What she wanted – what she craved – was passion. The sort of mind-numbing, body tingling passion she’d only ever felt with one man…
Hugh Jacobson.
In the tent, with his arms around her and his hard body hot with need, she had finally found what she was looking for. Unfortunately, she had the distinct feeling blind lust and seduction wasn’t what Lady Townsend was referring to.
“Have no fear,” she said, feigning a smile that felt tight in the corners of her mouth. “I am very happy.”
“Happy?” The countess made a tsking sound under breath. “My dear, I did not know what true happiness was until I met Lord Townsend. I can tell you are the type of young woman who does not think she needs a husband.”
“Now that you have mentioned it–”
“But I have found that sometimes those are the ones that need a husband most of all.”
Knowing that arguing with her sister’s mother-in-law would be the equivalent of attempting to talk a dog out of barking, Temperance merely nodded. “I will keep that in mind.”
“See that you do. Now I hate to dash, but I have an appointment in town.” Taking one final sip of her hot chocolate, Lady Townsend stood up. “Would you care to accompany me? I will be passing right by the dress maker’s and a young lady can never have too many–”
Now it was Temperance’s turn to interrupt. “Thank you very kindly for the offer.” But I would rather jump stark naked into the freezing cold pond than go dress shopping. “But I am afraid I promised Delilah I would spend the afternoon with her. We are attempting to train Mr. Humphrey, you see, and–”
“No need to say anymore,” Lady Townsend said with feeling. “I often wonder what my son was thinking when he gave Lynette that dog, and what she was thinking when she gave it to Delilah. A girl of Delilah’s age has more important things to do than chase after a misbehaved hellion. Did you see what that beast did to the flower beds?” She shuddered. “Ripped everything up by their roots. The gardener was beside himself, not that I can blame him. If you somehow manage to put some good sense into that dog, I would be forever grateful.”
“All Mr. Humphrey needs is a bit of training and I am certain he will become the best dog one could ever hope to have.” It was a lie, of course, but Temperance was firmly believed that the right lie was often better than the unfortunate truth: Mr. Humphrey was never going to stop digging in Lady Townsend’s flower beds for as long as he lived.
“Well, I must say I am glad to see you are going to be involved.” Stepping around the table, Lady Townsend pressed her gloved hand to Temperance’s cheek. “Your sister has a sweet soul, but I fear she is a bit light-handed when it comes to discipline.”
That was certainly one way to put it. Another was to point out the obvious: Delilah had yet to discipline her rowdy pup in any way, shape, or form. But Temperance knew when to bite her tongue, and she kept it clamped firmly between her teeth as she and Lady Townsend exchanged a quick kiss on the cheek.
“Have a lovely outing in town,” she said.
“Thank you, dear. By the by, have you seen Lynette this morning?”
Caught off guard by the question, Temperance bit her tongue hard enough to draw blood. “Lynette?”
“Yes.” Lady Townsend frowned. “I was hoping to catch her before breakfast, but it seems she has already left. Do you know where she went?”
“I am afraid I haven’t the faintest idea.” Sucking on the tiny cut on the side of her tongue, Temperance succumbed to another surge of guilt. In this instance she did feel bad for lying, but she did not want to be the one to tell the countess the truth. Let her find out from someone else that her daughter-in-law had run away. Temperance had already interfered too much, and she had no intention of dipping her toes any further into the murky water that surrounded Lynette and Nathaniel’s unconventional marriage. They would figure it out for themselves, or they wouldn’t. Either way, it was none of her concern. She only wanted to know that her sister was safe.
“How odd. Well, perhaps I will run across her in the village.” With an absent shrug, Lady Townsend picked up the shawl she’d put on the back of her chair and draped it over her shoulders. “I wish you the best of luck with Mr. Humphrey, my dear. I fear you are going to need it.”
“Thank you.” Beating a servant to the door, Temperance held it open for the countess and smiled at her as she walked through. Once Lady Townsend had disappeared down the hall she closed the door and leaned back against it, mind whirling with possibility. The truth of it was she had no intention of helping Delilah with Mr. Humphrey. Not that her sister would have accepted her assistance even if she’d offered it. What she did intend to do was track down Hugh once and for all. And now that Lynette was gone, as well as Nathaniel and Lady Townsend, she had the perfect opportunity to do so.
The only thing she needed was a place to start.
CHAPTER FIVE
Casting the cold, wet rag he’d used to wash himself aside, Hugh rose from the porcelain tub and shook like a dog, splattering water everywhere. Stepping out, he grabbed the towel he’d left within arm’s reach at the foot of the bed – then again, everything in the cramped room he was renting for two shillings a night was well within arm’s reach – and wrapped it around his waist.
He had lost weight, Hugh noted as the towel rode low on his protruding hipbones. But then, he had lost other things as well. Things that could not be replaced as easily as a bit of fat and muscle.
Faith.
Trust.
Hope that things would ever return to the way they’d been before he had so stupidly fallen for a pretty face and an empty smile.
Had Aileen ever loved him? It was a question he tortured himself with almost daily. A question that haunted his dreams when all was still and silent save the rough sound of his breath as it coursed through his lungs.
Raking a hand through his damp hair, he went to the only window his room provided and squinted against the harsh light of day as he pushed the dusty curtain aside. The morning was still new, but already the street below was a bustling hive of activity filled with horses and carts and people hurrying this way and that. Had he known the village was going to be so damn busy he never would have paid for two weeks’ worth of lodging in advance.
No.
That was a lie.
Blearily closing his eyes, Hugh rested his head against the window frame. It was not the villagers that were the problem. It was her and had he known she was going to be here he would have ridden straight through Blooming Glen and never looked back.
Temperance Swan.
His breath still quickened at the memory of her mouth pressed against his mouth…her body writhing against his body…her hips mindlessly thrusting against his hips…
Hell.
Glancing down at the towel, Hugh grimaced when he realized it had tented away from his body. His cock had grown hard just thinking of their kiss, proving he was still no closer to forgetting her than he had been a week ago when he’d vowed to erase her from his mind entirely. Unfortunately Temperance was not the sort of woman a man could simply forget and his failure mocked him as he rubbed a hand down his pulsing length before dropping the towel and stepping into a pair of trousers. Leaving them unbuttoned, he returned to the window, hooded gaze studying the movements of the people on the other side of the dingy glass more out of habit than necessity. All in all, the villagers were painfully consistent with their routines. He may not have known their names, but he knew their habits.
Every morning at half past eight the baker opened his shop. A woman with a plum colored hat was always his first customer. She carried an empty basket in and a full basket out, its contents tucked beneath a piece of roughly cut burlap. By nine a line developed that wrapped all the way around the corner, and that was usually when Hugh’s interest waned. What use did he have for people buying bread? He wasn’t looking for the ordinary, but rather for someone – or something – that stuck out, like a dark crow in a flock of white doves.<
br />
He still had no hard evidence that Frederick had followed him across the Atlantic, but there was a needling at the back of his neck that would not cease. He may not have been able to pinpoint exactly what it was, but he felt as though something were amiss and having ignored his gut instinct for far too long he had no intention of forgoing it now.
A hooded feminine figure walking swiftly across the grassy town square caught his attention. Eyes narrowing in concentration, he studied the woman’s languid movements as she cut a path directly towards the inn. An oversized blue cloak – the color of which most closely resembled a stormy sea – covered her body and whether by incident or design the hood of the cloak completely concealed her countenance from view.
Without warning a cart carrying jugs of milk pulled in front of the woman, forcing her to stop. For an instant the hood slipped back, revealing an eclipsed shadow of her jawline and a single brown curl that gleamed like copper in the glimmering sunlight.
“Bloody hell,” Hugh growled, using a curse he’d heard uttered time and time again when the hour was late and the ale was freely flowing.
As though she had somehow heard him Temperance lifted her head and through the dingy glass and across the crowded street their gazes met. Hugh swore again and yanked the curtain closed with a hard snap, but it was too late. She had already seen him, and he’d seen the catlike smile of triumph curving her lips.
So the brown-eyed witch had found him. A considerable feat, given that he had taken great pains to remain anonymous. But then he had not considered how devious women could be, nor how loosely tongues wagged in a small community.
He should have left the night of the festival. Should have taken his worthless wares and gone to some other town, some other village. Standing in the shadows with the curtains drawn closed and his breath rabbiting out of his flared nostrils Hugh wondered why he hadn’t. There was nothing keeping him here. Nothing tying him to his spot. No obligations demanding to be met before he moved on. So why had he stayed?
If he was truthful with himself, the answer was a simple one.
Her.
He had stayed because of her.
And now he would be leaving for the same reason.
In a violent flash of movement Hugh began to gather his meager possessions. Like a man gone mad he whipped through the room like a tempest, throwing shirts, shoes, hats, and wrinkled trousers all together in a drawstring sack. He had the sack slung over his shoulder and one hand on the doorknob when he happened to glance over his shoulder and catch a glimpse of his reflection in the mirror hanging above the washbasin. The mirror was old and cracked, but it still managed to catch the glint of crazed wildness in Hugh’s eyes. With a muttered curse he dropped the sack and raked both hands through his damp hair, twisting the ends around his fingertips until the pain helped center him.
What was he doing?
Running, like a thief into the night.
Because of a woman?
Absurd.
Once there would have been a time when Hugh would have walked out the door not to run from Temperance, but to welcome her with a sly wink and wandering hands. He would have swept her into his arms and set her down on his bed as though she were made of the most delicate glass before opening the curtains so he could study the reflection of sunlight on her smooth ivory skin. He would have taken his clothes off, not in a rush, but with slow methodic precision. And when he went to her she would not have pushed him away, but gathered him close as though he were the very air she needed to survive.
With a heavy feeling in his chest Hugh sat on the edge of the mattress. It groaned beneath his weight as what was left of the iron springs compressed and flattened, releasing the musty scent of horse hair and straw into the air. It was time he admitted to himself that Aileen had harmed him more in life than she had in death. How many nights had he stood outside her bedroom chamber, waiting to be let in to a room that was his by right? And how many nights had she allowed him inside, only to turn to ice beneath his hands? Cold. Unfeeling. Frigid as the winter winds whipping across frost bitten fields.
He had thought then – and a part of him still did now – that it had been his fault she’d turned from him only to find comfort in another man’s arms. He was not good enough for her. His bloodlines were not pure enough. The salary he brought in grinding his fingers to the bone every day at the local saw mill was not large enough. And no matter how hard he tried, no matter how much blood and sweat he shed, he could never make himself more than what he was: a common man destined for common things.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
The sound of knuckles striking wood lifted Hugh’s head and brought a scowl to his face. No one had dared come to his door since he’d arrived, and he knew of only one person who would have the audacity to do so now. A knot of tension drew his shoulders back as he considered what to do. He had known Temperance was brazen, but he hadn’t thought her so stupidly foolish as to march into an inn of ill-repute, demand to know what room he was in, and proceed to knock on his door. He knew there was no chaperone with her, just as he knew she was risking her reputation by being within twenty feet of him.
She may have kissed like a siren, but he knew the look of a well-bred lady when he saw one. If Temperance was a trollop as she’d alluded to than he was a duke. And even though he wanted to let her inside – wanted it more than he should have – he was going to be damned if he made the same mistake all over again. Women like Aileen and Temperance were not for men like him. It was as simple as that.
“No one is here,” he barked. “Go the hell away.” The knocking abruptly ceased, but before Hugh’s stiff muscles could unravel Temperance’s amused voice cut through the door like a hot knife sliding through butter.
“That was a silly thing to say. Now I know for certain that you are in there.”
He stood up. “It doesn’t make a damn bit of difference whether I am in here or not. This is my room, and you’re not welcome in it.”
“Really?” she cooed. “That is not what the inn keeper said.”
To Hugh’s disbelief he heard the sharp scrape of a key sliding into a lock and then the door opened to reveal Temperance standing on the other side of it, lips curved in a smug grin that made him want to gnash his teeth together and yank her against him all at the same time.
Ignoring his glower of unwelcome, she stepped into the room and nudged the door closed with the heel of her walking boot. Never letting her gaze leave his, even for a moment, she slowly untied the ribbons that held her cloak together. All at once it tumbled from her body in a ripple of fabric, revealing the snugly fitting spencer jacket and pale yellow dress she wore beneath.
The spencer jacket was unbuttoned at the top, revealing the tiniest glimpse of creamy white flesh. Her hair was neatly pinned beneath a jauntily tilted hat with a quail feather protruding from one side. Tiny pearl studs dangled from each ear and a simple pearl choker encircled her slender throat, drawing Hugh’s eyes to the subtle swell of her breasts. With a growl of annoyance at his own weakness, he forced his gaze to lift.
Staring at him with a woman’s sultry amusement, Temperance’s mouth curved. “Like what you see?” Dappled sunlight caught the side of her face as she stepped forward, illuminating the roses-and-cream perfection of her petal soft skin. Having traced the sharp edge of her jaw once Hugh yearned to do so again. Thankfully, his head was stronger than his heart.
She is not for you, he reminded himself fiercely. Nor will she ever be. Remember that, or risk being played the fool all over again.
He may not have known what game Temperance was playing, but he did know he wanted no part of it. Watching her as though she were a witch who might cast a curse at any moment, he kept his distance, legs firmly braced and arms like steel beams at his sides. “What are you doing here?”
“I could ask you the same thing.” A loose tendril slithered across her cheek as her head canted to the side. “The fair ended nearly a week ago.”
“And?” he chal
lenged. “I am a free man. I can go – or stay – wherever I please.”
“Are you now?” Slowly removing one lace glove and then the other to reveal long, elegant fingers with smoothly polished nails, she crossed her arms below her breasts and lifted a dark brow. “And here I thought you were a gypsy, hell bent on traveling the road less taken. Tell me, Mr. Jacobson, what about this small, insignificant village has so enraptured you that you’ve been unable to leave?”
With all the friendliness of a bear woken from its hibernation he growled, “That is none of your damn business.”
“You see, that is where I believe you’re wrong, Mr. Jacobson.” Temperance’s fingertip sank into her thick bottom lip. “I think it is my business, just as I think I have something to do with the reason why you are still sleeping on that poor excuse of a mattress instead of running unsuspecting young women off the road.”
Were they back to that again? The damn woman was like a dog with a bone. “For the last time, I did not run you over.” To enunciate his point he stepped forward, leaning his weight into the balls of his feet and looming over her svelte frame. “You went flapping your arms in the middle of the road like a wingless bird and nearly got yourself killed in the process.” His eyes narrowed. “Had you managed to do so your death would not be on my conscious.”
Like Aileen’s.
He may not have been the one responsible for leaving dark purple bruises on his wife’s throat, but he felt the weight of blame nonetheless. It had followed him from Boston to London, trailing after him like a dark, sinuous shadow he could not shake.
“I did not look like a wingless bird,” Temperance scoffed.
“You’re right. More like a drowned rat.”
“Oh!” She glared up at him; a tiny swallow facing off against a surly hawk. “I had forgotten what a rude, obnoxious cad you were. But I did not come here to argue.”
Taming Temperance Page 5