The Duke's Temptation

by Raven McAllan

  “My apologies. I’ve never offered anyone anything like this before. So, what is your answer?”

  “I’ll let you know when I’ve thought about it.”

  Her noncommittal answer was like a red rag to a bull. Inflammatory. “What is there to think about, woman? A simple yes or no will suffice.” He forced himself to unclench his hands and relax. “Please.”

  “Then no.” She stood up, shook out her skirts then shivered theatrically. “I should have brought my shawl. Perhaps we ought to make our way back? It’s getting cold.”

  It wasn’t, but Gibb was not about to argue. Why were things going so wrong?

  * * * *

  Two hours later Evangeline wished she had a glass of brandy in her hands, if only to stop them shaking.

  “Say that again,” Gibb said in a flat, dangerous voice. He’d removed his cravat and loosened his waistcoat in the manner he often did when they relaxed together. “Look me in the eyes and tell me once more what you have just said.” He paused and scrutinized her in such a way she wanted to crawl into a hole and stay there. “If you dare.”

  “I dare, for why should I not?” she said with more composure than she felt. Her heart thudded so hard it was a wonder it wasn’t heard in the room. “I think it is time we accepted we need to spend time apart. Not to be involved in any way. You, my lord, have been very kind but—”

  “Kind?”

  His roar was so loud she flinched. Thank goodness they were not at home. His shout would have brought servants—or Eloise—running thinking he was mortally wounded. To know they had any idea of her and Gibb’s true circumstances would be galling in the extreme. They might wonder, but they did not know. Even Eloise had no more than the bare facts.

  The grandfather clock in the hall chimed the hour and Evangeline jumped. This was not going as she had envisioned. She had anticipated he would be pleased she no longer needed his attention. How wrong could she be?

  “You think I’ve been kind,” he said in such an icy voice she flinched. “I offered you this house, a life without idiots annoying you and no need to earn your living by throwing knives at people and you dismiss it so. Thank you for nothing.” Gibb paced across the room and swung around to point at her in accusation. “All this time, summed up thus. Kind.” He made it sound as if it were a disease. Perhaps to him it was.

  “What else would you call it?” she replied and clenched her hands into fists. This was so much harder than she had anticipated. Nevertheless, it was all for the best. If she could get him to understand and let her cry in peace, she wouldn’t have to face the ignominy of telling him how she felt about him, and see him reject her emotions. “I appreciate you offering me this house.” And not putting any conditions on my occupancy. “You have helped me, given me backing and much more. I have lo…liked every moment. But… I’m sorry, Gibb, I cannot carry on as we are. As you insisted no emotions could be or would be involved, what else would you have me call it?” She held her breath. Had she misheard him?

  He inhaled long and hard. “I am not kind. I dare not do emotions. You know that.”

  “I know you choose not to,” Evangeline replied. “And I also know we cannot carry on as we are. Therefore I decided to say enough is enough. Time for us both to move on. Before we do anything we might regret.” Like taking you inside me and becoming yours in every way possible.

  Gibb rubbed his eyes. “You have it all planned out, don’t you? Then there is no more to be said. I’ll remove myself from your presence forthwith and…” He shook his head and thumped the bureau with one hard fist. A decanter and three glasses jumped up and tinkled as they rubbed together. He stared at them blankly and Evangeline forced herself not to move.

  It has to be done.

  “And?” she said, determine to be polite, even though she quaked inside.

  “And nothing, except stay at Cresswell for as long as you want. There are rooms furnished comfortably now. You could stay and enjoy them.”

  Before she had a chance to react Gibb spun on his heel and took the three steps necessary to reach her. She looked up at his dark eyes and winced at the pain she discerned. Her fault?

  “Hmm, now I think of it, there is one thing more. This.” Gibb grabbed her roughly by the shoulders and drew her into a long, hard, tongue-meshing kiss.

  Evangeline stood rigid for several seconds then let herself lean into him. If this was goodbye she’d enjoy it and think about later a long time later.

  She hardly had time. Gibb pulled back and looked at her with torment uppermost in his expression. “Damn you.” He stalked out and slammed the door behind him.

  Evangeline listened as his steps faded as he stomped along the corridor and the outer door banged with such force she could swear the building shook.

  He didn’t need to damn her, she was damned already.

  * * * *

  “I told you I’d remember who you reminded me of,” Julia said as, a week or so later, she passed a porcelain cup so fine you could almost see through it to Evangeline. The scent of bergamot which came from the tea teased Evangeline’s senses and made her mouth water. Good tea was not something she treated herself to very often. Good coffee, now, that was another matter. A day couldn’t start without coffee. Luckily Eloise thought the same and always had a supply she shared with Evangeline.

  “Someone in England?” Evangeline asked and hoped she didn’t sound as flustered and apprehensive as she felt. She sipped her tea and hoped the cup wouldn’t rattle as she rested it with care in the saucer. Her hands were not only shaking, but also clammy. Surreptitiously she wiped them on her skirts and accepted a tiny, fancy cake of marchpane. “To my knowledge I have no relatives here.” She crossed her fingers. After all, it wasn’t a total lie. She didn’t know. Only hoped and wondered.

  Lady Arthur finished her cake and dusted her hands together. “Right, my dear, this is the interesting part. You know I scratched my head over it all. I mean, I know a lot of people, and Bertie even more. We’re not exactly private people, we enjoy a good social life. And Bertie of course has all his political colleagues and card partners, hunt companions and so on. Between us we know most of the ton and its hangers-on. But could I think who it was?” Her eyes twinkled. “More tea?”

  “Oh yes, please.” Evangeline held out her cup and wondered when the other woman would get to the point. The summons—for it could be called nothing else—to come for tea had been unexpected. After all, not by any stretch of the imagination could they be considered to be equals. However, Evangeline knew she could not and did not want to refuse. So here she was in her best day dress, understated—she hoped—in its elegance, with an uneven pulse and goosebumps, a dry mouth and a hollow stomach, waiting to discover whom she was supposed to resemble.

  The journey to Julia’s had to Evangeline’s mind been unnerving. At every corner she’d looked for a certain dark head, for someone who walked like Gibb. Once she thought she saw him only to look into the face of a stranger. The sense of disappointment had been so deep she’d wondered if she had done the correct thing in sending him away. After all, she dreamed of him, awoke reaching for him, to find herself alone and in bed. She hadn’t heard his laugh, hadn’t felt his lips pressed to hers, hadn’t…

  “Now where was I?” Julia asked, and wrenched Evangeline’s mind back to the present as she replaced the teapot on its sculpted stand and settled down in her chair. “Ah yes, your almost-double. I say almost because, my dear,” she leaned forward in a dramatic fashion, “it is a man.” She sat back again. “What do you think of that?”

  “A man?” It was difficult, but Evangeline pushed Gibb to the back of her mind. Was this going to be the end of her quest? Or the beginning of another phase? “Do you now remember who?”

  “Of course I do, or why else would I have demanded you come today?” Julia asked in a pseudo-patient way. “I’m not so autocratic that I expect someone to drop everything and cede to my every whim immediately.” She laughed. “I tend to demand they appe
ar the next day.”

  Her humor was infectious, and even though she was too churned up to laugh, Evangeline had to smile. “Such forbearance,” she said and stopped short. Julia made it all too easy for Evangeline to forget her place. “I’m sorry, that was rude.”

  “Not at all,” Julia said. “Just truthful however you want to think differently. I have decided we are friends, and friends, my dear, do not stand on ceremony with each other.”

  “I’m a miller’s daughter.” Perhaps.

  Julia raised one eyebrow. “My father was an out-and-out rogue who, I believe, was happy to live his days out in the West Indies. Grandpapa was a slave trader and my great grandpapa a pirate so we won’t talk about our predecessors. I’m impatient by nature, and I can’t stand people who shilly-shally, and I’ve been guilty of that just now, haven’t I? No, don’t answer, it’s a rhetorical question. So, my dear, have you ever heard of Le Duc d’Astre?”

  Evangeline’s heart missed a beat and a sense of despair filled her. The name meant nothing. “No. Who is he, an émigré?”

  “Now that is the interesting thing. Oh—” She broke off and pushed the plate of cakes in Evangeline’s direction. “Do eat up or I’ll have to, because if I send them back the chef will sulk, and if you make me have any more Eloise will complain I’ve put on weight again and she’ll have to adjust my new ballgown. Now Iain d’Astre. What do you think of that for a name, eh?”

  Evangeline wondered what she was supposed to say? Attractive? Unusual? Horrible? “Er…” She rolled the name around in her mind. French and Scottish. “He is from a family who supports Le Vieille Alliance? The Old Alliance,” she elaborated as Julia looked at her blankly.

  “Ah yes, it seems so. Of course, Bertie said I must not question Iain, which seems somewhat unfair, because how else can we discover if he is a relative of yours? All I know is that his father was French and died during the revolution, and after some time, he—Iain, not his dead father—came to England with his mother. Which,” Julia rattled on cheerfully, “is another strange thing. Because Marie, his mother, has sadly passed on now, but she was from Scotland, so why on earth he chose to settle in Rutland is beyond my comprehension. So, what do you think?”

  All that with scarcely a breath. How on earth did she do it? Evangeline felt lightheaded just listening to her. “What made you remember?” It was the one thing Evangeline could think to say.

  “Because I saw him,” Julia said, as if her answer was a foregone conclusion. “And thought immediately he was a masculine version of you. Or should that be you are a feminine version of him? Whichever, you look alike. Same eyes and brows, same nose. Almost, for his is bigger of course. You even quirk your lips in a similar manner, except your eyes are sad. What has happened? Do I need to give Gibb Alford a piece of my mind?”

  She looked like a fierce sparrow. Even though she didn’t want to, Evangeline smiled. “No, it is not his fault, it is mine. I,” she hesitated, “I felt too much, Julia, and he is adamant he feels nothing. Rather than make him undergo the pain of thinking he had let me down, I chose to end our…to be honest I’m not sure what you would call it…friendship…on his part, which could have developed into heartache on mine.”

  “And it hurts,” Julia said shrewdly.

  “Oh yes it hurts,” Evangeline said as a rush of pain flooded through her. “But it will pass, I’ll make it so. Right.” She took a deep breath. “Le Duc d’Astre?”

  “Your little finger bends in the same place.”

  She’s even noticed my little finger? How odd. The digit in question had a definite kink above the knuckle.

  “So strange to see all your characteristics in him and his in you,” Julia said. “I was aching to find out more.”

  “You saw him?” Black spots danced in front of her eyes. Was she going to faint? Please not, it would be so embarrassing and not at all helpful. He was here? He might hold the secrets to her past.

  “Most definitely I saw him. That was how I remembered. I say, are you all right? You’ve gone the most peculiar color.” Julia patted her cheek. “Drink some tea.” She held the cup up to Evangeline’s mouth.

  Evangeline took it from her, noted her hands were almost steady again, sipped the lukewarm contents. It was liquid and moistened her tongue, that was all that mattered. “It’s warm in here,” she said lamely. “I felt overheated for a second. I’m fine now.”

  “Hmm, I’m not so sure. I’ll open the window.” Julia strode across the room and suited her actions to her words. “There now, that’s better. So you don’t know Iain? Or of him?”

  Evangeline shook her head.

  “What a pity. I’d wager my pin money you’re related. Now let’s see how we can discover just how.” Julia sat back in her chair and looked deep in thought. Then she blinked and clapped her hands. “I have it.”

  It was as well someone did, Evangeline decided, because she was totally at sea. “As in?” she asked with caution.

  “As in how you two can accidentally meet. You always wanted to be my companion, didn’t you?”

  “I did?”

  “Of course you did. Because tomorrow afternoon we are going for a stroll in the park, and oh my what a coincidence we will just happen to be walking past the end of St. James, not up it, so don’t worry, we are not going to be scandalous, when Bertie and Ian are off to their club. I know for a fact they’re at Tattersall’s earlier, and that is another place we can’t go to. So subterfuge will be the order of the day. What do you say to that?”

  “Do you ever draw breath as you speak?”

  Julia roared with laughter. “Not often, no, or I forget my thread. Are you up for it?”

  It sounded plausible except for one thing. “No one will believe I’m your companion.” Which was a pity, because now the butterflies in her stomach were of the excited variety.

  “They will, you know,” Julia said. “For some strange reason people accept everything I do or say at face value. You did tell me you have no engagements over the next week or so, didn’t you?”

  Evangeline nodded. There seemed to be a lull in bookings before they picked up again and she had done nothing to find any more. She’d mentioned it to Julia when that lady had asked her how her occupation was progressing.

  “Then that works perfectly. You do want to discover if you and Iain are related, don’t you?” Julia asked, in a cajoling manner. “Because I do.”

  * * * *

  The long ride north should have helped Gibb come to terms with Evangeline’s frank demand. After all, what else could he do but check he was headed in the correct direction—he was. Make sure his horse didn’t overexert himself—it didn’t. And think about recent events. That he did a lot of.

  The first day, it was late by the time he left the capital. Even so, he made good progress, buoyed up by a sense of grievance he chose not to delve into. He spent the night in a comfortable inn, rested his horse and chose to go on with it the following day, rather than take a chance on one he was unaccustomed to. Then he’d swap to others and arrange for Challenger to be sent back to London.

  Sadly, from then on things went downhill fast. A combination of rain, sun and more rain had turned the Great North Road into a quagmire in places. Progress was slow. Boggy roads, horses that should be dog meat and not allowed on any public highway were thrust on him. Therefore instead of coming to terms with what in actuality was a very reasonable request by Evangeline, he brooded. In his mind it became anything but and festered. With the addition of two of his favorite inns regretful but unable to accommodate him, and nights spent in unaired beds with inferior food and drink, his unreasonable mood grew. When he at last crossed the border into his beloved Scotland several long riding days later it had become totally out of proportion. Now he accepted he was more irate than he had been at first. Why, oh why did she want him out of her life? What had he done to deserve such cavalier treatment? He’d tried to help her—had helped her—thought they were friends, then this.

  What hav
en’t you done? A nasty niggle invaded his brain and lodged there. He did his best to ignore the words that crawled over him like a snake on a mission. I told her no emotion. No reliance, nothing. Just friends. But what is a friend? Words and excuses, ideas and resolutions whirled around in his mind until by the time he’d got to within a good day’s ride of his beloved castle it was difficult to hold his head up and check his route. Cold winds, rain and sunshine, a late frost and he swore several flakes of snow, gave him all four seasons in half an hour as he let his weary horse climb the steep hill to a comfortable inn he used when he visited Edinburgh. If it was full he’d sleep in the stables.

  His luck held. It wasn’t and within the hour he slid under the water of a deep and steaming bath and sighed as his weary body relaxed. Had he done the right thing? True, he’d had to come north at some point, but he’d run like a sullen schoolboy thwarted for the first time then compounded everything by sulking.

  How childish. He was thoroughly ashamed of himself. After all, Evangeline had merely accomplished something he would have done himself before too long. Why am I so out of sorts about that? Gibb soaped his chest, ducked his head under the water and pulled himself into an upright position once more. He shook his head and watched droplets of water bounce off the surface of his bath, over the edge of the tub and onto the carpet.

  Why?

  Too much introspection made his head hurt. Or was that the sore throat and cough he’d developed? Whichever, Gibb got up from the bath in one fluid motion, toweled himself dry and drank a large dram as he dressed in his kilt—normal attire in his homeland—and adjusted his sporran. Lowlanders might think a sporran an unnecessary item of clothing, or even pretentious, but he chose to think differently. His sporran was old, worn, and held all his immediate needs on his travels, including a pistol.

  Not that he thought he’d need it in The Thistle, but old habits died hard. Gibb finished his dram and made his way downstairs to be greeted by McAra, the landlord, and shown to his favorite private parlor.