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 (4 page)
“My darling girl,” her gallant swain said, “what is it? What’s wrong?”
“I ... I ... needed the position, and I’m a tad overwrought at it not being offered to me.”
He appeared stricken and reached an arm around her waist as if to hug her, but the library door opened and Captain Odell marched out.
On seeing them, he stormed over.
“Michael,” he snapped, confirming that her admirer was indeed Lord Hastings, “unhand her at once.”
“She tells me,” Lord Hastings mentioned, “that you didn’t feel she was suitable to be Rose’s governess. She must be joking.
I
think she’d be spectacular.”
I
think she’d be spectacular.”
The two of them had a brief spat, but Helen was too upset to listen. She had no idea why the earl had flirted with her, but Odell was glaring as if she were a harlot.
The earl skittered off, and Helen stared up at Odell, searching his blue, blue eyes for a hint of kindness or understanding. She wanted to explain what had happened, or to defend herself, but what was the use? He would never believe her.
Without a word, she turned and hurried out. If he thought she was rude or impertinent, she hardly cared.
Her cloak and bonnet were where she’d left them, on a chair in the foyer, and she scooped them up and walked out onto the stoop.
She stood on the steps, tying her bonnet and gazing down the street. Carriages rumbled by. Maids and footmen scurried past. Everyone had something to do, someplace to be.
Helen had nothing at all, except her sisters, Jane and Amelia, who were waiting for her in the dilapidated room they’d rented with the last of their money. They’d sent her off to the interview with fond wishes, certain of her success.
They were so optimistic, so sure of the future, and their positive attitude was Helen’s fault. She’d shielded them from learning the exact depth of their plight, but after this debacle, there was no way to keep them from noting the cliff upon which they were perched.
As the daughters of Captain Harry Hamilton, they’d ridden out many storms in their chaotic lives, had been buffeted by poverty and plenty, by scandal and infamy.
Through years of tumult, the three of them had persevered, but after Harry was killed in the duel, they’d been on a downward spiral that couldn’t be halted.
The angry duke of Clarendon hadn’t been satisfied with merely murdering their father. He’d craved even more revenge. Creditors had come forward; bank clerks had swarmed. The Hamiltons’ home had been seized, their possessions sold, nearly all but the clothes on their backs taken from them.
They’d traveled to London, throwing themselves on the mercy of relatives, who’d shunned them. People who should have behaved better declined to provide shelter. Only Amelia’s thrifty hiding of their mother’s jewelry had saved them from starvation on the streets, but that money was long spent.
“What to do? What to do?” she murmured.
She’d gone on dozens of job interviews, pleaded for assistance, and begged for handouts, but to no avail. Harry Hamilton was notorious, so his daughters were, too.
They were destitute and desperate, and the notion of returning to their boardinghouse, of telling Amelia and Jane that there was no job, that Odell hadn’t liked her, after all, was too depressing to consider.
Her stomach rumbled, reminding her that she hadn’t eaten since the previous day. They’d had a few scraps of food remaining, and she’d let her sisters have them, pretending she wasn’t hungry and insisting she’d dine like a queen the moment Odell hired her.
She snorted with disgust, then reached in her reticule, hunting for a kerchief to dab at her eyes, when she stumbled on the vial the peddler, Mr. Dubois, had given her.
What had he called it? The Spinster’s Cure?
He’d claimed it had magical powers.
“If only it were true.” She sighed.
A rich husband would definitely come in handy, but there was no magic in the universe strong enough to fix what was wrong.
Her stomach growled again, protesting its empty state, and she held the vial toward the sky. The liquid appeared to be red wine, which she imagined it was. She pulled the cork and sniffed the contents, detecting a cherry flavoring.
Eager to quell her hunger pangs, as well as to have a bit of fortification for the long walk home, she tipped the dark fluid into her mouth.
She’d started to swallow, when suddenly, the door of the mansion opened behind her. She whirled around, and to her horror, she was face-to-face with Captain Odell.
“Are you still here?” he complained.
“Odell?”
She coughed and sputtered, banging her chest, absurdly panicked about having ingested the potion while looking at him. Frantic thoughts rattled her: What if the tonic was real? What if she’d pitched herself onto a new and unexpected path? What if—God forbid—she ended up married to the arrogant oaf?
The liquid slid down with ease, landing in her belly like the kiss of death. There was the oddest calm in the air, as if the entire world had stopped to mark what she’d done. Fate seemed to be readjusting lives and fortunes.
She gazed at him until she was mesmerized, drowning, not able to tear herself away.
Here he is... here he is... finally
... a crazed voice whispered in her head.
... a crazed voice whispered in her head.
With his being so handsome, so masculine and tough, she didn’t suppose life had ever thrown him for a loop. He was the type who’d brazen it out, who fought and scraped and always came out on top. He’d never be scared or weary, would never be anxious or sad.
His shoulders were very broad, the kind a woman could lean on in times of trouble, and for a wild, insane instant, she nearly hurled herself into his arms and begged him to never let her go.
Luckily, before she could make an even bigger fool of herself than she already had, she noticed he was studying the empty vial clasped in her hand.
“Are you a lush, too, Miss Hamilton?”
“What?”
“From your behavior with the earl, it’s clear you’re a flirt. Are you a secret drunkard, too? I feel we’ve dodged a bullet. I’ll have to speak with Mrs. Ford to ask why she’d send someone with so many vices.”
“You think I’m a flirt? You think I’m a drunkard?”
He smirked, pointing to the vial. “The evidence does seem incontrovertible.”
He was so smug, so patronizing. If she’d been a man, she’d have pounded him into the ground.
How dare he criticize! How dare he scold!
She was the granddaughter of a baron on her deceased mother’s side. True, her mother had been disowned and disinherited when she’d eloped with Harry Hamilton, but that fact didn’t change ancestry. She had aristocratic blood flowing in her veins, while he was a barely acknowledged Scottish bastard son.
He might have been temporarily elevated into the ranks of Polite Society so that he could fraternize with his betters, but despite her current difficulties, she was one of those betters, and his conduct toward her was outrageous.
“For your information,” she seethed, jabbing a condemning finger at the center of his chest, “I am not a flirt ”
“Oh, really? You couldn’t prove it by me.”
“The earl of Hastings is a menace. I am a decent female who visited you with honorable intentions only to be accosted by him, and I lay the blame for his lechery solely at your feet. What sort of guardian are you, anyway?”
“Now just a damned minute, you little—”
“It’s Miss Hamilton to you, and I am not a drunkard, either. That vial contained a love potion.”
“A love potion?”
“Yes. A peddler insisted I try it, but I drank it because I’m starving. I haven’t any idea why I must explain myself to you, but I feel compelled to confide that I haven’t had anything to eat for the past two days.”
“A likely story, shared to elicit sympathy, but it hasn’t.”
“I gave my remaining food to my sisters. But do you know what?”
“No, but I’m sure you’ll tell me.”
“I was advised to swallow the potion while staring at the man who is destined to become my husband.”
He was a sailor, and as she’d suspected, he was superstitious as the dickens.
He blanched.
“Meaning what precisely?” he haughtily inquired.
“Meaning I curse you.”
“Curse me?” He gulped with dismay.
“Yes. I hope I’ve actually set off some magic and that you wind up wed to me. It would be your worst nightmare, and it would serve you right for being such a horse’s ass!”
She whipped away and started off.
“Miss Hamilton!” he barked. “Get back here this instant”
He’d shouted the command in his most stern, ship-captain’s tone, but she ignored him and marched on, which she was certain would annoy him into infinity.
Chapter 3
“WHAT was Captain Odell like?”
“Very handsome, very charming.”
Helen nearly choked on the lie, but as usual, she was determined to conceal the grim realities of their situation, although Jane seemed to understand the extent of their plight. With her being eighteen, and Amelia only twelve, Jane was complicit in hiding the truth from Amelia.
Amelia was the eternal optimist, being constantly positive that prosperity was just around the corner.
“Why didn’t he hire you?” Amelia’s concern was heart-breaking.
The three sisters were spitting images of their deceased father: slender, auburn-haired, and green-eyed, with his amiable temperament and penchant for conversation.
“Oh, he liked me very much, Amelia. He’d simply found someone else right before I arrived. She was older and more experienced.” At Amelia’s worried expression, Helen added, “He was terribly sorry for putting me to the trouble of coming so far, and he offered to send me home in his carriage, but the weather was so pleasant that I decided to walk back.”
This last was a bit much for Jane, and she spun away and went to the grimy window to gaze outside.
“Was Lord Hastings in residence?” Jane asked, her finger tracing over the dirty pane.
Jane was fascinated by the antics of aristocrats like Hastings, and in a fairer, more sane world, she’d have moved in their circle. Not in the direct center of it, but certainly on the edges. Though she never complained about how things had gone, she suffered pangs of envy, and Helen couldn’t blame her.
The sins of their parents, and the injustices of society, had combined to wear them down till there was nothing left.
“Actually, I met the earl.”
“Really? Was he as attractive as they claim in the papers?”
“More so, I’d say. He was tall and blond and extremely gallant. I liked him very much.”
She wasn’t aware that she had such a knack for fabrication, and she wondered where she came by it. No doubt, it was a trait inherited from her father, who’d been a renowned charlatan and rogue.
“I wish I’d met him, too,” Jane murmured, and there was such longing in her voice that Helen could barely keep from weeping.
“I’m sure you will someday,” Helen fibbed with false cheer. “Once this bad spell is behind us, there’s no telling where we might bump into him. At a ball. At a supper. Since I know him, I’ll be able to introduce you.”
“I’d enjoy that.” Jane glanced over her shoulder. “What now?”
“Now, I’ll... I’ll talk to Mrs. Ford and have her schedule another interview. There has to be someone in this blasted city who needs a governess.”
“Who better than you?” Amelia loyally said.
“Precisely,” Helen agreed.
“You have to let me try, too,” Jane insisted. “I’ll come with you to Mrs. Ford’s. I’m old enough to work.”
“We’ve been through this, Jane. If you take a job, there’s no going back. After we’ve returned to our prior status, it would be a black mark that would keep you from making a good marriage.”
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