Read Taste of Temptation Online
Authors: Cheryl Holt
Tags: #Romance - Historical, #American Light Romantic Fiction, #General, #Romance, #Fiction, #Fiction - Romance, #Love stories, #Romance: Historical, #Historical, #American Historical Fiction, #Regency novels, #Regency fiction
Taste of Temptation (16 page)
“Yes.”
“Who’s the lucky fellow tormenting her? Anyone I know?”
“Lord Hastings.”
“Poor child,” Phillip grumbled.
“Do you suppose we ought to ...” Clarinda’s voice trailed off.
“Ought to what? Just say it.”
“Should we follow them to Hastings Manor? If the Spinster’s Cure has succeeded again, I’d like to figure out why.”
“We’d spy on Miss Hamilton and her captain? Don’t we have better things to do?”
Not really,
she thought, but she said, “Don’t pay any attention to me. It was a silly idea.”
she thought, but she said, “Don’t pay any attention to me. It was a silly idea.”
He shrugged. “There might be some money to be made—selling more tonics and whatnot to the Hamiltons.”
“There might be,” she concurred. “And I’m worried about Jane chasing after the earl. She’s out of her league with him.”
“Not our business, Clarinda,” he quietly counseled.
“I know, but I still feel guilty about what happened to Lady Redvers. I’d hate to have something awful occur again—especially if we have the means to prevent it.”
He pondered, then nodded. “I’ll reflect on it. Maybe we will go.”
“You named your ship the Lord
Hastings?”
Hastings?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Why not?”
Helen had never been on a ship before, and she gazed at the deck, imagining it skipping across the waves with the sails unfurled. She could picture Odell behind the wheel, barking out orders and saving everyone from peril.
“I believe you’re being flip with me,” she scolded.
“Perhaps.”
He grinned his wicked grin, the one that made her pulse flutter with excitement, and he rested a hand on her back and guided her toward a ladder. The girls had disappeared down a different hatch with his First Mate, and she glared over her shoulder to where they’d gone.
“Where are you taking me?” she asked.
“The governess gets her own private tour—from the captain himself.”
“What if the governess doesn’t want a private tour?”
“She gets it anyway.” Nimble as a monkey, he leapt down and was swallowed up by the dark hold.
She hesitated, anxious about following, when he murmured from below, “Come, Helen. I’ll catch you. Don’t be afraid.”
The coaxing tone was her undoing. She stepped onto the top rung, fussing with her skirt as she dangled a foot to find the next one.
“Don’t you dare peek under my dress.”
“Too late.” His laugh drifted up.
“Ooh, you wretched bounder.”
“Your legs are very shapely.”
She kicked at him, found nothing but air, and lost her balance. She tumbled down, landing in his arms.
“I thought you’d never get here.” He kissed her and set her on her feet.
“Stop that.”
“Stop what?”
“Stop kissing me right out in the open where anyone can see.”
“But when I’m around you, I’m a sweltering bundle of unassuaged passion.”
“You are not.”
“I am,” he insisted, but she was positive he was joking. She’d never been the type of female who could drive a man wild.
“You kiss me because you can,” she said, “because I let you.”
“It’s definitely a possibility.”
“If I had an ounce of moral fiber, there’d be no hankypanky between us.”
“Want to make a wager?”
“With you? Never.”
He escorted her down a narrow hallway, halting at the end to usher her into a room that had to be his cabin.
It was small and austere, much as she envisioned a monk’s cell might be. There was a table in the middle strewn with maps, shelves along the walls filled with books, a few trunks with closed lids so that she couldn’t snoop inside, and his bunk.
The bunk was meant to hold one person, and she considered sitting on it, but as he’d proven with the divan, a carnal escapade could be carried out in very limited conditions.
She didn’t care to invite trouble, so she went to the table and plopped down in the only chair. He leaned against the door, watching her, not speaking.
It was a comfortable silence, but she was jumpy, because she couldn’t figure out why he’d brought her to his cabin.
“Why call your ship the
Lord Hastings?”
she asked.
Lord Hastings?”
she asked.
“It was a slap at my father,” she was surprised to hear him admit.
“You didn’t like him?”
“I hardly knew him, but in a fairer world,
I
would be Lord Hastings now.”
I
would be Lord Hastings now.”
“Are you bitter that you’re not?”
He stood, hands on hips, scowling. “I don’t think so.”
She chuckled. “You must have some enmity. Anybody would.”
“I suppose I do. I never felt he behaved particularly well toward my mother.”
“He refused to marry her?”
“He was already married.”
“Ah ...” She studied him, curious about his life, about his upbringing. “Is your mother still alive?”
“No. She died when I was two.”
“Have you any other family?”
“Some uncles in Scotland.”
“Do they claim you?”
“Barely.”
He shoved away from the door, and he proceeded to a bookshelf and riffled through the books. It dawned on her that he was nervous, and the prospect had her smiling.
“You say you hardly knew your father ...”
“I only spoke to him a handful of times.”
“Why would he name you as guardian to Rose and Michael?”
“I have no idea.”
“How strange.”
“Isn’t it, though?” He straightened and peered over at her. “I’m told he was proud of me. He felt I’d substantially advanced myself with very little help.”
“So that made you a competent guardian to two children?”
“It’s bizarre, I know.”
“It certainly is.”
“Before I traveled to London last spring, I’d never even met them.”
“Your father must have been a very peculiar fellow.”
“Now you know where I come by it.”
He walked over to her, his hips balanced on the edge of the table. He was hiding something, and when he held it out, she saw it was a hand-painted lady’s fan.
She opened it, discovering scenes and shapes that had to be Chinese lettering.
“For you,” he said, seeming embarrassed.
“You can’t keep giving me gifts.”
“Why can’t I? It’s been collecting dust on that shelf for three years. Would you rather I tossed it out?”
“No. I’ll keep it, thank you very much.” She traced a finger across the delicate pictures, amazed by the artistic detail. “Have you been to China?”
“Yes.”
“You’ve sailed the globe?”
“Several times.”
“I’ve never been anywhere.”
“No you haven’t, but that’s not necessarily bad.”
“My existence has been positively boring compared to yours. I’m jealous.”
What would it be like to be him? To have journeyed everywhere and seen everything?
When she was a child, she’d loved to read books about adventurers, and she’d expected that—as an adult—she, herself, would trek off to foreign lands. She had a fond memory of her father asking her who she planned to wed when she was grown. She’d informed him she had no intention of marrying, because she was headed for Egypt to explore the pyramids, and a husband wouldn’t permit her to go off on her own.
She could still hear her father’s booming laugh.
Of course, she’d never had her adventure. Life had a way of grinding one down. There’d been bills to pay, and a household to run, and sisters to raise, and suddenly, she was twenty-four, having garnered very little reward for her efforts.
He had a wanderlust he’d been able to satisfy, while hers had been driven into the ground by duty and penury.
She’d never done a thing she’d truly wanted to do, and to her astonishment, she yearned to beg him to untie his ship, to take her far away—just the two of them—to some of the exotic places he’d been.
She could practically smell the tropical jungle, the hot ocean breezes, and her old restlessness returned with a vengeance.
“Is it difficult for you,” she inquired, “being trapped in London by your family obligations?”
“Yes, it’s very difficult.”
“Do you like Michael and Rose?”
“They’re wonderful.”
“How long will you care for them?”
“I’m charged with managing their money until they come of age, then arranging their marriages.”
“The end could be years away—especially for Rose.”
“I know, and I can’t imagine shirking the task. My father left me a letter, with clear instructions for both of them, and it’s been the very devil, being burdened with the wishes of a dead man. How could one fail to follow through?”
She gazed at him, realizing why he’d invited her to the ship, to his cabin. It was his quiet way of showing her what mattered to him, of letting her see who he truly was.
“You’re a good man, Tristan Odell.”
“Why would you say that?”
“Because you are.”
He snorted, obviously discomfited by her praise. “I’m just doing what was asked of me.”
“What was
asked
and a tad more besides.”
asked
and a tad more besides.”
“I suppose,” he allowed.
He bent down and kissed her, precisely what she’d hoped to avoid, but what she’d secretly craved.
In a thrilling motion, he pulled her out of the chair and laid her down on the table, his maps tumbling to the floor as he came over her. His hands were on her breasts, fussing with the front of her gown, baring her to his eager fingers. It was the first time he’d touched them without fabric to block sensation, and she felt as if she’d been burned.
He was squeezing her nipples, drawing her skirt up her legs, and her harlot’s body rippled with anticipation.
“Something has to be done, Helen,” he murmured against her mouth.
“About what?”
“About the passion that keeps flaring between us. I assume you’re a virgin?”
The question, so bluntly voiced, took her by surprise, dousing her like a bucket of cold water.
“Yes, I am, you rude oaf.”
She was too embarrassed to mention that she hadn’t a clue as to how a person’s virginity ended up lost. She knew it involved a wedding night, a man and a woman, and a physical deed, but whatever it was, it had never happened to her. She was exactly the same as she’d always been.
“If we continue on like this,” he said, “you won’t be chaste much longer.”
“Why is that?”
“Because if you’re content to dally, I don’t see why I should control myself.”
“You’re blaming this on me?”
“No. I’m just stating the facts.”
She pushed at him, aware that she wasn’t strong enough to shove him off, that he’d only move if he wanted to. For a moment he hovered, then he stepped away and she sat up.
Her breasts were hanging out, her hair falling down, and with their ardor waning, her partial nudity was like a slap in the face. What was she thinking?
She straightened her bodice, and as he glared, she glared right back. She didn’t understand how, in a smattering of seconds, they’d gone from an episode of wild lust to a vicious quarrel.
“What should we do?” he asked.
“I’m leaving.”
“We won’t settle anything by you running off.”
“I’m not running. I’m furious with you, and I don’t want to stay in here.”
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