Heart’s Temptation Books 1–3

by Scott, Scarlett

  But now the moment had at long last come to plead his case. He was enjoying a glass of fine whiskey with Thornton in his study, biding his time, when the butler interrupted their solidarity with a discreet knock. They’d been in the midst of having a laugh over some of their old antics. Jesse had just determined he would petition his friend for Bella’s hand that evening, but he still hadn’t a clue as to how he’d manage such a feat without earning himself a broken nose in the process. The disturbance was almost a welcome one. But not quite.

  Levingood entered at Thornton’s bidding, a small packet in his hands. He bowed, ever formal, and Jesse was shocked to find himself the object of the butler’s speech. “Mr. Whitney, some correspondence came up for you from London.”

  Thornton quirked a brow. “At this time of the evening?”

  The usually imperturbable butler appeared sheepish. “Patterson was to have delivered it, but regretfully it escaped his notice. Pray accept my apologies, Mr. Whitney.”

  “No matter, Levingood,” Jesse dismissed easily, accepting the surprisingly thick packet.

  He turned it over in his hands, noting it appeared to have already been opened and then resealed. Puzzling, that. Ordinarily, he would have waited to read the message until in the quiet of his chamber, but he rarely received correspondence unless it was absolutely imperative he be reached. He’d begun selling most of his remaining business ventures in preparation for living in England.

  “Thank you, Levingood. That will be all,” Thornton dismissed, taking another draught of his spirits. The door clicked quietly closed. “What the devil is it, Jesse?”

  He opened the packet to find another envelope, along with an accompanying note from his man of business in New York. He quickly scanned the contents of the first letter. “Jesus Christ,” he muttered aloud, completely shocked.

  It couldn’t be. Could it? Of all the ghosts in his past to resurrect themselves, he’d least expected this one. Fifteen years had passed and yet the mere thought of her still had the power to shake him. He recognized the pinched scrawl on the second missive. It belonged to her.

  Lavinia.

  Her name alone took him back to war, to the screams of the wounded, thunder of cannon, the horrific stench of battle, of death. Hands shaking, he unfolded the paper only to run headlong into a vast chasm of bewilderment. One word stood out in stark relief amongst all others. Daughter. He wouldn’t have been more surprised if a Union soldier appeared before him, bayonet fixed on his heart, ready to take him to hell.

  “Good God, man, you look as if you’re about to expire. What is it?”

  He looked up to find his friend watching him with a curious expression. What could he say? Dear God, if what Lavinia had written him was true, it changed everything. Of course, the possibility she was lying existed. But why now, fifteen years later? She’d said she was dying, that their daughter was to be without a guardian. Was it possible he’d had a child all these years without ever even being aware of her existence?

  Yes, he had to admit, it was. He hadn’t seen Lavinia since the war, hadn’t been to Virginia in as many years. Like so many aspects of his time as a soldier, he’d chosen to tuck her existence away in his mind. It had been either that or go mad. But she’d somehow found him again, and the pain was as real and vivid now as it had been then. Damn her. He’d come such a long way toward healing, only to fall back into the abyss.

  “Well? Is it your family?” Thornton persisted, concern coloring his voice.

  He had no family. At least, he hadn’t until this moment. But he couldn’t tell Thornton about his daughter—if she indeed was his—for it could very well jeopardize his relationship with Bella. Already, he had to convince his friend that despite the age difference between he and Bella, and despite his lack of blue blood, he would make a good husband for her.

  “Yes,” he managed at last past the guilt threatening to clog his throat. “It’s a family matter.”

  “Then you must go home,” Thornton said in a tone that allowed for no argument. “I’ll have the carriage readied to take you straightaway to London. The trains won’t be going at this time of night.”

  He supposed he should go. The letter was dated two months prior. Lavinia could well already be dead, his daughter left entirely alone in the world. But how could he leave Bella now, of all times? And yet, how could he knowingly abandon his daughter? The decision was gut-wrenching, but he was left with little choice. Bella was safe here and would await his return. However, his daughter could be in danger.

  Regardless, he knew he had to tell Thornton the truth before he left. His conscience wouldn’t allow him to remain silent. The guilt had been eating away at him ever since Lady Cosgrove’s country house party.

  He stood, mentally preparing himself for what he would say. “Thornton, I’ve got to tell you something before I go.”

  His friend stood as well. “How grave is the matter?”

  “Very grave,” he said, thinking of how he had taken Bella’s innocence.

  “Good Christ, if someone is dying, you can’t tarry here a moment longer,” Thornton responded, clearly mistaking him. “Whatever it is you’ve got to tell me can wait.”

  Jesse reached for his glass of whiskey and tossed the remainder back in one burning gulp. It stung like hell, but he needed the fortification. Maybe Thornton was right in this instance. Maybe revealing the depth of his depravity could wait. Feeling like the worst sort of coward, he followed his friend from the study in silence.

  God in heaven, what was he going to do with a daughter he’d never met?

  With the help of Patterson, the man who’d been assigned to him at Marleigh Manor, Jesse’s entire life since he’d been in England was packed in just under an hour. He’d never entirely grown accustomed to the English aristocracy’s penchant for valets, but for the first time he didn’t mind the assistance. He stared at the trunks neatly stacked and awaiting their trip to the carriage Thornton had sent around for him. It was damned difficult to believe his worldly possessions fit so neatly into a handful of valises. Yet tidy as it all looked, he couldn’t escape the crushing anguish within his chest. There was one part of him that he would be forced to leave behind.

  Bella.

  While he wanted nothing more than to carry her away with him, he could never treat her with such callous disregard for her reputation. How the hell was he going to explain this to her? Would she even want him if he’d fathered a bastard child by another woman? Christ, he couldn’t ask her to take on his sins. He raked a hand through his hair and paced the chamber, a tumult of emotions roiling through him.

  He had to try to see her, tell her why he needed to leave, let her know he’d return for her. He couldn’t bear to lose her now. His mind settled, he stalked from his chamber, hell-bent on finding her chamber in the labyrinth of Marleigh Manor’s halls. It didn’t take long for him to realize seeking her out wasn’t exactly wise. The conveniently labeled chambers of Wilton House weren’t in existence here. He hadn’t a clue where to find her.

  To make matters worse, he nearly crashed into the dowager as he rounded a corner.

  Her hand fluttered to her heart, her expression one of weary dismay. She wore a fluttering cap and her customary, severe gray gown. “Good heavens, Mr. Whittlesby.” Her eyes narrowed into suspicious slits. “Whatever can you be doing skulking about in the halls at this time of the evening?”

  He knew where her thoughts were headed. She didn’t trust him, and she wasn’t to be blamed. But little did she know the damage had already been done. He wondered if the curmudgeon would ever deign to refer to him by his true surname. “Forgive me, madam. I fear I’ve lost my way in the corridors of your lovely home.”

  If possible, her expression grew even more dubious. “Indeed, I confess I find it altogether baffling that a grown man might lose himself in a simple hallway.”

  “Nevertheless, it’s true,” he lied. He’d never imagined he would resort to deceiving a young lady’s mother so he could slip int
o her chamber unnoticed. Hell, he was a man grown and yet he was playing the part of a stripling.

  The dowager made a dismissive gesture, obviously not believing a word of it. “Haven’t you any houses in America, Whittlesby?”

  He nearly laughed aloud at her daring. “None of such great majesty as Marleigh Manor,” he said, opting for gallantry.

  “Of that I have no doubt.” Her face relaxed ever so slightly. “May I be of service to you, sir? What was it you were doing wandering about in my home?”

  Christ, he had to leave. He didn’t have time to argue with an old harridan. “I’m preparing for departure,” he answered in half-truth. “While I thank you for your inordinate hospitality, I must return to my homeland.”

  Her silver eyebrows shot upward. “Indeed? You’re leaving, are you?”

  He didn’t miss the note of glee in her voice. “I regret that there’s a matter of some importance that has arisen.”

  A daughter. He still could scarcely believe it even though the notion had already had some time to acquaint itself with his rattled mind. In fact, given that it was Lavinia who’d written, he wasn’t entirely certain he ought to believe it. But he did, for he didn’t think that even she could be that demented and cruel. He had been young, stupid and eager for love once. She’d cured him of that disease well. Still, he couldn’t even comprehend that all these years he’d walked about the earth without ever knowing he had a flesh-and-blood child.

  “A matter of importance?” the dowager repeated, her tone turning smug. “I’m sure it must be something immensely imperative, else you wouldn’t be taking your leave in the midst of the night.”

  She was prying, but he wasn’t about to give her what she wanted. He nodded. “Indeed it is, my lady.”

  “Well then,” she announced with a sniff, looking at him as if he were a street beggar, “I daresay you ought not to be tarrying by getting lost in halls. Your chamber, sir, is to be found in the direction from whence you’ve come.”

  Damn. She’d painted him into a corner quite neatly, the shrewd dragon. He bowed. “I’m much indebted to you.”

  “I most certainly hope you are not, Mr. Whittlesby.” With that pronouncement, she harrumphed once more.

  He gave her another abbreviated bow and took his leave of her, aware of her sharp eyes on his back with each step he took. There would be no finding Bella after all. Not only would it be virtually impossible to find her chamber on his own, but now her mother was acting the sentinel. As much as he longed to see her and hold her again and to explain the entire sordid affair to her in person, he was left without a choice. He didn’t dare linger another night. His daughter could be alone in the world, helpless and terrified, perhaps even on the streets of Richmond. He had no idea what financial straits Lavinia had been left in following the war, and he had never been one to rely upon Fortune’s fickle wheel. He had to somehow set matters to right, if there even was a way to do so.

  Bella would understand his need to see his daughter safe. He would return for Bella as soon as he possibly could. Their wedding could wait. It would have to, because short of dragging her across the Atlantic without benefit of marriage, he had no other option. Mind firmly made, he stalked back to his chamber, sat at his desk, and penned the most difficult letter he’d ever written in his life. He hoped like hell she’d still love him after she read it.

  Bella paused at the threshold to the breakfast room. Jesse, a perpetually early riser, was missing. It seemed odd indeed that he wouldn’t be breaking his fast with them as he had done each day since his arrival. She wanted to ask the reason for his absence, but the dowager would likely find suspicion in it. Instead, she greeted everyone as if nothing was amiss and sat at her mother’s elbow.

  The dowager sniffed. “Really, Arabella, you have been such a sluggard these last few days. You must try to rise earlier. I do so despise tardiness at the breakfast table. It simply should not be done.”

  She’d been dreadfully tired of late, but it was unkind of her mother to bemoan it before company. Bella’s patience was growing thin as a threadbare petticoat. “I apologize, Maman. Pray forgive me my tardiness.”

  Her mother’s mouth knotted up into a severe frown despite Bella’s apology. “Quite.” She turned her attention back to her kippers.

  Worry tangled with fear in her stomach. Where was Jesse? Everyone was present, from Lady Tia to Lady Scarbrough. Even her no-account cousin Lord Fordham was cheerfully stabbing his eggs despite the sallow tinge to his complexion that bespoke another evening of over-imbibing. Yet there was no Jesse to be found. She missed his teasing smile, his honeyed drawl, the way his eyes tended to secretly meet hers across the table. For over a month, he’d been a constant presence in her life as they bided their time, waiting for the right moment to announce their desire to wed. That he was missing couldn’t be good. Something was very wrong. She hoped he hadn’t suffered another of his episodes.

  She was seated and served by Levingood, who always knew how she took her eggs. But the mere sight and smell of food had her feeling ill. She pressed a subtle hand to her swirling stomach. Beneath the layers of her dress, undergarments and stiff corset, it rumbled with an ominous portent. Breakfast continued with the soft clinking of cutlery until finally Bella could no longer stand to wait for an answer. She looked to her brother.

  “Thornton, where is Mr. Whitney this morning?”

  “He departed last night,” Thornton commented lightly as he speared a bite of sausage with his fork. “He received word from America, some sort of family matter, I gather.”

  He had left? Bella’s heart felt as if it had plummeted to her slippers. It couldn’t be true. “Where was he off to?” she asked with great care to keep any emotion from coloring her voice. Above all, she could not draw suspicion to herself.

  I haven’t been back to America in years and don’t feel much of a need to return, he had said to her at Wilton House. The rotten, lying cad. He’d certainly never made mention of a family either. Because he never spoke of them, she’d assumed his parents had long since passed on, and that he had no siblings.

  Thornton stabbed another bite of sausage. “I daresay that if he received a summons from America, then that is where he’s gone.”

  America. It was an entire ocean away. He may have gone to the moon instead for she would be just as unable to reach him there. He had left her without a word. What of his plans to wed her? Dear God, it was all becoming too awful for her to contemplate.

  She swallowed. “Had he said when he would return?”

  “No, he didn’t.” Thornton looked at her, a questioning expression upon his face. “One can never tell with Jesse.”

  Perhaps he would never return. The mere thought filled her with fear. She averted her face to her breakfast plate, not wanting her brother to see what she was so desperate to hide. The last thing she needed now was to be caught out.

  It seemed surreal.

  She nearly couldn’t believe it. Jesse was gone. Truly gone. Dear heavens, how could he have left without even telling her? Her face must have blanched then, for she’d never felt more ill in her life. She knew her mother’s shrewd eyes were upon her, so she forced herself to bring her fork to her lips for a tasteless mouthful of poached eggs.

  “I can’t say I shall miss his odd patterns of speech,” the dowager remarked to the table at large. “Americans have the most appalling way of butchering our dear language. Don’t you agree?”

  Bella could not speak. She stared at the snowy table linens, unseeing. She longed to rage and shout, mount her horse and follow him to wherever he’d gone. How could he have done this to her, to them? He’d promised to court her, to make her his wife.

  Of course, he had also told her he didn’t believe in love. What a fool she’d been for believing in him, for believing her love could be enough to hold him.

  “Are you feeling well, Lady Bella?” Lady Scarbrough’s concerned voice interrupted the misery of her thoughts.

  Bella swallowe
d, looking to the woman who was likely her brother’s mistress. “I fear I have a touch of the megrims,” she lied. “Perhaps I shall return to my chamber for a spot of rest.”

  The need to escape was insistent within her. It was either hide herself away or humiliate herself by bursting into tears before the entire assemblage. Questions would be asked, questions she couldn’t bear to answer.

  “You do look positively bilious,” the dowager rather unkindly observed. “I daresay ladies were made of sterner stuff in my day.”

  “Of course,” Bella mumbled, not even caring to argue with her mother in her current state. She rose from the table. “Excuse me. I find I cannot endure breakfast today. I’ve quite lost my appetite.”

  She hoped fervently that no one could hear the tears in her voice. Without waiting for a response, she marched from the room with as much haste as she could manage. Her mind was in such a state of shock that she was like an automaton, desperate to return to the safe confines of her chamber. There, she could cry as she pleased without any shame. Her slipper-shod feet hit the polished floor in a maddening beat as she picked up her pace. Each muted step and swish of her skirts seemed to mock her, magnified by the silence of the remainder of the house. It seemed almost a dream, too horrible to be real.

  How dare he? How could Jesse have left her with no warning or reason why? A sob caught in her throat and she began crying in earnest. She dashed at her tears with angry swipes as she passed a chambermaid who was discreet enough to avert her gaze as though she didn’t see Bella at all.

  A thought occurred to her then, so suddenly that it gave her pause.