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 (46 page)

BOOK: Taste of Temptation

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“I don’t know if I could allow it.”

“Why couldn’t you? You never wanted to take care of me; you said so yourself.”

“That’s not true!” He appeared furious, as if she’d insulted him. “You’re my sister. I do want to take care of you. I just don’t think I’ve done a very good job of it so far.”

“No, you haven’t.”

She began to weep, hating to be so sad, but she’d pinned so many hopes on him, and they’d all been dashed.

“Oh no,” he murmured. “Don’t tell me I’ve made you cry.”

“I’m not crying,” she fibbed. “I’m just tired.”

“Come here.” He extended his hand.

She was dying to walk over and clasp hold, to sit on his lap as if she was a young child while he told her everything would be all right, but she wasn’t young anymore, and things might never be right again.

“Rose, come!”

When he spoke that way, being imposing and strong, she couldn’t ignore him.

She took a step, then another, and once she was near enough, he grabbed her wrist and tugged her onto his lap as she’d been secretly wishing he would do.

He nestled her to his chest, as he rubbed a comforting hand up and down her back. He smelled marvelous: like leather and brandy and horses, how she’d imagined her father would have smelled if she’d ever been permitted to snuggle with him.

“It seems,” he said, “that all I do is make the women I love cry.”

“If you don’t want us to cry, you shouldn’t be so mean to us.”

“Out of the mouth of babes.” He chuckled again, and he sounded better, as if his mood was improving. He dried her tears with his thumb. “We’ll figure it out, Rose. I’ll reflect on a solution, then I’ll talk to Miss Hamilton about you and Amelia.”

“Could I live with them?”

It wasn’t what she actually wanted. She wanted to stay with him so that they could change their house into the home it had never been, but he probably wouldn’t be interested.

“We’ll see,” he hedged.

She might have pressed him, might have asked if he was serious, but if he swore, then failed to follow through, she’d be more forlorn than she already was.

“Would you mind,” he asked, “if I looked in on you during the night?”

She drew away and gazed into his blue eyes that were so much like her own. “How often would you?”

“How about every half an hour?”

“Till morning?”

“Yes, till morning.”

“I suppose that would be all right.”

He hugged her.

“Don’t ever run away again,” he whispered. “I couldn’t bear it if you left.”

“I won’t run away.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

She smiled, and immediately, she fell asleep, the steady beating of her brother’s heart a soothing rhythm in her ear.

“HELEN?”

“Hello, Captain Odell.”

Tristan bit down a grimace, depressed to hear that he was still
Captain
Odell and not Tristan. He’d completely squandered her affection, so he didn’t know why he expected the other mode of address, but he wished he could put them on a more cordial footing.

He was a cad, an oaf, a scapegrace. He admitted it, and he was trying to make amends. Why wouldn’t she let him?

Timidly, he entered the parlor, uncertain of his welcome, but fairly positive that she’d rather speak to a snake-oil salesman.

“I’ve been searching for you everywhere.”

“Have you?”

She was over by the window, staring out. It was cold and rainy, the gray sky giving a hint of the winter weather that would arrive all too soon.

A smart man would be headed south, with the wind at his back and the salt spray in his face. A smart man would shuck off his responsibilities and do whatever the hell he wanted. A smart man would leave all this feminine drama behind.

He’d never been hailed as being particularly smart.

She spun around, her expression cool and detached, as if he was a stranger to whom she’d just been introduced. She was pale and brittle, as if—with the slightest harsh word—she might shatter into a thousand pieces.

“Have you seen Jane?” she inquired. “She never came down to breakfast, and she’s not in her room. I’m worried about her.”

“She’s not here.”

“Where did she go?”

“She’s with Michael.”

“I apologize.” She pursed her lips, her fury clear. “I specifically ordered her to stay away from him, but it seems I have little control over her.”

He approached, loathing how she stiffened, as if she didn’t want him too near.

“Actually, she wrote you a note. Michael left it on my desk in the library. It’s addressed to both of us.”

He held it out and she snatched it away, being careful that their fingers didn’t touch. As she read the curt missive, explaining their elopement, she snorted with disgust.

“Well,” she fumed, “I guess there’s not much more to say. Again, I apologize.”

“I don’t mind that they wed.” She appeared skeptical, and he hastily added, “Truly, I don’t. Last evening, when he asked you for her hand, I came with him so you’d know he had my blessing.”

“You claimed you were amenable, Captain, but at the moment, Lord Hastings isn’t present, so you don’t have to lie to me. We both realize that this is the very worst ending imaginable.”

“Why would you think that?”

“Jane is a hopeless romantic, and she’s immersed herself in a dangerous affair with a foolish, immature boy. The conclusion will be awful. Don’t try to tell me any differently.”

“What if you’re wrong?” he queried, sounding like a hopeless romantic himself. “What if he loves her till his dying day?”

“I’m not wrong.”

She crumpled Jane’s letter, marched over to the hearth, and threw it in the fire. Stoically resigned, she watched as the flames consumed it.

She was such a tragic figure, so bereft and alone, as if she didn’t have a friend in the world. He wanted to break through her wall of reserve, wanted to persuade her that everything would be fine, but she wouldn’t listen.

He couldn’t bear to see her so unhappy, to recognize that he’d been the cause. And now that Michael and Jane had eloped, what purpose was served by her rage? He’d hurt her by refusing to let the pair wed, but he’d relented.

Surely the concession counted for something. Didn’t it?

“Have you considered my suggestion?” he asked.

“What suggestion is that?”

“You and Amelia should remain here.”

“Here!” She was appalled.

“Yes. Maud and Miriam are gone. When Michael and Jane return from Scotland, this will be Jane’s home, so you needn’t leave.”

“I would
never
stay in this house.”

He couldn’t stand to be so far away from her, and he went over and laid a hand on her shoulder. She didn’t exactly flinch, but there was no mistaking that she detested his touch. She whirled to face him, accusation in her gaze.

“Helen, please forgive me,” he begged, his heart on his sleeve. “I understand that you were upset with me—I made a stupid decision, and I’m sorry for it—but Michael and Jane will be wed shortly. The source of our discord is over.”

“Over? Because they’re marrying?”

“Yes.”

“What does their marriage have to do with anything?”

Utterly confused, he gaped at her.

Weren’t they fighting because Michael had ruined Jane and he—Tristan—wouldn’t force Michael to wed her? Hadn’t the entire quarrel commenced because Tristan had been an insensitive ass?

“I thought you’d be glad they were marrying. I thought it would fix the rift between us.”

“Really? Is that what you suppose? That you can offer a bland apology, and we’ll take up where we left off?”

“Why couldn’t it happen? You were fond of me once. Tell me how I can regain your affection.”

“You can’t.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“I mean it very, very much.”

She walked away, keeping a sofa between them as a barrier.

He sighed. “What should I do, Helen? If you could have anything you wanted, what would it be? Let me give it to you.”

“I heard from the housekeeper that Lord Hastings owns an empty apartment on the other side of town.”

“He owns many properties.”

“I would like to learn which one is vacant, then Amelia and I will reside there while I search for a job.”

He tamped down a spurt of temper, aware that anger would get him nowhere with her. “You’re about to be sister to the countess of Hastings. You can’t ...
work ...
for a living.”

“Then what would you propose I do?”

“Just wait till Jane returns. We’ll sit down and talk it through.”

“I don’t want Lord Hastings’s charity. I don’t want him having to support me merely because he wed my sister. It wouldn’t be fair to him.”

“He’s a very rich man, and he’ll want Jane to be happy. Let
him
judge what he deems to be fair.”

“Fine.” She looked as weary of their bickering as he was. Her shoulders drooped, her legs seeming to give out, and she slid into a nearby chair. “How would I move in to the apartment I mentioned?”

“I’ll simply ask my clerk as to availability, then I’ll have the housekeeper send over some servants to ensure it’s ready for you. I’ll need a few hours.”

“I’ll be in my bedchamber. Have someone notify me when we may depart.”

“May Rose come with you for a bit? She’s worried about Amelia. It would be a comfort to her if they could be together.”

“Of course. Rose is always welcome.”

“I’ll only arrange this if you promise to remain there—and rest from your ordeal. I won’t have you gallivanting around the city, seeking employment. It would embarrass Lord Hastings.”

“I will wallow in his generosity. I will be completely idle; I will become a veritable sloth.”

He stared and stared, wishing she’d smile so he could smile, too.

Once, she’d been so enamored of him, and he’d been vain enough to assume that she might even have loved him. How had such strident regard vanished practically overnight? A spark had to still burn deep inside. How was he to rekindle it?

With great effort, she pushed herself to her feet, and she started for the door, the route taking her directly past him. She was prepared to stroll by as if she didn’t see him, as if he were invisible.

He stepped in, wanting to rattle her and eager to elicit a reaction. At this desperate point, he’d settle for a snide remark.

“Helen ...” he murmured, relishing the chance to speak her name.

“What?”

“You seem very exhausted. May I escort you to your room?”

She gawked at him as if he’d ordered her to swallow poison.

“No, you may not.”

“Why are you behaving like this? I simply can’t fathom why you’re so enraged.”

“You can’t?”

“No.”

“Shouldn’t you check on Tim and Ruth? They must be missing you.”

“Tim and Ruth? Who the hell are Tim and Ruth?”

“As if you didn’t know,” she scoffed. “And where is Lydia? In light of her delicate condition, she must be missing you, too.” A burst of hurt and fury flashed in her eyes, then she spun and stomped out.

He dawdled in the quiet parlor, scratching his head and struggling to figure out what she’d been trying to say.

Chapter 25