Tainted by Temptation (13 page)

His gaze shifted to her wet nightgowns. They were plain, without sheer lace panels or plunging necklines. The button plackets weren’t even set particularly low.

Who the hell was she? Everything he saw pointed to a modest, moral woman. Everything except the passion he’d tasted on her lips the night she’d come to his bedroom.

“I wish to discuss the contents of that letter.”

She pushed back the strand of loose hair. Her shoulders slumped. “Very well.”

“In my office . . .” He was about to say immediately but hesitated. “ . . . when you are through here.”

“Thank you,” she said.

He had to decide what to do with her, and she was thanking him? Clenching his fists, he walked back to his office. Lilith had fooled him, but he’d been eighteen and hungry for all the joys of marriage, companionship, family . . . sexual relations. If his parents had been alive, he might not have been so alone or so impulsive. He might have waited to marry.

Had he allowed Velvet to fool him too? The letter could be full of lies and exaggerations. Or he was just an idiot.

Velvet finished wringing out her pantalets then hung them on the drying racks.

Whatever Mrs. Langtree had written, it wouldn’t be good. She would have little defense against the facts. A sick feeling crept into the back of her throat. She swallowed repeatedly, to no avail.

She carefully poured out the rinse water and tried to straighten her clothes to appear presentable. But the truth was, once her reputation was shattered, no man ever looked at her in the same way. She thought she’d gotten away from the horrible innuendoes and treatment. But perhaps as her punishment in life she could never truly get away. She had to pay for letting her brother die.

Her heart thundered in her chest and her hands shook. Lucian’s seeking her out in the laundry room couldn’t bode well.

She made her way through the gallery along the back of the house. Long shadows alternated with the orange glow of the setting sun. The colors moved over her as if she were passing through the darkness and flames of hell. She paused outside the library. Drawing in a deep breath, she tried to steel her nerves. But her breath caught and her heart quivered in her chest.

The door clicking open sounded like a gunshot. Velvet tried to close it without jumping out of her skin. Each step toward Lucian’s open office door was like a march to face a firing squad.

He knew of her reputation. She didn’t expect him to dismiss her, but to require compliance in a way she couldn’t agree to.

She moved into his office trying to maintain her dignity, but each step felt jerky.

Behind a cluttered mahogany desk, Lucian scratched a pen across a page.

He plunked his pen down and three drops spewed off the point onto the blotter. He flung a letter across the desk. “Read this.”

The end sections stood up where the sheets had been folded. She took the pages and flattened them with shaking hands. Lucian leaned back and scowled at her.

The words swam in front of her. Forcing her eyes to focus, she read with growing horror. Each statement shredded her dignity. How could anyone reading this ever think her worthy of respect?

All along, Lucian’s scrutiny made her want to curl into a tiny ball and hide away. Her hand fisted until half-moons indented her palm.

When she reached the end and the threat to Iris, the demon claws of despair gripped. Oh, God, she could not allow her tattered reputation to interfere with Iris’s future.

With painstaking precision she realigned the sheets and folded them back along their original lines. The silence roared in her ears.

“Well?” said Lucian.

“What would you have me say?”

“Is that what happened?”

If her chest grew any tighter her heart wouldn’t fit inside. Her mouth felt tight too. “Yes. Her rendition of the events is for the most part factual.”

His nostrils flared and his stare turned hard. He folded his arms. “Really?”

Velvet held her shoulders square and met his narrowed gaze. “That is what she saw.” She had admitted to the bare bones truth of what Mrs. Langtree relayed. How much more indignity did she need to suffer? Her face burned. “And you do not need to have Mrs. Bigsby examine me. I have a stain in the shape of a crescent moon on my hip.”

His upper lip curled and he stared at her until she looked away.

“Explain, Miss Campbell, how you came to be found with your skirts around your waist?” He thrust his chin toward her.

In the past, people who should have known her character had scoffed at and then dismissed her explanations. Knowing her for such a short period, Lucian would have even less reason to believe her. She didn’t waste her breath defending herself. Instead she focused on the last part of the letter. “If you intend to dismiss me for the danger I present to Iris securing a decent future, then I ask you give me wages enough that I can exist until I can find work.”

He glared at her. His gaze dropped down, insolently raking over her. Against her will, her body responded with coiling heat and tightening nipples.

A sick feeling caught at the back of her throat. Just as Mr. Langtree had before him, Lucian would demand she submit. Once she refused him again, her days of being a governess were undoubtedly over. Perhaps she could find work in a hostelry. Her ears burned as her father’s voice echoed in her head.
Pride goeth before destruction, and a haughty spirit before a fall.

Where did virtue rank? Deep inside her a rift opened, and a black despair boiled forth. She was in hell. Wanting to tear the condemning letter to shreds, she twisted it in her hands.

“If you choose your lovers so indiscriminately, what exactly is your objection to me?” he demanded.

She knew he wouldn’t believe her, but she said, “I do not take lovers.”

“All the evidence is to the contrary.” His words were tight. “You manage to look so affronted, Miss Campbell, but I have had a brief experience of your weakness.”

Her face felt like it might crack. Mrs. Langtree had even prepared him for false innocence. She had nowhere to turn. Allowing him the liberties she had fought against went against everything she’d been raised to hold dear. She had never deliberately chosen sin. Resisting the temptation to give in was paramount now. “Wh-What about Iris?”

Lucian chopped the air. “Iris’s prospects aren’t at issue.”

“But—”

“No man concerns himself with his wife’s governess. This is about you.”

Why would Mrs. Langtree care what became of her? Why would that woman force her to choose to become the loose woman everyone thought she was or to starve on the streets? In clipped words she said, “No, nothing has changed. You knew the accusations leveled against me. You just have more details of the so-called proof.”

He stood and leaned toward her. The lamp on his desk splayed fiendish shadows on his face. She recoiled, but his obsidian eyes pinned her in place as he circled the desk to tower over her. She didn’t dare retreat.

“Does my scar offend you? Or is it the blackness of my character?”

She stared at him. Her heart pounded, and more than fear tensed her muscles. In truth she objected least of all to him. She wanted to feel his touch. Late in the night, the memory of his mouth on hers kept her awake. He only had to lean in a little farther and their mouths would meet. Her lips tingled in anticipation.

“Well?” he demanded.

“You said you wouldn’t force me.” Her chin lifted and she fought the instinct to cower. He wouldn’t force her, and she couldn’t choose to risk her soul.

“Am I that hideous to you?” He pushed closer until she could feel his harsh breathing on her skin and see the pulse of a muscle under the pink crescent scar.

Sensations wild and out of control raced through her body, threading jolts of fear, desire, and anger into a tightening riot in her core. “No, of course not.”

“Then what would it take to get you in my bed? Gifts? Money?”

“Marriage.”
The word shot out and shocked her.

His face contorted. He jerked back. The air eddied around her face in his wake.

“I will not marry another whore.” His low voice retreated to the shadows in the corner of his study.

Whore?
He’d called her a whore. She hurtled the folded letter on his desk, scattering papers. In a strained quivering voice she said, “I would never marry a man who thinks so little of me.”

“You have a worse problem than your reputation.”

“Yes.” Marriages for women her age were rare, even rarer for women of no means. At best she might find a poor vicar or a yeoman farmer willing to marry her. She was more likely doomed to spinsterhood. “But I refuse to believe I am beyond hope, and I will not consent to being your plaything.”

“Don’t hold out too long, Velvet. I will never marry you. But I could make your life very easy.” His voice grew silky.

Her heart beat so hard each thrum echoed in her ears. Her whole body shook. God forgive her, the idea of allowing him to protect her held attraction.

“You could use new dresses, gloves, perhaps you’d like a pair of emerald ear bobs to match your eyes.” Blocking her escape, he drew nearer until she could feel his breath on her nape.

It had been years since she had a new dress or gloves, but it was the way her skin tingled as he approached her that lured her toward temptation. Whatever was between them woke a hunger in her. He might be her last opportunity to experience what happened between a man and a woman. If he touched her, she might shatter or transform into a wanton creature she didn’t know.

A jumble of silent prayers left her lips, for strength to resist, pleas for him to touch her and take the decision out of her hands. God never answered her prayers in the way she expected. Each second stretched to a razor-thin blade of indecision.

“Why are you trembling? Are you that afraid?” His hands closed around her shoulders.

Her knees buckled and she thrust her palm against the desk to keep from falling. “I don’t know. I’ve never felt like this.”

“Velvet—”

“Who was Myra Gowan?” The question seemed to spring from nowhere, or perhaps divine intervention put the image of the forlorn grave marker in her head.

He shoved her away. “You are dismissed.”

Dismissed?
Just like that? Her heart dropped through her throat and sank like a stone. Would she be cast out into the dark of night?

V
elvet fisted her hands in her skirts, and her face drained of color. Tiny lines appeared in her forehead. “Sh-Should I pack my things tonight?”

Lucian stared at her. It took him a minute to realize her anxiety was because she thought he’d ended her employment.

He waited to see if she would reconsider her options and consent to being his mistress. He despised himself for the weakness, but it had been so long since he’d felt the softness of a woman’s hands on his skin or the drape of her hair over his chest. And damn, Velvet’s hands were slender and feminine, her hair a riot of fire, and her mouth an invitation to sin.

A long time ago he’d sworn off women, but Velvet walked across the floor, and he grew hard and urgent.

He’d sworn off women after Myra’s death, actually. The mention of Myra had been like a plunge into the ocean in the coldest part of the winter. The heat of his anger drained from him. The memories of Myra were raw, and he wouldn’t discuss her. But who the hell had told Velvet? And how much did she know?

Velvet stared at him, her eyes wide and glittering in the darkening gloom. Her trembling chin lifted in defiance. He didn’t understand her resistance to him, but then she wasn’t the first woman to find him objectionable. Another woman in her position would have caved under the pressure and consented to become his mistress, but Velvet was like no other woman.

He finally took pity on her. “Dismissed from the room, Miss Campbell. You may retain your position as governess to Iris.”

“Oh,” she expelled on a puff of air.

“It is probably past time for dinner. You should go fetch her.”

“Certainly.” She tripped toward the door as if afraid he’d change his mind.

His wanting her started all over again. As he watched her reach for the door and cast an uncertain glance over her shoulder at him, he knew he could have her with the promise of marriage.

Marriage.

Lucian sank down in his chair and rubbed his face. The thought had crossed his desperate mind before she mentioned matrimony, before the letter, before she conceded the letter was factual. When she had, he felt as if he’d been punched.

He’d thought the rumors must have been overblown. He’d thought her a victim of circumstance. He’d thought he could claim her child as his or perhaps take her on an extended trip so the birth date wouldn’t raise eyebrows.

He’d expected anything but her admitting to being found naked to the waist, sprawled on a sofa. Yet, her concern had been about Iris. He admired her courage and strength and compassion. Even as he hated her convictions, her firm resolve to resist temptation only made him want her more.

His mind conjured a picture of her, all long legs and milky white skin. He swallowed hard. He still wanted her, but clearly she didn’t want him.

His heart thumped with violence in his chest. The dips in the ocean each morning weren’t going to be enough for him to control his urges. He grabbed a glass paperweight from the desk and hurtled it across the room, where it shattered against the wall.

He’d spent years honing his control to fine art, but around her he was in danger of losing the firm grip he kept on his passions . . . again.

Velvet made it around the corner before she collapsed against the wall. Her emotions were as gnarled and knotted as an old fishing net.

She’d expected Lucian to be disgusted or appalled, the usual reaction to hearing reports of her exploits. Instead he’d been furious at her refusal to allow him the same liberties she’d supposedly allowed the other men.

Sucking in deep breaths, she pushed against her rebelling stomach. She should be giving thanks he hadn’t dismissed her or demanded her compliance, but mystified better described her emotional state.

He could have forced her to submit, but he didn’t. For that a gushing gratitude swept through her. How could the villagers not see he was a good man? How could they call him Lucifer?

Perhaps she had done him an injustice by assuming he wouldn’t listen or give credence to her explanations. He, more than any other, could probably understand how false accusations might distort the truth. Although the truth sounded fantastical even to her.

Knowing she couldn’t allow Iris to see her in turmoil, Velvet closed her eyes and searched for calm.

The last thing she wanted to do was sit down to dinner with him, but she had to pretend everything was normal for Iris’s sake.

Pushing away from the wall, Velvet made her way to the stairs. She could have used a candle, but she was familiar enough with the way now to climb to the nursery floor.

“Iris?”

The girl shot out of her room, “I thought everyone forgot about me.”

“No, of course not.” Iris’s future was her main concern. Velvet wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

Iris dug her toe into the carpet. “Well it is your day off, and Papa said I must not bother you.”

If only
he
had remembered that. “How could I forget about you? Especially when you handled a difficult situation with grace today.”

“I did?” asked Iris.

“Most certainly. I do not know that I would have handled the problem of two girls and one doll so well.” Velvet frowned. Lucian had not been pleased. “We do need to go down to dinner.”

But Velvet pondered Lucian’s dismissal of the threat against Iris. Granted, a governess’s misdeeds would pale alongside the accusations of murder against her father, but he didn’t understand how a powerful political family could influence London society.

Or perhaps as his sole heir, Iris’s drawbacks would be overlooked. Velvet took the girl’s hand and led her downstairs to the dining room.

The crackling fire and stubby dripping tapers in the candelabra waged a futile fight to rid the room of darkness. Lucian stood with his back to them, shoulders squared, one arm held in the other behind his back and his feet equidistance apart. His rigid stance radiated restrained energy.

Velvet’s heart caught in her throat. She wanted to touch him and see if he relaxed or remained furious with her. In spite of the scar, he was an attractive man. He certainly could find another woman to satisfy those needs. But the thought of him turning to another woman scraped and clawed at her. The trembles she’d managed to still returned full force. Oh God, she didn’t want him turning to another woman. She wanted him for herself.

He swiveled. “Well don’t just stand there.”

Velvet jumped.

Iris tugged her hand free and skipped to her chair.

Almost running, Velvet made it to her chair before he could assist her. Her breathing grew rapid. With great deliberation she pulled her napkin into her lap.

She could feel his gaze burning through her as she smiled at Iris.

“I will make all the village girls my court as if I were queen,” announced Iris.

Lucian’s attention snapped to his daughter. “You can’t make them into your pets, Iris.”

Iris leveled a glare at him and jutted out her lower lip. “But I am their better, am I not?”

“Do you not think they may prefer a more even friendship? I think you would too.” Velvet’s fist clenched in her lap. “It is never pleasant to be reminded one is inferior.”

“You will hardly have time to be friends with the village children.” Lucian rang the bell imperiously. “You have studies.”

Velvet sighed.

“You disagree, Miss Campbell?”

“Every young lady needs companions her own age in order to learn good social skills. If she had siblings—”

Lucian’s quick wince flooded her with remorse.

“—or regular companions, she won’t be overwhelmed in society. She won’t be desperate for the attention of others and be less at risk for faux pas.”

The Bigsbys carried in a beef roast, bread, and a sad dish of shriveled green beans. Mrs. Bigsby set the platter down with a decided thump. Her mouth was stretched in a thin line.

Lucian’s gaze raked over his daughter. “I don’t think we’re in danger of Iris becoming a wallflower. She has a great deal of her mother in her.”

He didn’t sound pleased. He had implied his first wife was a whore, but that didn’t comport with the glowing portrait he normally painted for Iris.

Confused, Velvet turned to Mrs. Bigsby. “I’m sorry we are so late.”

“The food is overdone,” she muttered.

“That will be all,” said Lucian with finality. “Did you suffer a lack of companionship, Miss Campbell? Is that what happened?”

“No, I had my brother and developed friendships with members of my father’s church.”

“As an adult were you not so lucky?” His voice was low, but with an edge.

He surely didn’t mean to discuss this in front of Iris.

“I was far from my friends,” she said softly. Velvet turned to the child. “Do you need help with the meat?”

Lucian turned the platter and sawed off a hunk of the dried edge of the roast, then sliced a juicer slice and plunked it on Iris’s plate. He repeated the process and placed a generous serving on Velvet’s plate. He frowned and added an additional piece. “Have some green beans, Iris.”

“They’re icky.”

He pointed with the knife. “I said have some and pass the dish.”

“Vegetables are good for the complexion, Iris.” Velvet said softly. “Girls who don’t eat their vegetables don’t stay pretty for long.” It probably wasn’t the complete truth, but she wasn’t above using a little manipulation to avoid a confrontation. A girl left to her own devices for years couldn’t be expected to buckle under just because her father had finally decided to take an interest in her eating habits.

Lucian frowned at her.

“Did Mama eat her vegetables?” Iris asked.

Lucian sighed. “Certainly she did. She did everything she could to retain her beauty.” He rolled his eyes toward Velvet. “If you are insistent on Iris having companions her own age, perhaps she should be at school.” He turned toward his daughter. “What do you say, Iris? Do you feel you are learning under Miss Campbell’s tutelage? Or would you be better served by a school in Bath?”

Iris slumped in her seat.

Velvet’s throat tightened. A girl in school would have no need of a governess. Was her position going to be dependant on becoming his mistress, after all? Disappointment darkened and curled her insides like papers tossed in a fire. She slid her napkin from her lap and folded it beside her beef-laden plate. She had no appetite anyway. “For a child starved for friends, school would be a blessing. But a child too far behind in her studies would be ostracized.”

Iris looked between them. “What does ostracized mean?”

“You’ll have to ask me tomorrow. I am off duty, and if I may be excused, I should like to enjoy the rest of my evening.”

“Don’t move,” barked Lucian.

Velvet glared at him. She did not enjoy being the mouse in his cat and mouse game.

“Am I too far behind?” asked Iris.

“You are behind. You have gone too long with inadequate or no instruction,” said Velvet softly. “But you will catch up, if I have any say at all.”

“Are you campaigning for your job, Miss Campbell?”

“I do not like my prospects for employment elsewhere.”

“Stay. You need to eat. I would hardly take a nine-year-old’s advice on her education.”

“Why would you ask me then, Papa?” Iris’s eyes grew big.

“Yes, why? Do you mean to toy with us all through the meal?” asked Velvet in a low voice.

He blanched, then threw his napkin on the table and pushed back his chair. “You may be excused or you may stay. I will be in my office.” He stood and bowed. “The choice is yours, Miss Campbell.”

She stared at his retreating back and felt more uncertain than ever. Did he mean the choice of employment was hers or only the meal? Her heart fluttered in her chest. Velvet bit down hard on the inside of her lip.

“Is he cross at me for making friends with the girls?” asked Iris.

“No, no, of course not. He . . . he just read an unpleasant letter.” Velvet tried to smile at Iris.

“No. He is upset because you made him go to the church. He hates the church.” Iris threw her napkin across the table. “It is all your fault.” She ran toward the door.

*  *  *

“Why isn’t Papa swimming?” Iris’s shrill cry cut through Velvet’s sleep.

She had to stop tossing and turning at night and get more rest. Pushing back the covers, she winced at the coldness of her room. Her window was unlatched and cracked. The low sound of Nellie’s voice drifted through the schoolroom, followed by Iris’s increasingly panicked tone.

The girl ran into Velvet’s room and launched onto the bed. The iron bedstead swung and creaked.

“You have to stop him,” Iris said. “He has to say good-bye. He never says good-bye.” She threw her arms around Velvet’s neck and sobbed.

The schoolroom doorway framed a frowning Nellie. “He’s already gone.”

“No-o,” wailed Iris.

Velvet stroked the girl’s tangled curls. “What is all this tragedy?”

“He’s gone.”

“Your papa?” Velvet looked over Iris’s head to Nellie for explanation.

“He left for Plymouth first thing this morning,” said Nellie.

He had said he needed to take a business trip with or without them. But he’d left already? Without saying good-bye to either of them? Velvet’s shoulders dropped.

Iris shifted off the bed and pulled her by the hand. “We have to go after him. If we run across the moors we might catch his carriage on the road.”

For one insane second Velvet considered the idea. “No, Iris, you’re not dressed. I’m not dressed. He will be back.”

“He’ll be gone forever,” wailed Iris.

Less than charitable thoughts tumbled through Velvet’s head. Was Iris trying to avoid the classroom? She pushed the girl’s slender frame back so she could see her face.

Real tears streamed down her cheeks.

Using the edge of her sleeve, Velvet wiped them away. She pulled the girl against her and rubbed her narrow shoulders.

“How long is he usually gone?” she asked Nellie.

Nellie shrugged. “As long as it takes. A week . . . two.”