Far Too Tempted (2 page)

The room was comfortable and lined with bookcases, smelled of tobacco and leather, and a fire in the grate sent teasing shadows into the corners. A working study, the huge oak desk was piled with neat stacks of invoices and letters. The only true distraction was a window overlooking the garden, open just enough to allow the sweet scent of dying roses to battle with the smell of autumn wood smoke.

Alex Ramsey fingered his glass restively and then tossed back the remaining golden liquid, feeling it burn all the way down his throat. As he watched with obvious amusement, his older brother, Marcus, commented in dry observation, “You’re restless and on edge this evening. Better take it easy with the spirits or the lovely Miranda will find herself disappointed.”

Alex’s brows lifted. “I have never disappointed Miranda and I can handle my whiskey, Marc, as you well know. I believe I can drink you under the table, as has been proven more than once.”

“Is that so? Well, perhaps, but you practice more.” Marcus laughed and leaned back easily in his chair. He was elegantly attired in formal tailored evening clothes, the dark color a foil for his blond hair and tanned skin. “I suppose the guests will be arriving soon, so we should enjoy this respite together. How could I not know that our mother would insist on a farewell party for you? I should have expected it.”

“That’s how she is. A party for everything. Any occasion will do. Even marching off to war.” Alex laughed sardonically and got up to pour himself another drink. He lifted the bottle and offered more to his brother, who nodded in acquiescence and held out his glass.

Marcus said, “Don’t make light of this. I wish they’d assigned you elsewhere. A desk in London would be my preference.”

The sentiment wasn’t too surprising, Alex couldn’t help but think. Marcus was no soldier but rather the perfect heir for the title of Duke of Grayston. Serious and capable, he had already done his duty and married, and was the father to two lovely little daughters.

Alex said truthfully, “Not mine.”

“I know.” A rueful smile curved his brother’s lips. “I think that perhaps the festivities are Mother’s way of coping with the anxiety over your command in the expeditionary force entering Spain. To say the least, she doesn’t want you to go.”

I love you. And I can’t bear for you to go.

Somehow Alex couldn’t banish the image of young Jessica Roweland’s lovely, expressive eyes as they stared up at him in frightening and innocent sincerity. It had been months since he’d seen her before this afternoon’s debacle and the changes were startling. No longer was she childishly thin and gawky, but instead her disheveled gown had hinted at soft, tempting curves and the thick halo of hair surrounding her delicate face had gleamed like rich, polished mahogany, tumbling down her back in disarray.

Which might account for his less-than-perfect behavior.

Which made him feel like even more of a debauched villain.

Someday she would be a beautiful woman, but that day was still some distance in the future. Though not intentionally, he’d essentially kissed a child.

“Alex? Are you even listening?”

He jerked back to attention and focused sharply on his brother’s face. “Yes, of course.” He stood by the sideboard and moved to lean one shoulder casually against the wall instead of sitting down.

“Any reassurance you could give her would help.”

“Who?”

“Mother.” Marcus looked at him curiously. “You are certainly distracted.”

Alex lifted his hands, brandishing his glass. “How can I reassure her? Napoleon himself directs the French offensive and whatever anyone thinks of his ambition, there is no denying his military brilliance. The Spanish are notoriously unorganized and undisciplined, and anything they’ve really won has been through the guerilla fighters who can’t be trained or directed. I don’t know how we will fare this time in a campaign against Bonaparte on foreign soil, but I do know we can’t let him continue on this mad course.”

“It’s true.” Marcus stared for a moment into his glass. “And as an officer, I suppose you’ll be leading your men into the field and thick of battle.”

“You suppose right. I aim to do just that. Not all of us”—Alex smiled briefly and added—“can inherit a dukedom.”

His brother stiffened in his chair, his head coming up in surprise. “Damn it, Alex, right now you are my heir, as I was Father’s. Second in line is—”

Alex shook his head, interrupting with a grin. “Marcus, I’m joking. I would make a terrible duke. I haven’t your love for detail, and the sheer volume of paperwork and the workings of the estate would annoy me. Please me and live to a ripe old age after siring several sons.”

Marcus laughed, releasing the tension. He grinned. “Agreed. Especially to the latter request. As long as you promise to come back safe and sound from this unholy war.”

Alex took a solid swallow from his glass. He said in quiet agreement, “I promise to try.”

Silence. The fire crackled loudly.

As indirectly as possible, Alex changed the subject. “Word is Robert Roweland has gotten himself in another financial bind.”

His brother snorted in disgust. “I know he’s a good friend of yours and our neighbor, but Roweland has lost whatever good sense he had since coming into his inheritance. He’s got markers from here to London and back. If he isn’t careful, he’ll eventually lose the estate.”

“The estate?” Alex stared. Robert was a bit irresponsible—his love of gambling a well-known fact—but surely things weren’t that bad. “It can’t have come to such dire straits. When his parents died, he inherited a fortune.”

A shrug lifted the elegant black velvet of his brother’s coat. “He has proceeded to spend a fortune.”

“And what of Jessica?” The question was thick in his throat.

“A good thing she is turning into a beauty. Maybe a lack of dowry will not be an issue. Mother worries about the child, but at least Roweland has promised to come up with the sum for her debut, which is not that far away.”

“Damn him.” Alex felt a surge of real anger.

“Quite.”

“I can’t believe this. Even back at Cambridge he was a bit selfish, but I wouldn’t think he’d risk his sister’s future over a game of dice.”

Marcus stretched out his long legs and looked pensive. “The entire situation is regrettable. The house is suffering, as is the whole estate. Repairs aren’t being made and half the staff has left. He isn’t paying some of his bills in the village, and those people can ill-afford to absorb his irresponsibility.”

A discreet knock on the door interrupted them. “Your Grace. My lord.” The family butler appeared in the opening, nodding in his stiff way first at Marcus, then Alex. “Guests are arriving and the dowager duchess requests your presence.”

Alex and Marcus locked glances of mutual male sympathy.

“Here we go,” Alex muttered and drained his glass.

“Yes, indeed.” Marcus did the same.

She hadn’t been invited.

Of course not, how could she forget, she was a child.

Alex Ramsey had so kindly pointed it out.

As she edged past a row of box hedge, Jessica listened to the lilt of the music and crept closer to the back terrace. Luckily, she knew Grayston almost as well as her own home. She could walk through the gardens with her eyes closed, but tonight there was a convenient brilliant full moon to aid her.

Three sets of French doors spilled light onto the flagstones of the magnificent garden terrace. Crouched by a withered rhododendron, she peered at the swirling dancers inside, their colorful clothing making a melee of brightness behind the glass. She caught a glimpse of her brother, elegant and smiling at some woman he held by the hand, unmistakable with his russet hair and good-looking features.

But she could care less about who danced with Robert. She was looking for a tall, strikingly handsome man with blond hair and an air of reckless charm. She did care who Alex chose for a partner.

Damn him, she thought vehemently, and took secretive and gleeful pleasure in the unladylike sentiment, even if it was just in her head.

He was leaving tomorrow. Robert had confirmed it.

Her breathing quickened as she saw a couple go by the glass in a graceful sweep, a lovely red-haired woman whose partner was very tall and fair. Marcus, the Duke of Grayston, she realized in disappointment, dancing with his wife, Ariel. The two brothers looked very much alike but there was no mistaking Lady Ariel’s vivid coloring.

It was chilly.

She shifted positions several times, easing her cold, cramped muscles. An owl called occasionally from some distant tree, the lonely sound mingling oddly with the music to emphasize her outcast state. Her stomach grumbled, reminding her that she’d been too upset to eat her dinner. Inside, everyone was warm—there was food, there was lovely music and champagne and dancing.

On the other hand, she was hungry, cold and crouched behind some bush.

All because she was fifteen.

Minutes ticked by and she still did not see Alex.

Either he wasn’t there, or he wasn’t dancing. Her throat tightened. Surely he could not have ridden off already, could he? This party was supposed to be a farewell gesture. He certainly wouldn’t miss it.

Eventually she couldn’t take her hunched position any longer and snuck away, feeling relief when she was far enough from the festivities to straighten her aching back. Walking listlessly down one of the shadowed garden paths, Jessica couldn’t help but reflect that this was the second time she’d made a complete fool out of herself in one day. She might only be fifteen but she was old enough that spying from the bushes was fairly undignified.

She had just wanted to see him one last time.

A throaty giggle came through the darkness, making her stiffen. The garden gazebo lay at the end of the path she’d chosen, a frivolous concoction of gothic swirls, lattice, and marble. It was right in front of her, just a few feet away, and apparently it was occupied. In her distraction, she hadn’t noticed.

She certainly noticed now.

Jessica went rigid, staring against her will.

A woman lay half-naked across the cushioned window seat, moonlight pouring like silver gilt over her bared skin. She whispered, touching her lover’s hair, her full breasts white and plump in the filtered light, her bodice gaping open. The man bent over her, his hands touching and caressing her bare skin, cupping and holding the pliant exposed flesh.

Alex.

There was no mistaking the dark gold of his hair, or the width of his shoulders.

Jessica must have made some sound, a gasp of horror escaping her lips perhaps, for he immediately lifted his head and turned to look straight at her. For a brief moment, their gazes locked.

With a low curse, he jumped to his feet.

She turned and blindly ran, stumbling down the garden path in her mindless flight.

“Jess!”

The warmth of tears trickled down her face as she flew into the darkness. Her feet pounded down the path in unison with her heartbeat. She felt as if she was whirling into a world that disintegrated with each flying step.

Robert Roweland lifted a brow. “Jessica says she doesn’t want to see you. What’s that all about? I thought you were her damned hero. She’s adored you since she was toddling around in nappies.”

Some hero
.

Alex gritted his teeth. “She rode over to the house yesterday and especially asked me to say good-bye, Rob.” It was a small white lie. “So I’m here. Tell her to just come down here and talk to me for a second. I should have left two hours ago.”

Robert shrugged. “Don’t see why it matters one way or another if you say good-bye to Jess. I’ll tell her you’re in a hurry, if you like.”

Despite the cowardly temptation to accept that offer, Alex shook his head. “She’s like my…my little sister. And I want to talk to her. Just do it, please. If she refuses, tell her I’ll come up there and haul her down myself.”

“All right, all right. If it’s so bloody important.” Robert threw up his hands and walked out.

Alex glanced around the room, idly twirling his hat in his hands. There were paintings missing, he noticed with dismay, and the furnishings looked shabby and worn. Sir Richard would spin in his grave if he saw how his son had let the place go. Alex paced over to the window and stared out over the gardens. The neglect was evident there too, with leaves in drifted piles and dying overgrown bushes lining the walkways.

Jessica didn’t make a sound, but he sensed when she came into the room.

Turning around, he saw her in the doorway, a wooden expression on her pale face. She looked considerably older than she had the day before, but perhaps it was due to the hardness he saw in her gray eyes. She wore a rose day dress that was out of style and hung on her slender figure. He suspected it had once been her mother’s, dead these four years. Rich dark hair spilled over her shoulders and down her back like gleaming, spun silk.

He’d hurt and disillusioned her and wasn’t sure what he could do about it—except one thing. He couldn’t ride away with it on his conscience. He had to try.