A Sinful Temptation

by Kelly Boyce

  “I do not know. There is no indication other than she stayed at Braemore during her confinement and left me with the Bowens upon my birth. I suspect my imminent arrival was neither planned nor happily anticipated.”

  “You mean to say you are—”

  She stopped and he filled in the rest. “A bastard. It would seem so.”

  “Oh, Marcus.” She turned her hand and curled her fingers into his. He relished the idea that despite what she had learned she still touched him, she hadn’t turned away.

  “I have told no one,” he said. His conversation with Lady Ellesmere did not seem worth bringing up. It had yielded nothing but hurt feelings and tension.

  She nodded. “I shall keep your confidence.” An expression crossed her pretty features and he could see her mind working behind her silvery eyes. They widened as whatever she puzzled over bore fruit. She leaned back in her chair, her fingers sliding away, leaving him cold. He wanted to grab her, bring he back, but something about what he saw in her expression stayed his actions. “The watch.”

  He pursed his lips. Damnation.

  “It arrived at the same time, didn’t it? It was on the table the first time I saw you with the journal.”

  He nodded, but said nothing else. He had not anticipated her making the connection and now wished he had left the matter alone, that she would do the same. He should have known better.

  “It bore the Walkerton crest.”

  “It did.”

  “But you insisted that it wasn’t the Walkerton crest.”

  “I had hoped you were wrong.”

  He hadn’t wanted to believe it. Shied away from the truth of it the same way he avoided reading the journal in one sitting. As if by prolonging truth’s delivery, he could circumvent it somehow. Make it not true. He realized now he could not. He’d quickly skimmed through the journal to its end, looking for some hint of his mother’s identity. None existed. Disappointed, he’d gone back and begun to read it through more thoroughly, hoping to find a small detail that would point him in the right direction.

  “But I wasn’t.”

  “No. Mr. Cosgrove confirmed it. He was a former employee of the Walkerton estate.”

  When she spoke next the words were barely a whisper. “Do you believe you may be Walkerton’s—”

  She stopped, but the word she’d left unspoken hung in the gaping silence.

  Bastard.

  “It’s possible.”

  “But if that is true, that would make you and Lord Selward—”

  “Blood.” He would not deem to call the man brother. It took more than a common father to make such a claim. “Perhaps.”

  “I must go.” She rose from the chair in one swift motion but Marcus joined her at a much slower pace, his body had aged a decade in the few moments since he’d revealed his truth to her. “It is improper for me to be here.”

  That she had just reached that conclusion spoke volumes. She had been fine sitting alone with him in his study when he was the son of Mary and Edmore Bowen. But now that he was a bastard, things were different.

  The daughter of an earl did not maintain close associations with bastards.

  He wasn’t sure what he had expected when he told her, but the pain in his heart made it clear, it hadn’t been this.

  “Rebecca—”

  She shook her head, cutting him off. “Will you give Caelie and Huntsleigh the news? I had planned to stay, but I forgot I must—” She backed out of the room, away from him, away from the truth as if it could be so easily avoided. He should have warned her it could not be, but it hardly mattered now. She would figure it out in time.

  “Very well then.” He did not follow her. His limbs declined to move and his pride refused to beg her to stay. It was better this way.

  “We will speak later,” she offered, but he would not hold her to it. She didn’t mean it anyway.

  He forced a smile and tried to ignore how his heart tore out of his chest and went with her when she left. It hardly mattered.

  He wouldn’t need it any time soon.

  Chapter Thirteen

  For a dinner meant to celebrate the happy occasion of the newest addition to the Sheridan and Laytham family, the affair held a distinctly subdued air about it. Despite the smiles and chatter amongst the guests, a thin line of tension wound around the table, threading its way around Marcus at one end of the table, until it found Rebecca at the other. He had not looked at her or acknowledged her in any way outside of a nod of greeting when she entered the drawing room before dinner was served.

  If any of the other guests noticed, no one said as much. In truth, most of them appeared untouched by the unease. Mother and Caelie discussed names they thought might be appropriate for the new little lord, and the upcoming party Mother put on every year at Sheridan Park, while Lord Ellesmere and Huntsleigh spoke of estate business, with Marcus joining in occasionally if asked a direct question. Lady Ellesmere had been uncharacteristically quiet, but as she had been indisposed the other day when Rebecca stopped by with the news, she suspected the marchioness continued to feel a bit under the weather.

  She had yet to speak to Marcus since he revealed the truth of his parentage to her. Over the past several days she had wanted to, to explain her hasty departure, but the words failed her. His news had taken her world and turned it upside down.

  Walkerton’s bastard son.

  Was it even possible? And if so…

  If so, she could not marry Selward.

  How could she? The prospect had proved difficult enough knowing another had engaged her heart, but to discover that person was Selward’s own brother?

  She shook her head. No. She could not marry one man knowing in her heart it was his brother she wanted. She could not endure Selward’s touch or his kiss, when it was the touch and kiss of his brother she longed for. Dreamed of.

  The torment would be too great. The remorse suffocating.

  She could not marry Selward. And if she could not marry Selward then all was lost. She and Mother would lose everything.

  Rebecca glanced across the table where Mother’s pretty face sparkled as she discussed the impending visit with her first grandson. How happy she looked. How long she had waited to be so. How much she had suffered and lost to reach this point.

  Rebecca bit down against the guilt that rushed up her throat and lodged there, a solid lump of unshed tears. If Marcus was Selward’s brother, all of the effort she had put into currying Selward’s favor had been for naught.

  Then what? With no significant dowry to bring to the marriage mart, where would that leave her? Would she grow old alone? Nothing more than a spinster aunt with no family of her own? Or worse, be forced to marry whatever lord would accept the paltry dowry she offered?

  Neither prospect painted a very rosy future.

  She needed to speak with Marcus. Perhaps he was wrong. Perhaps he was mistaken in his association with Lord Walkerton. Maybe the watch had come into his mother’s possession in a much different way than they assumed. And if not, she at least needed to apologize and explain why she had left so quickly.

  If only she could find the words.

  She pursed her lips. No, she had found the words, but the reasons for why she’d left opened a Pandora’s Box—they had so far managed to dance around. To admit the reasons aloud—that her feelings for him had grown to such a degree they overshadowed everything else—meant to give voice to her heart.

  She had requested help in fully captivating Lord Selward’s attentions because she trusted him. She should have known better. For as trustworthy as Marcus was, such a trait proved no competition for her own feelings.

  Feelings rekindled over the past week until they raged like a wildfire out of control. The more she tried to douse them, the brighter they burned. The touch of his lips upon her own set off a lightning bolt of sensation shooting through her until she could barely remember her own name. In the span of a week, sensible, stable Marcus Bowen had become something else entirely. H
e had turned into the pirate king of her childhood dreams and whisked her so far out onto rocky seas she could not find her way back.

  And now, because of that, her carefully laid out plans to marry Lord Selward—a plan painstakingly devised and implemented—lay in ruins at her feet.

  She could not marry Marcus’s brother.

  Perhaps he realized this too. Perhaps that was why he had yet to speak to her, or look her way despite the numerous times she’d attempted to catch his gaze through dinner and convey with a look her regret at leaving so abruptly when he’d delivered the news.

  What she had wanted to do was the complete opposite. She had wanted to take him into her arms, to offer him the comfort he had so obviously needed. To hold him as he had held her when Father’s passing and the reading of the will left her overwhelmed with grief. She wanted to kiss him. Touch him. Convey with her body what words failed to express.

  Rebecca quickly shoved a forkful of roasted chicken covered in egg sauce into her mouth to distract her thoughts. This wouldn’t do. Perhaps Father was correct and passion was nothing more than a road to ruin. Had it not wrecked havoc upon Mother and Father? And Nicholas? Had giving into her passion for Marcus not destroyed all her hopes for saving her and Mother from becoming nothing more but impoverished relatives?

  She could not give into temptation. If she and Marcus married, she would lose everything. Mother would lose everything. Marcus was a man of business and successful in his own right, but surely he would expect to marry to improve his position and if she lost everything, she would have nothing to offer him. No dowry, no land holdings, no estates. All of it would go to Father’s mistress.

  Why, even if he married one of the Caldwell girls he would receive more than she could bring to a marriage. She stabbed another piece of chicken and left it to hover on her fork. Was it right to rob him of such an opportunity to better himself? To have all that he deserved?

  No. Her shoulders drooped.

  She would apologize to him and offer to help him get to the bottom of the mystery involving his parentage. Perhaps they may discover he was not Lord Selward’s brother after all, and all this worry will have been for naught. She could marry Lord Selward, secure her and Mother’s future and put away any thoughts the sinful temptation Marcus’s heady kisses elicited.

  Yes. A very sound plan. She would seek Marcus out, make amends for her behavior and offer him whatever assistance she could to get to the truth.

  No more wayward daydreams.

  No more desiring what she could not have.

  No more kisses.

  Her frown deepened.

  “Is the roast chicken not to your liking, or are you having an argument inside of your head that you’re on the losing side of?”

  Rebecca turned to her right where Benedict Laytham, Abigail’s older brother and the new Earl of Glenmor sat looking down at her, an amused grin on his face. He’d kept his voice low and for her ears only. A fact she was more than grateful for since his perception hit the mark with deadly accuracy. A blush burst forth and burned her cheeks.

  “Ah, the latter then,” he said and smiled until the corners of his slate blue eyes crinkled in amusement.

  “Forgive me,” she said. “I haven’t been the best dinner companion, have I?”

  “You have been splendid company. You’ve allowed me to eat my meal in peace without having to attempt banal conversation about the weather or listen to a long dissertation on the hat Lady Engraine wore to the park.”

  “Did she wear a hat worthy of a long dissertation?”

  “I cannot say. You have been quite silent on the matter, so I am left in the dark.”

  Rebecca laughed, thankful for Glenmor’s diversion. Her thoughts had become dangerously tangled and rather dismal. He’d diverted them with expert ease. Abigail’s older brother was a fine addition to their family circle. He possessed the steady nature of Marcus, yet the charm and quick wit of Huntsleigh.

  If not for the crushing debt and hideous scandal left in the wake of his uncle’s death, she suspected he would have every marriage-minded mama in society hot on his heels in the hopes he would pay their daughters attention and offer a proposal. Not that it would matter if they were. According to Abigail, her brother was far too busy restoring the family finances to pay much attention to courting anyone.

  She had considered him after Father’s will had been read, but it went no farther than a thought. Though handsome and engaging, she thought of him as a brother and it seemed rather mercenary to marry him knowing she only did so to save herself and Mother. She would not do that to a man she held in such high regard. He deserved better.

  “Are you excited about being an uncle, Glenmor?”

  “Indeed, I am,” he said. “It does my heart good to see both Abigail and Caelie settled and happy. I have grand plans to spoil the new lad to an embarrassing degree.”

  Rebecca laughed and for the first time that evening, Marcus’s gaze slid in her direction, though it rested only briefly on her before returning to the food on his plate.

  “Ah, well you may have to wait in line behind me, as those are my plans as well.”

  “He shall not lack for attention then. Now tell me, despite this happy occasion, have you noticed anything odd about the dinner tonight?”

  Rebecca stared down at her plate. “Odd?”

  “Indeed. It seems to me certain individuals who can usually be counted on to contribute to the conversation are unusually quiet.”

  “Individuals?” Her gaze skimmed over Marcus and fell upon Lady Ellesmere, who kept her head bowed over her plate, her usually warm expression pulled tight.

  “Strange, wouldn’t you agree?” Benedict asked, inclining his head in Lady Ellesmere’s direction.

  “Indeed, it is.” Her gaze bounced from Marcus to Lady Ellesmere and back. Both shared the same insular demeanor on what should have been a most happy occasion. The marchioness had barely spoken at all and when she had, her manner lacked the usually boisterous nature one expected from her. Was she feeling ill, or was it something else?

  “I think between the two of them,” Benedict said, “You could fit the number of words they have spoken this evening in your pocket and still have room for more.”

  Rebecca nodded in agreement. Was it possible Marcus’s behavior had nothing to do with how they had left things?

  “I heard Mr. Bowen plans on rejecting Lord Franklyn’s offer. Perhaps Lady Ellesmere disagrees with this decision,” Glenmor said, reaching for the wine in front of his plate.

  “Lord Franklyn’s offer?”

  Glenmor’s brows snapped together. “You do not know?”

  She shook her head. What possible offer could Lord Franklyn have made to Marcus?

  “Ah. Well, it seems Lord Franklyn has offered our Mr. Bowen Northill Hall in reward for having saved Lady Franklyn’s life, but Huntsleigh indicates he plans to refuse it.”

  Her mind whirled with the news and what it meant for Marcus. He would be a landowner in his own right. “Northill Hall is a prime piece of land. Why would he refuse?”

  Glenmor shrugged. “Bowen is a proud man used to making his own way. Perhaps he feels accepting such a gift too much.”

  “And you don’t agree?”

  “I do not. He more than earned it with what he went through. But he did not ask my counsel on the matter and it is not my place to give it otherwise.”

  “Should I speak to him?” Rebecca whispered, more to herself than to Glenmor, though he answered regardless, not knowing the difference.

  “Do you think you could sway him to sound reasoning?”

  She chose not to answer given when they were together neither of them displayed anything resembling sound reasoning. Heat returned to her cheeks.

  “You’re blushing again,” Glenmor said as he bent his head to take a bite of the braised carrots.

  “Oh, hush!” She nudged the new earl with her foot beneath the table, but her thoughts had returned to his question. Should she sp
eak to Marcus on the matter? If he were to accept, would it change things for them? Did he even want them to? Either way—giving up such a boon as Northill Hall, well, it was nothing short of ludicrous.

  She needed to speak with him. To clear the air and set things right between them, and now, to also convince him to accept Northill Hall, to not let pride stand in the way of getting what he deserved.

  It was well after dinner finished and the men and women separated then gathered together again before she was able to steal away. Marcus had not returned with the rest of the gentlemen. She went to his study first, but he was not there. After a few minutes, she found him on the small balcony off the library.

  “Marcus?”

  He turned slightly, his brow furrowed as if she had caught him in the middle of an unpleasant thought. “You shouldn’t be out here.”

  She didn’t answer right away. Mostly because she had the sense he was right. Being this close to him altered things. Made it difficult to think clearly. She wished it didn’t, but she could not ignore the memory of being held in his arms. The strength, the sense of safety found there. She could still taste him; feel his length pressed against her. As much as she tried to set her desires aside, they refused to be ignored. Being near him made her head swim and put her emotions in turmoil.

  She wrapped her shawl more tightly around her shoulders, as if it could block out the confusion his closeness created.

  “I wanted to apologize. For leaving so abruptly the other day.”

  His attention left her and he stared at the flowers in the planter in front of him. She followed his gaze. There was not much to see. The blossoms had curled into themselves, protection against the night. A shame people were not afforded the same skill. She should like to use it right about now.

  “I believe you made your feelings on the matter quite clear.”

  She hung her head at the curtness in his tone. She had hurt him. The realization cut through her.

  “I am sorry for the way I behaved. I should not have left. It is just that your news surprised me and—”

  “You do not need to explain.”