Far Too Tempted

by Emma Wildes

  Marcus raised his dark blond brows slightly. “You could leave. I have been trying to decide if that would help—or hurt— this fiasco.”

  Alex shook his head. “Absolutely not.”

  “Without you here to fuel the whispers—”

  “Believe me, I’d like nothing better, but if Jessica has to endure to the bitter end, it hardly seems fair for me to duck out. She has been abandoned enough.”

  Lifting his champagne glass to his mouth, Marcus smiled slightly. “I hadn’t thought of it that way. For a villainous letch, you show a surprising amount of gallantry, brother.”

  “Thanks.” It was said dryly.

  “Now, go bolster your fortitude. I’m going to find my wife and lend my support as best I can.” Marcus nodded and slipped into the whirl of dancers.

  Left alone with his empty glass, Alex squared his shoulders and braved the crowd. The drinks table was near the buffet and he edged toward it, arrested when a hand came down on his shoulder.

  “Colonel Ramsey, what a pleasure.”

  Ignoring the tense, gripping fingers was not an option. Alex swiveled.

  The man let go of his arm and bowed slightly, the best he could do in such close quarters.

  A polite smile broke over Alex’s face. “The pleasure is mine. At Talavera we parted ways, didn’t we? Weren’t you reassigned to a new regiment? Good to see you, Major Pickford.”

  “You too, sir, truly.” They gripped hands. “My wife is related to the Greenes, hence my presence. Lovely celebration, sir.”

  God, could things get more awkward? Alex felt discomfort tighten his throat and decided not to dance around the subject. “Yes, well, I’ll admit I have enjoyed myself more on other occasions.”

  “Shouldn’t let a few sharp tongues take the day I always say, don’t you, Colonel?” The question was put very delicately. Pickford had no animosity in his steady gaze. “You’ve always been an honorable man and that’s what I told my wife, sir. When we served together I never heard of you touching one of the officer’s wives, or any other black whisper about you.”

  Grateful for the show of support from an unexpected source, Alex nodded. “Thank you. Drink, Major? I was headed that way.”

  “Sounds capital.” Gray-bearded and stout, Pickford grinned. “Something other than champagne, I hope. These entertainments seem to be all the same. Give me something stiffer any day.”

  “I couldn’t agree more.” Elbowing his way through with some difficulty and procuring two glasses, Alex handed one to his companion and nodded toward the balcony doors. “A breath of fresh air would be welcome.”

  “After you, Colonel.”

  The gardens were warm and redolent, the air outside only slightly cooler, but the absence of staring eyes and the cloying closeness of so many human bodies was a relief. Alex took a long, deliberate sip from his glass and swallowed, leaning one hip casually against the stone balustrade of the terrace. “So, how long is your leave, Pickford?”

  “Leave? Alas, no.” The other man shook his head. He wore a gray frock coat over a bright blue waistcoat that emphasized his rotund figure, white breeches and polished Hessians. In his plump face, his pale eyes were shrewd and narrow. “I’ve landed desk duty, Ramsey. No more battles except over who kisses arse in the War Office.”

  “Wounded?”

  Gloomily, Pickford nodded. “Knee. Lucky to still have the leg. Heard you took three balls at Badajoz. Ugly business, that.”

  “Yes.” Alex lifted his brows, glancing back at the elegant facade of the house as he listened to the lilt of the music drifting out the French doors. “Different world here, isn’t it? Good food, being warm, clean, safe. The sound of an orchestra, a lady’s laugh.” He glanced down at the glass in his hand. “Decent drink…all of it.”

  Pickford chuckled. “Oh yes, sir, it certainly is. Back in Spain those poor buggers are undoubtedly just trying to stay alive. It is amazing how quickly a man can forget.”

  “Amazing.” Alex wholeheartedly agreed.

  Blood, the stench of unwashed bodies, the fear of imminent death after cannon boomed in the distance, all those things seemed a lifetime away. Alex met Pickford’s steady gaze and felt a certain kinship and respect.

  Too bad the man’s name was on that infernal list.

  * * * *

  The servants had emerged and the clink of china being cleared was punctuated by the low rhythm of voices and an occasional laugh.

  The last guest had finally gone, and yet Jessica still felt an almost serene sense of numbness that had permitted her to survive the evening without breaking down.

  The only consolation was that Alex hadn’t looked too much like he was enjoying the unwanted attention either. He hadn’t danced once, drinking steadily instead and staying as much out of the crowd as possible.

  He’d had that option, not so she.

  “Darling,” Ariel murmured and an arm linked through hers, “I am simply exhausted and so are you. Let’s go off to bed and sleep like the dead, shall we? Things are always so much brighter in the morning.”

  The duchess did look drained—her normally lovely face almost gray and pinched. The sympathy in her green eyes was more than Jessica could bear. She said in a voice that trembled, “Oh, Ariel, I’m sorry.”

  The duchess blinked. “You’re sorry? My heavens, what for?” “The party was so grand. It should have been a success but instead it became a…a…I don’t know what.”

  Tugging her out of the foyer and toward the sweeping staircase that led to the family apartments, Ariel supplied, “A circus for the curious and malicious? Actually, my dear, you realize technically, it was a social success. I’ve never seen such a crush and so many enjoying themselves. The ton is fond of drama and you became their favorite actress this eve.”

  As she climbed the stairs with leaden feet, Jessica braced herself and posed the question in a small voice. “What exactly are they saying? I’m afraid to hear it, but I think I need to know.”

  “People are a bit more cautious when speaking to me because Alex is my brother-in-law.” Ariel gave a long sigh. “But I have a dear friend I knew would be forthright, and when I got wind of the rumor, I asked her to tell me.”

  Jessica felt almost dizzy with weariness and apathy and clutched the banister for support. “And?”

  “That upon arrival of the staff Alex had hired in London, the two of you were found naked and sleeping together, twined in each other’s arms and obviously exhausted from a certain activity that is much more acceptable after wedding vows are exchanged.”

  A gasp escaped Jessica’s lips. “It’s not true.”

  Ariel slanted her a sympathetic look. “I never thought it was. But rumors, even the most outrageous, are usually based on one small grain of fact. My question would be how much of it isn’t true? Alex said you were both fully clothed and just happened to fall asleep together.”

  Jessica swallowed hard, her throat working. Lord help her, if that’s what Nathaniel had heard…

  They reached the landing at the top of the stairs and Ariel stopped, turning and taking both of Jessica’s hands in hers, squeezing slightly and apparently waiting for her reply.

  Jessica felt cold from head to toe. “When I woke I was alone.”

  The duchess said, “Oh dear.”

  The truth came tumbling out. “I already told you neither of us had any idea the other would be there at Braidwood. I even attacked Alex with a fireplace poker because I thought he was an intruder. It…it jarred his wound, which I think is part of the reason he didn’t feel up to escorting me to Grayston on foot in the middle of the night.” Jessica took a swift breath. “He told me about Robert’s flight to America and everything just seemed so overwhelming. I was crying and Alex comforted me, that’s all. I guess we were both so tired and he’s right, just fell asleep. Unfortunately…together.”

  “I see.”

  Quietly, Jessica said, “No wonder the Greenes would hardly speak to me. I am surprised they even attended
at all.”

  “It seems they give you the benefit of the doubt more than your fiancé.” The observation was said very softly.

  “Rebecca and I have been close friends for a long time.” Unwanted tears filled Jessica’s eyes—tears she had fought off all the interminable evening. Her throat felt raw and thick. “I would think she would know me better than to believe such a story.”

  “I doubt she does believe it. When you have a chance to explain to her, she will understand. And who knows, my dear, maybe Nathaniel was really simply unable to attend because of pressing business matters.”

  The lamplight in the hallway was dim but Jessica could see the doubt evident in the duchess’s eyes. “You don’t believe that, Ariel, and neither do I.”

  A hand touched her cheek. “Go to bed, Jessica. This might all seem very terrible right now, but it will pass. And who knows, everything is perhaps for the best.”

  With a nod, Jessica turned blindly away and groped for the door of her room. Inside, a small fire had been stoked by the maid to ward off the night chill, and hot water steamed in the basin. Her nightdress and brush lay out and the covers of the bed had been turned back invitingly. At least the staff was sympathetic, apparently.

  Such luxury. Jessica stood there and allowed her gaze to slide over the rich furnishings of the room: the lovely carved and delicate writing desk, the matching dressing table and clothes cupboard, the rich damask draperies masking the windows overlooking the well-kept gardens. Underfoot, the carpeting was soft and warm, and yet Jessica suppressed another shiver of denial.

  She was ruined. If Nathaniel scorned her and backed out of their engagement, she would be adrift with no money, no home, and as a supposedly fallen woman, no chance of gaining employment in a genteel position such as a governess or companion.

  Educated as a young lady of society, she had no skills to fall back on either. Marcus and Ariel would never let her starve, but the idea of being dependent on their charity grated on her pride like claws against vulnerable skin.

  With her arms around her trembling body, she closed her eyes and tried to forget the lascivious and speculative looks she had received all evening long. Even without all the whispers and Nathaniel’s conspicuous absence from his own engagement party, she would have known something was amiss just from the way some of the men in attendance looked at her. It had been both degrading and infuriating.

  The chill inside her just seemed to grow, curling in her stomach and shaking her limbs. This scandal would simply brush Alex and slide by. He would head back to Spain and fight Bonaparte to either die in glory or return a hero, secure in both fortune and home.

  Curse him and the ridiculous double standard of her class.

  Yet in spite of her own despair and her resentment of the situation, she still prayed his fate would be the latter.

  Chapter 8

  “Here’s the address. One for you,” Alex said and turned to shove another slip of paper across the table, “and one for you.”

  The man who simply called himself O’Brien glanced at the writing and then nodded brusquely, tucking the piece into his well-worn jacket. “Right, guv. I’ll find it.”

  “I intend to speak with Lady Ashton myself, but I need you to do what I cannot. Talk to the servants. Find out if any of them noticed anything the night Lord Orschell was killed. If it is out of the ordinary I want to hear about it.”

  O’Brien grinned, showing a gap-toothed mouth in his wide, bewhiskered face. A hulking specimen who towered over Alex by inches and outweighed him considerably, he wasn’t quite what Alex had pictured when he thought of an operative. The idea of O’Brien skulking casually in the shadows and going unnoticed stretched the imagination a little thin. The Irishman said, “Sir, when you see my report, you’ll even know when each of them fancy togs used the privy.”

  Alex fought a wry smile. “I not sure how that will help me, but I suppose the more information the better.”

  “Right-o.” With a broad wink, O’Brien emptied his tankard of ale and got up to lumber out of the room.

  Fingering his own half-empty glass, Alex glanced at the other man at the dingy table. A decided contrast to his companion, he looked little more than a youth, his fair hair framing a thin face and his well-worn plain clothing hanging on his wiry frame. However, his straightforward stare was both sharp and steady, and the first thing he said when he knew he had Alex’s full attention was, “Alfred Tolley, sir. Older than I look. General Wright is no bugger’s fool. O’Brien and I have worked together before, and he’s also a good man. What do you want from me?”

  Well, the boy’s confidence was at least encouraging, and it wasn’t like his path was littered with choices, was it? Alex rubbed his jaw and lowered his voice, not that anyone in the dingy pub was listening to them. “Tolley, a man named Pickford lives at that address I gave you. I’d like for you follow him, and incidentally, find out if anyone else is following him.” As an afterthought, Alex added, “If there is someone else following him, or if you see anything suspicious, be careful. There’s been murder done, remember.”

  “Ain’t likely to forget it, sir.”

  “No.” The reply was morose. “I don’t suppose any of us can forget that, can we?”

  “It’s why we’re here, isn’t it? I’ll be in touch then.” Unobtrusively, the boy slipped out of his seat and was gone.

  Seconds later, Alex followed, stepping outside and blinking. The bright sunshine made him wince slightly, a vague pounding at his temples a reminder that he had indulged himself the previous evening in the attempt to get at least a wink or two of sleep.

  Even that hadn’t worked. He’d lain awake for hours. Lady Ashton aside, the evening had been a disaster.

  Hailing a hack, he decided sourly that the lovely day was a decided foil to his black mood.

  His arrival back at the Grayston mansion certainly did nothing to improve it either.

  A young footman hovered in the doorway, peering out and opening the door with a flourish as Alex came up the steps. He cleared his throat. “Uhm…sir? I’m glad you’re home.”

  The footman was glad he was home? That was certainly curious. Alex raised his brows and paused with one foot on the step. “Why?”

  The man was barely twenty at a guess, slim and curly-haired, and above the collar of his immaculate livery, his smooth cheeks were pink. “Forgive me, sir, I’m sure…for I’m being quite forward here…not my place, I’m sure again, and Heath would have my head, sir…we were aware you’d left for some appointment…so unfortunate—”

  “Unfortunate how?” An interruption to the stammering apology seemed a kindness to them both.

  The young man said in a rush, “Mr. Greene has just been announced, sir. Calling for Miss Roweland. I thought you might want to know.”

  Alex just stared for a moment. He was well aware that the servants knew more about the family than they did themselves, but the announcement caught him off-guard.

  The boy added awkwardly, “Miss Jessica’s always one to have a kind word, even to someone like myself, sir. As nice as she is lovely, if I may say so. ’Tis a pity she was so treated.”

  Naturally the servants would be buzzing with details of last night’s debacle, Alex thought with resignation. And it seemed at least one of them—Jessica’s young champion in front of him— obviously thought Alex should do something about it.

  No need to worry, he thought grimly as he stalked through the door into the foyer, he was damned tired of standing by as a silent observer. “Where are they?”

  * * * *

  Nathaniel’s stance by the fireplace was as wooden as the expression on his face. Jessica took one look into his accusing eyes and her heart sank through the floor. Upon her life, she could think of nothing to say but instead stopped short just inside the doorway and stood there, dry-mouthed.

  It seemed an eternity before he spoke. Dressed impeccably as always in a blue coat, gold vest, and white breeches, her fiancé fairly radiated both disdain an
d fury. “My mother tells me you managed to carry off last evening very well in spite of my absence.”

  “What else was I supposed to do?” Her voice quivered, the response little more than a whisper. She cleared her throat.

  “You are quite a talented little actress, aren’t you, my dear?”

  “Nathaniel—”

  “After all, you had me quite convinced you were an innocent.” A muscle twitched in his jaw, but otherwise he was unmoving and cold. “Untouchable without the bonds of marriage.”

  Her throat felt like a noose had tightened around it. “Have I been tried and convicted already without even being able to offer an explanation?”

  “Tell me, was that one night in Ramsey’s bed the only one, or have you been his mistress ever since? Living with the duke and duchess makes everything quite convenient, doesn’t it?”

  “That comment seems to answer my question.” Her voice was quiet.

  Nathaniel flicked an imaginary piece of lint off his sleeve in an indolent, almost insulting movement. In his dark eyes there was nothing but contempt. “Explain? That’s simple, my dear Jessica. Did you or did you not spend the night with Ramsey only to be discovered in his arms the next day as his servants arrived early from London? I demand an answer.”

  The order stung. He demanded? What was the point of lying? Jessica straightened her shoulders. “Yes. But it was nothing like you think.”

  Those dark eyes glittered. “What else am I supposed to think? Ramsey is hardly known as a monk and you are a very beautiful woman. It is no wonder he picks up your dressmaking bills. His reward is ample at a guess.”

  Her world was whirling into some dark, confusing place. Only vaguely did she know that there were birds outside singing in the garden and bright blocks of sunlight gilding the carpet. Jessica repeated in a blank echo, “Dressmaking bills?”

  “Your lover spares no expense.” His seething gaze skimmed her body up and down, examining her pale rose dress and coming to rest on the swelling flesh at the top of her bodice. “As always, I admire what I see today, but I am told last night you were truly stunning. Tell me, though, is it really in good taste to have him pay for the gown you wear to a celebration of your engagement to another man?”