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 (27 page)
Still, Michael was delighted to have stood his ground. He was the earl, and it was about time Tristan remembered it.
Tristan rose from his chair, meeting Michael’s gaze with a bored one of his own.
“I’ve given up much to assist you,” Tristan calmly declared, “and I have treated you with civility and respect. I lecture you for your own good—to guide you as you assume your responsibilities.”
“That’s not how I see it on my end,” Michael hotly retorted, but Tristan kept on as if Michael hadn’t uttered a word.
“In all circumstances,” Tristan said, “you will afford me the courtesy I am due, as a man, as your guardian, as your brother, as your elder. If you ever speak to me so rudely again, I will beat you to a pulp.”
He rounded the desk, and he approached Michael until they were toe-to-toe.
“Do I make myself clear?” Tristan softly asked.
They were the same height, but Tristan was all brawn and muscle, his body honed from years of hard work. He had sailed the seven seas, fighting brigands and battling foreign navies.
If he ever stooped to violence, he would tear Michael limb from limb without breaking a sweat, and Michael wouldn’t land a single blow, even though he wished he could brawl like an experienced pugilist.
He was angry and confused and worried about Jane, but he couldn’t tell Tristan the reason for his foul mood.
Backing down, he murmured, “Yes, you’ve made yourself very clear. My apologies. I overstepped my bounds.”
Tristan marched out, leaving Michael to fume like a chastened child.
He lingered, letting his rage cool, and as it did, he was desperate to be with Jane. Was she still out in the park? He left the library and headed for the rear servants’ entrance.
Quietly, he hurried along, not wanting to bump into Miriam or Maud. Miriam would be sad and fawning, while Maud would be shrewish and irate. He’d endured enough of a tirade from Tristan. He couldn’t abide one from her, too.
When he turned the corner that led to the door, he stumbled to a halt. Tristan was there—with Helen Hamilton. They weren’t doing anything improper, but their placement and demeanor told a story that words never could have.
Tristan was at the foot of the stairs, with Miss Hamilton on the first step. He leaned in and whispered a remark Michael couldn’t hear, and she chuckled and replied, “Perhaps later. If you’re very, very nice to me.”
Tristan reached out and furtively squeezed her fingers, then she continued up. He watched her go, focused on her shapely backside in a fashion that no employer should ever exhibit toward an employee. His expression was a display of such affection and longing that it almost hurt to observe it.
She disappeared from sight, and Tristan let out a heavy breath, his shoulders sagging—as if with regret.
He spun around, only to find himself confronting Michael. His eyes widened imperceptibly, but otherwise, he was his usual composed self.
Michael’s temper was boiling again. Tristan had been vociferous in his chastisement. At all costs, Michael had to stay away from Jane, but Tristan found it perfectly acceptable to dally with her sister.
What gall! What cheek!
“Having a few tumbles with Miss Hamilton, are you?” Michael chided.
“Just helping her up the stairs,” Tristan fibbed.
“Really? You’re an honorable man, Tristan, and lying doesn’t become you. Would you like to amend your response?”
Apparently Tristan was still smarting from Michael’s earlier insult.
“As a matter of fact, I would,” he tersely said. “How about this: My personal affairs are none of your business.”
Michael scoffed. “You have the nerve to lecture me—when you’re doing exactly the same thing?”
“It’s not the same,” Tristan tried to claim. “Not even close.”
“No, it never is.”
“You’re an earl. I’m not. I am a commoner and a bachelor, and thus, I can carry on however I please.”
“But she’s a young lady, living under your protection. You have a heightened duty to her. Isn’t that what you always tell me?”
Two slashes of color stained Tristan’s cheeks. “Point taken. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”
“Hypocrite,” Michael seethed, and he pushed past Tristan and stormed outside.
“SNEAK away with me for a bit.”
Jane heard the question whispered from behind her, and she grinned, recognizing the voice as Michael’s.
“When?” she whispered back, without looking at him.
“Fifteen minutes.”
“At our special spot?”
“Yes. I’ll meet you there.”
She was thrilled that they had a
special
spot, that they shared secrets.
special
spot, that they shared secrets.
The Seymours were hosting a garden party, so the entire grounds were packed with people. Neighbors were eating and drinking, chatting and socializing. Children ran and wrestled on the swathed grass. A quartet of musicians filled the air with lively tunes.
It would be dangerous for Michael to vanish, and Jane took it as a sign of his burgeoning affection that he would risk so much.
After he’d moved away from her, she tarried a few minutes, then entered the house, planning to dash in the front then tiptoe out the back. She’d proceed on to the woods on the other side of the park, to an ancient maze that had gone to ruin, but as she hurried into the foyer, Mrs. Seymour was marching down the stairs. Jane made the mistake of glancing up, so she couldn’t pretend she hadn’t seen her.
“Where are you off to, Miss Hamilton?” Mrs. Seymour asked, and she gestured to the open door. “The party is that way. I wouldn’t think you’d miss a single moment of it.”
“I need to check... my hair. I lost a comb; I thought it might fall.”
Jane had never been a good liar, and she was sure the comment sounded false.
“Your hair is fine,” Mrs. Seymour said. “I believe your sister is searching for you.”
“Helen?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll find her.”
Jane started down the hall, when Mrs. Seymour called, “Miss Hamilton?”
“What is it?” She spun, her impatience to be away barely controlled.
“Isn’t your bedchamber in this direction?” Seymour pointed up the stairs. “Your... hair. You have to fuss with it, remember?”
Something flashed in Seymour’s gaze. A warning? A glimmer of distaste?
“How silly of me!” Jane smiled and laughed. “I’m going the wrong way. I can be such a scatterbrain.”
She came to the stairs and climbed, slithering past Seymour and keeping on up to the landing. With Seymour’s hot glare cutting into her like a knife, she hid around the corner, watching until Seymour descended and went outside. Breathing a sigh of relief, she raced back down, eager to reach her destination.
Michael had shown her the entrance to the maze, had taught her to maneuver the path to the bench in the middle. They often trysted in the spot when they wanted privacy during the day. Since Jane was an avid walker, no one noticed when she ambled off, and as Michael’s interest in her spiraled, her trips increased in frequency.
She was convinced he was falling in love with her, that it wouldn’t be long before a proposal was tendered. After all they’d done, no other conclusion was possible.
Quickly, she was through the hedge and sitting on the bench. She waited and waited, excitement altering to anxiety, then dismay, then fury. How could he have failed to arrive?
She was weary of their clandestine arrangement. Why wouldn’t he claim her? Why couldn’t he shout his fondness to the world? If he’d admit what they both knew, everything would be so simple.
She’d like to raise the forbidden subject, to probe his intentions and garner a firm commitment, but she had no idea how.
An eternity had passed, and the sun was setting in the western sky. Once it grew darker, the dancing would begin. Should she continue to dawdle? Should she leave? She didn’t want to be out in the woods at night, but she didn’t want to miss him, either.
The temperature was dropping, and she shivered, deciding that she couldn’t remain. She’d just stood to depart, when his strides pounded through the brambles.
“Can you forgive me?” he begged as he burst into the clearing.
“Always.”
He rushed to her, hands extended, and she clasped hold.
“Maud accosted me. I didn’t think I’d ever escape.”
“You’re here now. That’s all that counts.”
“But I can’t stay. She delayed me too long, and I have to lead the dancing.”
He sat on the bench, and he pulled her onto his lap, giving her the sweetest kiss ever. As he drew away, she snuggled herself to his chest, her ear over his heart so she could hear its steady beating.
They were quiet, with Michael stroking up and down her back.
“You’re freezing,” he murmured.
“I’m fine,” she insisted, biting down on all the words that were trying to spill out.
She yearned to tell him how worried she’d been, how nervously she’d fretted over the encroaching darkness, but she would never complain.
The interval was extremely intimate, and she was positive he’d declare himself, but he’d never remarked on his feelings for her, and this time was no different.
“When will we return to London?” she finally asked.
She was desperate to have her future settled, and she hated having such a terrible secret from Helen.
“As soon as all the harvest parties are over.”
“What will happen then? Between us, I mean. Will we keep on as we have been?”
“Of course.”
It wasn’t anywhere near the assurance she’d been seeking, and her spirits sank.
“We’ve been carrying on quite outrageously here in the country,” she mentioned. “Won’t it be more difficult at your town house?”
“We’ll figure it out. We’re inventive; we haven’t let circumstances foil us so far.”
“No, we haven’t.”
She tried to sound chipper, but with each opening she gave him, it seemed less likely that she would receive the answer she craved.
She gazed at him, her fondness shining through. In the waning light, the colors were so vivid. He looked dynamic and magnificent, like an angel who’d flown down from heaven. His golden hair shimmered; his eyes were very blue.
He stared at her, neither of them speaking, then he took her hand and kissed each of her fingertips—as if in farewell. Her pulse thudded with dread.
“I’d be with you if I could,” he ventured. “You know that, don’t you?”
“Yes, I know.”
“If there was any way for us to be together ...”
“There’s always a way,” she cheerily retorted.
When he didn’t jump to agree, she held very still, praying for a promise, a vow. But he was silent, appearing sad and pensive. He gripped her waist and stood her on her feet, then he stood, too.
“I have to get back to the party,” he said.
“All right.”
“You leave first, and I’ll watch to be certain you’re safe.”
His expression was impossible to read, and she knew she should go, but she had the oddest feeling that this was good-bye, that she’d never be alone with him again.
“Will you dance with me?” she humiliated herself by asking.
“I won’t be able to this evening.”
“Why not?”
“We were too obvious the other night in the village.”
“Yes, I suppose we were.” She was dying inside. “Will you visit me later?”
“I can’t sneak away. I have so many responsibilities—what with all our guests.”
She forced a chuckle. “Duty calls!”
“Yes, it does.”
“Well, I’ll keep a candle burning—just in case.”
She started off, and when she would have vanished into the maze of branches, he softly said, “Jane?”
“Yes?” On tenterhooks, she whipped around.
“I’ll... ah ... talk to you tomorrow.”
“I can’t wait”
She gave him a saucy wink, and with a brash flick of her skirt, she spun and ran so he wouldn’t see her tears.
“WILL you join me?”
“I’d be delighted.”
Maud observed as Michael offered his hand to Miriam, as he led the dancing. He was very smooth about it, not evincing the slightest hint of how he’d previously embarrassed her, and Miriam was so besotted that there was no question of her forgiving him.
Maud climbed up onto the front steps of the mansion, the higher vantage point providing a fuller view of the festivities. Miriam’s rash had cleared, and she looked as fetching as she ever would, given her plain features. As the musicians struck up a chord and the lines formed—with Michael and Miriam at the head—Maud swelled with pride.
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