Far Too Tempted (9 page)

“Really?” One fair brow inched upward in a mannerism that sent irritation in waves through her body. “So then, what do you propose, Jess? Camping out on the front lawn like a gypsy? Sleeping in the stables?”

Sitting on the rumpled bed, she felt her throat tighten. Her predicament was dire. It was unkind of him to point it out. If the truth be known, she had no idea what she was going to do.

It felt terrible.

She stared at him. She was dirty and crumpled and unsightly. He was elegant and relaxed and utterly handsome. He had money, a home, and a hero’s reputation for his achievements while fighting the French. She had nothing but the clothes on her back.

Tears pricked her lids but she blinked fiercely. She was not going to cry again in front of him. The night before had been humiliation enough.

To make matters worse, he’d been kind.

He’d held her very tenderly and made her actually feel like he cared.

Had it been true, that would be different. She’d been victim once to his transient charm. Many women undoubtedly had. From the rumors, many was an understatement.

“Alex,” she said in a tight voice, “the answer is obvious, isn’t it? I can go to the Greenes. They’ll want me. Nathaniel will insist I go there when he hears of all of this.”

“And in the meantime”—he sounded reasonable—“until such arrangements can be made, you can stay at Grayston.”

“No.”

“Jessica.” He looked at her with those eyes that were so very blue. “Again, you cannot stay here. I also cannot send you off alone into the world without money or shelter. Therefore the solution is no longer your choice. My parents were very good friends of your parents, and our grandparents, and so on. Our families have a very long history together. I would think that this would be the logical step under the circumstances. Stop being obstinate and just bathe, dress and come downstairs when you are ready.”

“Alex—” she began stubbornly.

“I’m through discussing this.” He spun on his heel and was gone.

Tears stung her eyes afresh, making her swallow very hard. How she hated it when he was right.

“General Pierson wrote to me.” Marcus eyed Alex from across his desk and lifted a brow. “He said you were shot three times but no one seems sure what exactly happened. It was my impression the battle was over and the fortress in your hands.”

The study was filled with afternoon sun, blocks of light falling over the deep red and greens of the thick rug and touching the dusty books in the oak cases lining the walls. It was good to be back at Grayston, the familiar surroundings bringing back a long-absent sense of comfort and ease after four years of strife.

“It was.” Alex strolled across the room to the brandy decanter. Picking up a glass, he splashed in a full measure, not wanting to recall that confrontation back in Badajoz. Not wanting to recall Badajoz, period. The British troops might have acquitted themselves as valiant soldiers but some had not come off well as human beings. It was easier to lie. “And no, before you ask, I have no idea what exactly happened. Many besides myself were hit by wild senseless fire. Once inside, the city was utter chaos, bullets flying everywhere.” He took a sip and grimaced. “If I could forget that particular battle, it would be fine with me.”

“Don’t make light of it. The general also wrote your wounds were life threatening. I was never so glad to receive word you were back safe in England and on the mend. Rest assured, I kept Mother in the dark until the news was favorable.”

What could he say? Alex took an appreciative sip and nodded. “Thanks, Marcus. I’m sure that was best.”

His older brother looked at him out of level blue eyes. “Tell me this, Badajoz aside, I heard Albuera was a nightmare, thousands fell, and the English people are not getting the truth about the battle. Word is that it was not the victory being reported to the public. In your opinion, was Wellington in the wrong on this?”

He shrugged, stifling a wince at the twinge in his shoulder. “Truth and politics rarely go hand in hand. By God, you know that, who better? The House of Lords is often a cesspool of rumor. Just remember we finally took Badajoz and are moving forward. King Joseph and his court would do well to flee Madrid. Wellington hopes to hold it by fall.”

“This campaign seems never-ending.”

“You’re telling me this?” Cold humor intervened and Alex could not help the jaded smile that curved his lips. Dropping into a chair by the cold fireplace, he crossed his booted legs negligently at the ankle. “I want nothing more than for the whole thing to be resolved, the ambitious emperor to be deposed, and to retire to a life of perfect boredom right next door.”

“Next door.” The words drifted into the civilized confines of the room and Marcus frowned. “Speaking of that, what happened? I’m not sure I understand how Robert came to leave the country so precipitously and you to possess his house. I am delighted for us to be neighbors, mind you, but curious.”

Jessica’s desolate face swam into Alex’s mind, unwanted. Her unhappy eyes, her stiff stance as she tried to defy her feelings, her final sobbing acquiescence in his arms. She’d always been a spritely, spirited creature. To see her so abandoned and desolate was painful, and he once again wanted to put his hands around Robert’s neck and punish his selfishness.

He spoke slowly, “You must know his financial situation had gotten desperate.”

“I knew. I tried to talk to him to no avail.” Marcus—practical Marcus—sounded intensely disapproving. “He simply would not listen to good sense. He thought regaining his losses by wagering even more outrageously would be the answer to his woes. You would not believe the stories.”

“I heard a few. Besides the rather grisly murder of young Litchfield, Robert was the talk of the town during my few days in London.”

“Yes.” Marcus frowned deeply, toying with his glass. “The murder. Litchfield was an acquaintance. Capital fellow, really. I am trying to imagine who would want to strangle the man and hang him in the park in such a public fashion.”

“Jealous husband? It certainly smacks of a statement of some kind, doesn’t it?” Alex remarked and then switched back to the original subject. “At any rate, when I arrived back in England, I was told Robert was thinking of selling the house. So I sought him out at once and offered for it.”

Marcus lifted a blond brow, his expression lightening. “A good price?”

Alex laughed. “Ever the farmer and businessman, aren’t you?”

Marcus made a face. “Farmer. How common that sounds. I’m a duke, and as so, deserve the respect due me as peer of the realm. Just answer me.” His cheeky grin took the edge off his haughty words. Marcus was anything but elitist.

“A very good price, of course. Robert just wanted ready coin to flee the country.”

“A coward’s solution.”

“I agree.” Slowly lowering his snifter, Alex said, “This is very unfair to Jessica. I hope you don’t mind her coming here.”

“Why on earth would I mind? She’s like family and Robert has apparently forgotten her existence. Poor child.”

Yes, poor child. Only she wasn’t actually a child any longer. She was a woman.

A very beautiful, alluring woman. He had a traitorously clear memory of how it felt to hold her in his arms. Not to mention the luscious fullness of her bared breasts.

He asked, “Have you seen her lately?”

“Seen who?”

“Jessica.”

Marcus raised his brows. “She has not spent much time at Braidwood the past few years, so our paths have not crossed in some time.”

“Four years ago you told me she was going to be a beauty. You were dead right on that prediction. At not quite twenty, she is stunning.”

Mouth quirking, Marcus said, “Is she? Do I sense a certain interest in our lovely Jessica?”

“After four years in Spain, let’s just say I noticed.” Alex grinned, trying to make it a lighthearted joke, although all he could remember was her slender body in his arms, racked with sobs. “Lovely women were a scarce commodity, and the ones that were presentable were all married to fellow officers. Women do follow the camps, but I have never been interested in that sort of arrangement.”

“You stopped over in London on your way home,” his brother said with a twinkle in his eye. “I’ve never known you to have a shortage of willing ton beauties there.”

He idly swirled his drink. “I thought about renewing some old acquaintances, but frankly, with my shoulder so slow to heal and being deplorably out of touch, I wasn’t sure I should risk ending up on the field at dawn facing an irate lover or husband.”

“Wise man.” Marcus chuckled.

“As for Jessica, she is a pleasure to look at. But other than a predictable appreciation of her physical attributes, no, I am not interested. Besides, it wouldn’t matter if I was. She is engaged to be married.”

“To Sidney Greene’s son. Yes.”

“At least Robert’s irresponsibility will only affect her for a short time. Don’t the Greenes hold shipping interests?”

Marcus nodded thoughtfully. “And mining and about a dozen other things. Her fiancé is a good catch and thoroughly bewitched from what I hear.”

Bewitched. Alex almost smiled. If anyone was a feisty little witch, that would be Jessica. He cleared his throat. “Out of curiosity, how did they even meet? She hasn’t even had her coming out yet.”

“Apparently through his sister. The two of them are friends. She’s spent considerable time at their home.”

“Ah.” The room was comfortably cluttered and warm in the late afternoon sun. Alex lowered his gaze to the tips of his boots and tried to sound casual. “I would be willing to finance a new wardrobe and whatever else she might need for a proper introduction to society if Ariel and Mother will see to the details.”

Marcus had never been particularly easy to fool. His blue gaze sharpened and he reached for the brandy decanter. “Why on earth?”

The question was blunt. Struggling to keep his response nonchalant, Alex said, “I don’t know. Perhaps I have a sense of guilt over her losing her home. Robert was a friend—whether or not he was not the sort of person who should be given a great deal of responsibility—yet I did nothing. Even when I knew he was gambling too much and selling things from the house, I still did not lift a finger to make sure she was being cared for. It turned into a disaster.”

“For God’s sake, man, Robert is the guilty party, not you.” Marcus stared.

“No, but you,” Alex rejoined coolly, “did not have to look into her eyes and tell her that her brother had squandered everything, sold her home and abandoned her because he’d fled to the colonies.”

Understanding crossed his brother’s face in a wave that smoothed his features. He said dryly, “The power of a woman’s tears never will cease to amaze me. A beautiful woman’s tears could melt an iceberg. But I confess that I’m a little surprised she got to you. You have plenty of experience with disappointed and pouting young ladies.”

Alex felt his face tighten. “It was hardly some female tantrum, designed to get me to buy her some bauble. She had every right to be hurt and upset, Marcus. Devil take it, she’s orphaned, penniless and at the moment, homeless.”

“And about to marry into one of the wealthiest families in England, don’t forget that.”

Hopefully so, Alex thought uneasily, not willing to mention the reason for his generosity. The ton could be astoundingly cruel to anyone who fell from grace. A night in his arms, however innocent, was a definite downward plummet. Neither of them had intended it, but he was a decade older, and she had not asked for him to come to her room. It was his fault.

“Well, until that day comes, I’d like to assume financial responsibility for her. Anonymously, that is. She might accept it from you and Ariel, but never from me.”

“This relationship becomes more intriguing by the second. Why from us and not you? After four years absence, do you know her so well?”

Alex stared darkly at his brother. “Marcus, you are full of irritating questions this afternoon. Just take my word for it and keep my name out of it, will you?”

“I suppose that’s possible.”

“Good, that’s settled. I need another drink.” Very aware of his brother’s obvious amusement, Alex surged to his feet and reached for the brandy decanter.

Ariel Ramsey, the Seventh Duchess of Grayston, smiled beautifully and lifted a tiny exquisite teacup in a graceful gesture. “It’s so good to have you here, Jessica. I am thrilled at the thought of you staying with us for a while. Please consider this your home.”

“You’re being too kind.” Jessica lowered her lashes. “I won’t impose any longer than necessary. When I contact Nathaniel, everything will be settled quickly.”

“But, my dear, we want you here.” Ariel leaned forward, her lovely face earnest, the flame of her hair coiled in a gleaming chignon at her nape. Clad in white silk that rivaled her pale skin, she was a vision of elegance that made Jessica cringe at her own plain grey gown and tuck her worn slippers self-consciously under her skirts. The duchess continued, “I do mean it. Stay until the wedding. I believe it is what your parents would prefer if they could have their say.”

“It feels so awkward, being thrown on the generosity of others,” Jessica confessed, her voice breaking. They sat in a small parlor, a room done in shades of soft blue and rose, with rich carpeting, Italian marble tables and extravagant flower arrangements in huge vases. The contrast to her own lost and empty home was unnerving.