Heart’s Temptation Books 1–3

by Scott, Scarlett

  “Then I count myself honored,” he said in a soft tone that served to dispel some of her embarrassment.

  He lowered his mouth to hers once more, and this time his kiss was slower, guiding. She moved her lips in time with his. Sensation buffeted her. The tingling began in her stomach and ended between her thighs and at the very tips of her breasts. It was new. His tongue slipped inside her mouth. He tasted of the richness of coffee. She wanted, oh, she didn’t know. She wanted him. Her Mr. Whitney. Her tongue rubbed against his. Angels in heaven.

  “Christ.” Muttering the oath, he tore his mouth from hers as suddenly as he’d begun kissing her. His hands set her away from him.

  They stared at one another, their breathing matched and harsh. He hadn’t meant to kiss her. She could discern that much from his shocked expression. What’s more, he hadn’t meant to like it. And innocent though she was, she knew instinctively that he had.

  “If that is danger,” she said in hushed tones, “then I should like to be in danger more often.”

  “No.” He shook his head. “You cannot. You should not. Damn it to hell, Bella, let this be a lesson. You must never let a suitor be so familiar.”

  She asked the question begging to be posed. “Are you a suitor, then?”

  “I’m a friend,” he corrected, regaining his composure. “Nothing more.”

  “Nothing more,” she repeated, struggling to comprehend what had just occurred.

  He cut an abrupt bow. “I’ll leave you to your walk. Please forgive me for the interruption.”

  And just as hastily as he’d intruded upon her blissful afternoon, he vanished from it. Bella was left to watch his broad back rounding the bend, wondering how she could ever look at him again without imagining his kisses.

  Chapter Two

  Bella saw precious little of Mr. Whitney for days, which proved quite a feat given that they were attending a house party together and there were only so many places he could hide. She was confused by his apparent defection. Wounded too. Perhaps their shared kiss had not meant anything at all to him. It was a most deflating thought.

  “Arabella, darling.”

  Blast. The dowager’s voice trickled to her through the closed chamber door. Bella whipped off her spectacles and stuffed them beneath a pillow along with the book she’d been reading. She had just enough time to feign sleep before her mother swept the door open. When in doubt, Bella had learned over the years, pretend to nap. Typically, it fooled the dowager every time.

  She heard the unmistakable swish of her mother’s skirts, the steady and determined steps growing ever closer. Drat and double drat. It would seem she would not have such an easy escape.

  “Arabella, do wake up, you sluggard.” Her mother’s edict was accompanied by an abrupt prodding of Bella’s shoulder.

  She suppressed a sigh and peeked from one eye. “Maman, I fear I am quite fatigued. Can you not speak with me later?”

  “Nonsense,” the dowager declared. “You will speak with me now, daughter. This is a matter of utmost importance.”

  Oh dear. She opened both her eyes in defeat. “Is something amiss?”

  The dowager cleared her throat. “It has occurred to me that you’ve been quite Friday-faced for the past few days.”

  “I have not.” She frowned, disturbed to realize even her mother, oblivious as she tended to be, had noticed the effect Mr. Whitney had upon her.

  Her mother pinned her with an omniscient stare. “I should be very displeased indeed if your sour mood has been caused in any way by the society you’ve been keeping with that no-account American.”

  “I’m sure I don’t know what you speak of,” she lied.

  “I’ll not stand for prefecation, my dear,” her mother countered.

  Bella would have smiled at her mother’s garbling of the King’s English under ordinary circumstances, but she had the unsettling feeling the dowager had somehow been alerted to her interlude with Mr. Whitney. “I do believe you meant to say prevarication, Maman.”

  “Is that not what I said? I shall not tolerate insolence from you, young miss.” The dowager sniffed as though she’d caught scent of something foul in a barnyard. “I have it from Hollins that there have been whispers that you favor Mr. Whitney when I have made it clear to you that you must be setting your cap for the Duke of Devonshire. What have you to say for yourself?”

  Hollins was her mother’s lady’s maid and source of all manner of gossip, both true and false. It was not good for Hollins to be bringing untoward news to the dowager. Uncertainty trickled through Bella. No one had ever seen her alone with Mr. Whitney. Had they?

  She sat up, wincing as her stays dug into her sides. “Maman, I do not favor Mr. Whitney at all. He was kind enough to help me fetch a book in the library, nothing more. You mustn’t heed all the old gossips.”

  The dowager’s expression remained pinched. “You must tread with care, Arabella. Romance is a petty notion better suited to books and schoolgirls than real life. You must ally yourself with a man with a family name and history suited to our own.”

  If she wished to avoid a lengthy diatribe, Bella knew it best to simply agree with her mother. In truth, the Duke of Devonshire was not a man who made her feel tingly with anticipation. He didn’t memorize her favorite verses of Matthew Arnold. He wasn’t handsome in a devilish, manly way. He wasn’t Mr. Whitney.

  Did she think she had a future with the no-account American, as the dowager called him? Her heart said yes, but her mind said no. His kisses had changed everything. She longed to be held in his strong arms again. Perhaps romance was a trifling thing, but Bella found she rather liked the way it upended her emotions. She wanted more.

  But instead of voicing any of these dangerous sentiments to her mother, she nodded. “Yes, Maman. I shall endeavor to do honor to our family name.”

  “Good girl.” Her mother patted her hand. “Remember, when you speak with the duke you must always agree with him. Pay attention in great detail to each word he speaks, as though it comes from the lips of the Lord Himself.”

  Good heavens. Bella gave her mother a saccharine smile. “Of course.”

  Despite the uncomfortable interview with her mother, Bella could think of nothing more than seeking out Mr. Whitney at the first possible opportunity. Days had passed without even a glance her way at the dinner table. She had to concede he was intentionally avoiding her. She was equally unwavering in her resolve to catch him unawares. How could he kiss her, alter her forever, and then act as if he didn’t know her? It was vexing. Infuriating, even. She would not allow him to get away with it.

  Growing ever more frustrated, she resorted to what she’d only read about in novels. She sent him a secret note with the help of her lady’s maid Smith, asking him to meet her in the library once more. She very carefully chose a day when the house party was engaged in outdoor sport, knowing that like she, Mr. Whitney would eschew it.

  It seemed to her that she waited a fortnight or more until he finally materialized in the library. She was pretending to read a book on a divan when he stalked into the chamber, looking unfairly handsome and, in that way he had, just a little bit uncivilized.

  Bella rose, discarding her unwanted book without heed. “Mr. Whitney.” Her voice sounded racked with nerves, even to her ears. “I feared you wouldn’t come.”

  He gave her an abbreviated bow. “Lady Bella, I am, as ever, your servant.”

  She wished the words were true, but he was not and likely would never be hers. Drat it all. She had chosen her gown with care and fretted with it now, hoping he wouldn’t realize how much thought she had given to her toilette. Smith had even taken extra time with her hair. Bella felt suddenly silly.

  “You do not seek out sport as the other guests do?” she asked, though she already knew the answer.

  “I have no need for weapons in my life.” His voice was as solemn as his gorgeous face. “I shot the last gun I ever intended to shoot in the war.”

  “I’m sorry.” She
felt guilty for again dredging up such a delicate subject. “I didn’t mean to pry.”

  “Not at all.” He inclined his head. “I believe our kinship allows us a certain familiarity.”

  Kinship.

  She frowned at him. “Mr. Whitney, we are not kin.”

  “I consider myself another older brother to you, my dear.” He said this last mildly, as if he had never passionately taken her in his arms.

  Her stubborn nature rose to the surface. She may have been a mild-mannered girl with no sins more alarming than a penchant for reading too many novels and outwitting her mother, but she was not about to let him try the same old road again.

  “Do you put your tongue in all your sisters’ mouths, Mr. Whitney?” She gave him a false smile. “I confess, Americans do have such odd customs.”

  “Lady Bella, you shock me.”

  Ordinarily, she would never be so forthright, so vulgar in her speech, but he had driven her beyond the brink of reason. That he could face her so calmly, as if they had never experienced the fire in one another’s arms that they had, hurt her. She had thought of little other than him in the intervening days. Had he thought of her at all?

  “Indeed? You will own that you did kiss me.” Before she could keep the seam of her lips firmly sealed together, the words were out. Foolish, foolish girl. Had she not embarrassed herself enough before him already?

  “Think nothing of it.” He smiled at her, but it was not a lover’s smile. Rather, it was that of a worldly man dismissing a green young lady.

  She was not amused at his attempts to set her down, nor was she grateful for the tact he exhibited. Perhaps she was untried and had not much experience with men, but she was not an imbecile. She had emotions. She had a heart. He had to know what he did to her.

  “Think nothing of it,” she repeated his careless words, her tone grown cool. “You say it as though we were discussing nothing more than a speck of dust on the family silver. You kissed me, held me in your arms. Surely it is of more consequence to you than that.”

  His eyes flashed with dark emotion. For a moment, his gentleman’s mask slipped to reveal passion hidden beneath his imperturbable façade. “It was wrong of me, damn it. It cannot happen again.”

  “Why not?” Why did he insist on seeing her as a girl? She’d had her comeout years before. She hadn’t even been this dizzied by curtsying before the queen in Buckinghamshire Palace and still the dratted man refused to treat her as his romantic equal.

  “You are an innocent lady,” he gritted, clearly growing frustrated by her determination.

  She was unmoved. “Nonsense. So is every other unmarried miss.”

  He frowned at her. “You are my best friend’s sister.”

  Ah, there was the true crux of it. Dash Thornton. Dash Mr. Whitney’s cursed notion of loyalty. This simply wouldn’t do. She decided to change tactics.

  Bella met his gaze, searching. “Are you saying you could never love me?”

  This time, he laughed. “My dear Lady Bella, love has very little to do with stolen kisses and romantic embraces. You show your naïveté.”

  Her breath left her. Before she could rein in her temper, she slapped him. The echo of her blow rang through the quiet of the cavernous library. They stared at one another. A faint trace of redness marred his cheek. She had done him violence. She almost could not believe it.

  His lips quirked into a wry semblance of a smile. “The kitten has claws.”

  She wanted to apologize but her pride would not allow it. “I’m no kitten.”

  He raised a brow. “So I begin to see.”

  She was fast losing her composure, feeling as if she’d waded into the ocean and was caught up in its dangerous swells. But it was too late to turn back to shore. “Do you think that because I am younger than you I have no feelings?”

  “Nothing of the sort. Rather, I think your youth leads you to mistake your feelings.”

  Irritation nettled her. Of all the insufferable, arrogant notions she’d ever heard, it was the most maddening. “You think me too ignorant to understand my own feelings, then?”

  He took her hands in his, an unwelcome gesture given the mercurial nature of her emotions. “Bella, you misunderstand me.”

  She stiffened and tugged away from his grasp. “Perhaps it’s because I’m young and mindless.”

  “I meant nothing of the sort.” He followed her steps when she would have escaped.

  She pirouetted to face him, her emotions spilling over like a pot unattended by a scullery maid. “Pray explain precisely what it is you did mean, Mr. Whitney. For a few silly moments, I seem to have lost my head in your presence. I thought you were a gentleman, and instead you’ve proven yourself a cad capable of trifling with a young lady who has only ever held you in highest esteem.”

  His expression softened. “Forgive me. I fear I’ve paid you grave insult.” He cupped her elbow, bringing her closer to him once again. “I never intended to hurt you.”

  She searched his gaze for an answer. “Then why did you kiss me?”

  “Because I couldn’t help myself.” The admission seemed torn from him. “But Bella, I’m not worthy of an innocent like you. I’m not fit to lick your boots. That is why we must remain friends only. I’m sorry if I gave you cause to think otherwise.”

  Oh dear. This was not what she wanted to hear from his beautifully sculpted lips. Indeed, she’d rather they be engaged in the far more preferable business of kissing her instead.

  She blinked at him, hopelessly confused, and decided to opt for levity to hide her embarrassment. “I daresay I should not want you to lick my boots, lest there be muck or far worse on them.”

  His mouth kicked into a semblance of a grin. “I shudder to think of what the ‘far worse’ could be. Where on earth have you been traipsing about, Lady Bella?”

  “Only in gardens with you,” she said with unmistakable meaning.

  “And that will lead you nowhere but hopelessly astray.”

  She was curious once again and drawn to him as ever. “Why do you insist on acting as though you’re unfit? You know as well as I that if you were a scoundrel, my brother would never have been your steadfast friend for all these years.”

  “Not a scoundrel, perhaps, but a man who has seen too much of life.” His expression hardened, his eyes glittering like polished jet. “I’ve been through a war. It changes a body in ways you can’t comprehend, in ways I don’t want you to comprehend.”

  He seemed so alone in that moment her heart physically hurt inside her chest. She could only imagine what he’d seen in his lifetime. She knew the War Between the States had been devastating. It was too much for one man to bear alone. She yearned to reach out to him, give him solace.

  She drew closer to Mr. Whitney, the hem of her dress brushing his trousers. Bella looked up at him, marveling at how handsome and elegant a figure he cut. “Did you ever think that perhaps I’m not so foolish and naïve as you suppose? You may confide in me.”

  He lowered his forehead to hers, breathing deeply. “You are too good. I could never burden your pretty head with the horrors I’ve seen.”

  “Nonsense.” She traced his hard, bristled jaw. “You cannot forever be a man alone.”

  She didn’t wait for his response. This time, she kissed him. She knew little still of what to do, only that she longed to feel his lips hot and insistent over hers. His mouth was at first immobile. She pressed her lips tentatively to his as he had done to her.

  His arms suddenly came around her, crushing her frame to his. To Bella, it seemed as if she had tipped over a kerosene lantern in a barn full of dry summer’s hay. He was a passionate fire, ready to consume her. She came to life with his ardor, a steady ache building low in her belly. Their tongues tangled. He tasted once more of the coffee he must have consumed at breakfast and he smelled like himself, man and leather and something indefinably compelling.

  The kiss deepened, his tongue sliding wetly into her mouth. She moaned, pressing hersel
f into him, wanting more. His large hands settled first on her wasp waist and then slid upward to the swell of her bodice. He cupped her breasts through the barrier of her stiff, tight-laced corset. She was suddenly aware her dress fastened up the back with nearly thirty buttons. Drat her ninny-headed fashion.

  Neither of them heard the library door click open and remained unaware of the surprised witness to their romantic tableau until a shocked gasp intruded on their passion.

  “Oh, good heavens. I do apologize.” The feminine voice that interrupted their fiery interlude was, unmistakably, that of Tia, Lady Stokey.

  “Goddamn,” Mr. Whitney cursed, his mouth still perilously near to hers.

  Bella peered around his broad shoulder to find Lady Stokey standing in wide-eyed amazement, her hand at her throat. It simply wasn’t done to be alone with a man, embracing him in the library. Her reputation would be ruined if her ladyship breathed a word.

  “I beg you, my lady,” she began, faltering when words would not rescue her scrambling mind.

  “I think I shall go for a turn about the gardens,” Lady Stokey announced with a forced sense of brightness. “Yes indeed. I do apologize.” Flashing a strained smile, she disappeared as quickly as she had entered.

  “Oh dear Lord.” Fear replaced the luxurious desire that had been running through her. “I shall seek her out, Mr. Whitney. I feel quite certain she shall maintain her silence. We have no need to fear this will result in unwelcome complications.”

  “No.” Mr. Whitney shook his head, looking up to her at last. “Please accept my most fervent apologies, Lady Bella. It has never been my intent to dishonor you. I will ask for your hand in marriage immediately.”

  “You must not,” she rushed to deny. Goodness, she did not want a forced marriage. If he did not want her freely, then she did not want him at all. “I must apologize as well. This is certainly not what I had planned.”

  “Is it not?” He searched her gaze, his inscrutable. “Forgive me, but I have to wonder. First the note leading me here, then an interloper at just the right moment. Did you plan all this?”