Heart’s Temptation Series Books 4-6

by Scott, Scarlett

  “Jesus, Edward.” His eyes were only for Clara at first, drinking in the sight of her. She didn’t appear to be harmed, thank God. His gaze went to his brother, a sickening sense of realization hitting him straight in the gut. He’d thought with such certainty that an enemy from his past—some cuckolded husband or jilted lover—had attacked him and Clara both.

  But it had been a different sort of enemy from the past altogether. His very own flesh and blood. Betrayal tore through him like a gunshot, swift and ravaging in its aim. Edward had tried to kill him. Edward had attempted to strangle Clara. How the hell could it be?

  His shocked brain attempted to make sense of the scene before him. He wanted to believe that the man holding Clara against her will was a stranger. But his eyes didn’t lie. Edward had inherited their father’s short, bullish build and plain features. Ten years had worked some change upon him—his body was stockier, his dark hairline receding as the former earl’s had, grooves marking his forehead—but the man facing him now with murderous intent etched into the hard lines of his face was none other than his brother.

  “Edward,” he said again, his thoughts whirling with how the hell he could get Clara to safety. Perhaps he could overpower him, disarm him, at least tear her from Edward’s grip. He stalked forward. “Is it you?”

  “Don’t take another step or she dies.” Edward’s tone was flat and emotionless. Menacing.

  Some instinct deep within Julian cried out, forced him to continue. Another step. Two. Mine, he thought grimly. I protect what’s mine. And no one else in the world belonged to him the way Clara did. The way he belonged to her. She was his wife. His love. He’d do anything to save her and protect her. Even if it meant offering his own life. Especially if it meant that, for a life without Clara in it was one he didn’t want to live.

  But Edward didn’t react well to his challenge. The arm he had locked around Clara’s neck tightened and she cried out in pain. “Stay where you are, goddamn it.”

  Julian stopped, willing his mind to remain calm, to find some way out of this. “Let her go, brother. Your quarrel is with me.”

  “Damn right my quarrel is with you.” Edward’s face curled into a sneer that was so reminiscent of their father that for a moment Julian’s body recoiled at the remembrance of the earl’s fists connecting with his flesh. It was almost like staring at their father’s ghost. An even more vicious, deranged ghost.

  Julian raised his hands in a slow, placating gesture. “Tell me what you want from me. I’ll do anything you ask as long as you release my wife. She is an innocent in all this.”

  “Your wife, innocent?” Edward laughed. “Best bloody joke I’ve heard in some time, brother. From what I hear, you’ve spent the last fifteen-odd years fucking your way through the ton. Any bride of yours would be tainted the instant you touched her. She’s likely already carrying your heir. And that makes her dispensable indeed, for I have no wish for competition.”

  The air seemed to leave the chamber. Or Julian’s lungs. He couldn’t be sure. All he could be sure of was that his brother meant to kill him and claim the earldom for himself. More than likely, he intended to kill Clara as well.

  Julian wasn’t about to allow Edward to carry out whatever evil plan he’d hatched. No one would harm so much as a hair on Clara’s head ever again. Not even over his dead fucking body.

  “She’s not carrying my heir,” he denied, hoping to deflect some of his brother’s attention away from Clara, perhaps even to release her. “I haven’t touched the chit.”

  Edward’s gaze narrowed to reptilian slits. “You expect me to believe you didn’t bed her? A young, innocent beauty like this?” He relaxed his hold on Clara’s throat to cup one of her full breasts in his hand. “Don’t tell me you could resist such pretty tits.”

  A guttural sound tore from him and he lunged forward, blinded by rage and the need to defend Clara from being manhandled. Edward sprang backward, dragging Clara with him as though she were nothing more than a helpless heap of skirts.

  “Not another step closer, damn you,” Edward warned, once again tightening his hold on Clara’s neck. “Or I’ll choke the life from her. I almost managed last night. This time I won’t fail. The choice is yours.”

  “Julian,” Clara spoke for the first time. Her tone was hesitant, starved for breath. A plea. “He’s mad. He means to kill you.”

  “Shut up,” snarled Edward, tightening his hold until Clara made a choking sound.

  Julian just barely restrained himself from launching himself at his brother. The only thing that kept him planted to the spot was the gun Edward kept trained to Clara’s head. “Let her go. She has nothing to do with what’s between us. She’s leaving for Virginia in two days. Her passage is already secured. Release her and you’ll never hear from her again. Your quarrel is with me.”

  “Quarrel.” Edward spat the word as though it left a bad taste in his mouth. “This is not a quarrel, goddamn you. This is about righting a grievous wrong. Now you’ve landed yourself a fat dowry and I mean to collect what’s owed me. I’m the rightful Earl of Ravenscroft, and I’ve wasted too many years waiting for you to drink yourself to death.”

  He flinched. Perhaps a bit too close to the truth, that last statement. But Edward had been so mired in his bitterness that he’d failed to notice Julian advancing another half step nearer. If he could distract his brother with idle talk, inch close enough, there was a chance he could knock the gun from Edward’s hand.

  His gaze met Clara’s for just a moment, long enough to spy the fear in the glittering depths of her eyes. Jesus, how he wished he could promise her he’d spring her from this hell safely. He wanted to allay her every fear, to kiss the beloved rosebud of her lips, the soft curve of her cheek, that wayward eyebrow. But he had to focus on the task at hand. A deadly one.

  He wrenched his gaze back to Edward. “You’re the rightful heir?” he demanded, his tone mocking. “Pray tell me, brother, how can that be when I am indisputably the first born?”

  Edward’s jaw tensed. “Our mother was a bloody whore. Little wonder you turned out in her mold. She came into the marriage to Father unchaste, a bastard in her belly. She never would tell him whose by-blow he’d accepted as his heir.”

  “You lie,” Julian growled, creeping closer.

  “I speak truth. Father confessed everything to me on his deathbed.” Edward smiled, resembling the previous earl more than ever. “Our mother pretended to be an innocent, tricked Father into marriage. Then you were born far too early, a weak and pathetic babe by all accounts. Father knew at once you could not have been of his blood. He wanted to smother you but our mother begged to keep you safe and he was merciful. When I was born a year later, he never forgave himself for giving in. He wished to his dying day that he could have ended you, removed your false claim upon the Ravenscroft line. At long last, I’ve decided to be the one who does.”

  The story sounded like the sort of rot the old earl would spew. Then again, it could explain a great deal. He and Edward had never shared a resemblance. The earl had relished in beating and scorning him while he’d only ever heaped praise and adulation upon Edward. Their mother had undeniably taken lovers—Josephine and Alexandra were proof of that.

  In truth, none of it mattered any longer, for their parents were long gone, and he couldn’t afford to be distracted. His entire being needed to be focused on freeing Clara, even if it meant getting himself killed in the process. He didn’t give a damn what happened to him, as long as she lived.

  He’d inched closer yet again during Edward’s ramblings but stood still now as his deranged sibling’s eyes scoured him, looking for even a hint of forward motion. “If your aim is sending me across the River Styx, let Clara go. She’s done you no harm.”

  Edward cocked his head, considering him in a shrewd manner that belied his lunacy. “I’ll strike a bargain with you, brother. As long as you swear she’s not carrying your get, I’ll let her go free.”

  Julian swallowed. He woul
d say anything to save her. Lie or truth, it didn’t matter. “She’s not. I swear it.”

  “This won’t end well for you,” Edward warned grimly, almost as if he had a conscience. “I’m afraid you must die so that I can become earl as I ought to have been from the first. It’s the only way. I waited on the Continent for so long, you know. Waited and did the honorable thing, hoping you’d drink or whore yourself to death. But then word reached me that you were courting an heiress, and I couldn’t allow an heir to supplant me and take the earldom that’s been mine all along, now could I? Her fortune is, of course, a boon.”

  Julian’s blood went cold to hear his brother’s casual confession. Jesus, he made it sound as if his greedy bloodletting was a natural step in the process of regaining what he felt was rightfully his.

  “Of course you couldn’t,” he said easily, not daring to step closer with Edward’s attention pinned on him. “But neither could you realize that she and I reached a bargain. We have a marriage in name only, in return for my portion of her dowry, while she goes home to Virginia. She’s not a threat to the earldom, Edward. She’s not carrying my child.”

  Edward appeared to be relenting. “I’ll strike a bargain with you. There’s a vial of poison in my pocket. Drink it, and I’ll let her go.”

  “No,” Clara cried out. “Don’t do it, Julian. He’ll only kill us both.”

  “Silence,” Edward ordered, tightening his arm on her throat.

  Clara’s hands scrambled to Edward’s coat, clutching at it as he choked her.

  Nausea hit Julian straight in the gut. Damn it, Edward was going to kill Clara unless he acted. Unless he agreed to drink the poison. From there, with Clara freed from the pistol pressed to her head, perhaps he could finally make a move.

  “I’ll do it,” he said definitively. “Let her go, Edward, and I’ll drink the bloody poison.”

  Clara cried out, tears dashing down her cheeks. “No, Julian.”

  “Hush,” he told her with a calm he little felt. “All will be well. This is what must be done.” With his eyes, he tried his best to tell her how much he worshipped her, to communicate to her the endless depths of his love. He looked to Edward then. “Let her free.”

  Edward released her, shoving her away from him and in the opposite direction of Julian. Clara stumbled, gasping for her breath before catching her skirts in her hands and righting herself.

  “Go sit in the chair,” Edward ordered Clara, waiting as she haltingly made her way to the chair behind Julian’s desk before turning his attention to Julian, the pistol trained upon him now. He reached inside his jacket and extracted a small vial. “You’ll drink this now or I’ll kill her and then I’ll kill you.”

  Julian stared at the vial of poison, his mind spinning. He could knock it from Edward’s hand, jump on him, grapple for the gun. But would that put Clara at risk? Think, he told himself frantically. Think, goddamn it. He could stall him, delay him, distract him. Those were his best options. And when he saw his opportunity, he would act.

  “How do you imagine this will play out, Edward? I die and then what? You don’t think the authorities will find this suspect?”

  “You don’t think I’ve thought this out?” Edward taunted. “Of course I have. It’s a shame you suffered an apoplectic fit like our father. I’ll be grieving, of course. Not many questions will be asked. And if they are, isn’t it commonly known that poison is a woman’s weapon? Perhaps one of your lovers finally sent you to hell. Perhaps even your own wife.”

  Julian’s fists clenched at his side as he struggled to remain calm. The plan didn’t sound nearly as deranged as it ought. But what chilled him the most was not his brother’s betrayal or even his greed. It was that he intended to frame Clara for Julian’s murder.

  “You’re a sick bastard,” he said, staring at the stranger who shared his blood. Half his blood if he were to be believed, but blood nonetheless.

  “Drink the poison or I’ll make you watch her die,” Edward snarled, holding the vial out to him.

  Julian prepared himself to strike, knowing he would need to act fast, to take Edward by surprise and overpower him or all would be lost for he and Clara both. He reached out as if to accept the vial.

  And just that quickly, a gunshot exploded into the silence. Almost simultaneously, a bullet found its home in Edward’s skull. Blood spattered across Julian’s waistcoat, the wall, the carpet. Edward fell, a wound on his forehead blossoming scarlet. His eyes stared sightlessly into the ceiling. The gun and poison fell from his limp fingers.

  It was over. Edward was dead.

  “Julian, are you injured?” Clara’s shaky voice cut through the haze of shock clouding his mind.

  He turned to find her standing, her face a pale mask, a pistol in her hand. Jesus, she’d shot Edward and saved them both. He’d never have imagined she’d have it in her. Everything he should have said to her before clamored to his tongue. But instead of any of them, all he could manage was a numb reply.

  “Clara, you shot him.”

  Her beautiful mouth tugged up into a half-smile. “I told you I could shoot an apple off a man’s head at fifty paces.”

  “My little Virginian warrior princess.” His throat was thick, his mind and body and heart bombarded with all that had unfolded this night. But one thing he knew for certain. He loved her with everything in him. She was fierce and brave and better than he deserved. “My love. Come here.”

  He didn’t need to say it twice.

  She flew into his arms, and he held her to him as if he could forever keep her there. If he clasped her with more force than necessary, it couldn’t be helped. Never in his life had he been more relieved. The full, blinding force of emotion exploding inside him was overwhelming. Thank Christ she was safe. Trembling in his embrace, but safe.

  He buried his face in her fragrant hair, breathing deeply of her scent, and blurted the words he should have said long ago, the words that it seemed had begun simmering within him the very first night he’d laid eyes on her in his study. “I love you, Clara. I love you so damn much I ache with it. More than I ever imagined possible. When I almost lost you, it was more than I could bear. I would do anything for you. For you, I would have gladly swallowed the goddamn poison.” His hoarse voice broke on the last confession but he didn’t feel a bit of shame.

  Her face was pressed to his neck, her arms around him in a grip that rivaled his own in its vehemence. She tipped back her head to look up at him, tears and unrestrained love shining in her eyes. He’d never seen a more beautiful sight. “And I love you, Julian. I love you so much that I couldn’t stay away, regardless of the danger. I never want to be anywhere but with you ever again. You’re my home.”

  Perhaps he shouldn’t have revealed his feelings. He still had no right to keep her from pursuing what she truly wanted, from returning to Virginia. He still wanted only the best for her. He was still an imperfect man with a past marred by too many sins to count. But something about the way she gazed at him now made him believe he could be a better man. That he had changed, and that she alone was responsible for it.

  He swept a stray tendril of hair from her soft cheek, caressing her with his thumb. “I thought Virginia was your home.”

  She shook her head. “Not any longer. Anywhere in the world is home to me as long as I’m by your side.”

  He took her lips with his, the kiss fierce and deep as he dared for a moment to imagine a future for them. It was a kiss that would have gone on much longer if the servants, alarmed after hearing the fatal gunshot, hadn’t chosen that moment to storm into his study. With reluctance, he tore his mouth away, for there was much to be dealt with yet this night and many grim hours looming ahead.

  Chapter 17

  The sun was rising over London, painting the sky with fingers of brilliant yellow and bold orange, by the time Clara tied the robe on her dressing gown and slipped into Julian’s chamber. A flurry of activity had descended upon the household in the moments after the gunshot rang out.
The authorities had been called, statements taken. Word had been sent to the Whitney residence that all was well and that Lord and Lady Ravenscroft were safe at last, merely in need of some rest.

  It was finally over. Relief and shock still pulsated through her, leaving her mind as thick as London fog. But there was one thing she knew: she and Julian had been given a second chance, and she meant to take it.

  He stood with his back to her, his tall, lean form clad in only a dressing gown as well, his feet bare. He had the curtains pulled back, and he was still as a marble statue, surveying the street below.

  Her hands shook as she crossed the room to him so she folded them together at her waist. She had killed a man tonight, and though she would make the same choice again in a heartbeat, she regretted the necessity. If only there had been another way.

  She hadn’t wanted to do it. Though she was a crack shot and always had been, she’d never had need of that particular skill until tonight. But greed and jealousy had turned Julian’s brother into a madman, and he wouldn’t have stopped until he’d killed them both.

  She stopped a few feet from her husband, feeling hesitant despite his earlier words of love. He seemed to be unaware of her approach. Had he been in shock when he’d told her he loved her? Did he regret it now? Dear God, she hoped not.

  “Julian,” she said quietly.

  He turned away from the grim vigil he’d been keeping, his beautiful face hard and tense. As his gaze settled on hers, he softened, holding his arms open to her. “My love.”

  She didn’t hesitate. In another breath, she launched herself into his chest. He caught her to him, holding her tight. Her breasts crushed against him, and without the barrier of her everyday layers, each inch of his hard maleness was a delicious, reassuring thing. She held him with a matching fervor, desperate to be as close to him as she possibly could after coming so close to losing him for the second time. He pressed a kiss into her unbound curls.