Taming Temperance

by Jillian Eaton

  “You should leave now,” he said flatly.

  “And you should stop being such an ass,” Temperance fired back. “But it does not look as though either one of us is going to get what we want, does it?” Hands on hips she sneered openly at him, refusing to pretend – as he was – that their kiss had meant nothing.

  Emotions barricaded behind a wall of stony indifference, Hugh glared down at her. “That never should have happened.”

  “Maybe not, but it did happen, and there is no use denying what you felt.”

  He visibly stiffened as though she had delivered him a grave insult. “I felt nothing.”

  “Oh really?” Without a hint of embarrassment Temperance pointedly lowered her gaze. “Your cock says otherwise.”

  Had the corner of his mouth twitched?

  Surely not.

  “A lady never refers to a man’s genitals in conversation. Or anywhere else for that matter.”

  Setting her head at a jaunty angle, Temperance grinned. “Whoever said I was a lady?”

  “Clearly my mistake. Miss Swan I–”

  “So you do remember my name.”

  His brow creased. “I never said I had forgotten it.”

  “You implied that you had.”

  “Forget a stubborn, saucy wench like you?” he said dryly. “I dare say that would not be possible. Miss Swan–”

  “Temperance,” she interrupted. “You have, after all, had your tongue down my throat. If that is not a reason to dispel with formalities, I do not know what is.”

  “Are you always like this?” he wondered with an exasperated shake of his head.

  “Like what?”

  “Like this.” Gesturing with a vague sweep of his hand, Hugh crossed both arms over his chest and scowled. “You are far too impudent for your own good.”

  “Thank you.”

  “That was not a compliment.”

  “For me it was.” Her eyes narrowed. “I find you very interesting, Mr. Jacobson.”

  “I can assure you I am nothing of the sort.” Unfolding his arms, he stalked to the mannequin and made a show of adjusting her scarf. “As you can see, I am very busy.”

  Temperance snorted. “Busy doing what? Keeping company with statues? There is no one in here but us.”

  “Something that could change at any moment.” He looked back at her over his shoulder, his mouth a grim line of resolution. “I may not like you, Miss Swan, but that does not mean I want your ruined reputation on my conscience.”

  She snorted again. “You do not know this because you are not from here, but let me assure you my reputation was ruined quite a long time ago.” She was referring, of course, to the scandal created by her older sister Lynette when she had allowed herself to be seduced by a rake. A rake that was, curiously enough, the twin brother of the man she was now married to. Lynette and Adam Blackbourne had only kissed, but the ton had a wicked imagination and they’d used it to create all sorts of lewd and shameless scenarios, none of which were true. Unfortunately, rumor had little interest in the truth, and when Lynette’s reputation was irrevocably besmirched it tainted all of the Swan sisters.

  For that reason Temperance knew she had little chance of making a favorable match. Oh, men liked her. They liked her quite a bit, but they had absolutely no intention of marrying her. And if her reputation was already in tatters, what was the harm in having a little fun? Temperance may have been many things – opinionated, headstrong, and impulsive to name a few – but a prude was not one of them. If men could have desires, then why not women? It may not have been proper, but she had little patience for propriety. Her name was already sullied by no fault of her own. If snooty, judgmental women were going to turn their noses down at her then by God she would give them a bloody reason to do so.

  Starting with the brooding American trying to pretend as though their kiss had not set his blood ablaze.

  “So you see,” she continued in a purring voice that rolled off her tongue like cream, “you have nothing to be concerned about. You cannot ruin what has already been ruined.”

  Was it her imagination, or had Hugh’s knuckles suddenly whitened?

  “By what little I know of you thus far, I cannot say I am surprised.” He started to say something else, stopped, and then as though he could not help himself asked through gritted teeth, “Tell me, how many men have you thrown yourself at?”

  “I am afraid I lost count,” she said with an airy flick of her wrist. She knew she was being purposefully misleading, and in being misleading was inviting a very poor opinion of her character. But Hugh was simply too easy to rile up, and she rather liked the idea that she was making him a bit jealous. He would never come right out and say as much, of course, but the curling of his fists and the rigidity of his jaw told her everything she needed to know.

  He took a step towards her, eyes flashing with an emotion not easily deciphered. “You would do well to–”

  “Temperance, are you in here? Oh there you are!” Completely oblivious to the crackling tension in the air Delilah slipped inside the tent and immediately took hold of her sister’s arm. “Lynette has been looking for you everywhere. She is quite beside herself. Hello, Mr. Jacobson.” Sliding her attention to Hugh as though it were the most natural thing in the world to find him and Temperance sequestered away inside a tent, Delilah offered the American a bright, unfettered smile. “How nice to see you again.”

  “Miss Swan,” he said gruffly.

  “This is actually rather fortuitous that we are meeting.” Releasing her grip on Temperance, Delilah began to peruse the closest table, her heart-shaped countenance a mask of concentration as she peered into bowls and looked under shawls. “Do you still have it?”

  “I am afraid I do not know to what you are referring,” said Hugh. He glanced questioningly at Temperance but she only shrugged, as bemused by her sister’s fervent search as he was. With Delilah there was no telling what she could be after.

  “I think we should be going now, Delilah.”

  “About damn time,” Hugh grumbled.

  Temperance shot him a quelling glare.

  He lifted a brow.

  “Here it is!” Delilah cried triumphantly. Reaching beneath the table, she pulled out a life-size wooden duck and hugged it tightly against her chest as though it were a valuable chest of jewels. “I knew I would see you again.” Giving the duck an affectionate kiss on the head, she held it out to Hugh. “How much?”

  “Not another one,” Temperance exclaimed with a roll of her eyes. “Delilah, don’t you have enough ducks?” Unfortunately, her sister’s obsession for water fowl was already well documented. She had more ducks than she did dresses, and just last week she had attempted to sneak a real live duckling into the house! Thankfully Lynette had heard it peeping from inside Delilah’s pocket and demanded it be returned to the pond.

  “One can never have too many,” Delilah said in absolute seriousness. “Besides, I do not have one like this.” She patted the duck’s curled tail. “Remember when Mr. Jacobson brought us home in his carriage? Well, I saw the duck then and I just knew one day it would belong to me! It will look perfect on the shelf above my writing desk, do you not think so Tempy?”

  Biting back what she really wanted to say, Temperance patted her sister’s shoulder and forced a smile. “Absolutely. Mr. Jacobson, how much for the duck?”

  “Six pounds.”

  Temperance’s eyes widened. “Six pounds for a duck? That’s highway robbery! You can buy the real thing for one crown!”

  “Then I suggest you do so,” said Hugh, his gaze as cold and unwavering as the North Star.

  How is it, Temperance wondered silently, that a man capable of such sheer raw heat can be so frigid? Had Hugh always been like this, or was it some event in his past that had made him so distant and bitter? There was no way to tell, but she did know one thing for certain. There was far more to the American then the surly façade he presented and she was very much looking forward to discovering wha
t made him tick, even if meant peeling back layer after surly layer to expose the truth.

  “I think it is an absolute bargain,” Delilah said cheerfully. “Here you go, Mr. Jacobson.” Tucking the duck on her left arm, she used the right to count out change. “Four…five…six pounds!”

  “Ridiculous,” Temperance muttered under her breath.

  “Pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Jacobson.” All but glowing, Delilah took her sister’s hand and began pulling her towards the front of the tent. “Good luck with selling the rest of your wares.”

  “Thank you,” Hugh said grudgingly.

  Temperance bit back a smile. No one – not enough curmudgeonly Americans – were immune to Delilah’s airy charms.

  “Have a nice day Mr. Jacobson,” she cooed, batting her lashes as Delilah pushed aside the front flap of the tent, letting in a spill of golden sunlight and the sounds of raised voices and music.

  Hugh said nothing in return. Unable to help herself, Temperance indulged in one last glance over her shoulder. She saw Hugh standing in the corner of the tent, his arms folded and a stern frown pulling at his mouth. Their eyes met for only a moment, but it was long enough for a silent challenge to be issued…

  And accepted.

  CHAPTER THREE

  The wench was mad. Surely there was no other explanation for her behavior. As he packed up his merchandise – most of which had gone unsold over the two day festival – Hugh could not help but reflect on his brief – and bizarre – encounter with one Miss Temperance Swan.

  He had recognized her the moment he saw her standing outside his tent. While many of the people he’d met since coming to England had become a blur of nameless faces, Temperance was not the sort of woman a man could easily forget. And it wasn’t only her striking beauty that had instantly turned his head and tightened the muscles in his throat until he found it difficult to swallow. There was a captivating essence about her. Something that did not come from her thick tumble of amber curls or high cheekbones or clear cerulean gaze but rather from the inside.

  Hugh had felt it from the moment he’d seen her standing in the rain, her dress covered in mud and her face filled with righteous indignation. Even as she’d railed at him he had felt inexplicably drawn to the fierce brown-eyed beauty and despite her sharp tongue Temperance had struck a chord in him. A chord he’d long thought rendered flat and useless. Even so, he had never imagined he would ever see her again. And he had certainly never imagined they would share an embrace so passionate his balls were still aching.

  Well…maybe he had imagined it.

  But only a time or two.

  Or twenty.

  Then there was her cheeky arrogance. Hugh was not accustomed to women who actually came right out and said what they were thinking. How many times had Aileen’s mouth said one thing while her eyes said another? Too many to count. Trying to decipher what she really wanted had been a wearying uphill battle he had quickly grown tired of fighting. But he had put up with her games, because that was how all females were.

  Or so he had thought until he met Temperance.

  Then why don’t you burn me?

  His abdomen clenched as her silkily whispered question echoed through his mind. Heedlessly tossing the silverware he’d been attempting to sort into an empty bin, he stepped out of the tent and into the dwindling twilight.

  The village square was nearly empty. The rest of the merchants had packed up their tents well before sunset and returned home to their families. Given that he had nothing – and no one – to return to save a hard mattress at the local inn, Hugh was in no hurry. He was a methodical sort of man; one who preferred to take his time in an effort to ensure everything was done correctly. He could not abide mistakes, and no one held him to a higher standard than he held himself.

  Clasping his hands together behind his neck, he closed his eyes and tilted his head back, inviting the cool brush of moonlight onto his tanned skin. As he indulged in a moment of blissful silence after the mayhem of the last two days, he could not help but wonder what sort of standard Temperance held herself to.

  If judged by her actions alone, one would be fair to label her as little more than a common trollop. But there was more to her than that. He was sure of it. Having been married to a common trollop, he knew the difference between feigned attraction and true passion.

  And Temperance had most certainly given him the latter.

  To think of her kissing other men like she had kissed him…his jaw clenched at the mere thought. And yet she had kissed other men. Too many times to count, if she could be believed.

  His eyes opened to a clear night sky with twinkling stars as far as he could see. The air was crisp, and tasted of autumn. In a few weeks the trees would begin to change color and the temperature would slowly drop. Fields would be plowed and left fallow for next season’s crop. Snow would cover the hillside in a blanket of white and Londoners would abandon their beloved town for the romance of a winter spent in the country.

  For the idly wealthy winter was a time of rest and relaxation. A time to celebrate with friends and family as one year ended and another began. Unfortunately for Hugh he had no time to rest, no friends or family, and he was not in a very celebratory mood.

  How could he be, given the events of the past eight months?

  The dissolution of his marriage.

  Aileen’s horrific murder.

  Her brother’s quest for vengeance.

  It was a quest that had brought him knocking on Hugh’s door in the middle of the night, a constable by his side and a small mob of restless hooligans at his back. But for the Grace of God Hugh had managed to avoid being dragged to jail and he left Boston the very next morning, buying passage on the first ship bound for London.

  He knew what his sudden departure must have looked like, just as he knew his brother-in-law was a reckless, violent man whose determination to see Hugh hang for his sister’s death had blinded him to the truth: Aileen was a woman who had pitted more than one man against the other, and although she had not deserved such a grisly end, she had certainly earned it.

  Had Hugh been asked to prove his innocence in court he would have gladly done so, but it was not justice Frederik sought. It was not justice that had burned in his maniacal gaze the night he stood outside Hugh’s door with a gun in one hand and sharp blade in the other.

  He wanted blood.

  Hugh’s blood.

  And he would not stop until it ran down his hands in rivers of red.

  By all accounts, Frederik had not followed him across the ocean. But there had not been a night that went by without Hugh waking at every noise, no matter how insignificant, and reaching for the pistol he kept tucked beneath his pillow. The click of the hammer had become as soothing to him as a softly sung lullaby. He did not know if he would have the strength of will to pull the trigger if the need ever arose – despite his size and brusque manner he was not a violent man by nature – but just having the option was a small comfort in an otherwise dismal existence.

  Living out of a suitcase…making a pound here or there selling worthless junk…constantly looking over his shoulder…it was no way for a person to live. The only bright spot in a world claimed by darkness and shadows had come from Temperance. And yet just by talking to her he may have inadvertently placed her life in danger. There was no telling the lengths to which Frederik would go, nor the depths to which he would descend to pursue his contorted idea of justice.

  As Hugh stared bleakly up at the sky, he knew two things to be of absolute truth.

  One way or another, Aileen’s murderer would have to be found.

  And he could never see Temperance Swan ever again.

  “I need to see him again.” Pacing the length of the parlor, Temperance stopped short at the piano forte and glanced down at Annabel’s blonde head. Face scrunched in concentration, Nathaniel’s sister was struggling to play the final chords of Beethoven’s notoriously difficult Moonlight Sonata.

  From her expr
ession – and the sound of plunking keys – it was not going very well.

  “Drats! I am never going to get this in time for the recital.” Sitting back with an irritated huff of breath, Annabel swept a curl out of her eyes and scowled fiercely at the piano forte as though somehow her dismal playing abilities were the fault of the inanimate musical instrument. “I do not know why Mother insists on continuing to have them. She knows how horrible I am.”

  “Not as horrible as Delilah.” Pushing Annabel’s skirts out of the way, Temperance sat beside her on the bench and studied the sheet music with a critical eye. “You’re rushing everything by two beats. If you slowed down, the notes would fit where they are supposed to.”

  “But if I slow down, I won’t be able to get through it as quickly as possible.”

  “That is a problem,” Temperance acknowledged.

  As though she could not abide sitting still for a moment longer, Annabel sprang to her feet and resumed the path Temperance had been walking, arms swinging with vigorous enthusiasm as she stalked past velvet upholstered chairs and windows framed with heavy green drapes. On the other side of the polished glass a soft rain fell, covering the gardens and the surrounding fields in a mist of sleepy gray.

  Set back from the road down a long tree-lined drive, Dunhill was sizable estate of three hundred acres. After being purchased by Nathaniel with the intent of serving as his country residence until he inherited his family home of Townsend, it had sat vacant until just a few weeks ago. Compared to the crumbling townhouse they had left behind in London, it was a veritable palace with four separate wings, two master staircases, and more balconies than Temperance could count on both hands. She positively adored her room, mostly because it was set to the far back of the manor and afforded her all the privacy she could have ever wished for and a little bit because it was exclusively hers. For the first time in her life she no longer had to share a bed with Delilah.