Tainted by Temptation (19 page)

“You’ll have to excuse me, gentlemen.” He guided Iris to the hall.

Once they were out of the gentleman’s room, he asked, “What is wrong?”

Iris’s blue eyes pooled and she sniffed. “Miss Campbell thought I did it.”

“Did what?” What had happened? A tiny spark of hope that Velvet had changed her mind was extinguished by Iris’s strange announcement.

Iris took a step back, her eyes taking on a glassy look. “I am to ask you for the package and for you to come upstairs to see her room. She said not to speak of what happened until she had discussed it with you.”

“Very well.” Lucian moved to the library.

Iris waited at the foot of the stairs.

Dressing gown in one hand and Iris’s hand in his other, they ascended to the nursery floor.

Velvet waited in the corridor. Her eyes appeared huge in her pale face. The counterpane from Iris’s room was wrapped around her hunched shoulders. “I’m sorry to disturb you.”

Something was very wrong. Velvet wouldn’t have called him up before she was dressed. Dread snaked down his spine. He shook his head and handed her the dressing gown. “Good thing I didn’t throw it in the fire.”

Her lips pulled back, but if she was attempting a smile, her failure was spectacular. She dropped her gaze to the floor.

More confused then ever, he followed her gaze. Bare toes peeked out from under the nightgown’s frayed hem.

“So what changed your mind about accepting?”

“I have nothing else to wear, except stockings.” She opened her bedroom door. With a flat tone she said, “My stockings were spared.”

Pieces of material scattered, as the breeze from her wide-open windows blew through the room. Long strips slithered like snakes over the chair and bed as if they’d been thrown in a frenzy. Torn book leaves fluttered. The well-crafted sewing shears he’d purchased in London lay open on the wooden floor.

As if he’d dove into the icy cold ocean, his breath was knocked from him. The amount of destruction was shocking. Who would do such a thing?

He strode across the space and pulled the casements shut. “Why are your windows open?”

“I don’t ever open them.” Velvet bit on her lip and looked right and left. “I don’t know who does.”

She unwrapped the dressing gown with shaking hands. He had to find the culprit.

Iris was the only one to destroy books, and the tricks she had played on previous governesses had been cruel. “Iris!”

Her hesitant look reminded him of her mother’s wide-eyed lies. “Papa?”

Velvet took a step between them with her hand out.

He struggled to remember Iris was not Lilith. Her hurt when she thought Miss Campbell blamed her confounded him. He didn’t believe she was sophisticated enough to fake that. “Do you know anything about what happened in here?” he demanded.

“I didn’t do anything. Mama did it!”

He reared back. “Iris, your mother is dead.”

Velvet put her hands on Iris’s shoulders while beseeching him with her eyes. “Iris didn’t do it.”

“She’s destroyed books before. And—”

Velvet shook her head.

He let her silent plea ease his fury. Making his voice gentle, he asked, “Did you hear anything? Did you see who came in here?”

Iris shook her head.

“I should have used the locks,” Velvet said. “I shall from now on.”

Lucian winced. The locks he’d assured her wouldn’t keep him out. He wasn’t the one she needed to keep out.

Holding out the counterpane to Iris, Velvet said, “Would you take this back to your room, please?”

The girl’s blue eyes were big and round as she stepped away from where she cowered by the door.

Velvet smiled at her as she handed over her burden. As soon as Iris turned away, Velvet’s expression fell.

Unable to stand back, he closed the distance between them. She stepped away as she pulled the dressing gown around her shoulders.

“Velvet.”

She held up her hand. “Don’t. There are practical problems that must be addressed, such as I cannot play hostess to your guests without clothes.”

Had she found hostess duties so distressing she destroyed her own wardrobe? He dismissed the thought as soon as it flashed through his mind. She never would have destroyed the books. Velvet had too much reverence for the written word.

She picked up the spines of books and stacked them on the chair. Turning her back to him, she swiped her fingers under her eye.

He pulled her against his body in spite of her reluctance. She sagged against him. Lucian let out a breath; he hadn’t been sure she would allow him to comfort her.

“It’s all right. I have you.”

She gasped and started to step away.

He remembered his words were a repeat of the words he’d murmured to her yesterday. He’d meant them for comfort then. He meant them for comfort now. But comfort flitted from his thoughts.

Her body fit against his so well, and her scent filled his nostrils. Desire stabbed him with an intensity that stole his breath.

He fought to keep sane. “I will replace everything.”

“You cannot replace Papa’s books.” Her hushed voice was almost inaudible.

“If I have to search the breadth of England to find copies, I will.”

“They were precious to me because they were my father’s. They were the only things I had left of him. I had to sell all the others.” Her normally modulated voice crested to a squeak. She swiped at her face again.

Her tears left him devastated. He couldn’t take the pain from her, and the only solution that kept popping into his mind was to make love to her until she couldn’t think or remember.

Velvet twisted away and resumed cleaning the shambles of her room. “I’m sorry. Your book was destroyed too.” She held up the copy of
Jane Eyre
and flipped through the shorn pages.

“It doesn’t matter.”

Her brow furrowed and she turned it upside down and shook it.

Iris peered around the door from the schoolroom.

“Iris, go downstairs and tell Mrs. Bigsby to send for the coach. Bigsby will have to go straightaway to Trerice and bring back the dressmaker.”

Once he heard the clatter of her steps on the stairs, he said, “Only a guilty child would try to blame a ghost.”

Velvet pressed her lips together and shook her head. “Whoever did this took the letter you sent me. Iris wouldn’t take a letter she wouldn’t be able to read. She would have destroyed it with all the rest of my things.”

He’d meant that letter for only Velvet’s eyes. With a sickening dread he began to suspect the attack was not directed at her, but at him. What would have happened if Velvet had been in the room? Was she only spared because she was sleeping in Iris’s bed? It was Myra all over again.

She picked up strips of material, gathering them into a pile.

He could hardly stand to look at her picking up the remnants of her possessions. Now she truly had nothing, and she still wasn’t turning to him. No. She was sleeping in Iris’s bed to prevent him from finding her alone.

“Come with me.”

“I cannot go anywhere, I’m not dressed,” she protested.

“Now.” How could he protect her when she wanted nothing to do with him? For her own safety, he should send her away, but the idea of it stabbed his heart.

Velvet balked when Lucian opened his bedroom door. She turned to go back up the stairs.

“Velvet, there are clothes in my wife’s dressing room.”

“I can’t—”

“It is the best I can do until the dressmaker arrives. Even then I doubt she can complete a dress in a day.” His obsidian eyes held hers. “I’m trying to clothe you, not undress you.”

His blunt retort didn’t reassure her. In her own room his gasp as she leaned into him had electrified her. She’d wanted to reach up and pull his head down to kiss her. Just his being close made her forget common sense.

She couldn’t stand in the hallway in a dressing gown. Down the passageway a door clicked. She darted into his room.

His tight smile didn’t reassure her. The room was as she remembered it, dark wood and green hangings. With his hand at the small of her back, she shivered.

He guided her through a series of doors, through his room, through the connected sitting room, through the archway to the bedroom, and through a door to a room with shelves, trunks, and armoires bursting with clothing. Satins and silks, lace and fringe, and more shades of red and purple than Velvet could imagine left her slightly nauseated.

She took a step back into Lucian.

He caressed her shoulders. “Lilith was shorter than you, but if you wore fewer petticoats it shouldn’t matter.”

Her senses rioted. Lilith was obvious much fuller figured too. “Why would one woman need so many dresses?”

“She didn’t.” Lucian pulled a dressmaker’s box off a shelf. “She never wore half of these.” He pulled back tissue and exposed a rose silk. Tossing it aside, he reached for another box.

Velvet had thought Iris possessed too many clothes. “I can’t wear your wife’s clothes.”

“They aren’t being used. The dressmaker will be able to alter a dress faster than she can make new ones.”

He was right. Not only would it be faster, it would be more economical.

He pitched aside another box. Then found one he liked. “Here, I know she never wore this.”

Folding back the sheets of tissue, he revealed a black bombazine dress. Velvet heaved a sigh of relief. Most of the dresses would clash with her red hair. He pulled it out, and she saw the tiny jet buttons down the back. She would never be able to get it fastened without help.

“Try this on. I need to go downstairs to write instructions to the dressmaker.”

“Tell her to bring only sober materials suitable for a governess. I only need a dress or two.”

Lucian’s face tightened and his dark eyes went flat. She’d hurt him again.

“Don’t be stubborn, Velvet. You need clothes. Lilith’s things are not needed or used by anyone. Choose gowns you want or I will insist the dressmaker bring material for dozens of gowns in the latest fashion.”

“I don’t want—”

“You’ve made it clear you don’t want to be burdened with a sense of gratitude toward me.” He folded his arms. “But I have an obligation to redress wrongs committed in my own house. If I find out who destroyed your things, I’ll wring her neck.”

Velvet’s stomach lurched. “Don’t say such things. Violence is never the answer.”

His eyes narrowed. “Don’t preach to me. You haven’t assumed the right.”

She lowered her eyes. He had to be referring to his offer of marriage and her delay to full acceptance.

It was foolish. She could have more clothes than she could ever wear and be mistress of a large house. She could have things and more things, but what she yearned for more than anything was a loving family. What chance was there for love with Lucian?

Before their encounter on the cliff he’d said more than once he wouldn’t marry her. He didn’t love her. And she’d feel shortchanged. What kind of happiness would she have if he wouldn’t give her babies? Without love or hope of children, her life would be drearier than it was now. Or would it?

But she could be carrying his child. “I’m sorry.”

“You will sleep in this bedroom tonight.”

His demand came at her out of the blue.

“No.” Her heart raced, and for a second her hopes soared.

“Yes. Until I find out who did this, I want you close where I can hear you.”

“Iris—”

“Can sleep in here too.” His dark eyes pinned her. “If you feel you must have her protection.” He pivoted and left as if he could no longer stand to be closeted in the dressing room with her.

But then he came back. “I had the furniture replaced shortly before Lilith died, but if you want, I can have another bed brought down.”

The offer confused her. “No, don’t be silly.”

What was he doing? Was he trying to get her used to the pampered life she could lead as his wife? Or did he truly fear for her safety? She opened her mouth to ask, but he had turned on his heel and left.

M
iss Campbell tried to conduct lessons, but even she was distracted. Iris couldn’t concentrate either. She was too sleepy, and the house was full of interesting people. Besides, for once Mama was angry with someone else. Miss Campbell might get the slaps and pinches Mama inflicted when she was angry.

Tucking her head down, Iris pretended she was working on her letters. Miss Campbell would peek at the slate soon and realize progress wasn’t happening. But just as Miss Campbell leaned over to look, the door opened.

Iris’s pounding heart slowly resumed a normal pace. Meg brought in the seamstress, saving her from being caught. After a quick conversation the three women shoved back tables and chairs, opening the center of the room.

“Iris, you can sit over there and work on your slate,” said Miss Campbell.

“I best get back downstairs.” Meg bobbed a curtsy and left.

The seamstress opened her black case. Inside were a bunch of scissors, thimbles, needles, pincushions stuffed full, and spool after spool of thread perched on pegs. She wasted no time in getting to work on measuring Miss Campbell. Then she told her to take off her dress.

Working with a mouthful of pins, the seamstress said, “ ’If ’or arm,” and “ ’Urn.”

Standing on the stool in the middle of the schoolroom, Miss Campbell seemed to understand, as she lifted her arms and turned on command.

“Your corset is very plain,” Iris said. Mama had worn scarlet corsets with ruffles and lace.

Miss Campbell frowned and pushed the material against her chest.

“ ’Op ’ooing,” said the seamstress.

Iris stopped pretending she was working on her letters and moved into her governess’s room, where two dresses lay on the bed. One was the yellow and green striped gown that Miss Campbell had worn until the dressmaker arrived. Another was a shimmery peacock blue dress with purplish fringe hanging from the hem and arrow point neckline. None of them looked like Miss Campbell’s former dresses.

“Where did those dresses come from?” she asked.

Miss Campbell watched her carefully. “Your mother’s dressing room.”

Iris frowned. Her mother had always worn clothing that made looking anywhere else impossible. She sparkled with beads or rustled as she walked. The dresses Miss Campbell had almost seemed too quiet to have been mama’s. “I don’t remember them.”

“They were still in the boxes from the dressmaker’s. I don’t think your mama ever wore them.” Velvet turned to the dressmaker. “Can you inset material in the neckline?”

The dressmaker took the pins out of her mouth. “Why would I do that? You’ve a nice bosom, even if you are not as chesty as the woman it was made for.”

Miss Campbell’s face colored.

Iris wondered if borrowing Mama’s dresses would make her madder. Maybe the gowns in heaven were sparklier than the ones here on earth, and she wouldn’t be angry about the gowns she’d left behind. Iris swallowed hard. She’d rather Mama was mad at her than with Miss Campbell.

Maybe Mama was mad because Papa threw her bracelet into the fire. Or maybe she didn’t like the idea of Papa finding a new wife. Iris suspected she didn’t like the way Papa listened to Miss Campbell.

“I won’t be able to reset the waist. It is too high for you.”

Miss Campbell shook her head. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Take it off now,” said the dressmaker. “I’ll have it ready for dinner tonight.”

Miss Campbell glanced toward the window with the afternoon sun. She stepped off the stool and turned her back to the dressmaker. “If you would be so kind.”

The woman unfastened buttons quickly and slid the crinkly black dress off Miss Campbell.

“I thought if the fringe could be removed from the blue . . .”

The schoolroom door opened. Mrs. Bigsby entered. “The room across the hall is prepared for you,” she said to the dressmaker. “Someone will be up with your bolts and bags shortly.”

She left the door open, even though Miss Campbell was shivering in her shift and petticoats. The petticoats were far lacier and beribboned than she normally wore. Had they been Mama’s too? Miss Campbell reached for the dressing gown. Mrs. Bigsby narrowed her eyes. “Best get that on, Mr. Pendar is on his way up.”

But Papa already stood in the doorway behind Mrs. Bigsby.

Velvet gasped and tried to stuff her arms in her sleeves quickly.

Papa’s eyes tracked Miss Campbell’s every move. It didn’t seem to matter that Miss Campbell dressed in plain dresses, Papa always watched her. Even with Mama’s look-at-me clothes, Papa had hardly ever looked at her. He’d probably seen Mama’s face all stretched ugly when she was angry too many times.

“Show Mrs. Whitson to her room, Mrs. Bigsby.”

Mrs. Bigsby’s mouth dropped open, but she summoned the dressmaker.

Papa shut the door after two women left. Miss Campbell stood with her hand fisted around the edges of the dressing gown at her throat.

He beckoned, and Iris trotted toward him. “You and Miss Campbell will be sleeping in the room adjacent to mine.”

Iris stumbled to a halt. She suddenly was as cold as Miss Campbell in her undergarments. “Mama’s room?”

“In what used to be your mother’s room. It isn’t hers anymore.”

“No. She doesn’t like me in there.” Iris shook her head and backed up. Her throat closed in. Her mother never allowed her in her room. She had suffered more than one slap for being in there when Mama didn’t want her there. It was one thing to sneak in there when no one noticed. But the last place she wanted to sleep was in her mother’s room. She ran and threw her arms around Miss Campbell’s waist. “I won’t.”

Papa hunkered down. “Iris, I want you and Miss Campbell safe near me.”

Miss Campbell held on, but Mama didn’t like her in her room and wouldn’t like her sleeping there. “I won’t! I won’t! I won’t!”

“Iris—” Papa began, but Miss Campbell shifted, and he stopped. “Convince her.”

Papa just didn’t understand.

“It will be all right, Iris,” said Miss Campbell. “Your papa and I will keep you safe.”

It wouldn’t be all right. Iris trembled. Neither Papa nor Miss Campbell would be able to keep her mother away.

Papa watched her with his eyes full of accusations. Iris turned her face into the plush material of Miss Campbell’s dressing gown.

“Your mama will never think to look for you there,” whispered Miss Campbell.

Being dead, Mama seemed a bit like God who could see everything all the time. She would find her and get her to do as she was bid. Mama always did. Since Mama finally wanted to be with her, no one would be able to keep her safe.

“All right?” asked Miss Campbell in her soft persuasive voice.

Both Papa and Miss Campbell were against her. They were the two people in the world she wanted to make happy. So she nodded, because there was no way she could resist them both. But she knew it was a mistake to agree.

Lucian followed Velvet’s every move throughout dinner, while she did everything she could to avoid his gaze. He had to protect her better than to put her in the room next to his. The few times their eyes met, her gaze darted down and pink crept up her bared cleavage and over her face. He wanted nothing more than to swoop her up and carry her far, far away, where he could keep her safe.

He could send her and Iris away to Bath and set up apartments for them. That way she’d be safe, away from him, away from whomever had destroyed her things, away from the curse hanging over his household. He could hire her new servants so if the attacker was among his staff here, he or she wouldn’t have access to Velvet.

Velvet reached for the saltcellar, and her neckline gaped, exposing the valley between her breasts. His breath whooshed out as desire pounded in him. His napkin and the table barely covered his response.

He wanted her more than he had before their moment on the cliff, and he hadn’t realized that was possible. To be near her and not touch her was torture. He feared if he touched her and she responded in the way he dreamed, his control would shatter. His restraint stretched thinner and thinner as the hours passed, but she had refused him, leaving him beyond frustrated.

If they could have had time alone, he’d have plied his hand at changing her mind. But his guests required his attention.

Velvet led the ladies to the drawing room after dinner. Signaling for the port, Lucian wished his guests to perdition. They interfered with his ability to work during the day and enjoy Velvet’s company in the evening. But he managed to inquire after Anderson’s steamship investments, and talk quickly turned to their latest joint business venture.

Lucian waited until the two men who had lit cigars stubbed them out, then he rose to his feet. “I believe we should join the ladies.”

He politely remained at his place while Hale took his time retrieving his jacket from where he’d discarded it on the back of his chair. The others filed out still engaged in talk of business.

“That governess you have, she’s quite striking, isn’t she?” said Hale. “Does she hail from London?”

A fission of alarm shuddered down Lucian’s spine. “She was born and bred in Dorset.”

Hale smiled with one side of his mouth. “She was with the Langtrees, wasn’t she? She told me her name was Jane, but one of the maids gave her away.” His eyelids flicked low. “I always wanted to lay on velvet.”

Before he realized his intention, Lucian’s fist connected with teeth and tearing flesh.

Hale staggered away, his hand to his mouth. “Damn, man.”

“Touch her and I’ll kill you.” Lucian’s blood was coursing through his veins with a shocking heat.

Hale spit blood. His eyes wide, he took a step back and reached for his handkerchief.

Searching for sanity, Lucian sucked in a deep breath. “My apologies.”

Hale held up a trembling hand. “No, no, my mistake. I’ll—I’ll just take my leave.”

“I overreacted,” said Lucian. He needed Hale’s assistance in Parliament. “The situation is complicated, and Miss Campbell suffered an act of violence this morning. I am overprotective. Please accept my sincerest regrets.”

Hale’s eyes were wide and moisture beaded his forehead. His bloodied lip began to swell. “Of course. Of course, but I’ll just be leaving.”

His fists clenching by his side, Lucian muttered, “I beg you will reconsider.”

“I shouldn’t like to stay in the house of a man prone to fits of violence.” Hale’s mouth pulled back in a toothy grimace. Then he winced.

Punching Hale had been uncivilized, even if the man had made a crass comment. And Velvet would be the first to condemn him for his violence. He needed her to soothe the raging beast within him. She always made him calmer, when she wasn’t twisting him in knots.

“We both know you have had that coming for a long time,” said Lucian. But until today he had never felt the urge.

The brute hostility had come over him without warning, and his actions had been inexcusable. He couldn’t blame it on the restraint of his passions. He couldn’t even blame it on past transgressions by Hale. Closing his eyes, he wondered if the violent streak he always tried so hard to control was what kept Velvet from accepting his offer.

Oh, God what had he done?

Velvet kept Iris in her sights as she poured tea. She’d kept the girl with her, other than when she brought her down to eat her dinner at the crowded servants’ table. Mrs. Bigsby had protested that a tray was to be prepared for the child, but Velvet insisted she be allowed to stay and brought to the drawing room immediately following her meal.

Apparently Iris had been in the drawing room quite some time before the ladies arrived. She’d been slumped on the sofa, her face a picture of petulance. Without her toys, and unable to read, play a musical instrument, or sew, she had no way to occupy herself. What a lonely sort of existence the girl must lead. Velvet was almost tempted to give up on the letters and pursue teaching Iris simpler occupations. But her boredom disappeared as she was introduced to the ladies, especially the younger women. With her inclination to compliment, Iris quickly had the favor of several of them.

But Velvet could see her sharply assessing all the ladies present. Was she trying to determine which one she would choose for a stepmother? Velvet wished Nellie had not told Iris her father was looking for a bride. Even if it had been true—and Lucian said it wasn’t—worrying Iris only made her more insecure.

The gentlemen arrived shortly after Velvet had distributed teacups to all the ladies. As she searched for Lucian, anxiety slithered down her spine. Working to maintain proper posture, she nodded to the men and poured tea for those who approached. She had to talk to him, and she didn’t know when she might have the opportunity.

Iris moved to a footstool at the foot of the chair where Velvet sat. Before long her weight pressed against Velvet’s leg. It was well past Iris’s bedtime, but Velvet was unwilling for the girl to be alone. Leaving Iris vulnerable to whatever or whoever was frightening her in the night was unthinkable.

As Velvet surveyed the room, she noticed that not only was Lucian missing, but also Mr. Hale, the one man who seemed to know of her reputation. But he could do her no worse damage than she had done to herself.

She knew the minute Lucian entered. The air became charged, and in spite of everything, her stomach fluttered. How could he affect her so?

Her heart thumped in her chest. Like a caress, the air brushed her skin as he moved near her. With shaking hands she poured tea for him.

“Won’t you make up a fourth for a game of whist, Mr. Pendar?” Miss Bowman slid her hand onto Lucian’s arm. “Captain Darling and his daughter have agreed to play.”

Velvet lowered her gaze so she could only see Miss Bowman’s hand on Lucian’s sleeve.

“Would you give me leave to take my daughter upstairs first? It seems she has lingered past her bedtime.” But he took a slow sip of tea as if he intended to hover over Velvet all evening.

“If I might be excused,” Velvet said, “I’ll take her upstairs.” Eager to be out of the room, she set her teacup and saucer on the tea cart.