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 (20 page)
“Really? That’s really what you want?”
“Yes.”
He studied her, wondering if she was serious, wondering why it mattered so much. If she didn’t care to dally, he could find a woman in the neighborhood to oblige him. Gad, Maud would jump at the chance. He need merely drop a few hints, and she’d welcome him with open arms.
Why put himself through so much misery over Helen?
He was behaving like a buffoon, yet he couldn’t get past the notion that if he gave up on her, he’d be relinquishing something fine and rare. There was an ember that sparked when they were together. If he fanned it, if it burned out of control, where would it lead?
How could she not be the least bit curious to learn the answer?
“You’re an awful liar,” he said, calling her bluff. “You don’t want me to seek out another woman. You
can’t
want that.”
can’t
want that.”
“I’m not lying, Tristan. You’re just not listening.”
She rose on tiptoe and surprised him by brushing a kiss across his mouth.
Why was it that she could kiss him, but he couldn’t kiss her? How was it different?
He grabbed for her, eager to pull her to him, but—as if she were a phantom—she slipped away and went to the door. She stuck the key in the lock and, in a thrice, she was gone, and he was all by himself in the dreary room.
“WILL we see them kissing again?”
“Of course. Helen drank the potion, so they had must be desperately in love.”
Rose and Amelia were sitting on the landing again, spying, waiting on Helen and Tristan. They had been inside the library forever. What were they doing?
“It’s so romantic, isn’t it?” Amelia asked.
“Like a story in a book.”
“Let’s pretend they’re a prince and princess.”
“They were secretly betrothed as children.”
“But Helen’s wicked stepfather hid her to punish Captain Odell.”
“Yes, and Tristan has been searching for her ever since.”
“He finally found her.”
They both sighed, when suddenly, Helen emerged. They leaned forward, anxious to see without being seen, but the sight that greeted them wasn’t what they’d expected.
Helen came out alone, and very quietly, she shut the door. She rested her palm on the center of the wood, her head bowed as if in prayer. She seemed to be reaching out to Captain Odell, or perhaps sending him a visual message.
After a while, she drew away and walked down the hall, but she collapsed against the wall, her legs too wobbly to support her. Her eyes were closed, as if she was in pain, as if she might cry. She hovered, regrouping, gaining strength, then she shook off her unhappiness and kept on.
As Amelia and Rose watched her go, they were stunned.
“What could have happened?” Rose whispered.
“They must have fought.”
“Then the potion can’t be working.”
“I wish Mr. Dubois were here. I’d buy another dose.”
“So would I.”
“We could put it in his soup.”
“We could make him love her. I just know we could.”
Disturbed and disheartened, they stood and crept away.
Chapter 11
“WE’RE different from them, aren’t we?” Jane glumly inquired.
“Of course we are,” Helen replied. “Why would you even ask such a foolish question?”
“Sometimes, it seems as if we belong here, as if it was meant to be. I don’t understand why Father’s past troubles have to matter so much.”
“You can’t have imagined we were of the same station as the Seymours. You know better. Our antecedents are much lower, and we can’t change that fact.”
“It’s not fair. We ought to belong.”
“We don’t.”
“What’s wrong with wishing, though?”
“It can only lead to heartbreak and frustration. That’s what’s wrong with it.”
Helen frowned at Jane, and Jane—not wanting her sister to note any dolor—forced a cheerful expression.
“I know who and what we are,” Jane said. “I just thought...”
“Thought what?”
“With Captain Odell bringing us into the house as he did, it skewed my vision of our place in relation to them.”
“Well, you need to alter your thinking, and fast. I’m merely the governess—despite how it occasionally seems otherwise.”
“We dine at their table, and we wear the pretty clothes he bought. Our bedchambers are in the family wing of the mansion.”
“We’re the captain’s charity case, Jane.”
“It doesn’t feel like we are.”
“Trust me: We are. He was concerned over our plight, and he rectified it by hiring me. I work for the man. Don’t forget it.”
Helen moved off, looking glum herself. She was pale and drawn, her smile having been shoved aside by constant worry, which was odd. Even during their worst period in London, she’d been the eternal optimist, certain that everything would turn out for the best.
And it had—except for the one way that truly counted.
Jane watched in agony as Michael held court in a corner of the crowded parlor. Miriam hung on his arm as he chatted with various neighbors who’d come for supper and cards.
For some reason, after they’d left the city, a barrier had been erected between her and Michael. Miriam had easily assumed the spot at his side, which Jane believed she’d wrangled for her own, and it was pure hell, having to pretend she wasn’t devastated.
If she ever saw Miss Dubois again, she’d have a few choice words to share regarding her stupid potion.
Since the night Jane had lain with Michael, they’d had no opportunity for a subsequent assignation. There’d been hectic days of packing, then the trip itself. After they’d arrived, Michael had been swept into the public whirl brought on by his having been installed as the new earl.
Everyone in the area, from beggar to aristocrat, wanted something from him, so he was busy with parties, social calls, and guests.
Through it all, Miriam had been his acknowledged partner. She accompanied him to events at which no one would have considered inviting Jane, the governess’s poverty-stricken sister.
Jane was smart and educated. Mentally, she grasped why Michael could never be hers, but emotionally, she was focused on other issues entirely.
She’d been totally convinced of his affection, so positive that she’d surrendered her chastity, but it had all been for naught.
Even though the carnal episode had been distasteful and utterly devoid of romance, she’d do it again in a trice if he but asked it of her.
If only he’d glance in her direction! If only he’d give the tiniest sign that he wanted to be with her! But he didn’t notice she existed.
Feeling hurt and betrayed, she seethed with dismay. She was dying to confide in someone, but who could she tell?
Helen was the sole person to whom she could unburden herself, but if Helen had the slightest clue how Jane had been misbehaving with Michael, Helen would take drastic measures. Why, she might even quit her job and relinquish their room and board. Jane would never see Michael again!
She couldn’t bear to imagine it, so she suffered in silence.
Her dejected reflections had her so overwhelmed that, before she realized it, Michael was leaving. The vicar and his wife—the evening’s honored guests—were departing, and Miriam and Michael were escorting them out.
As they passed, Miriam flashed such a smug look of triumph that Jane yearned to slap it off her plain face. Instead, Jane calmly stood, grinning vapidly, as if her heart wasn’t broken into a thousand pieces.
At the last moment, as the rest of the group exited, Michael stepped away from Miriam to set his champagne glass on a waiter’s tray. As he did, he was very near to Jane. He winked and mouthed,
May I come to your room?
May I come to your room?
Jane nodded, her pulse racing with delirious excitement, as he walked on.
He cared for her! He cared!
She lingered in the parlor as long as she could stand it, then she slipped away without a good-bye to anyone.
She strolled to the grand staircase and climbed gracefully, but once she was out of sight, she ran the remaining distance to her bedchamber. As she hurried in and shut the door, she was laughing, whirling in circles, her arms flung out in celebration, but motion in the inner room had her stumbling to a halt.
Her maid, Lydia, was there, finishing up her chores. She stared at Jane in a blatant fashion that a servant would normally never dare.
Jane reined in her exuberance and studied Lydia in return.
Lydia cleaned Jane’s boudoir and assisted her when necessary, but she carried out her duties with minimal competence. She was surly and rude, and could barely conceal how she begrudged Jane her place in the household.
Jane might have spoken to Mrs. Seymour about Lydia’s insolence, but Jane was in no position to complain, being lucky to have had a maid assigned to her at all.
“Lydia”—Jane was panicked and wanted the girl gone—“you’re up late.”
“I can’t take to my bed till the party’s over.”
“It’s just ending.”
“Will you need help with your dress?” Lydia assessed Jane’s torso, as if offended by her pretty gown. “Should I send for a bath?”
She pronounced the word
bath
as if it were an epithet.
bath
as if it were an epithet.
“I’m fine. You’re excused.”
“Are you sure, miss?”
“Yes, quite.”
Jane opened the door and gestured to the dark hall, praying that Michael wasn’t about to arrive.
Lydia ambled over, slow as molasses, and strutted out. Her gait was so impertinently snotty that Jane was glad she no longer owned any valuables. If she had, she might have searched her jewelry box to see if anything had been stolen.
She waited, hovering, until Lydia’s strides faded, then she rushed to the dressing room and scurried about, letting down her hair and yanking off her clothes.
As he quietly entered, she was tugging on her nightgown, pinching her cheeks, then she took a deep breath and went out to the sitting room. Though her stomach felt as if wild horses were galloping through it, she exuded composure, as if his clandestine visit was a common occurrence.
Appearing abashed and uncertain, he dawdled by the door. His coat was off, his golden blond hair gleaming in the candlelight.
He’d brought a single red rose, and he held it out to her.
“For me?” she asked.
“Who else?”
She sauntered over and plucked it from his grasp, pressing the fragrant petals to her nose.
She was awfully nervous, worried that she was doing exactly the wrong thing, that he was taking advantage of her naivete, of her obvious infatuation, but he smiled at her, and she couldn’t help but smile, too.
“I haven’t been with you for an eternity,” he murmured.
“I know.”
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