Lord of Temptation

by Lorraine Heath

  “I never gave it any thought. From the moment I met Walter … we were so alike with so many common interests.” She and Tristan didn’t meld nearly as well. Well, except when they were physically melded together. They fit perfectly then.

  “Are you blushing?” Sarah asked.

  Anne touched her cheeks. Was she? The man had the ability to warm her from the inside out even when he was nowhere in the vicinity. “No, it’s just an unseasonably warm day.”

  “I think you’re not being quite honest, that there is someone other than Walter who caught your fancy. Whisper his name and if he’s still unmarried—”

  “There’s no one,” Anne said sharply, trying not to remember how many times she’d whispered Tristan’s name during the throes of passion.

  “There will be. Have no worries. As soon as you attend the first ball of the Season, I shall do all in my power to assist you.”

  Anne thought she’d prepared herself for the whirlwind that awaited her. She’d anticipated her first Season with an air of giddiness and anticipation. Now she merely wanted this Season to all be over.

  It had been ages since Anne had been to a ball and her arrival was causing quite the stir. She did wish that she hadn’t waited so long to return to Society. An awkwardness hovered about as people approached her. Should they mention Walter? Should they not? Should they offer condolences? Should they carry on as though nothing were amiss?

  Gentlemen didn’t seem to know if they should ask her for a dance. How did one treat a lady who had the baggage of a widow, but wasn’t a widow?

  The only one who seemed at all comfortable with her was Chetwyn, as he expertly glided her over the dance floor.

  “My brother would be pleased to see you smiling again,” he said.

  It was strange, but she saw little of Walter in him. His blond hair seemed more easily tamed. Not a single freckle dared to mar his skin, where Walter had always been cursed with an abundance that had only served to make him more endearing. Chetwyn’s smile was more stately and sedate. Walter’s had always been filled with fun and mischief. But what really surprised her was that she could think of Walter now without hurting, or feeling guilty, or longing for what could never be. She had been correct that she needed her sojourn. She was ready now to face whatever the future held.

  “I’m frightfully behind on the gossip I fear,” she said, smiling warmly, striving to carry the conversation away from the past and their shared loss.

  Chetwyn rolled his eyes. “With your brothers—the worst gossips in all of England—about? I rather doubt that.”

  She laughed. It felt good to laugh beneath flickering chandeliers while an orchestra wooed the dancers with gentle strains of harmony.

  “I should like to see Jameson married this Season,” she said.

  “He should like to see the same of you.”

  She couldn’t miss the speculation and interest in Chetwyn’s eyes. It wasn’t that he was an awful fellow, but he didn’t make her heart speed up or her body yearn for nearness. But then she suspected few men would have that influence over her.

  “I was going to ask if you knew of any prospects with whom I might entice my brother into walking down the aisle,” she said, hoping to direct them off a path she wasn’t ready to travel. Her own possibility of marriage was far from her thoughts. Tonight she simply had to survive her reentry into Society.

  “Perhaps I could come to call later this week and provide a list at that time,” he suggested.

  Oh, she’d been too long out of the flirtation game, felt as though she’d maneuvered herself into a trap. “Do you not worry that your brother would always be between us?”

  “No. He and I were very different. I daresay, my mother often quipped that if she wasn’t present at the birthing, she’d have not believed we were brothers.”

  She felt the heat suffuse her face. Not exactly a proper topic, and she wondered briefly if he was slightly nervous about being in her company. It couldn’t be easy to be with a woman who had a past with his brother. “Well, then, I suppose a call later this week would be lovely.”

  The music wafted into silence and without another word he escorted her to her aunt, her father’s sister, who was serving as her chaperone this evening. In spite of Sarah’s offer to take on that role, her father thought she needed a more seasoned lady. Especially as he wasn’t here, but had elected to spend the evening at his club.

  “He is such a handsome devil,” her aunt Penelope said after the marquess had wandered away.

  “Yes, he is.”

  “I’ve heard he’s set his cap on you.”

  “So I’ve been told.”

  “You could do far worse, my girl.”

  “That is a ringing endorsement.”

  All the wrinkles in her aunt’s face shifted around until she looked rather like a dried prune. “Whatever do you mean by that?”

  “It just seems that one should set one’s standards a bit higher than simply not going with the worst.”

  “You’re close to being on the shelf. You can’t be particularly picky. You had your love, which is more than most women have. Now you must settle in and do your duty.”

  “Is one allowed love only once?”

  “I daresay, if at all, once is all that one can hope for.”

  “That’s a rather sad state of affairs for women, isn’t it?”

  “It is the way of it, m’dear. I’m a bit parched. Perhaps you’d like to come with me to the refreshment room.”

  So she could continue to be bombarded with such demoralizing commentary? “No, thank you. I believe I shall watch the dancers.”

  After her aunt left, Anne moved farther back into the fronds. It wasn’t that she didn’t like being here. She loved the gaiety and the music and the lovely gowns. She enjoyed watching the gentlemen flirt, but she couldn’t quite relish them flirting with her. She caught speculative glances from time to time, knew they were sizing her up. She’d forgotten how calculating everything was. Perhaps she should simply drop every eligible bachelor’s name into a hat and draw one out. It seemed as good a solution as any if her aunt was correct in her assumption that love wouldn’t be part of the bargain. It would certainly save her time, humilia—

  “I never took you to be a wallflower.”

  Her breath hitched at the familiar silken voice that rasped near her ear. The tang of orange wafted around her. Fighting for composure, she slowly turned. Her heart pounded at the sight of Tristan, so devilishly handsome in his black swallowtailed coat. His face was bare of whiskers. His hair, while still long, had been trimmed. His light blue eyes were filled with devilment. “You,” she croaked.

  He grinned, a grin that spoke of secrets shared. “Me.”

  “Whatever are you doing here?”

  “Speaking with you obviously.”

  “But—” She was fighting not to panic. He shouldn’t be here. He couldn’t be here. “However did you get in?”

  “Through a door.”

  Oh, God, the infuriating man! “Invitations were required.”

  “And I managed to gain one.”

  “How?”

  “I had hoped you’d be a bit more pleased to see me, rather than seeking answers to such trivial matters.”

  “But this isn’t your world.”

  “Unfortunately it is.” Some emotion that she couldn’t identify flickered in his eyes. Loss, grief, sorrow. “I don’t believe we’ve been formally introduced. Allow me.” He tipped his head slightly. “Lord Tristan Easton.”

  Lord? Impossible. He was untethered, did as he pleased. He grew up on the sea, he—

  Then the name he’d spoken registered at the back of her mind.

  “Easton?” The word came out on a choked breath. “Your brother is—”

  “The Duke of Keswick.”

  She fought to remember everything her brothers had told her, what she’d heard over the years. She’d been a child when they went missing, yet she could remember the nightmares that had visite
d her, the fear that she, too, would suddenly disappear. “One of the lost lords. Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I’m a lord by birth and blood, but not by life. I don’t fit comfortably here as you can well imagine, since you know something of my life beyond London. To be honest, I had no particular interest in claiming my place in Society until I realized that it would provide me with much easier access to you.”

  “But you’re a ship captain.”

  “Must a man be only one thing?”

  She had shared her body, her soul, perhaps even a portion of her heart with this man, and yet she knew so little about him. It made her feel tainted in some way, less than she should be. “It was your uncle you were running away from, the one who wished you harm.”

  The glimmer of teasing dimmed. “Yes.”

  “Was he really going to kill you?”

  “We had evidence to indicate so. But that was long ago. I’m much more interested in claiming a dance than talking of the past.”

  How like him to avoid revealing the mysteries behind the myriad of stories that surrounded him.

  “A dance?” she squeaked, irritated that she could not appear as composed as he.

  “Yes, it’s an activity where one—”

  “I know what a dance is. I’m simply having a difficult time comprehending your being here. I thought never to see you again.”

  Which had made it so much easier to be with him on the ship. What they had shared would sail away with him. But he hadn’t sailed away. He was here. And if he told—

  “Anne?”

  She jerked around to find Jameson studying her while managing to glare at Tristan at the same time. “Jameson, allow me to introduce Lord Tristan—”

  “Easton. Yes, I know. Unfortunately, I saw him arrive with his brother.”

  The duke was here? That must have set tongues to wagging. How had she managed to miss it? Was she so wrapped up in her own worries that she wasn’t paying attention to everything else happening around her?

  “Lord Tristan, my brother. Viscount Jameson.”

  “M’lord,” Tristan said with a slight bow. “A pleasure. I was about to ask your sister for a dance.”

  “I fear you’ll find her dance card filled.”

  Shock at his rudeness rippled through her, and she couldn’t help but blurt, “Pardon?”

  “I believe the next dance is mine,” Jameson said, wrapping his hand possessively around her upper arm. He never danced with her, and she certainly didn’t appreciate his interference now.

  “On the contrary. It belongs to Lord Tristan.”

  “Anne.”

  The warning in his voice was unmistakable but she had to speak with Tristan, and on a crowded dance floor was the perfect place because if she sought a tryst in the garden, he would no doubt use the darkness to advantage and she would find her back up against a rose-covered trellis with his mouth devouring hers. She’d be so absorbed by the kiss that she’d not notice the prickle of thorns.

  “Release her,” Tristan snarled, his voice low, but his threat evident.

  “Or what?” Jameson challenged.

  Tristan grinned, but there was nothing pleasant in it. Rather it reminded her of a predatory cat anticipating its next meal. “You’ll discover that I am the barbarian you and your brothers whisper me to be.”

  “Jameson, please. It’s only a dance. If you don’t release me I shall be forced to kick you. And such unladylike behavior will no doubt make it much more difficult for me to secure a husband. Don’t make a scene and ruin my entrance back into Society.”

  He released his hold, but not before saying, “One dance and then you leave her be.”

  The very worst words he could have said. Tristan wouldn’t stand down. She knew him well enough to know that.

  “Oh my word. Lord Tristan, I thought it was you.”

  As Anne turned to the newest intruder, out of the corner of her eye she saw some emotion she couldn’t quite identify wash over her brother’s face. Longing, followed by stoicism? She couldn’t be sure. Then she was staring at a gorgeous lady with blond hair. The largest green eyes that Anne had ever seen were fastened on Tristan as though he were her favorite sweet.

  He bowed slightly. “Lady Hermione.”

  “Why ever did you not let me know you’d returned to London?”

  “Yes, my lord,” her brother stated succinctly, “pray tell, why ever did you not inform the lovely lady of your return?”

  “I’ve had other serious matters that required my attention.”

  Anne felt herself floundering. What did this young woman mean to Tristan?

  “It truly doesn’t matter,” Lady Hermione said. “You’re here now. I daresay that I’m free for the dance that’s just starting.”

  “I’ve already promised to partner with Lady Anne,” Tristan said, a gentleness in his voice that reminded Anne of lying beneath him and hearing murmurings in the same tender tone. Had he bedded this girl? She certainly seemed to have cause to believe she meant something to him.

  “Oh.” Lady Hermione looked at Anne. “Lady Anne, my apologies. I didn’t notice you standing there. You’re out of mourning, I see. Such a tragedy. To lose your love at such a young age. I daresay, the man can never be replaced. It is so kind of Lord Tristan to take pity and dance with you.”

  Before Anne could respond to her assumption that it was pity he bestowed on her, the girl turned to Tristan. “But I must claim the next dance, my lord. Please.”

  “It will be my pleasure. Perhaps Lord Jameson will partner with you for this dance.”

  “I don’t take another man’s leavings,” Jameson said before turning on his heel and striding away.

  Anne gasped at her brother’s callousness but Lady Hermione didn’t seem at all bothered. Anne was fairly certain the girl heard nothing that was not uttered by Lord Tristan.

  “If you’ll excuse us?” Tristan said to Lady Hermione, while offering Anne his arm.

  She wasn’t certain she should take it. She felt as though she’d stepped into the middle of some sort of drama.

  “Yes, of course,” Lady Hermione answered brightly. “I shall wait here with bated breath for your return.”

  He arched a brow at Anne, and in spite of her reservations, suddenly well aware that they were capturing the attention of others standing nearby, she placed her hand on his arm.

  “What is she to you?” she heard herself ask as he escorted her toward the dance floor.

  “An annoyance.”

  “She seemed incredibly smitten.”

  He stopped. “I promise you, Anne, I never gave her reason to believe she was anything more than a dance partner—twice. Two years ago.”

  He took her in his arms and swept her over the floor, and God help her—if he had danced with such skill two years ago, if he had gazed on the girl with the intensity that he now gazed at Anne, she could well understand how Lady Hermione might have fallen under his spell. He was so very masculine, so very earthy. She had succumbed to his charms easily enough. Why shouldn’t every other lady in the room?

  “You should have told me who you were,” she said, her words clipped because she had to shore her resolve that things between them were over.

  “Why?”

  “Because you made a fool of me.”

  “That was never my intention. Nor did I ever intend to return to this madness. Your brother is not the only one here tonight who has expressed dissatisfaction over my presence.”

  “Then why are you here?”

  His jaw tightened. “I can’t stop thinking about you. I wanted to make sure that you were all right. That your family didn’t ship you off to a convent or something.”

  She laughed lightly. “Why ever would they do that?”

  He shrugged his broad shoulders without missing a step. “I’ve heard of it being done.”

  “I was given a scolding but nothing worse than that. But they wouldn’t send me away when they are quite desperate for me to marry.”

/>   “The chap you were dancing with earlier … is he whom they wish you to marry?”

  She almost stumbled with the realization that he hadn’t just arrived at this affair. He’d been here for a while. He’d been watching her.

  “The Marquess of Chetwyn. Walter’s brother. And yes, he has apparently expressed interest. But I haven’t settled on him.” She didn’t know why she felt compelled to say the last. Perhaps because she feared he might get into a row with Chetwyn. Seek to stake his claim. A claim he didn’t truly have.

  As her hand rested in his, as his other hand cupped her waist, she tried not to think about how marvelous it had been to have those hands roaming over her flesh. To have him rising above her. To have him bring her pleasure. She was fairly certain, though, that her cheeks were flaming red, because she saw satisfaction in his gaze and feared he knew what paths her thoughts traveled.

  “I found your gift. The starfish. Thank you. Where did you find it?”

  “I’ve seen them along many a shore, but that particular one I found in Yorkshire.”

  Her laugh, though light, sounded as though it was on the edge of hysteria. “I imagined it came from the Far East or somewhere equally exotic.”

  His gaze darkened, and she saw secrets hidden there.

  “No, it came from my youth. The morning I left England.”

  “Why give it to me?”

  “I don’t know. Perhaps because of your fanciful tale of stars falling into the sea. Just something to remember me by.”

  As if she could ever forget him.

  “The oranges. You sent those.”

  “Yes. I can’t eat one without thinking of you. I hoped the same could be said of you regarding me.”

  As much as she wished it wasn’t so, she did very little that didn’t remind her of him.

  “Don’t you have journeys that await you? Obligations that must be met? You transport goods, do you not?”

  “The advantage of owning my own ship is that no one commands me.”

  Even if he didn’t own his own ship, she suspected no one would command him.

  “But you must earn a living, you must …” She felt as though she had so much to learn about him.

  “All I must do, Anne, is dance with you.”