Heart’s Temptation Books 1–3

by Scott, Scarlett

And he had spent himself inside her.

  He never acted with such an alarming lack of self-control. He knew well enough to avoid siring bastards. His own grandfather was rumored to have had as many as a dozen scattered throughout the countryside, perhaps more, in his lifetime. He’d seen his fellow lords fall into that trap too many times to count. He’d vowed to never be the same.

  And indeed, in the last few years, while he’d slaked his needs where he could, he had certainly never acted with such complete, foolish disregard for what was right. For what he’d always believed was right.

  Groaning, he cast a glance about the chamber to confirm that Tia was truly gone. Aside from the dent in the feather pillow alongside him and a lone strand of waist-length golden hair, it was as if she’d never been there at all. But he remembered. Good Lord did he remember.

  Every searing second of the night before. He didn’t know how they could ever go back to polite exchanges. What they had shared was too all-consuming and far too powerful. He didn’t know what it meant. They had been strangers, traveling in the same circles of society without ever truly knowing each other. And now they were lovers.

  “Shit,” he muttered, passing a hand over his face. She must have wandered back to her chamber in the cold dark of the night, her injured ankle making her progress unbearably slow.

  He should have been a gentleman and at least escorted her back instead of rutting and then passing into oblivion. What the hell was the matter with him? He didn’t carry off women he scarcely knew and make love to them at house parties. He’d been determined to find a wife. Instead, he’d found a woman he should never want. A woman he should have never touched.

  A woman who could, at this moment, be carrying his child.

  Oddly, the thought didn’t alarm him in the way it undoubtedly should. Rather, it warmed him. Tia had surprised him. She was sensual and giving. Beautiful to be sure. Open to pleasure and passion in an unashamed manner that made him want her all the more. She was everything he should never want in a wife.

  But somehow, he couldn’t shake the odd sensation that maybe, just maybe, he’d found what he’d been looking for all along. And then he couldn’t resist rolling back over and burying his face in the pillow opposite him.

  Ah, yes.

  Violets.

  It was only the fourth day of Cleo and Thornton’s house party, and Tia had already gone down the path of no return with the Duke of Devonshire. She’d woken up in the inkiness of the night in his bed, her head on his chest. They’d both been naked, entangled as though they were longtime lovers. It hadn’t escaped her just how perfectly they fit together.

  Regret unfurled within her later that morning as she sat in her sister’s sitting room alongside Cleo and Miss Whitney, attempting to appear normal to them. Attempting to appear as if she hadn’t been ravished the night before by a man she’d once mistakenly supposed to be boring as a bowl of porridge.

  Dear Lord, the mere thought of what he’d done to her, what they’d done together, was enough to make her cheeks flame. She held her breath, praying Cleo was too engrossed in her discussion of the entertainments she’d planned for the unfolding house party to notice.

  “Tia, darling, I daresay you’re looking quite flushed,” her sister commented suddenly.

  Drat. “I find it excessively warm in here,” she offered in her most flippant tone. “I thought country estates were all supposed to be rambling, draughty affairs. It feels like summer in here.”

  “I find it cold,” drawled Miss Whitney, no help at all.

  Tia glared at the girl. “It’s warm for England, I tell you.”

  Cleo’s eyes had narrowed upon her, and Tia knew a sinking sensation in her stomach. She suspected she’d been caught. “Perhaps you’re feverish, my dear.”

  Tia made a show of fixing the draping of her silk skirt. “I’m the picture of health.”

  “Perhaps it is merely your ears that are the problem then,” her sister suggested. “I was just telling you that I have the most brilliant plan for this evening’s entertainments.”

  Tia didn’t wish to think about something as trivial as house party entertainments at the moment. She felt as if she were walking about with a sign around her neck proclaiming to all what she’d been about the night before. Wickedness.

  “Oh?” she managed, desperately distracted.

  “Indeed. We’re to have duets before dinner. Miss Whitney has a lovely voice, and I’ve come up with just the thing. We shall partner her with the Duke of Devonshire,” Cleo proclaimed, giving Tia a knowing look. “It is a wonderful idea, is it not?”

  “No,” she snapped before she could think better of it. “It is an altogether horrid idea.”

  Dear God, she couldn’t very well attempt to marry off her charge to the man she’d shamelessly bedded the night before. Everything had changed. Two pairs of eyes pinned her to her seat. She felt rather as if she were a pressed flower in a botany display.

  “Why ever not?” her sister asked before sipping at her tea.

  “He’s too old,” Tia managed. “And boring. A young thing like Miss Whitney requires someone more of an age with her.”

  “He doesn’t seem terribly decrepit,” Miss Whitney ventured. “I do find him handsome as well.”

  “His whiskers are making many of the ladies here sigh,” Cleo agreed.

  Tia contemplated kicking her sister in the shins but thought better of it. She’d likely only injure her own toes, and her ankle was still paining her. “I don’t find his whiskers at all alluring,” she felt compelled to say. “I would imagine they’re quite abrasive to the touch.”

  In truth, his beard was lovely. She knew firsthand just how delectable it felt upon her skin. The memory of it rubbing between her thighs was particular cause for the leap in her pulse and a renewed flush over her cheeks.

  “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re smitten with the duke yourself.”

  Her sister’s all-too-perceptive assessment robbed the breath from Tia’s lungs. Was she smitten with Heath? Dear heavens, Cleo made it sound as if she were a young girl in short skirts, sighing over her first love. Tia’s had been a handsome stable boy. When her mother had discovered her infatuation, the lad had been promptly moved to their Scottish estate, and that had been the end of Tia’s lusty sighs over a man she shouldn’t want.

  Until now.

  She was aware of Cleo and Miss Whitney awaiting her response. “Don’t be foolish,” she forced herself to say. “I couldn’t give a fig for the Duke of Devonshire.”

  Cleo muttered something beneath her breath that sounded suspiciously like liar.

  Or maybe it was merely Tia’s own heart betraying her.

  Tia stopped outside the yellow drawing room, casting a glance over each shoulder, her hand poised over the knob. No one was about, everyone apparently having been otherwise occupied by Cleo’s lavish entertainments. But she knew one man who was not so distracted. Or at least she hoped she did. For after wrestling over what she ought to do next since that morning, she’d finally decided to summon him. Her lady’s maid, Bannock, was infinitely trustworthy for the delivery of important missives. And fortunately for Tia, she knew Penworth well enough by now to know which rooms would not be in use.

  The yellow drawing room had been an easy choice. Asking the Duke of Devonshire to meet her within had not been. With a deep, fortifying breath, she turned the knob and crossed the threshold lest she change her mind and flee.

  He was waiting for her within, his back to her as the door closed behind her with a gentle snick. He spun about at her entrance, his blue gaze searing her. Gads, he was handsome. Looking at him now brought back all the sins he’d wrought upon her willing body. Lying with him had been stupid. Wonderful, but wholly foolish. Because she could not look at him without thinking about every delicious act in which they’d engaged.

  He was looking at her expectantly. Understandable since it was she who had called upon him to join her. Say something riveting, she told herse
lf. Something alarmingly witty.

  But nothing would come to her weakened mind.

  “It is a lovely day,” she said lamely, inwardly cursing herself for not being capable of managing more intelligent speech. He rather overwhelmed her.

  He inclined his head. “It is indeed. You wished to see me?”

  The formal tones underlying his voice coupled with his debonair appearance made her unaccountably ill at ease. She clasped her hands at her waist and considered him with as much composure as she could muster. “Yes. Thank you for meeting me.”

  He stared at her, and she swore she could feel his gaze as surely as a mark upon her skin. “I gather you’ve something of more import on your mind than the weather.”

  “Of course.”Stupid woman, she cursed herself. She had meant to appear utterly unmoved by him. Instead, she was acting as brainless as a miss who’d fallen in love with her first dancing partner at her comeout ball. She forced herself to recall why she’d brought him here in the first place. “I wished to tell you that we cannot carry on in this manner.”

  Heath raised a brow, every inch the impeccable, arrogant duke. “And what manner is that, Lady Stokey?”

  Oh dear. She, who had always prided herself on her remarkable aplomb and composure in polite circumstances—her sister’s presence not withstanding—blushed so furiously that her cheeks burned. “You know very well the manner,” she managed to say.

  “Oh?” He strode toward her, closing the safe distance that separated them and taking with him her defenses.

  The nearer he stood, the easier it was to allow his gaze to melt her insides. Being in his presence was very much like standing too close to a raging fire. And she feared she’d get burned. She licked her lips. “Yes.”

  “Would you care to elucidate?” He took another step closer, until the tips of his shoes almost brushed the hem of her handsome dress.

  Had she ever thought herself bold? Something about the way he was looking at her, as if he wanted to devour her, made it difficult indeed to make sense of the thoughts careening wildly through her head. But he was expecting her response, and she was willing to rise to the occasion. If it was an elucidation he wanted, an elucidation he would get.

  “I cannot come to your bed again,” she said bluntly. “There. You’ve made me say it.”

  A slow smile spread across his sensual mouth. “What if I should come to yours?”

  Her breath fled from her lungs. He was close enough to touch. So close that she could feel the warmth emanating from his big body. So close she could see those gray flecks in his eyes again. Could smell him. The way he had made love to her last night had been the perfect blend of tenderness and fierce passion. He made her feel as if she were wound as tightly as a pocket watch. She looked to the paintings hanging on the wall behind him, trying to steady herself.

  What if he should come to her bed, he had asked her. And he knew the answer as well as she did. She would not deny him. But she’d made up her mind that she needed to put distance between them. That she could not allow herself to indulge in an affair, not with Miss Whitney so near. Not at her sister’s home. Not when Tia herself was so incredibly drawn to the man before her after just one night in his arms.

  “Tia? You haven’t answered my question.” His voice was low and insistent, washing over her like a caress. He reached out and caught her chin in his fingers, tipping it up so that she was helplessly caught in his gaze.

  “You know we should not,” she forced herself to tell him, even as her body cried out in protest. Every bit of her was clamoring for more of his touch, more of his kisses. More of him.

  “You’re perfectly right,” he surprised her by saying. “What we did last night was bloody foolish.”

  “Yes.” But she was robbed of the ability to further speak by his thumb’s gentle exploration of her lower lip.

  “It must never be repeated,” he added, his head dipping lower until his breath fanned over her mouth.

  “Never,” she agreed. His thumb continued to run in a slow swipe, from left to right, tantalizing her. He cupped her face with his other hand. She couldn’t have been more still had she been carved of marble. The anticipation coursing through her threatened to overtake her. To break her resolve to resist him.

  “I certainly shouldn’t kiss you again then, should I?” he asked, his gaze searing.

  “No,” she breathed.

  In the next instant, his mouth was on hers, open and demanding. With a moan, she gave in, kissing him back with every bit of the yearning sweeping over her. Her hands went to his shoulders. The whiskers she had so recently mocked provided a delicious abrasion on her sensitive skin. When his tongue tangled with hers, her nipples hardened beneath the layers of fabric and boning separating them.

  As if he sensed the need ricocheting through her, he cupped her breast. She wished they were naked together in his chamber again, free to touch and tease each other, no barriers between them. No fear of being discovered by an unsuspecting fellow guest.

  He kissed a path down her throat, his other hand sinking into the elaborate knot of her hair. She felt her coiffure loosen and knew that he was sending her hairpins cascading to the floor. She knew too that she should have cared, should have stopped him before he sent her curls flowing down her back and anyone who passed her in the hall would know precisely what she’d been about. She walked a dangerous line between dalliance and scandal, and she very much feared she was beginning to lean to the side of scandal.

  One of the buttons on her bodice popped open. Then another. Heath pressed a kiss to the hollow of her throat, his tongue flicking against her thumping pulse. Another button slid free.

  Suddenly, the sound of breaking porcelain intruded on their idyll. Tia pulled away from his embrace, spinning to find the source of the noise. A vase had fallen from a nearby table, taking with it some red conservatory roses. Her bustle must have brushed against it, bringing it tumbling down. And bringing a return to her sanity.

  She looked from the shattered vase to Heath, who stood not even two steps away, his gaze dark with the passion burning through her as well. Tia knew in that instant that if she didn’t retreat from the room, she’d wind up allowing him to do far more than remove a few buttons from their moorings and take down her hair. She had to get as far away from him and his delicious kisses as she possibly could.

  “This is madness,” she said. “From this point forward, I shall do my best to keep my distance from you. Neither of us can afford to bring a scandal down upon our heads, which is all we’ll manage by continuing in this fashion.”

  “Tia,” he said, taking a step forward. “I’m sorry. I didn’t intend for that to happen.”

  “Nor did I. You were right when you said this is bloody foolishness. It cannot happen again.” She turned her back on him and quit the chamber as quickly as her feet would carry her. Lest she forget her good intentions and go back to him to finish what they’d started.

  Chapter Four

  Christ, he very badly wanted to finish what they’d started.

  Heath watched the tail end of Tia’s pink silken skirts disappear behind the closing door. His gaze dropped to the mess of porcelain and roses marring the floor. Perhaps it was an omen of sorts. A sign that he ought to listen to his common sense and Tia both and avoid her at all costs for the remainder of the house party.

  But he couldn’t.

  That much was as apparent as the rigid cock tenting his trousers. When he’d received Tia’s summons to meet him, he hadn’t known what to expect. He’d been surprised at such a bold move, but intrigued as well. When she had entered the room, her demeanor reserved and cool, as if she hadn’t been aflame in his arms the night before, he’d been sorely tempted to ruffle her feathers. To make her come alive for him again. Make her realize she couldn’t simply forget any more than he could.

  He shouldn’t have kissed her. Shouldn’t have taken her back into his arms. The damage had already been done, however, and now he needed to clean up
the mess, both literally and figuratively. The first was easy. Summon a maid. The second seemed nigh impossible.

  Before he could compose himself enough to venture into the maze of Penworth’s halls, the door clicked open again. This time, it wasn’t a golden-haired siren breezing over the threshold but the Marquis of Thornton, his host. Thornton, for all that he’d been mired in a scandal involving the marchioness some time back, was a good sort. Heath rather liked the fellow.

  “Devonshire,” the marquis said, sounding startled to find someone where presumably no one should have been. “Am I interrupting? It looks as if you were just going a round with my wife’s roses.”

  He grimaced, realizing the picture he must present. He was sure he looked every inch as guilty as he was. “My apologies, Thornton. I’m afraid I’m rather clumsy this afternoon.”

  Thornton raised a brow, but if he didn’t believe the lame explanation, it was the only outward sign. “Nonsense. I’ll have one of the maids sent round to tidy it up.” He stalked into the room then, looking about him. “Have you seen a book of songs? Lady Thornton wishes to have duets for entertainment this evening, and apparently she’s in desperate need of the bloody thing.”

  “I’m afraid I haven’t.” Fortunately, the interruption had caused his heated blood to cool, saving him from further embarrassment.

  “Did Lady Stokey have it in her possession, by any chance?” Thornton asked next, startling him. “I saw her leaving the room just a moment ago, but she was headed toward the east wing in rather a hurry, and I couldn’t catch up with her to ask.”

  Hell. It would seem he’d been caught. “I don’t believe she did.”

  He stayed where he was as he knew a gentleman should, not about to run. The marquis was roughly the same size as he, and he had no doubt he could deliver a powerful punch. Lord knew he deserved it after the way he’d been dallying with Tia. It was altogether out of character for him. Wholly unacceptable. But yet, he couldn’t very well not touch her, and that was a deuce of a thing.