Tempt the Devil

by Anna Campbell

  He turned on his heel and marched toward the door. Her hand dropped disconsolately to her side. He reached for the door handle then paused. And paused.

  He kept his back to her but she didn’t need to see his face to know he waited for her to call him. Impetuous offers of compromise rose in her throat but she closed her mouth against them. Iron will shackled her and refused to offer the concessions her breaking heart longed to make. She choked on the harrowing desolation.

  After another second of charged silence, he turned the door knob and stalked out into the hallway. She heard murmured voices outside. It sounded as if Kylemore had indeed waited for them.

  Acrid shame overwhelmed her. For all her brave words, she’d acted like a whore. For all her brave defiance, she was alone and lonely and desperately wanted Erith’s arms around her to keep the cold away.

  His arms would never hold her again.

  Soraya appeared in the doorway and her face convulsed with compassion. “Oh, my dear.”

  “The earl has gone?”

  “Yes.”

  She forced the pathetic lie to her lips even as a jagged rift opened inside her. “I’m glad.”

  “Oh, Olivia. You don’t need to pretend.” Soraya rushed to her side.

  A strangled sob caught in Olivia’s throat. “Yes, I do.”

  The sob escaped and she began to cry in deep, ugly gasps. The world shrank to a wilderness of overwhelming pain. She hardly felt Soraya take her in her arms or heard her whisper meaningless comfort.

  Chapter 29

  Olivia hefted the heavy pail through the kitchen door and flung the dirty water on the pink rosebush that climbed up the side of her neat whitewashed cottage. This fine August evening, the flowers’ sweet scent drifted on the air like a benediction.

  She straightened with a tired grunt and glanced vaguely down toward the estate’s imposing wrought-iron gates. A man on a large gray horse cantered up the lime tree-lined drive. The long rays of the lowering sun lit the rider and his mount to gold.

  Her heart launched into a veering race. Her hand tightened on the pail’s handle until the knuckles shone white. The breath jammed in her taut throat. Quivering with a wild mixture of nerves and excitement and dismay, she waited.

  “Lord Erith,” she said with artificial calmness when he was within hailing distance.

  Because of course it was Julian. The confident easy seat on the horse, the height in the saddle, the rakish angle at which he wore his hat identified him, even before she saw his face.

  She knew he’d look for her after that unequivocal demonstration of mutual passion and a good-bye he wouldn’t accept as final. When she first sought refuge here, she spent every minute on tenterhooks, expecting him to gallop up like the hero of a poem and fling her across his saddle. But days had turned into weeks and he hadn’t found her.

  Well, he’d found her now, God help her.

  Without smiling, he swept off his hat and bowed as if to a fine lady. “Olivia.”

  Her heart clenched as she remembered the last time they were together. When he transported her to heights of rapture she’d never imagined. And then abandoned her to unrelenting devastation.

  For a fraught moment the memory of that fiery encounter in the Duke of Kylemore’s library rose between them, honed and shining like a new blade.

  Deliberately, she broke the connection, clutching the empty wooden bucket before her as a barrier.

  What did he see when he looked at her? These days, very little remained of elegant, decadent Olivia Raines, glittering cynosure of the demimonde. After hours making preserves, she was humiliatingly aware that her faded linen frock and apron were stained and wrinkled. Her feet were shoved into rough work shoes. Her hands were callused from physical labor. Days in the garden had brought out the freckles she’d spent years trying to vanquish. Her mouth was sticky from tasting the jam.

  How she wished she didn’t give a fig what he thought. But before she could stop herself, she self-consciously raised a hand to smooth her disheveled hair. It was piled untidily away from her face and up from her neck. With the summer heat, stray strands clung to her damp throat and tickled her cheeks.

  She looked like a complete slattern, whereas he, as usual, was kitted out in the height of fashion. The dark blue coat and tan breeches fit to perfection. Even after the hot and dusty ride from London, his high boots gleamed and his neckcloth was crisp and snowy.

  The contrast between them couldn’t have been harsher. He was probably wondering what in heaven’s name he’d ever seen in her.

  She raised her chin and tried to summon defiance. But it was difficult when her heart pounded like a hammer and desperate uncertainty prickled at her skin.

  “What do you want?” she asked with a hint of hostility, although there was only one reason he could be here. To lure her back to his bed. Under his concentrated gaze, she shifted like a nervous filly. She fought an impulse to wipe her fruit-stained mouth like a street urchin.

  “You’ve led me a devil of a dance,” he said without heat.

  He looked relaxed, the hand holding his hat draped loosely over his thigh. The breeze played with his thick black hair. Beneath the sensual heaviness of his eyelids, his eyes gleamed bright silver.

  Tingling life returned to her veins. It was so unfair that he turned up without warning to shred the peace she’d fought to achieve. Except if she were honest, she’d admit she’d never found peace. Instead, she’d felt as if someone had ripped her heart from her chest and stamped on it over and over then flung it into an icy river.

  Damn Julian for finding her. The long, painful battle to forget him would only start again. A battle she’d been spectacularly losing, no matter how she tried. “Did the Kylemores tell you where I was?”

  She lived on the Duke of Kylemore’s Kent estate, inherited last year through an obscure cousin. After Erith had stormed out of their library, Soraya and her daunting husband offered her sanctuary here. Gratefully, she’d accepted the chance to hide away until she was ready to grapple with the world again. She couldn’t bear the idea of staying in London and running into Erith everywhere she went. Or worse, him besieging her with declarations of love that couldn’t heal the breach in her soul.

  His mouth flattened. “Eventually. But only after I’d worked it out for myself.”

  The smooth baritone vibrated right to her toes. For one lost moment she closed her eyes and remembered that voice whispering words of love.

  When she opened them again, his gaze held a knowing glint, as if he guessed the tenor of her thoughts.

  Of course he guessed. He’d known her so well, even if their affair had ended after a few short weeks.

  He went on as though that strange moment of shared perception had never existed. “I should have realized you’d be near Leo. I’m sure he’s told you I’ve gone to Wood End searching for you.”

  “No, he hasn’t said anything.” Leo had been a regular visitor to her cottage all summer. “He knows I’m his mother.”

  The gray gaze didn’t flicker. “I didn’t tell him.”

  “He said he’s always known.” She couldn’t help smiling. Now she didn’t have to lie, her relationship with her son held new depth and intimacy.

  “He’s a clever lad.”

  “You didn’t come here to talk about Leo.” She straightened and sent Erith a hard glare.

  She’d forgotten stern looks never got her far. He merely cocked one mocking eyebrow at her. “I’m happy to talk about Leo. I’m in no hurry.” The glint in his eyes grew more pronounced. “Although it’s a long dusty ride from London. Aren’t you going to ask me in? Offer me a drink?”

  “You usually don’t wait to be invited,” she said sourly.

  She so wanted to be angry, to hate him. But it was impossible when he sat upon his horse with that wicked gleam in his eyes. He looked like the answer to every desperate prayer she’d whispered through so many wretched, sleepless nights.

  “Perhaps I’ve learned some manners in
the long, dismal days since you left.”

  He didn’t sound like the days had been long and dismal. He sounded like he merely made social chat with a distant acquaintance. Then she looked at the dirt and sweat on the horse’s coat and remembered how far it was to London.

  “When did you find out where I was?” Although she already guessed.

  “This afternoon.”

  He must have galloped most of the way. It gave the lie to his casual act. He was used to hiding his feelings. So was she. For a brief brilliant moment they’d been honest with each other. But that moment had vanished forever.

  “Your horse must need a drink.” To hide the sharpness of her regret, she turned toward the pump and shoved her bucket under the spout with unnecessary violence.

  “By all means, care for the animal first,” he said with a trace of irony. She glanced up and noticed a tautness to his mouth that indicated he wasn’t quite as self-possessed as he wanted to appear. “Why didn’t Kylemore put you up in the manor?”

  She began to pump and a satisfying gush of water splashed into the bucket. “He wanted to but I didn’t feel that was right.”

  “My, you’re such a humble soul, aren’t you, Miss Raines?”

  She sent him a quelling look. “If you want more than your horse to receive refreshment, I’d guard your tongue.”

  “Or use it for something more enjoyable,” he murmured.

  She pretended not to hear, but a telltale flush rose at the reminder of what he’d done the last time they were alone. As they were alone now. Her maid had gone home for the day, and this house was isolated from the village.

  Ungraciously, she plunked the bucket under the horse’s nose. As the animal drank with noisy enthusiasm, she glowered up at Erith. “You may as well come in. It’s not as though I can keep you out.”

  “It’s not, is it?” He seemed completely unaffected by her prickly humor. Even the brief uncertainty she thought she’d marked had disappeared. With powerful grace that sent her heart into a careening sprint, he swung himself out of the saddle and slid down to stand next to her.

  She realized she poised stock-still, drawing his wonderful scent deep into her lungs. He smelled of horses and dust and fresh sweat and himself.

  He seemed in no rush to shift either. And still he stared at her. She started as though waking from a deep sleep. If she wasn’t careful, he’d know how appallingly vulnerable she was to him.

  Fool, of course he knows. That’s why he’s here.

  She’d had no idea how cruel love could be until Julian was lost to her forever. What painful joy it was to see him. Because nothing had changed. The air had a special charge and the light was brighter and she felt alive for the first time in months.

  How utterly tragic, how completely aggravating, that a man made her feel like this.

  “Come in.” She spoke in a stony tone. “There’s ale in the larder. And I suppose you’re hungry.”

  He sent her a soulful look from those devilish gray eyes as he pulled off his leather gloves. “It’s a long ride…”

  “From London. I know, you told me.” With a twitch of her skirts and a huffy sway of her hips, she marched toward the kitchen. “Then you can go on your way.”

  A single glance over her shoulder told her he hadn’t followed. He just stood near the horse, slapping his gloves idly on the side of his breeches. He formed a perfect picture of masculinity, God rot him.

  “Go where?” he asked gently.

  She paused on the doorstep and shot him a derisive glare. “Back to town. To Maidstone. To Dover. To Hades, for all I care.”

  “But it’s going to be dark soon. And Bey is tired. So am I. A kindhearted person would offer me a bed.”

  Her lips tightened with impatience. With him and with herself. How she wished she could remain immune to his humor. But she’d always been hopelessly susceptible to his teasing. “You’re too old for boyish charm to work, Erith.”

  “You used to call me Julian.”

  “Many things have changed since then. Are you coming in?”

  “With pleasure.”

  He drew the final word out, and she couldn’t block the reluctant anticipation that trickled down her spine. He’d said those very words the first night he came to York Street.

  Good Lord, she needed to put a cap on the insidious enchantment of memory or he’d have her flat on her back before she crossed the threshold. Not that she was averse to one last night of pleasure with the earl. But what would it achieve? She’d only be left lonely and longing again when he departed.

  She stepped through into the cool dimness of the flag-stoned kitchen. He followed her inside, and her perfectly adequate kitchen suddenly seemed cramped. Not just because he was a big man, tall and powerful. But because of the contained energy he exuded.

  “This is nice.” He sat without invitation on the window seat and looked around with unconcealed curiosity. The room was in chaos after her inept attempts at making jam. The air was sickly sweet with the smells of hot sugar and fruit. She tried not to mind but her pride revolted at the mess.

  She carried the jug of ale out of the larder and poured him a mug. She passed it to him, careful not to brush his fingers. “You think it’s shabby and mean.”

  “Thank you.” He accepted the drink and took a deep draft.

  She tried not to watch as his head bent back and his throat worked to swallow. He was such an overwhelmingly male presence. Alien in her feminine world. She tried to resent his invasion of her home. But her heart was too busy dancing with elation at having him so near.

  Poor, stupid heart.

  Poor, stupid Olivia.

  He lowered the mug and sent her a sharp look. “No, I don’t. I think it’s charming. But it’s not exactly how I imagined you living.”

  “You imagined I’d take another rich lover,” she said bitterly, although to be fair, what else would he think? It was the obvious route for London’s most notorious cyprian.

  His lips twisted in a smile that wasn’t a smile at all. “I know you better than that.”

  She slammed her hand hard down on the berry-strewn kitchen table, suddenly sick of this fencing. “You don’t know me at all, my lord. Please state your business and leave.”

  “I wanted to see you.” He slid the empty mug onto the table she’d just thumped. “I’ve sought you high and low since April.”

  She swung away and stared blindly into the hallway that led through the rest of the downstairs section. “There’s no point to this. I won’t come to Vienna as your mistress.”

  “Wait until you’re asked,” he said softly.

  She turned on him with a flash of temper. “Don’t pretend you’re not here to get me back. You flaunt a fine uncaring air but I can smell the desire on you.”

  He definitely wasn’t smiling now. “Of course I want you.”

  “It isn’t…” She paused. “You said you were going back to Vienna after Roma’s wedding in June.”

  “She didn’t marry Renton after all.” He raised one booted leg and linked his fingers around his knee. He might admit unrelenting hunger for her but his demeanor conveyed pure assurance. “I thought you’d have heard.”

  “Gossip doesn’t reach down here. And none of my London friends know where I am. Except Perry of course.”

  “Lying hound told me he didn’t know.”

  “I made him promise not to tell anyone. Especially you.”

  “Do you know the Duchess of Kylemore was safely delivered of a daughter in May?”

  “This is Kylemore’s estate. That sort of news doesn’t count as town tattle. Tell me about Roma.” Then a horrible thought briefly banished her barbed resentment. “The Rentons didn’t find out about her meeting me, did they? I swear I never intended her harm, Julian.” The name escaped before she could stop herself.

  If he said anything smug about her slip, she’d hit him with one of the large copper pans hanging above the range. But he didn’t seem to notice. Although she knew that of cou
rse he had. Those acute eyes and the even sharper brain behind them didn’t miss anything.

  “No. Roma’s visit to you remains secret, thank God. Although she’ll have a reputation as a jilt.”

  “She broke the engagement?” Olivia frowned in puzzlement. “You don’t sound very upset.”

  He shrugged. “The boy always struck me as a prig and a bore.”

  “Compared to you, he probably is,” she couldn’t help saying.

  He gave a short laugh. “A low blow, my love.” He ignored the killing scowl she shot him and continued. “She’s still so young. And immature even for her years. It was a brilliant alliance, but I’d rather she made a match with someone of similar spirit and intelligence. The more I got to know her and the more I saw of the stuffed shirt she attached herself to, it seemed an unequal pairing.”

  “I think she looked for someone to replace you. Someone to give her the family she felt you’d stolen from her.”

  How she’d missed talking to him like this. How she’d missed the vital reality of his physical presence. How she’d missed everything about him. Frantically, she threw up a barricade against the softness creeping into her heart. She had no future with this man. She had to remember that.

  A shadow of regret crossed his striking features. “Perhaps you’re right. She and I have become much better friends. Although she still rides like a bloody loaf of bread. Imagine a daughter of mine so inept in the saddle.”

  “The scandal of her rejecting Renton must have been awful. Is she all right?” Olivia hated to think of the girl suffering society’s disapproval.

  “All right?” A wry smile curved his lips. “She’s in the pink. And sporting a completely new wardrobe, all based on what you wore this season. You’ve become a rather powerful influence.”

  She sought and failed to find resentment in his voice. “You must hate that.”

  “Only because it reminds me you ran off. But then, I hardly need reminding of that.”