The Earl's Temptation

by Emma V. Leech

  Please, my dearest friend, do not lose sleep on my account. I assure you, I am not worth the trouble.

  Yours ever.

  Alex.

  Chapter 23

  "Wherein our heroine comes out to society and sets the ton on its ears."

  April 2nd

  London 1816

  "Non, I won't go!" Céleste cried into her pillow, aware that she was behaving like an ungrateful child but quite beside herself. It was too much, after so long to be given such shattering news.

  It had been decreed, by Aunt Seymour, that Céleste would make her spectacular come out at the Duke of Bedfordshire's ball at the Bedford House in Bloomsbury. In fact Parliament had been recalled in February and the season had been in full swing for some time, but Aunt Seymour had withheld her acceptance until a grand enough event was available for Céleste to make her mark, and until curiosity among those of the ton had reached fever pitch. Dozens and dozens of elegant invitations had piled up in a seemingly endless supply over the past weeks and Céleste felt dizzy at the amount of them Aunt Seymour had accepted on her behalf.

  There had been endless weeks of shopping and preparation, her wardrobe was stuffed with a terrifying array of finery, the cost of which made her feel guilty at the money which was being frittered away for her sake. Now the event was almost upon them she felt sick with nerves and apprehension. Most of all, however, she felt that she had spend the past fourteen months holding her breath, waiting to see Alex again, except now she discovered it would all be for nothing, as he wouldn't be there to see her grande début.

  She heard Henri speaking in hushed tones to Aunt Seymour who had become really very cross with her. Not that Céleste could blame her, after so many months of preparation and expense, but truly, could no one see her heart was broke. Henri passed a squirming baby Elizabeth, who'd been born the previous October, into the arms of her adoring great Aunt and closed the door behind the two as they retreated from the battle scene. Céleste looked up and sniffed, accepting a lace handkerchief from Henri as she returned to sit on the bed beside her. She sat up and blew her nose once it was clear Seymour had gone with Henri's daughter, and slumped back into the pillows.

  "I've made up my mind," she said, looking at Henri and folding her arms.

  Henri nodded. "Yes, dear," she said, with a soothing smile as she reached forward and smoothed Céleste's hair from her face. "I know. And I quite understand. If I were you I'd be in hysterics too, I mean he is quite the most vexing man I have ever known, and I married Lawrence!" She gave a heavy sigh and shook her head. "Really it's too bad of him. Though honestly, if I were you I'd be of a mind to teach him a lesson."

  Céleste sniffed and looked at Henri with narrowed eyes. "Oh?" she asked, well aware that Aunt Seymour had instructed Henri to get her to the ball by any means possible.

  "Well yes, dear," Henri replied with a placid smile. "I mean we know the fool is in love with you, and if you stay home he'll imagine you are nice and safe and pining for him, won't he? So if I were in your position, I'd go out there and make sure every man from here to Cornwall was madly in love with me. I think ..." Henri mused, tapping a thoughtful finger to her chin. "That I might be especially drawn towards the rakes and the scoundrels. You know, those wicked types with nothing but ruining a girl on their minds. For I'm sure if he thought you were going to throw yourself away on someone just as wicked as he was ... Oof!" Henri steadied herself as Céleste threw her arms around her and kissed her cheek.

  "Oh, but, Henri, you are a wicked genius!"

  Henri snorted and patted her hair with a serene expression. "Yes, Lawrence has remarked much the same thing," she said with a smirk, turning to look at Céleste. "So you'll go then? Oh, please say you will. I've never been to such a grand affair and chaperoning you with the Aunts is likely to be my only opportunity."

  "Oh," Céleste said, suddenly filled with guilt. "You know if you 'ad only said that I would still 'ave gone."

  Henri chuckled and patted her hand. "I know that, you silly creature, but I had to tell you of my devious plan in any case so ..." She shrugged and grinned at her. "Come now, no more crying or you will still be all red and puffy tonight and we can't have that can we?"

  "Non," Céleste replied with a sigh. "I suppose we can't."

  ***

  Alex looked at the disgusting scandal rag in his hand, a frown of deep displeasure etched upon his face. His butler had all but grimaced in disdain as he'd handed the pile of gossip sheets to him and, frankly, Alex didn't blame him in the least, but he needed to know what was being said of Céleste.

  The C de V made her stunning début last night and has been hailed by all as a diamond of the first water. The mysterious young woman, whose history seems shrouded in secrets, was dressed entirely in white silk and universally acknowledged to be ravishing. The D of S was noted to have claimed more than one waltz.

  Alex flung the paper down on his desk in fury. The Duke of Sindalton, also known as Sin, was handsome, obscenely wealthy, and a notorious rake. He was also a duke! "Bastard!" Alex cursed through gritted teeth. Of course if he'd deigned to go to the damned ball he would have been able to vet all of the men who approached Céleste and chase off any that he deemed unworthy. But no, selfishly he had thought to save himself the pain and had stayed as far away as he might. Though he would have thought better of his Aunt Seymour than to let her dance with that ... that ... rakehell!

  Well that was an end to it, he thought with a grim smile.

  "Fredrick!" he roared, opening the door of his study and striding through it in search of his valet. "Pack my things, I'm going to London."

  ***

  The fact that Alex avoided his own London residence and therefore the company of Céleste and his aunts, preferring to spend a few nights at his club, was not at all significant. A fact he assured himself of repeatedly. He just didn't want to get caught up in all of their fuss, that was all. It wasn't that he needed time to prepare to see Céleste again after over a year of dreaming about her. It was irrelevant that most of this time was spent being fitted for several new jackets, waistcoats and every possible aspect of his attire, for his reappearance into a polite society which he had eschewed for many years. Such concern for his own appearance was something he hadn't indulged in since his twenties.

  His motivation for this renewed interest in his wardrobe and fashion was something he refused to dwell on at all and pushed firmly from his mind. Suffice to say that he would be the centre of a great deal of speculation and he had no inclination to be found remiss in any item of his appearance. He had no doubt at all of the reaction he would get, after an absence of so long, or the gossip that would inevitably begin as to his motives. No doubt it would be rumoured he was in the market for a wife and he would be obliged to withstand a number of foolish women casting their lures in his direction, or at least those who had the nerve. Everyone would also, of course, be watching his interactions with Céleste with rabid interest. So his own behaviour would also need to be impeccable.

  By the time he had discovered from his Aunt Seymour at which event Céleste would next be present, he found he was ridiculously and unaccountably uptight. Staring at his reflection in the glass he professed himself satisfied with the results. He took a moment to survey himself and wonder what it was that Céleste saw when she looked at him. He tilted his head, verifying that there was indeed, still no scattering of grey in his thick, black hair and then reprimanded himself soundly for bothering. It wasn't him she should be looking at, but a future husband. The whole exercise was in order to see her safely wed to another, and he would do well to keep that idea firmly in mind.

  ***

  Céleste looked up in surprise as she caught sight of Henri, gesticulating madly to her over the crush of the ballroom. Lady Blakeney was a very popular hostess and the great and the good of the ton were out in force tonight. She stood on tiptoes and craned her neck, trying to figure out what it was that Henri was trying to say to her.

  An elec
tric buzz seemed to shudder through the assembled company, the volume of speech lowering as everyone whispered at once. Céleste frowned, wondering what had caused the sudden undercurrent that seemed to thrill through the crowd, just as Henri's words became clear.

  "He's here!"

  Céleste sucked in a breath as her heart seemed to vault in her chest before crashing against her ribcage as though it was trying to escape. Be calm, be calm, she scolded herself. The past fourteen months of loneliness and longing would all be for naught if he discovered she was still the silly child he had always believed. Now was her chance to show him just how she had changed, and that there was nothing some sophisticated English woman could give him, that she couldn't.

  Nonetheless she was powerless against the urge to turn her head and scan the ballroom along with every other person there, as they fought to get a glimpse of the notorious Earl of Falmouth.

  Oh. Mon Dieu. Grateful that she had at least managed to keep the exclamation in her head instead of crying out loud, Céleste stared and accepted an all too familiar ache in her heart as she found his familiar and beloved countenance once more.

  Tall and powerful, Alex's figure stood out, even among the crush of people. His cool grey gaze surveyed the scene as though it was something undeserving of his attention. She could see now, why everyone seemed so afraid of him. He had the bearing of a King, and the unmistakable aura of danger surrounded him, making the women want to throw themselves at his feet and the men despise him on principle.

  Céleste swallowed, finding her mouth dry as he inclined his head to hear better what Lady Blakeney was saying to him. She watched the way the fine black material of his jacket moved, stretched taut across his broad shoulders and showing the flex of the heavy muscle in his arms. He was dressed to perfection, with a stark simplicity in the black coat, white waistcoat and perfect necktie, that made every other man in the room look like they were trying far too desperately hard or were really rather shabby in comparison. Unlike the pale-skinned Dandies, his skin was darkly bronzed, attesting to his love of the sea and much time spent in the sun. For a moment she tormented herself with wondering if his chest was now as tanned as his face and hands and remembered a day, long ago, when she had stripped him of his clothes and allowed herself to gaze on the perfection of his naked form.

  To her chagrin he chose that very moment to turn his head in her direction, and it was as though he knew exactly what she had been thinking of as their eyes met. She felt a flush of colour on her cheeks but held his gaze, wondering if she imagined the flare of warmth that ignited in the usually icy grey as he looked upon her. She watched as he spoke a word to the hostess and moved away, cutting through the crush of people like a shark as people wordlessly made way for him.

  "Pinch your cheeks," she heard a mother instruct her terrified daughter in an urgent whisper as he moved in their direction. But his eyes never left Céleste, and by the time he was standing in front of her she was terribly afraid that she would say something dreadfully foolish or just throw her arms around his neck and cling to him. The desire to do just that was so strong that she clutched one wrist with her hand, in case her own limbs should betray her.

  She curtsied and held out her hand to him, finding it harder than ever to breathe as he raised it to his lips and pressed a kiss to her wrist.

  "My Lady," he murmured. "It is wonderful to see you again, and may I say, looking lovelier than ever, though I wonder how such a thing is even possible."

  "Thank you, my Lord," she replied, wishing she could think of something witty to say and finding her brain had ceased to function at all. If she wasn't careful she would find herself simply gazing at him like a ninny for the whole evening.

  "Falmouth."

  His gaze seemed to be reluctant to leave her face but he moved to greet his Aunts and Henri who had fought her way through the crowd to stand with them.

  "No Lawrence?" he remarked to his sister-in-law with a grin.

  Henri replied with a crooked smile. "No. Apparently he has met Lord Avebury before, in the past," she said, conveying a rather deeper meaning. "Apparently it cost his lordship rather more than he had bargained for to put his feet on dry land a few years back," she added, her tone dry with amusement. "And he doubted his lordship would have forgotten the incident so we thought it best he stay home."

  Alex chuckled, a deep and wonderful sound that wrapped itself around Céleste's heart and held tight. "And how is my niece?" he asked, enquiring after her and Lawrence's beautiful baby girl.

  Henri's face softened and she smiled with pride. "Young Elizabeth is beautiful and healthy and rules the household, and most especially Lawrence. She has him wrapped around her tiny finger."

  "I don't doubt it," he replied with a smile. "I look forward to seeing her again."

  "I must call you a liar, my Lord," Henri said, laughing. "Though it was very prettily said." She turned to Céleste with a conspiratorial air. "I made Alex hold her when she was just a few days old. The poor man looked positively terrified."

  Céleste looked back at Alex, finding his expression rueful and her own heart melting at the idea of his big hands holding a tiny babe.

  "I should like to have seen that," she said, her voice soft, her eyes never leaving his.

  A slight frown appeared over his eyes but before she could wonder at it, it was gone.

  "I hope you will do me the honour of dancing with me tonight?"

  The surprise of his invitation left her momentarily bereft of a suitable answer. Henri had said she'd heard it was well known that the earl rarely danced. Stubbornly she had still kept one dance free for him, just in case, even though she'd been besieged by demands the moment she set foot in the ballroom as every available male asserted his claim on her time.

  She held her nerve and gave him a placid smile, at least she hoped that was how it appeared when her nerves were leaping under her skin at the idea of dancing with Alex. "I have saved you a waltz, my Lord," she replied, holding up her full dance card for his inspection after she'd pencilled in his name. With satisfaction she saw his face darken as he took in the long list of names, especially when he noted the name before the small gap where she had saved a space for him. The Duke of Sindalton.

  "I am honoured you managed to find a space for me," he replied, though she didn't miss the slight edge to his words. She was saved from having to reply to it however as their hostesses' son, Lord Blakeney, arrived to claim the first dance.

  Biting back a smile she watched the two men survey each other with obvious dislike, though to her knowledge they had never met. Blakeney was a good looking young man in his mid-twenties with rather lovely pale blue eyes and white blond hair. Standing a good foot shorter than the earl, though blessed with a pleasing build and an air of energetic good humour, he eyed the older man with a wary eye as they were introduced, and lost no time in claiming Céleste's hand and sweeping her onto the floor and away from him.

  Chapter 24

  "Wherein a lover dances close to the truth and the ladies conspire against him."

  "Well, Falmouth, what do you think of our prodigy?" Aunt Seymour demanded of him as they watched the young fool, Blakeney, lead her around the floor.

  It took Alex a moment to disengage his jaw which seemed to be locked tight, before he could form an appropriate reply. Wryly he wondered what he should say. That Céleste had stolen his wits and his tongue and that he didn't dare to veer from the dullest of conversation in case he should say something far too telling? That when his searching gaze had finally settled on her it was like he had found the missing part of himself that had been taken from him the day she walked out of his home and his life fourteen long months ago? Either of those comments would be true. Instead he simply replied, "She is a credit to you."

  He felt jealousy bloom in his chest as he watched the bastard dancing with Céleste lean his head down and say something that made her smile and blush. He swallowed, wanting to knock every man in the room down for even looking at her a
nd thinking the wicked things that were in their minds. And he had no doubt that every man in the room had been thinking along very similar lines. Her hair shone a deep guinea gold in the candlelight, touched with lighter shades of Champagne and darker, warmer glints that he ached to twine between his fingers.

  Her gown was fine ivory cambric embroidered with gold thread, the floaty material moulding itself to her curves as she moved, and with a bitter taste in his mouth he watched as Blakeney looked down and enjoyed the view his height afforded him of a wide expanse of creamy white flesh at her décolletage. Dear God, how was he going to endure an entire evening without dragging her into some dark corner and doing something unspeakable, or killing every man that dared look at her. And this was only the first dance!

  He had yet to endure the spectacle of her dancing with the Duke of Sindalton. He downed the glass of Champagne he had been offered a few moments previously and snatched another from a passing tray, scowling across the dance floor in fury. For the briefest moment his eyes met Céleste's before the dance swept her away in the opposite direction, but he had been sure there had been the gleam of challenge in her eyes.

  With effort he recalled himself to his surroundings as his aunt's voice pierced his tangled thoughts.

  "You remember my grandson, Aubrey, don't you, Falmouth?"

  Alex turned and scowled at the young man who was standing beside him. Almost as tall as himself he was dismayed to find his cousin an extremely handsome young man, with deep brown hair that glinted auburn, and amused hazel eyes.

  "Lord Falmouth," the young man replied, bowing respectfully. "A pleasure to see you again."