Bound By Temptation

by Lavinia Kent

  “And Isabella? Do you deny that you knew she did not wish the marriage you planned? She fled rather than marry.”

  And so perhaps it was necessary to discuss Isabella. He had dreaded this moment. “Do you want me to say I am sorry about Isabella? I am. More so than you could possibly understand. If I had known how strongly she felt I would have tried to find another way.” He was silent for a moment. He stared straight into her eyes and wished she could understand just how sorry. “I wish I had understood more at the time, but Isabella never spoke to me against the match—in fact, she agreed to it. If I had understood, things could have ended differently.”

  Her lips drew taut. “That may be true—although it seems unlikely to me. But I know Violet spoke to you against it.”

  “Yes, she did. I cannot deny that—but why should I have accepted her words when Isabella said nothing? And there were other considerations.”

  “Foxworthy’s blackmail.”

  How much had Violet told her? How much did he need to tell her if he planned to make her his wife? “Yes, Foxworthy had proof that my father had been involved in treasonous activities.”

  Her eyes widened. So Violet had not shared that detail with her. There was a flash of compassion in her eyes, but then she drew herself back. “I did not know. I still do not see why that should excuse your behavior.”

  “And what would you have had me do?” Did she know how many nights he had debated this question?

  “We have discussed this before. I do not disagree with your main point, only your methods. Should not your sisters have had a choice?”

  “If they had asked for one I would have considered it and in fact I did when—”

  She cut him off. “You would have considered it. That sentence says it all. You believe it is your right to have the final say.” She had fire in her eyes now as she stepped toward him.

  “It is not me who believes in that right. It is society. The fact is I did have that right with my sisters.” He took an answering step toward her.

  Why did he not just tell her that in the end he had tried to stop Foxworthy, explain how far he had been willing to go to protect Isabella? He took a deep breath. He would do it. He would tell her everything—and then let her judge his actions—and their consequences.

  She did not give him a chance.

  “And why should I give you this power over me?”

  That stopped him, but only for a moment—he would tell her the rest later after they had dealt with this issue. He placed a finger beneath her chin, drawing her gaze up to meet his. “It is a matter of trust in the end. When have I ever given you reason to doubt me? When have I not listened to you? You are not an easy woman, and still I take your words into consideration.”

  “Such praise.” She tried to twist her chin from his hand. “I am not an easy woman and you grant me the privilege of listening when I talk. This is how you expect to win my hand?”

  He held firm, keeping their eyes level. “I give you only the truth. Is not that what you want?”

  Anger was filling her, he could feel her breath speed with emotion. She placed a hand on his chest to push him away.

  “Yes, I want the truth. I just am not sure that you give it to me. I do not believe that you would leave me free to do as I wished if we married.”

  “I never said that I would.” There, that was honest. “If I thought your actions were harmful I would try to stop them. I have seen what can happen when a woman is left unchecked.” He dropped his hand from her face to catch her hand and hold it firm over his heart.

  “Damn you.” She spoke through gritted teeth and tried hard to pull away from him. “You have given me no reason to trust you.”

  “But have I given you reason not to?” He wrapped his other hand about her waist and pulled her tight to him.

  She could only gasp as he pulled her toward him. Whether it was in response to the gesture or the question she didn’t know.

  “My mother was given free rein by my father and she ruined us all.” He spoke so softly she almost did not hear his words. His heart was beating under her fingers, and she was intensely aware of each pulse. As the pace increased, she didn’t know whether it was anger or her closeness that caused his reaction.

  He continued, “My father gave her everything she wanted, followed her wherever she went. She gambled, flirted, took other lovers, and still he followed her, did not stop her. She gambled until we had nothing left, and my father took the blame. If he had ever stopped her, my whole life would have been different.”

  “I am not your mother.” Her heart felt pain for him, but she must think for herself, for the baby.

  “I know, but still I must be on guard to be sure you never become her. I could never let a woman do to me what my mother did to my father—to all of us.”

  He was so damn stubborn. Why could he not see the problem with his logic, understand that she did not need to be so watched? Why could he not grant that she had a right to act as she chose?

  She was every bit as much a person as he. “You could begin nasty habits as easily as I—and I would have no recourse.”

  He did not answer that. He did not disagree, but neither did he accept her words.

  Why should she trust him?

  When have I ever given you reason not to? His question echoed through her mind. It frightened her that she couldn’t think of one. She was sure that at some point he had overruled her, but not a single one came to mind.

  If she tried to think, all she could remember were the times he had espoused some unreasonable viewpoint, but when she argued, he did listen, and gave way.

  Was it possible that if she stood up to him, he would be willing to bend? She would never have thought so, but now she wondered.

  He was holding her tighter now, grinding their hips together. Was he trying to tempt her to agree by such obvious moves?

  “Marry me?” He whispered the words against her neck this time. “I will be a good husband to you.”

  She tried to push back against him; she needed space to breathe, to think. It was impossible to know what her mind wanted when her body was so insistent. “We still have too many points to cover.”

  “Like what?” He was laying small kisses just under the curve of her ear. How could he be so restrained? If she hadn’t been so set on resisting, she’d have been tearing at his clothing.

  “Like children,” she gasped out, turning her head away from him as he laid assault to her cheek.

  He groaned. “I thought we’d covered that one. I will be fine if we do not have them.”

  “Yes, but what if we do?”

  “God, woman you drive me insane. How is that a problem? I thought it was what you wanted.”

  She took his momentary distraction and used it to ease back. Their torsos still touched, but at least she could turn her head with freedom. “I do. But I cannot see that we would agree on how to raise them.”

  He tried to press against her again. “How can you even think right now?”

  This time she pushed hard, giving it everything she had. “I can think because I—we need to. You cannot toss me such a ridiculous question and then try to brush it away.”

  He stepped back with a deep sigh. His chest was still rising and falling rapidly, and his eyes were so dark as to appear black. “Fine, we will discuss it then. Although I was only trying to demonstrate how we belong together.”

  Now that her freedom was granted, she was strangely loath to step away. She felt distinctly chilled without him pressed against her. “How do you plan to raise your children?” She was careful not to say “our.”

  He ran a hand through his hair, ruffling it almost to the point of humor. “I haven’t really thought about it. I imagine the usual—a nurse, then a governess, then school if the child is a boy.”

  “There, we already have a profound disagreement. I would wish to send my daughter to school as well. I do not see education as the prerogative of the male sex.”

  “If that
is your wish, we can send her to whatever school will take her.” His gaze was on her breasts.

  Clara almost felt the need to raise her hands to cover them. They would never have a meaningful discussion if he spent his time thinking about her bosom. Wrapping her arms about herself would show too much weakness. Instead, she turned and walked back to the desk, placing both hands upon it and staring at the shelf behind. He could not stare at what he could not see.

  “Is there more?” he asked, moving to stand behind her.

  “You mention a nurse and a governess. That does not tell me much about your own plans for involvement in your children’s lives.” She needed to know his answers. It was all she could do not to drop her hands to her own belly, to cradle the life within.

  “I can only say again that I have not really considered the issue.”

  “Would you raise them as Violet and Isabella were raised? As you were raised?” Her voice trembled as she spoke.

  “If you refer to the time before my parents’ deaths, I will say that I would be proud to be the man that my father was during my childhood. He showed both care and discipline with both Violet and myself. As for after his death, Violet and I were both nearly grown. I did the best that I could with Isabella.”

  “And you would raise future children in the same manner?” She had heard from Violet how Isabella had been left in the care of the governess for months at a time. That was not a life that she would wish on any child of her own.

  “Are two children ever raised the same?” He moved up close behind her, and she could feel the heat of his body again, the faint scent that was only he.

  She should have chided him, made him move away, but in truth it was hard to push away the comfort his closeness offered. A woman could do the right thing only so many times.

  She closed her eyes and tried to gather herself. Surely, she could manage his nearness as long as there was no actual touching involved. “You take the easy way out. Are you saying that you would do things differently?”

  “I suppose I am. I am aware that I did not do things perfectly with Isabella. One always learns from experience, and I am sure I would do better a second time.”

  She wished she could turn now and see his face, catch the nuance of expression that must come with such words. Did he mean what he said, or was he only seeking to appease her, to win her agreement to his proposal? “So you admit you made mistakes?”

  He was quiet for a moment, and then answered with more seriousness than she had yet heard. “I know you refer to things Violet has told you, that I ignored Isabella until I had need of her. I cannot deny there is some truth to that, and what truth there is can only be described as a mistake. But you must remember my circumstances. I was spending every waking moment attempting to put my parents’ affairs in order and to keep my sisters fed and housed in the manner they were accustomed to. I do not, even now, see what I could have done differently. I might wish for a different ending, but I still do not see how I could have achieved it and still kept home and hearth together.”

  He placed his hands on her hips at the end of this statement and drew her behind firmly against him. Despite the seriousness of his tone, it was clear he was still occupied with other thoughts.

  Should she give in? She was not satisfied with his answers. There was some reason to them, but they were not as full of reassurance as she would have desired.

  Damn though, he felt good pressed tight against her. She could feel his firmness between her buttocks, and her inclination was to push against him, to wiggle in the manner that would drive him toward insanity.

  This discussion was about power and control as much as anything, and she wished to show him just how much she had.

  She knew that was not the answer, though. She might be able to win in this one area of their lives, but it did not mean he would grant her victory in others.

  He leaned forward and nuzzled the back of her neck.

  “Stop,” she said, but without conviction.

  “I can’t,” he groaned into her hair.

  His hands slipped about her waist and then upward, cupping her breasts.

  Now it was her turn to groan as his fingers flicked with expertise over her taut nipples. The silk of her chemise rubbed against the tips, the friction drawing another moan from her lips. “If we do this, it means nothing.”

  “It always means something.” His fingers slipped over the edge of her dress, pushing it down as they sought her flesh.

  “It does not mean I agree to anything but this, to sex.”

  “I could argue”—he was breathing hard, and it was difficult to hear the words—“but I won’t—in truth, I do not much care at this exact moment.”

  “Just sex,” she whispered as she let her head fall back against him. Her arms were still firmly planted on the desk as he curved over her from behind, his fingers working magic on her breast, kneading, caressing, teasing, comforting. His lips worked their own magic over her neck and then moved to nibble an ear.

  She swayed her hips against him, proving that she too could play, no matter how helpless her position.

  His fingers squeezed tight, and she could feel the passion grow and flare. Skill and patience were relaxed as her skirts were pushed up. There was the whisper of fabric, and a single low curse from his lips, and then she felt him against her—hard, thick, and velvet.

  He nestled in the cleft between her buttocks, and then his hands were on her hips again, raising her, lowering her until they were joined completely.

  She pushed hard back against him, grinding, seeking her own pleasure. She shoved with her hands upon the desk, giving herself leverage. She would not be denied.

  As if sensing her desires, one of his hands came around to cup and squeeze at her breasts again while the other slipped lower, raising the front of her skirts and slipping between her damp folds. She suppressed a squeal as he found that tender knot of nerves.

  Then all was frantic.

  Back. Forth. Squeeze. Release.

  He thrust hard against her, his mouth closing on the back of her neck. Every muscle of his body was hard, tight. She pressed back, moving, seeking that final moment when nothing mattered.

  Then it was almost there. She twisted slightly, heard his groan.

  There. There it was.

  His teeth bit into the back of her neck. His hand gripped her breast tight, almost too tight, and she felt him give that final surge.

  The cry escaped her lips, louder than she meant as his thrust brought the world spinning about her, all thought lost in pleasure.

  The door cracked open. She did not care.

  The light from the hall shone in. She could not think.

  “Oh dear. I did not mean to intrude.” Even the deep masculine voice followed by feminine twitters did not seem worth noting as her body collapsed, its last spasm passed.

  Chapter 17

  Of course the feeling could not last. There were only seconds of enjoyment before reality closed in all too quickly.

  She heard the door shut with a definitive slam, but not before a few more shocked giggles and squeals filled the room.

  Masters released her from behind, pulling her skirts down as he went. Her fervent desire was to collapse forward onto the desk, hiding her head beneath her sheltering arms. If she could have simply vanished, she would have done so in an instant.

  Life did not work that way. She pushed herself to standing and quickly pulled up her disheveled bodice, attempting to set everything to rights. She ran quick fingers through her hair and could find nothing out of place, it lay smooth against her head save for the desired curls, one small piece of order in her world. She stepped away from the desk and shook her skirts out. They fell smoothly from her waist to the floor; the few wrinkles in the many layers of silk would ease soon.

  Her dress seemingly had survived amazingly undamaged. Her face was probably another matter, and she wouldn’t be surprised if there was a bite mark on the back of her neck. Her shawl must be som
ewhere. Perhaps she could wrap it about herself and pretend that she was chilled. It was a cold evening.

  But that was only the physical. Her emotions she carefully wrapped and put away for later. She must not let them matter now.

  Then it was time to turn and face Masters. She had heard him making his own adjustments and was unsurprised to find him looking as crisp as ever. His hair was mussed, but he had done that before when he ran his fingers through it.

  With some trepidation, she raised her eyes to his. “I did not see who it was. Did you?” She tried to hold her voice steady as she spoke.

  “No. I believe it was Lord Wainscott who spoke, but I could not be sure. And I fear that some of the giggles may have been Miss Belinda Thwaite.” His eyes were hard to read, but there was something there buried deep.

  “That would not be good.” That was a gross understatement.

  “No, it would not be,” he replied.

  She leaned back on the edge of the desk, trying to find words to say. One of her first lovers after Michael’s death had a fascination with illicit activities in public places, and she had caught some of his excitement. It was far different, however, to wonder at being caught than to actually be caught.

  He stepped toward her, stopped, then turned and walked away. “What do we do now?”

  “Why do you ask me?” she asked. “Do you really imagine that I have been in this situation before?”

  “No, only—”

  “You believe that, given my scandalous life, that I am used to facing public censure and should have profound advice.”

  “You deliberately misunderstand me, Clara. I meant only the literal words that I spoke. Do we walk out together? Separately? Do we announce our engagement tonight or should I put it in the papers?”

  She closed her eyes against the pain she felt surrounding her. In all her imaginings, she had never pictured a situation as dreadful as this one. Or imagined him discussing their engagement in such a silky, determined voice. “I have not said that I will marry you. You presume much.”