The Earl's Temptation

by Emma V. Leech

  "Alors?"

  She forced herself to lick her lips and remembered how the girls at Madame Maxime's would play with their clients, getting their interest so they were chosen over the other girls.

  "I noticed you right away, Monsieur," she said, keeping her voice soft and her eyes cast down. "The man who took me, Pelletier, I don't like him." She chanced a seductive glance up at him from under her lashes. "He hit me, and he said wicked things, but ... but I think a man like you would treat me kindly. I could be nice to a man like you." She took another breath, forcing the nausea that was swirling in her stomach to stay put and let her do this. Moving closer she ran her hand over the rough fabric of his jacket, noticing with disgust various stains which made bile rise in her throat. "Would you like it ... if I were nice to you?"

  To her relief and repulsion the man's eyes lit up and he leered down at her.

  "Well then," she said, very aware of the key in his hand. "Why don't you go and get comfy on the bed." She began to unbutton his jacket and pull it from his shoulders but of course he couldn't free his hand when it was clenched about the key. He obligingly put it down on the window sill and she pretended not to notice, making a great show of neatly folding his jacket while he made for the bed.

  The moment his back was turned she grabbed hold of the chair, lifted it above her head and brought it down with everything she had. It smashed against him, making him crash to the bed in a shower of broken wood and Céleste cried out as splinters pierced her hands. Ignoring anything else she grabbed the key and ran for the door, her hands shaking so hard that for a moment she didn't think she would be able to turn it. Once open she sprang free, running for the stairs and finding with dismay another of Pelletier's louts running up, obviously drawn by the crash from above.

  Not pausing, she did the only thing she could and hurled herself downwards, her weight forcing the man back and the two of them fell heavily. Céleste was at least cushioned from the worst of the fall, though she was badly bruised, but she couldn't stop now. The man beneath her was groaning and clutching at his head which she was pleased to note was bleeding profusely. Running for the front door she found it locked and with no key in sight, and so fighting panic she turned and headed for the back. With every step she expected Pelletier or one of his men to step out from the shadows and she could hear cursing and movement from upstairs as the man she'd flattened with the chair regained his senses. With terror making her heart thunder in her ears she found the back door, but then a voice called from outside and she recognised it to be Pelletier's.

  In blind panic she looked around for a place to hide. There was nothing and nowhere. It was a large, empty room with no convenient corners, nothing in fact but a huge fireplace. The fire hadn't been lit and the grate was cold and full of ash, and she realised it might be her only chance. Running over to it, she found it high enough to stand up in with ease. The walls on all sides were built of stone, and she ran her hands over the rough surface, trying to find a grip. Soot showered down over her and she coughed and spluttered, blinking it away, and then she began to climb.

  Chapter 16

  "Wherein a bloody price is extracted for the past, and paid for the future."

  Alex approached the house from the rear, the sky still dark and moody with purple-black clouds. It ought to be lightening by now, but the cloud cover was too deep and thick and the night persisted. At least the bloody rain had stopped and he could see his hand in front of his face, if barely. He was frozen and soaked to the bone but none of it registered, his blood raced in his veins, burning with fury and fear. The desire to tear whoever had taken Céleste from him limb from bloody limb was so great that he wanted nothing better than to smash the door down and damn the consequences.

  But Lawrence was right, if they wanted to make sure Céleste was unharmed they needed to know what they were walking into. Pausing as he heard voices, he saw someone enter the house via the back door. The door slammed shut and he quickened his pace. He couldn't bear to think of Céleste shut up in there, of what could be happening to her right now. His heart felt as though it was being crushed and he ran to the back door, readying his pistol and bearing it at his side.

  Though of course there was no guarantee she was there at all, they could have followed the wrong tracks; these people could be innocent. The thought taunted him that he might be miles away from where she really was. No. He had learned to rely on his gut feelings during the war, and every instinct screamed that she was here. He listened as shouting began on the inside. Someone was yelling about a girl, where was she? He felt his heart lift. He should have known that Céleste wouldn't wait to be rescued.

  Trying the door handle he found it locked and then his heart froze as he heard a woman scream. Not pausing to think or consider, further beyond the reach of sanity than he had ever been before, he simply reacted and kicked the door open.

  At first glance the dim room was empty, and then he saw a figure looming at the shadowy opening of the fireplace. The scream came again followed by a shower of soot, and another figure tumbled to the ground. In the dust and confusion it was too dangerous to take aim with his weapon, but he saw the glint of a pistol and threw himself to the side as a shot whistled past his head.

  Gathering himself to his feet, he trained his eye on the shooter through the soot-filled air. "Leave her!" he yelled, holding the pistol aimed at the man, though Céleste was not yet clear of the shot as the dirty man held her before him.

  The two of them froze at his threat and for a moment he saw such joy and relief in Céleste's eyes, but it was short-lived as a voice spoke behind him in French.

  "Take her to the carriage," A male voice instructed with authority. Alex turned his head to see a figure behind him, dressed like a gentleman unlike the man holding Céleste, and this one held two pistols. One was aimed at him, the other at Céleste.

  "Non!" Céleste screamed, struggling against her captor. "Non, leave him alone! I'll be good, Monsieur, I'll go with you, but please don't hurt him."

  "Ah, your earl, I suppose?" the man said with a sneer of contempt. He turned to Alex. "Put down the gun, my Lord, or I will shoot you both."

  Alex didn't move. He didn't think this creature would care for a moment if he shot the man holding Céleste, and he himself would be dead before he could turn around and get a shot at him. But Lawrence and his men were around the front, if they would only move their bloody arses.

  He watched helplessly as the man bore Céleste away, though she didn't make it easy for him, struggling like a wild cat.

  Alex lowered his gun and the man grinned at him, a deeply unpleasant expression that Alex was desperate to wipe from his miserable face.

  "Drop the pistol, there is a good chap," the man said with heavily accented English as he gestured with one of the guns. Alex gritted his teeth and did as he was asked and the bastard laughed, well pleased with himself as he raised both pistols at Alex. But then the sound of shots outside made the apparent gentleman glance back to the front door, his gun no longer directed at Alex.

  Alex didn't hesitate but dove towards him and the two of them hit the ground. The pistols fired and Alex felt a flash of heat, stinging his cheek. The man beneath him cursed and fought, but Alex dealt him a vicious punch that knocked him out cold.

  The sounds of a struggle at the front of the house calmed and Lawrence strode into the room as Alex scrambled to his feet and snatched up his gun. "Guard him!" he yelled. "They still have Céleste." He ran from the room in the direction her captor had left and to his relief could still hear his sweet fury laying a terrible curse on the man holding her.

  He turned the corner of the house to see the bastard desperately trying to bundle her into the carriage as Céleste kicked and fought with all her might. But the man was many times her weight and strength and with a roar of anger he hit her, throwing her back into the carriage. Alex cried out in rage and fired, the gunshot aiming true and his target flying backwards, dead before he hit the ground. He ran to the
carriage, quite certain his heart had stopped in his chest as he looked at the still figure on the carriage floor.

  She was covered in soot and blood, but the bruises on her lovely skin were only too visible in the dim glimmer of the morning light. Alex snatched her up, holding her to him. "Céleste?" he cried out, his hand cradling her beautiful face and hardly daring to breathe as her eyelids fluttered and she came to. "Céleste," he said again his voice shaking with relief that expanded his chest and seemed to allow him to breathe again. He looked down at her in wonder, only too aware of how close he'd been to losing her. For a moment she froze, blinking up at him in a daze before throwing her arms around his neck.

  "Alex?" she sobbed. "Est-ce vraiment toi?"

  "Yes," he replied, holding her to him as tight as he could and thanking God. "Yes, mignonne, it is really me." Reluctantly he held her away from him and with growing rage looked over her injuries, evidence of bruises and vile mistreatment. "Who did this to you, Céleste," he growled. "Who is he?"

  "Pelletier," she managed, though she trembled so she could hardly say his name.

  Alex was utterly still as the name registered in his mind. He should have dealt with the bastard before they’d left. He had known he was a threat to her and instead of facing him they had fled. He could have stopped this, somehow. Guilt merged with fury but he lifted Céleste and sat her down on the seat of the carriage with care. "Stay here," he commanded. "And don't move until I come for you."

  "Non!" she cried, leaping to her feet and clinging to his arm. "Alex, I won't stay 'ere alone, where are you going?"

  "To kill Pelletier," he said, his tone fierce.

  "Oui!" she replied, her eyes flashing in the darkness. "He killed Madame Maxime, Alex, and the things 'e said to me ... the vile, disgusting things 'e said 'e would do," she cried, her voice full of fury. "Yes, I want you to kill 'im, but I want to see, I won't stay 'ere by myself!"

  He looked back at her, wondering if he should be appalled, but then he saw the fear in her eyes. She needed to know the bastard would never trouble her again. Besides the likelihood of her not just following him anyway, no matter what he said, was slim indeed. He nodded, stroking her cheek with his fingers and giving her a grim smile. "Stay close then."

  They returned to the house to find Lawrence, Pierre and the others had dealt with the remaining three men, though apparently the one at the bottom of the stairs had died before they got there. But one man remained alive.

  Alex took Céleste to Lawrence, and then turned to face the man who had done this to her. The man who had planned to do things that had filled the girl's eyes with terror.

  Pelletier stilled and there was a horrified understanding in his expression as Alex advanced on him. "M-Monsieur, forgive me, there has been some silly misunderstanding. I thought she was just a common whore. I--I paid a great deal for her and ... and ..."

  "And so you thought you would come to my home and steal her from me," Alex replied, his desire to vent his fury on this man only too clear. "Despite the fact you knew damn well that she wasn't a whore, because you paid for a virgin. And whore or not, no woman is yours to take, just because you can."

  Pelletier glanced behind him and back at Alex with growing desperation as he realised there was nowhere to run. He was sweating profusely and as Alex looked at him he had a sudden and vivid picture in his mind of this filthy creature's hands on Céleste, on his sweet girl. He was filled with a rage the like of which he had never experienced before. He hit Pelletier full in the face, and the man went down in a shower of blood and a high pitched scream of pain, and after that he remembered little more. There was simply his anger and the man under his fists, and then shouts as he was pulled away, fighting against those would stop his desperate need for retribution.

  "Alex!" He blinked, knowing the voice was familiar but still struggling, though in some dim part of his mind he began to realise it was his brother who was holding him still, with some help from Pierre. He was pinned to the wall and vaguely aware of the shock in their eyes. "For the love of God, he's dead!" Lawrence shouted at him, shaking him hard.

  Alex nodded, realising that he was supposed to acknowledge that fact.

  "Will you be calm now?" Lawrence asked, his voice a little shaky, and as Alex looked down he could understand why. Something pulped and bloody lay on the floor wearing the clothes Pelletier had worn. He looked down at his own hands and found them in much the same state.

  "I'm calm," he replied, though he wasn't sure that was entirely true. Lawrence let him go and gestured for his men to clear the room. They hauled the body away and left them alone. "Céleste?" he asked.

  "I had her taken outside when ..." Lawrence stopped and Alex nodded.

  "Thank you."

  Lawrence let out a breath. "You're welcome." He took Alex by the arm and towed him out to the front of the house where there was a water pump. "Now for heaven's sake clean yourself up."

  Alex did as he was told, moving automatically and washing Pelletier's blood from his hands.

  "Your face too," Lawrence said, his expression grim.

  He splashed the freezing water on his face, relishing the clean, cold feel against his skin. "I've shocked you," Alex said, wiping the water from his eyes on his sleeve.

  Lawrence made a noise of amusement though there was little humour in it. "I saw a lot of things in the ten years I was a pirate, Alex, and I figured there was nothing left that could shock me but ... but you're my brother damn it and ..."

  Alex smiled at him. "I told you some time ago, Lawrence. I am not the man I was," he said. He paused and took a deep breath, wondering how much Céleste had seen, and what she thought of him now. "Now perhaps you can see why I can't marry her. I have done too much, seen too much ... been responsible for far too much. I won't bring such darkness in her life. She's had enough of that. It needs to end here and now. She needs to get away from me, from this life, to start afresh."

  Lawrence nodded. "I understand, better than you might think, but it isn't a choice who you love, Alex, we both know this."

  "No," he replied, knowing just how true that was. "But she is young enough to heal and start over, and the best thing I can do for her is give her the chance to do that."

  "And what about you?" Lawrence asked, the pity only too clear in his eyes. "No matter if you won't admit it, I know you love her. How will you heal?"

  Alex shrugged. "I'm past saving, I have been for a long time. But if I can do this for her ... well, at least that is something I can be proud of, and I'm not sure there is truly anything else in my life that I can say that of."

  Chapter 17

  "Wherein our courageous heroine is safe once more, but faces a lonely future."

  It took some time to bury the bodies and obliterate any evidence of what had passed in the house. Alex took a cover from the bed to wrap Céleste in, though it made him sick to do it. But the girl was shivering so hard her teeth chattered and they had a long ride home yet. Lawrence, Pierre and the men took Pelletier's carriage, saying they would abandon it somewhere remote and set the horses free before returning themselves.

  Alex held Céleste close to him, seated before him on the horse, as they made their way home. She laid her head on his shoulder and clung to him, staring up at his face as though terrified he would disappear if she closed her eyes.

  "Sleep, mignonne," he said, his voice strained. "I won't let anything harm you again. I swear, I won't, and I know only too well I've said that before but ..."

  "It wasn't your fault, Alex."

  He closed his eyes, shaking his head. "I should have done something, dealt with him before we left, then ..."

  "Non!" Her small hand grasped the folds of his jacket and tugged. "You couldn't 'ave known he would do such a thing, and you were sick, you 'ad no weapon to defend yourself. How could you confront 'im, you didn't even have any proof. Do not blame yourself for that vile creature. How could either of us have known he would follow us? He was insane; you cannot account for the acti
ons of a madman!"

  Alex made a bitter sound, quite unable to agree with her. "I think you would forgive me just about anything," he replied, wondering why on earth she would persist in loving a man like him, though perhaps after everything she had witnessed last night that had changed. If he was any kind of man he should hope that it had, hope that she was free of him in all ways ... But selfishly he didn't want it to be true. He looked down at her to find her smiling at him, and with just as much adoration in her eyes as there had always been.

  "Oui, Just about anything," she said, before laying her head on his shoulder and closing her eyes.

  ***

  By the time they got home Henri was frantic. And Alex was touched to see her as she fussed around Céleste exclaiming over her and hustling her upstairs to bathe in between bursts of tears and a great deal of hugging. They called their doctor, a kindly, older man who had been with the family for many years. He proclaimed her fit and healthy in body and that the bruises were superficial and would heal quickly. He recommended plentiful sleep and rest, and that she was not to become over excited or agitated, and then gave Alex a cautioning look.

  "It may take rather longer for her mind to recover though, my Lord," he said. "Perhaps a change of scenery would be in order, somewhere new and free of bad associations?"

  Alex nodded his understanding and thanked the man. His heart was heavy as he considered that Longueville may no longer be a place she could feel safe, but his previous plan to take her to his aunts seemed the best one. She would be safe there with nothing to trouble her, and he would be far away. He fought against the idea that she would be safer by his side, even though the desire to keep her beside him was stronger than ever. But Pelletier was dead and there was no one else from her old life who could hurt her. Yet there were plenty in his. He sighed and poured himself a drink, turning as a quiet knock came on the door.