Taste of Temptation (19 page)

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

BOOK: Taste of Temptation

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“I’m happy to oblige the captain in whatever fashion he desires.”

“There you have it.” Tristan waved the man away. “Miss Hamilton and I have numerous topics about which we must confer. See to it that we’re not disturbed.”

“I will, Captain.”

The butler left, closing the door behind him. Tristan rose and trailed after him to spin the key in the lock. He pulled it out and stuck it in his coat pocket.

They were finally sequestered, and Tristan suffered an emotion that was near to joy. Helen had an entirely different view of the situation.

“Are you insane?” she barked. “Open that door right now.”

“No.”

He returned to the desk and sat, studying her, curious as to why she caused him to act like such a bully. He’d never previously had to force a woman to endure his company. Then again, no female of his acquaintance would have conducted herself as Helen did.

“The butler will have heard you locking me in,” she complained. “In a matter of minutes, the story will be all over the house that I’m in here alone with you, against my will.”

“If he tells anyone”—Tristan faced the door so that his voice carried—“he’ll be fired, so I’m sure he’ll be a veritable fount of discretion.”

Someone in the hall—the butler, certainly—tiptoed away.

Tristan smirked. She fumed.

“You are a beast.”

He wouldn’t dignify the insult with a reply. Instead, he said, “Let’s get a few things straight.”

“What would those things be?”

“You work for me, Miss Hamilton.”

“Yes, I do.”

“At the moment, I’m not calling you Helen, because you’re behaving like a spoiled child. Perhaps my formality will get your attention, and you’ll realize my level of aggravation.”

“I’ve never wanted you to call me Helen.”

“Another example of your impossible nature.”

“I’ve been a model employee.”

“Except for skipping the meetings I arranged.”

“I suppose a person could look at it that way,” she grudgingly allowed.

“You don’t seem to understand that you must do as I say.”

“I think I’ve been plenty accommodating.”

She scowled, vividly reminding him of the failed seduction onboard his ship. He didn’t know why he’d invited her for a visit, why he’d taken her to his private quarters. And he definitely didn’t know why he’d almost relieved her of her virginity on the table in the middle of the room.

He was lucky they’d quarreled before the girls had burst in.

“Now that we’re settled here at the manor, we’ll begin having our daily appointments.”

“I’m positive my schedule will be much too full.”

He sat back, his gaze narrowing with his fiercest ship captain’s glower, but it had no effect.

“Why, precisely,” he inquired, “do you feel you can counter my wishes?”

“Because—as you just mentioned—I am your employee, but when we’re together, we’re inclined to mischief.”

“I believe I explained as much that day in my cabin.”

“Yes, you did. Quite clearly.”

“So what is your problem, Miss Hamilton? I’m dizzy from trying to follow your convoluted logic.”

“I need this job, and I intend to keep it. If we continue on as we have been, eventually there will be trouble. We’ll be discovered by a servant, or Mrs. Seymour will find out, and my reputation would be ruined. I’d no longer be fit to supervise Rose, so you’d have to let me go.”

“Can you deem me so fickle that I would fire you over a bit of scandal?”

“You wouldn’t have any choice.”

“Oh, I always have a
choice.”

“As do I,” she said, “and I’ve made mine. No meetings. Not at ten. Not at four. Not at supper. No meetings.”

He’d spent a good share of his life with people telling him what he could and couldn’t do. His bastardry had left others with the impression that he could be denied things he wanted or needed, simply because his father hadn’t married his mother.

He was prideful and competitive, possessed of his father’s aristocratic temperament. He wasn’t very proficient at taking orders, that being why he’d mustered out of the Royal Navy as swiftly as he could and, on a wing and a prayer, had started his own shipping enterprise.

When would she learn that he would never do as he was told?

“Miss Hamilton”—he rose from his chair—“is there some reason you imagine that you will set the agenda between us?”

“Well, you can’t control your baser impulses, so one of us must keep a level head.”

“And that would be you?”

“Yes.”

He rounded the desk, as she warily watched him. Once she realized he was proceeding directly for her, she made a pathetic attempt to escape, but he was too quick.

He slapped his hands down on the arms of the chair, trapping her.

“What do you want?” she raged.

“Are you drinking love potions again, Miss Hamilton?”

“Not since that first time, and we see what a disaster that turned out to be.”

“How was it a disaster?”

“You’re awfully taken with me. I wish you wouldn’t be.”

“We enjoy a physical attraction, Miss Hamilton. Men are powerless against this sort of desire. It’s pointless to fight it.”

“Try.”

“You wouldn’t—by any chance—be hoping to ensnare me with magic, would you?”

“As if I could! You’re too stubborn for magic to have any effect.”

“Now that is the smartest thing you’ve ever said.”

He dipped down and kissed her, easing her back with slight pressure. Their lips were softly joined, and she sighed with pleasure. Though she liked to protest and nag, she wasn’t immune to him. She rested her palm on his cheek, the sweet gesture thrilling and rattling him.

Kissing her was heaven, and he couldn’t fathom why, but once he began, he didn’t want to ever stop, which was extremely peculiar.

He’d never been much of a one for kissing. Since his sexual escapades usually involved paid whores, there was no need for wooing. The women with whom he fornicated were reimbursed handsomely to satisfy him, and there was no pretense of affection.

The two parties in the bed—himself and whatever harlot he’d selected—knew what was required and how to get it accomplished in a hurry.

With Helen Hamilton, though, he could have kissed her all day, into the evening, and far into the night, without growing bored.

He bent in, eager to feel his body melded to hers. There was a sofa next to them, and he clasped her waist, intent on swooping her up and laying her down on it, but to his consternation, she managed to wiggle away.

She had him so befuddled with lust that, before he could catch her, she was behind the heavy piece of furniture and using it as a barrier.

Still, he took a menacing step toward it, bizarrely calculating how he might leap over it and grab her—what was wrong with him?—but she extended a hand to ward him off.

“Hold it right there, Captain.”

“Helen, you exasperate me beyond my limits.”

“Not nearly as much as you exasperate me, I’m sure.”

“We’re simply kissing.”

“In the library, in the middle of the afternoon, where anyone could walk in and see.”

“The door is locked,” he tersely reminded her. “No one can walk in.”

“Exactly my point.”

“Your
point?
What point is that?”

“I don’t suppose you envision
marriage
as your end goal.”

“Marriage?” He spit out the word as if it were a tough chunk of meat stuck in his throat. “Don’t be absurd. I would never marry you.”

“Precisely—which is why I’m leaving, and we are not doing this again.”

His remark had sounded like an insult, as if he felt she was beneath him or unsuitable, when in fact, he thought she was very fine, too fine for the likes of him.

He’d made a horrid gaffe, and he couldn’t fix it. He wasn’t the type to gush with flattery or apologies. Nor would he clarify the comment, for he didn’t care to have her discover how incredible he found her to be. If she had a clue as to his high opinion, there’d be no living with her.

She was overly bold, and even the smallest advantage would be wielded to his detriment. Where she was concerned, he’d lost the ability to gain and keep the upper hand. He couldn’t be stern, couldn’t lay down the law and follow through. In her presence, he’d become a complete and utter milksop, but he was determined that she never know.

“I don’t ever plan to wed,” he stated, overcome by the need to explain.

“Bully for you.”

“It doesn’t have anything to do with you personally.”

“That certainly makes me feel better.”

“I’m a bachelor, and I always will be.”

“Just you and your ship, out on all that empty ocean?”

“Well ... yes.”

When she said it like that, it seemed as if she assumed he was lonely, as if she believed his choices had all been bad ones—but they hadn’t been.

He was content with his lot, and a bachelor because he enjoyed his independence. He sailed because it was in his blood, because he relished the waves and the water and the sense of freedom it provided.

“Guess what, Captain?” she said.

“What?”

“I do plan to wed someday. I want a home of my own, children to mother, and a husband who loves me, and I won’t apologize for it.”

“I haven’t asked you to apologize.”

“No you haven’t, but I often have the impression that you think I’m desperate, so I’ll engage in any loose behavior merely to curry your favor.”

“I don’t think that about you,” he quietly replied.

“I’m a fighter, and I’m going to reclaim the life I used to have. For me, and for my sisters. It was taken from us, but I’ll see to it that we get it back.”

“I’m betting you will.”

“In the meantime, you have these ridiculous ideas about consorting with me in secluded parlors, and you need to rid yourself of them. You’re not the marrying kind, and I am.”

She skirted the sofa and approached till they were toe-to-toe. Brazenly, she reached into his coat, located the key, and drew it out.

She was so close, her tantalizing scent sweeping over him, making him anxious to pull her to him, to bury his face at her nape so he could inhale her essence, but he restrained himself, refusing to succumb like the bewitched imbecile he was.

“It’s only kissing, Helen,” he tried to insist.

“You know that’s not true, Tristan.”

“We can do it for sport.”

“I don’t want to do it for
sport
. I want to do it for love.”

“We’re grown-ups.
Love
is for fools. This is about pleasure.”

“You couldn’t be more wrong.”

“We’ll be in the country for several weeks. Won’t you be bored?”

“No. I have Rose to look after, as well as my sisters to tend.”

She had plenty to keep her busy, chores to accomplish for people she cherished, while he had little to occupy him that was interesting or worthwhile.

The coming days stretched ahead like the road to Hades. He had no one with whom to chat and fraternize, and there was scant satisfaction to be garnered from conferring with tenants or reviewing the estate books with Michael’s land agent.

To his horror, he yearned to laugh and play with Helen, and why shouldn’t he crave some frivolity? His life was all routine and responsibility, his habits inflexible and ingrained, developed from three decades of fending for himself.

It dawned on him that he’d been anticipating the visit simply because—with the leisurely pace and rural surroundings—he’d expected to have expanded opportunities to sneak off with her. The fact that he wouldn’t be able to, that she was ready to sever the tie that bound them, was the most wretched conclusion imaginable.

He might have succumbed to melancholia, but he forced himself to remember that he wasn’t hoping for a grand passion. He intended a brief dalliance. Was that too much to ask?

If she declined to proceed with a liaison, what would he do with himself? Mope after her like a whipped dog?

“Stop pestering me,” she murmured.

“I’ve requested an innocent meeting,” he grouched. “How is that pestering you?”

“Leave me to my duties. Let me carry on with my assigned tasks.”

“I’d rather you spent your time kissing me.”

“And I’d rather you turned your attention to someone else.”