough that unless she kicked up her heels like a young girl nobody would remark on her feet, and the morning sun was still shining bright, giving hope that she would not look too much a fool walking the mile home without a cloak. Her feet might be sore and she’d probably catch a chill, but she would survive.

Creeping down the stairs step by step, she listened for the sounds of anybody passing by. Fortunately, it was late enough that the first rush of
morning was past, and early enough that late sleepers were still slumbering away.

She reached the inn door and eased it open with care. She saw Jake’s shirttails as he disappeared into the stable, but that was all.

A quick dart and she was free. If she was seen walking along the lane it would be considered odd, but not unduly so. There were some advantages to having an unusual reputation.

Now she could only hope that her luck continued as she walked farther and farther from The Dog and toward the Abbey. Perhaps Robert had been out late himself the previous evening and would not even notice that she had been gone. She crossed her fingers tight.

“Lady Westington.” Her name sounded from behind. She turned and looked over her shoulder. Coming toward her, perched high on a massive horse, was the prettiest blond pixie of a girl the world had ever seen.

“Oh, I am so pleased to see you. Robert said you never rose before noon or I would have asked you to ride with me. Or do you prefer to walk? A morning stroll can be quite a wonder. Have you seen any deer or rabbits?” Jennie smiled down at her. Her stepson’s fiancée was full of joy, as always.

Clara forced herself to stop, ignoring the icy rocks beneath her feet. It was imperative she appear normal. Jennie, and therefore Jennie’s father, Lord Darnell, must never know that the Countess of Westington had slipped again.

“Don’t you have a groom with you? I thought
your father didn’t like you to ride alone?” she asked. Offense was the best defense.

Jennie blushed like a beet. “You won’t tell him, will you? I know that I shouldn’t be unaccompanied, but none of the grooms was free and I didn’t want to wait.”

Clara smiled back. “Don’t worry. We can keep this whole meeting a secret and pretend that it never happened. Or if you prefer, we can say that we were together the whole morning.”

“Oh thank you, Lady Westington. That would be most delightful.”

T
he fire danced and jumped, sending a blanket of warmth across the parlor. Morning sun had given way to gray, and the occasional splatter of rain blew against the latticed panes of the windows. Clara curled her toes in the heavy wool socks Molly had found for her. She was lucky she had not been drenched as well as chilled.

That was far away now. She lifted the heavy mug of tea and took a welcome gulp, ignoring her still cold fingers that caused the tea to tremble. Most often she drank from the delicate porcelain cups the house seemed full of, but there were moments that only a mug would do. The heat of the stoneware warmed her lips even before she tilted the cup. An image of other lips placed carefully on the edge of a mug, drinking where hers had been, came to her, but she pushed it back.

Hers were the only lips that would drink from this cup.

Glancing about the room, she tried to decide if there were any items she wished to take back
to London upon her return. The house would be Jennie’s home soon, and it was an adjustment that Clara needed to consider with care.

Turning her attention to the task proved difficult. Her thoughts kept turning to the blank spots in the events of the previous evening. Her chest ached with the pain of missing parts of her life. What had happened?

“I hear you had quite an adventure.” Robert’s voice echoed from the doorway as he entered her study, his lanky form disproportionate in this most feminine of rooms.

“Whatever do you mean?” Her fingers gripped the mug more tightly. Had someone at the tavern seen her? Had her mystery man not been discreet? Had he come looking for his watch? Perhaps Robert had just heard of her card game the previous evening? That would be scandal enough. She waited for Robert’s answer.

“Jennie said you’d gone out with her early this morning. I am glad you’re making an effort to get to know her. I realize my engagement has not made things easy for you.”

Clara put down the mug, her ready smile both from Robert’s clear infatuation with the girl and her own relief that last night’s debacle had not yet come home to roost. “I don’t know why you sound surprised. You know I adore Jennie.”

Robert took a seat across from her, stretching his long legs toward the fire. “I know you like her, but
adore
seems a bit strong. To be frank, you’ve always seemed to like her the way a young girl likes
kittens—they’re cute and warm and don’t often scratch.”

“That’s fair,” she said. Robert had always known her too well. He’d been an undeveloped boy of thirteen to her own lofty eighteen when she’d first come here. Michael had been all of thirty-three, not much older than she was now. It had seemed a vast age difference between Robert and her at the time, but even then he’d seemed to understand all her secrets. Twelve years later, she sometimes forgot that he’d ever seemed a child. “I must admit she’s always just been about, happy and smiling. But ever since you’ve shown a preference for her, I’ve made an effort to better our acquaintance. She has a keen intelligence underneath that gentle countenance.”

“You must know I wouldn’t have proposed if she’d been all fluff.” Robert leaned forward and plucked her mug off the table. He smiled mischievously before taking a deep drink. “You like bergamot too much. I thought I’d brought you around to smokier blends.”

Clara could only stare at the mug in his hands. He frequently stole her tea and her biscuits. The intimacy of it had been so familiar that she’d never realized it until this moment. It was a gesture of comfort and family.

She’d appreciated the sensuality and control of the man’s move that morning, but not the level of closeness it placed between them.

She swallowed hard and attempted an answer. “I know you’re partial to blends that smell and
taste like a peat fire, but please spare me. I am after all a lady.”

“You are that, Clara. Despite your best attempts to prove otherwise.” Robert put the tea back down. “I am pleased by your behavior these last months. I know you don’t see it as my place to govern you, but I have worried in the years since my father’s death. You haven’t always seemed to care about the repercussions of your actions.”

Little did Robert know. Her actions had always been formed with a strong understanding of their repercussions. Still, there were some things one couldn’t tell one’s stepson even if he often seemed more of a friend and she longed for someone to confide in. “We both know I wasn’t quite a lady when he found me. I’ve never felt as if I belonged since he’s been gone. But you know I rarely talk about him and those years following his death, and it has no reflection on my current good behavior. I’d be dancing on tables in Mayfair if it weren’t for Lord Darnell and his requirements in a son-in-law.”

“You’ve never danced on tables in your life, but I do appreciate your help with Lord Darnell. He was very clear what would be expected of me, and of you, if I was to claim Jennie.”

Little did Robert know if he thought she’d never danced on tables. She’d danced on one in this very room, if memory served. Her husband had loved a good laugh and all it could lead to. Clara wondered what Robert would think if he knew that most of the behaviors that society had so objected to had
begun in the warm confines of her marriage, knew that it was her fear that she had never lived up to Michael’s expectations that had led to so much of her outrageous behavior.

She turned to Robert with a forced smile. Thinking of the past and the mistakes she had made would lead only to melancholy. “You know Lord Darnell has no objections to you. It’s me he fears will corrupt his sweet Jennie and ruin his family name. For the second son of a duke, he has a greater sense of importance than several princes I have met.”

“I think he still holds out hope that Jennie will land a duke. You are just his excuse—not that I think he would hesitate to force her to cry off the engagement should he so desire.” Robert tapped his fingers against the rim of the cup. He shook himself slightly before looking back up at her. “And when have you met princes?”

“Certainly not in Norfolk. I am afraid princes fall into those questions you don’t really want me to answer.” The smile was easier now.

“Mother, certainly not Prinny—I hope.” Robert only called her mother when he wanted either to exasperate her or to make her smile. She reckoned it was both at the moment.

“No, not Prinny—although I have been introduced. And if you had seen him in my youth…” Clara said. She wiggled her toes in the heavy socks. Blood slowly returned to them. “I stuck to princes of the foreign variety—Italian, Russian, even an African, I believe.”

“You don’t mean—” There was both horror and curiosity in Robert’s voice.

She picked up the cold tea and took a sip, glancing over the rim at him. He just stared. Finally, she gave in. “Oh, don’t be silly. I thought you knew me better than that, and besides, I already told you that you didn’t want to know.”

“But—”

“But nothing. It’s my business and not my fault if I’ve only confused you more. You did ask.” Smiling to herself, she plopped the mug back on the table and stood. “Now I’ve a pile of correspondence to complete.”

She turned to the door, her mind filling with the details of the letters she needed to write.

“No, don’t go.” Robert’s words stopped her.

She turned back, her brows lifted in question.

He hesitated a moment and then started slowly. “I’ve let you change the subject, but I really do want to know. Why did you get so wild after Father’s death? I do remember you before, and you were very different than in those years after.”

It was her turn to hesitate. “I wasn’t aware that my wildness was the subject.”

Meeting her gaze straight on, he answered, “Perhaps it wasn’t exactly the subject—but don’t you think it’s time to tell me? I’ll be married soon and I really would like to understand.”

Previous misgivings of being unable to share her secrets came back to her, as did the question of sharing such things with her stepson. Still, he was right. He was soon to face his own marriage, and
although the history of her own might not help, it probably would not hurt to tell him at least part of the truth. She sank back into her chair. “It’s hard to explain. I’ve never been quite sure I understood my reasons myself, but they always felt right. Do you remember how much your father liked to have fun?”

Robert’s eyes clouded for a moment, and then he smiled, a smile that filled his entire face. “It would be hard to forget. I think he started more trouble than I did.”

It was her turn to smile. “Yes, I have no doubt that he did. He loved having a son to play with. He wasn’t always as sure about his wife.”

“He loved you.” Robert spoke with absolute conviction.

“Yes, he did. And I, him. But I never pursued joy with the same vigor. He always regarded me as a bit of a stick-in-the-mud. He could never understand why I didn’t want to spend my days thinking of nothing but enjoyment. And then he died.”

They were both silent for a moment.

Clara drew in a deep breath and then continued. “After his death, I wondered if I’d failed him. If things would have been different if I’d lived more the way he wanted me to.”

Robert looked at her solemnly. “I can only say again that he loved you.”

She smiled at him again, only slightly sadly. “Yes, but after his death I wished I had tried more to see the world the way he did—and so I decided
to try. It made me feel closer to him, and I have to admit that I did rather enjoy myself.”

“Well, I should hope so,” Robert replied, his lips held tight.

“Oh, don’t look at me like that. I am well aware I may have gone a little too far—but your father never did have any limits. And besides, I’ve decided to change my ways. I’ve come to understand how much joy there is in life without causing outrage.”

Doubt spread across Robert’s face.

She wrinkled her nose at him and stood again. “You’ll just have to wait and see—and now I really do have to get to my correspondence. Which you also don’t want to know about—if only because it is so dull. The only interesting one in the bunch is from Lady Smythe-Burke, and I still must get through three pages about the proper colors for new drapes before she’ll get to the gossip.”

Robert started to say something—she could see he was not so ready to let the subject of past behavior drop—but after a moment he nodded and answered only, “No letters from Lady Carrington, or the new Mrs. Struthers? I thought your dear friends never let a day go by without putting pen to paper.”

She walked to the door and turned back to him. “You must think we have nothing to do in our lives. Violet Carrington has only just returned to London after searching for her sister and is beginning to think about planning her wedding. I swear if she puts the date off one more time I’ll have to have a new dress made. And Anna—I’ll
never think of her as Mrs. Struthers—has her own worries and little time to share them. Even I am only taking up my pen because of this blasted weather. I rather like the country when the sun is out, but cold rain puts a damper on almost anything I desire to do here.”

“I don’t even want to hear about what you could be doing in Town.” He stood also, brushing biscuit crumbs off his pants. “I am sure that is one of those questions I don’t want answered—no matter what you claim about your future behavior. And I did not mean to imply that you and your friends have nothing to do. I am well aware that you spend more time running my estates than I do. Women are the backbone of England and I never forget it.”

“For all that, you started the conversation implying that you’d like to govern me.”

“Don’t tease me.” Robert joined her in the doorway. “That isn’t quite what I said, and I know I’d have as much success governing you as the barn cat’s new kittens.”

“And yet those kittens will learn to catch rats just fine without you.”

Robert walked by her. “I think I’ll go hide in my study and stare at the account books. I haven’t forgotten that we began the conversation also comparing Jennie to a kitten, and I don’t want to imagine her catching rats or learning anything else without me.”

He looked like a little boy who had finally beat his father at chess. Clara reached out a hand and
patted his cheek before turning and heading up the stairs. His footsteps echoed down the hall below, and she heard the creak of his study door.

She doubted he’d get much work done this morning. His head was too full of Jennie for that. She hoped Lord Darnell would relent and let them marry soon. Jennie was almost the age Clara had been when she married Michael. Her mother had still thought her young, but she was grateful for every moment she’d had with him. Her hand shook as she grasped the stair rail. She closed her eyes for a moment to gather strength.

It still hurt to think about him. She could go for days now without thinking about their time together—and how it had ended. It was why she had fled to London after his death and stayed there for as long as she could—if only she could have been as carefree as Michael had wanted during his life instead of waiting until after. Being in London had made forgetting so much easier.

It did feel good to have talked about it, though. She had told Robert far from everything, but her soul felt lighter for the words.

Being back here was teaching her just how ready she was for change. And it was not as painful as she’d expected. Not even sleeping in the bed that she’d shared with Michael for those precious years had left her bereft. Granted, she’d had the room redecorated, but the bed was still the same, narrow mahogany posters rising to the high canopy. She’d been frightened of the dreams that bed would bring, but she’d slept far better here
than she ever had in Town. She really was ready to move on, to start anew. Strength and commitment filled her.

She paused halfway up the stairs and considered as a new thought filled her. Why had she decided to tell Robert so much now? Why did thoughts of Michael surround her?

It was that blasted man from The Dog. She didn’t know why or how, but it was his presence that had revived Michael’s ghost. There was something in the way he made her feel that made her relationship with Michael come back to her.