Heart’s Temptation Books 1–3

by Scott, Scarlett

  “I’m aware of my predicament.” Cleo had never been more miserable in her life. She knew not which way to turn, what path to choose that was right for her, the child and Thornton. “I don’t wish to entrap him with this.”

  “Thornton loves you.” Helen squeezed her hand again. “You should have seen him pacing about outside your chamber. He even made the rest of us leave so he could have a private word with the doctor. I’ve never seen him look so concerned. You won’t be entrapping him, dearest.”

  She stared at the coverlet, noting the way its gold threads wove with the blue to create an intricate, yet almost imperceptible pattern. “I’ve made a muddle of everything.”

  “You’ve done your very best with the circumstances.”

  Tia snickered. “It’s not as if you asked Scarbrough to get himself killed by an omnibus.”

  “Tia!” Because her scoundrel of a husband had yet to be laid to rest, Cleo found any discussion of him involving levity to be uncomfortable indeed.

  “I’m glad he’s gone.” Her indomitable sister shrugged. “And I don’t regret saying as much. He was a blighter and he misused you and the world at large is a better place without him. Your world, to be specific, will be a better place without him in it.”

  “You can’t keep Thornton out of your life now,” Helen added. “You are free to love him.”

  “But what of his career? He’ll lose everything.”

  “He’ll gain the woman he loves and his child. Stop fretting over circumstances beyond your control. You can’t let fear drive everything, as mother will tell you.”

  Cleo grimaced. “Mother told me to marry Scarbrough. She thought him a better prospect than Thornton.”

  Helen shrugged. “She has her lapses in judgment.”

  “Speaking of mother,” Tia interrupted, “I received word that she and the rest of the family shall arrive from their holiday in Scotland tomorrow and stay out the week. Prepare yourself for a whirlwind.”

  Grand. Now she would have brothers, an impish younger sister, and parents at her back in addition to Tia, Helen, and Thornton. “Please don’t tell the rest of the family. Not yet. I prefer to make this decision on my own.”

  “You will tell Thornton,” Helen said, part question, mostly dictate.

  “I’ll consider it,” she allowed.

  The door to her chamber flew open to admit an even more thoroughly mussed—and slightly bloodied and bruised—Thornton. He strode into the room as if it was his to command. “Tell your sister she is marrying me,” he addressed Tia and Helen, not bothering to spare a glance for Cleo.

  “They do not speak for me, my lord,” Cleo was compelled to inform him.

  He ignored her. “Tell her that she carries my child and I will announce it to the world unless she agrees to marry me so that my child may be born with the proper name.”

  It would seem that her ruse hadn’t lasted long, and if his abused state was any indication, he’d gotten the truth from Ravenscroft the hard way. She frowned. Very well. Two could play at this game. She addressed her sisters. “Tell him the babe is mine just as much as his and he cannot order me as if I were no better than a parlor maid.”

  He clenched his jaw. “Please also inform the countess that her wishes are immaterial in the matter and I will order her about as I please.” He bowed. “Oh and add that I trounced Ravenscroft once again.”

  Julian had told him. She knew then that any attempt to keep Thornton at arm’s length was well and truly over.

  Cleo spent an all but sleepless night and woke to a house full of the Harrington clan. All told, that meant her parents, Lord and Lady Northcote, Cleo’s youngest sister Bo and her three elder brothers, Bingley, Adrian and Connor. She loved her family, truly she did, but she was not especially happy to watch the stream of carriages heralding their arrival. Their presence along with Thornton’s would not render an already difficult situation any more promising.

  In fact, she quite feared that, given his recent propensity for taking up the cudgels, Thornton would get into a rousing bout of fisticuffs with every one of her dear brothers. Particularly if even a whisper of Cleo’s relationship with him had reached their ears. Or if Thornton announced she was enceinte to her family, as he had threatened. Not a bit of good could come of anything. Perhaps she could hide away in her chamber and avoid it all.

  No, that wouldn’t do. It was time to face everyone. She rang for Bridget, who arrived almost immediately and helped her to dress. She wore a simple black mourning gown, jet earrings and a diamond comb in her hair. Another ordinary day, except that so much faced her.

  In the breakfast room, all eyes turned to her. She had not meant to create an entrance. Cousin Herbert and his menagerie were nowhere to be found, thank God, nor was Ravenscroft. Thornton was seated between Bingley and Connor, looking annoyingly well-rested and pleasant. She wanted to fling a spoonful of marmalade at his head. Instead, she allowed a footman to seat her beside her mother.

  “My darling daughter.” Lady Northcote gave her a gentle smile. “How are you faring?”

  “Well enough, thank you.” She forced a matching smile to her lips and her gaze strayed to Thornton. He watched her with a dark, inscrutable stare.

  “You must forgive us for not joining you here sooner,” the earl added. “We came as soon as we had word of the sad news, but we were delayed by some deuced bad roads.”

  “I understand.” Lowering her eyes to her plate, she scooped up a small sliver of eggs. Her stomach protested the scent. She forced herself to chew and swallow it, then reached for her tea with such desperation she upended her cup. A large, brown stain seeped into the table linen and the urge to cry welled up within her.

  “Are you feeling yourself, daughter?” her mother asked quietly as footmen hurried to blot out the stain.

  “Perfectly,” she muttered.

  “You are wan.”

  “I shall powder my face if you like.” It wasn’t kind to snap at one’s mother, but she was doing so now. The woman’s persistence would drive her mad.

  “Powdering the face is vulgar, dear.”

  She took a sip of her fresh tea. “I don’t think I care, mother.” Cleo glanced around the table again, catching sight of her little sister. “Bo, you are looking lovely.”

  Bo dimpled. “Thank you, Cleo.”

  Cleo took another bite of eggs and knew instantly that she was about to retch. “Excuse me,” she announced and hurried from the room. As it happened, she made it to a potted plant outside the breakfast room before embarrassing herself. She became aware of a presence behind her before she felt a gentle hand rubbing her back through her stays.

  “Shall I fetch a glass of ice water?” Thornton’s voice was very near to her ear. Perilously near.

  Even with a turbulent stomach, her heart hitched at his proximity. She could smell him, feel his hot breath on her neck. And it was oh so tempting. Why was he being so kind? “Please.”

  He was gone but for a moment and returned with a clinking glass that cooled her sweating palms as she accepted it from him. “Thank you.” She drank deeply, eyeing him over the glass’s rim.

  “I’ve been to speak with your father,” he said, gently taking the glass back from her. “Easy now, love. You can’t drink so quickly on an unsettled stomach.”

  “Why in heaven’s name would you do something so foolish?”

  “Cleo, I will have this child born with my name.”

  “You’ve deliberately gone against my wishes.” Her anger with him renewed and burned with a brighter fire.

  “As you have gone against mine.” He clenched his jaw, composing himself before he continued. “Your father agrees that we will be married within the fortnight.”

  “Scarbrough is not yet buried.”

  A dark shadow passed over his face. “Do not use that man as an excuse. He wasn’t a husband to you and you don’t owe him the customary mourning period.”

  “Society won’t consider it that way.”

  �
��I don’t give two shites what society thinks,” he gritted. “Damn it, I care about our child.”

  “Do you think I do not?”

  “You haven’t been acting the part, flitting about with Ravenscroft and lying through your perfect little teeth.”

  “How dare you accuse me of not wanting what’s best for our babe?” Her body shook with frustration and anger.

  Thornton sighed. “Cleo, let’s not make a row of this now, with all your family likely pressed to the keyhole behind us.”

  “Am I to know what you’ve planned for me, then?”

  “We leave for Marleigh Manor tomorrow. Your family will accompany us and my mother and sister will help you to arrange a small ceremony in the de Vere chapel.”

  She laughed, feeling caught between giddiness and hysteria. She didn’t appreciate his high-handedness in the matter, not a bit. But that he thought for a moment the dowager might willingly help to arrange the nuptials she’d been determined to avoid…it was too rich.

  “Alex, your mother despises me and your sister has made her opinion of me clear as well. You cannot be so naïve as to think they will fall in line like good soldiers.”

  “They haven’t any choice.” He was self-assured. “Let’s get through this day together and then deal with what lies ahead.”

  There was wisdom in his words. She nodded. “Very well. Let us get through this day first.”

  The next morning a long procession of carriages left Scarbrough House, likely for the last time. Cleo took with her everything belonging to her—furniture, jewels, paintings, the remainders of her trousseau, dresses, shoes, hats, and more dress improvers than she’d realized she owned. Her departure was a contented one. As they rumbled out of the familiar, circular drive, she glanced back at the house where she had spent many days during her early marriage. It had been where she hid herself away from the cruelties and embarrassment of her loveless marriage. And yesterday, in the Bennington plot, it had been there where she said goodbye to the husband she had never truly known.

  Leaving now felt right, as if a door closed on a passage in her life that was as unwanted as it was in the past. And leaving with Thornton, uncertain though she was of his feelings, felt better than right.

  They rode alone in a carriage, Cleo seated opposite him. Turning away from her last glimpse of Scarbrough House, where Cousin Herbert and his brood waved from the lawns, she pretended to study her knotted hands in her lap. In truth, she studied Thornton from beneath her lashes, watching for the slightest hint of his emotions. His face remained impassive, his gaze indecipherable. He kept his eyes on the window, watching the unfurling country landscape. The unbridled passion of their last carriage ride together haunted her. She wondered if it would be possible for them to find that brief happiness again, or if she had ruined their tentative relationship.

  She decided to broach the silence at last. “Have you managed to send word ahead of us?”

  His gaze flicked to hers. “Yes.”

  “Good.” She kept quiet for a moment, searching for something to say to him that wouldn’t be inflammatory. “The weather is fine today.”

  His expression hardened. “Cleo, we aren’t strangers, for Christ’s sake. You needn’t treat me as if we’ve only just been introduced at a society fete.”

  So much for her attempt at avoiding the inflammatory. “You aren’t making this easy.”

  “Forgive me if I’m not in a lighthearted mood.”

  “You aren’t the one with your world collapsing like a poorly constructed building. Do you think I haven’t been affected by all of this?”

  “Of course not.”

  She took a deep breath and collected herself. “I think, Alex, that if we are to move forward, I need to explain myself.”

  He inclined his head. “Please.”

  “When you were called to London, I left you because I thought it was in your best interest.” She paused, losing her nerve for a moment and then began again. “Miss Cuthbert first convinced me of how selfish I was being to hold you to me when I could not lay any claim to you. Your mother, while not precisely reasonable, also helped me to see that my presence in your life would only prove ruinous. Even you told me your dream as a lad was to become Prime Minister.”

  “Yes, well, I also dreamt of flying to the moon as a lad.” Abruptly, he reached across the space between them and pulled her onto his lap. “It’s been so long since I’ve held you. I can’t stand to be so close and not have you in my arms.”

  “I’m sorry for lying to you about Ravenscroft.” She picked her hat off her head and tossed it to the squabs so she could look at him without it getting in the way. “I thought it would be simpler that way.”

  “I cannot say I forgive you yet,” he murmured, his hands sliding around her to rest above where their child grew. “I need time.”

  “I dare say.” Her hands moved of their own accord to rest atop his.

  “Would you have told me if the doctor had not?”

  “About the child, you mean? I don’t know,” she answered with absolute truth. “I didn’t want to entrap you. Even now, your life can never be the same. We’ll get married too soon and there shall be whispers abounding. The Prime Minister won’t be able to keep you so close.”

  “The politics pale in comparison. How could you possibly think I would want to forsake my own flesh and blood for the Liberal Party? Or you, for that matter?”

  She searched his gaze, her heart a painful throb in her chest. “I am so sorry. How can I fix this?”

  “I should like to tell you I understand your reasons.”

  “But you cannot.”

  “No.” He pressed a kiss to her cheek. “We’ve a long ride to Marleigh Manor and you need to keep your strength. Why don’t you rest?”

  She supposed it was down to either closing her eyes and napping or enduring more awkward and painful conversation. Her actions had proved foolish and futile in the end. She could only hope now that Alex would not hold them against her for the rest of their lives. Somehow, she had to make this right, she vowed as she allowed the carriage to lull her to sleep.

  Chapter Twenty

  Marleigh Manor

  The dowager marchioness, in general, found that she experienced a vast amount of displeasure on a regular basis. Her subordinates continuously disappointed her. Levingood Senior, for instance, suffered from gout. Oh, he made an effort to hide his malady from her, it was certain, but there was a limp. Particularly in the mornings. Butlers—proper butlers—should never portray weakness. No, it was not done. The maids, she found, were horrors. Vulgar little imps, all quite American in perspective, one even daring to color her lips. She’d dismissed the trollop without reference.

  But nothing compared to the displeasure, nay, horror, that wrought her very being at the sight of the multitude of carriages bearing down on Marleigh Manor. She spotted the deuced Harrington crest immediately. Her son, that imp, that rascal, was to blame. She knew it at once.

  Levingood Senior entered in the drawing room where she was taking tea with Bella as the dust was still kicked up in the drive. He bowed, his age-spotted face blank. “Visitors, my lady. Shall I put them in the east wing?”

  At the announcement, she nearly spat her treasured tea upon her new day dress. Visitors? It was unthinkable. Unconscionable. She had invited no one. Which meant one thing only.

  All but tossing her cup and saucer upon the table, she rose and made her way to the window. From there, she was afforded a most excellent view of the property. The crest on the carriages beckoned. Her eyesight did not yet fail her. “Good heavens,” she muttered.”

  “Carriages, mother?” Bella asked. “What visitors could it be?”

  The dowager marchioness of Thornton never lost face before her retainers, regardless of the situation. She smiled, hoping it was gracious. “The Harrington clan, of course. Your dear brother did write ahead. My poor mind! I quite forgot myself.” She turned her smile upon the butler. “Levingood, please do see t
he guest rooms in the east wing readied. We have a considerable amount of guests in our midst and it shan’t do to be ill prepared.”

  For this, she vowed inwardly, she would murder her son in his sleep. Sole heir or no. Levingood bowed and disappeared from the room, as soundlessly as he had entered.

  The dowager seated herself, retrieved her tea and sipped with great contemplation. “He has rather a limp, does he not?”

  Bella raised a brow. “Mother?”

  “Do not refer to me in such terms, pray.” Would the chit never learn? The dowager nearly huffed. “Maman, darling. Levingood Senior. He suffers a limp. It is most inconvenient. I do fear we shall need to replace him forthwith.”

  Bella sipped her tea, looking quite the lady before she ruined the effect utterly with a gross display of unladylike and vulgar thought. “Maman, Levingood Senior has the gout. He is, otherwise, quite formidable. No butler in my experience is as well versed.”

  She sniffed. “You do yourself no service in such talk. I forbid you to speak to me thusly. Indeed, have I not raised you better?”

  “Forgive me.” Bella lowered her gaze, but the dowager did not miss the shine of insolence lingering there. “You did expect the Harrington family, then?”

  “Forward girl,” the dowager barked. “Do you dare question me?”

  “I merely thought you would have mentioned—”

  “Enough!” The dowager rose and arranged her skirts with a great show of dignity. “You are but a naïve girl. Do you honestly believe I entrust all to you? Quelle pride, daughter.”

  The deep voice of her son could be heard addressing the servants in the great hall. She steeled herself for what was to come. This arrival, after all, could only mean one horrible thing. In mere moments, the door to the drawing room swung open to reveal the marquis. His travel clothes swung about him. He yet wore a hat upon his black hair and even his face remained aloof, as if he did not know her and met her now for the first time. He acted as if she were not his mother, as if he had not sprung from her own womb.