Twice the Temptation

by Beverley Kendall

  Three years after his father’s death, she’d married Mr. Templeton and had Patrick the year after. His stepfather had left the family comfortably off when he died. The money was gone in no time flat. That’s when his mother had married Mr. Fairchild, who’d been the second son of a baron. He’d moved to America at the age of twenty-two to make his fortune. He’d died three years after Lydia was born and over the next decade, his mother had dwindled down that fortune to almost nothing.

  At that time, the financial responsibility of his brother and sisters—and selfish mother—had landed on his shoulders with a resounding thud.

  “So you shall leave me to starve on the streets? For all your parsimonious ways, I never took you to be heartless.”

  Her attempt to undermine him with guilt had long been exhausted. His mother had been more than well cared for.

  “You will always have a roof over your head, food to eat and clothes on your back,” he replied coolly, unwilling to budge from his position even a little. “If you marry this one, make sure he has the means to keep you in the creature comforts to which you are so accustomed.”

  “You may have taken after your father in appearance but I can see you did not when it came to generosity,” she bit out in disgust.

  Ha! His father had obviously been blind to his mother’s faults—of which she had in abundance.

  “If that is all, mother, I must return to Reading.”

  “You will not dismiss me like some underling, Lucas, I am your mother.”

  Would that he could forget. Better yet, would that it wasn’t so.

  She stood and towered above him, hands akimbo. He countered and topped her easily by more than half a foot. He stared down into her spitting eyes and flushed face.

  “Do you believe me to be stupid?” Her voice was a soft hiss, calculating and dangerous. “I know what you were doing, paying those gentlemen not to marry me. Did you not think I would learn? That it wouldn’t slip somehow?”

  Lucas expressed only mild surprise at that. He had always wondered, though. But his mother had never said a word to him when the men had quietly disappeared from her life. He’d thought her own shame had kept her silent, that she’d been so wrong about their true feelings for her.

  He didn’t know what was worse, that she’d always known or that she’d always known but hadn’t said a word about it until now.

  “Then you must have known how little regard they had for you,” he stated unapologetically.

  Her eyes narrowed and her mouth twisted in a mocking smile. “I imagine it was just as I had for them that I would permit your machinations time and time again.”

  Lucas gritted his teeth not to issue a rebuttal. His mother was truly a manipulative woman. What had they done, split the proceeds and laughed uproariously while they frittered away every last penny?

  “But I’m a grown woman who’s already loved and lost in my life. I was never looking for love. But your brother was. Do you think he’ll ever forgive you when he discovers your deceit? What do you think he’ll say when he learns it was you who drove Miss Glenross away?” she asked softly, smugly, victory glittering in her eyes.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Lucas’s message arrived after Catherine had consumed a breakfast of bacon, poached eggs, and buttered toast. She fairly snatched it from the salver the footman held out to her and quickly repaired to the morning room to read it in private.

  Dearest Catherine,

  Nothing would have pleased me more than to have awakened in your bed this morning. Short of that, I intended to call on you this afternoon. Unfortunately, family matters have called me back to London. I expect to return by Friday, in time for the duke’s house party. Until then, I hope you will dream of me as you are never far from my thoughts.

  Your humble servant,

  Lucas

  Catherine dearly hoped nothing had happened to his sisters. But certainly if it had had something to do with their health or welfare, he would have said so in the letter. Of course he would, she thought with a reassuring nod to herself.

  She read the message again in a ridiculous hope that somehow it would say something different than it had the first time. But it did not. Lucas would not be calling on her today and the next time she would see him was at the house party.

  The house party.

  The thought of what was to come, how she would attempt to deceive and then seduce him pricked like a hummingbird’s beak at her conscience. The battle waging inside her mind escalated the closer it drew to the event.

  But she was doing this for them, for their future happiness. Shoving her gloomier thoughts aside, she lowered the letter to her lap and ran her fingertip under the first sentence.

  Nothing would have pleased me more than to have awakened in your bed this morning.

  She smiled, feeling positively giddy thinking about the prior night. Making love with Lucas had been so much more than she’d ever expected. The pleasure to be had at his hands was staggering. And the things he could do with his mouth and his hands—and dear Lord, his tongue—was positively sinful.

  The only blemish on her introduction to the true pleasures of the flesh had been her outburst. Where that had come from, she still couldn’t fully say. All she knew was that suddenly she looked down at her dishabille and had been mortified by her behavior. That she should allow herself to be taken in such a way, so very uncivilized and unrestrained. No regard had been given to her clothing—indeed the seam at the waist of her gown had been torn—and his trousers hadn’t made it past his knees. Only the pertinent parts of their bodies had been bared. Enough to do the deed.

  The doubts had hit her then. Had she been a virgin would he have taken more care with her, not have been so demanding? She imagined he would have stripped her of her gown and undergarments with the utmost care and made sweet but passionate love to her.

  But her own response clearly stated that she hadn’t wanted tender and gentle. She’d wanted him as wild as he’d been, as hard with his thrusts and as ravenous with his kisses.

  Time had permitted them to do it again in all their naked glory. The skin on skin contact had been exhilarating and he’d kissed her senseless and pleasured her to unconsciousness. He’d eventually slipped quietly from the house to meet his driver on the main road a half-mile away.

  She in turn had donned her nightclothes and crawled into her bed. She’d slept like a woman after a thorough ravishing and had awoken deliciously sore.

  Only now she was not to see him until the day after next. But that also meant she wouldn’t have to cry off from supper with Olivia and Meghan, which was what she had intended to do had Lucas remained.

  Catherine whiled the day away, spending part of it penning a letter to Amelia and her friend, Elizabeth Creswell, who was also expecting her third child at the end of the summer. She then took a trip out to the school construction site and was happy to see the windows in and the walls up in both buildings.

  After returning home, she’d bathed and had Esther redress her hair. For her gown, she chose a simple dinner dress of white muslin. Fuller at the shoulders, the sleeves tapered off at the wrist and the full skirt was scalloped at the edge. In her estimation, she looked perfectly presentable.

  When Catherine arrived at Winsgate, she was led to the parlor where she found Meghan waiting for their hostess to join them.

  “Ah, you did come. I thought perhaps your American had spirited you away,” Meghan said, giggling.

  “I do wish you would stop referring to him as my American. Luc—Mr. Beaumont does have a name. There is more to a man than his country origins,” she said mildly, pulling off her gloves.

  Meghan rose from her chair and advanced toward her. “Indeed? And just how much more to him is there, pray tell?” she asked, letting out a choked laugh.

  Catherine’s face heated. “You are completely incorrigible,” she scolded.

  “You know you love me just as I am, isn’t that so?” Meghan teased.

  “What
is taking Olivia so long?” Catherine had learned from experience that the duke’s chef—no one dared to refer to him as a cook, at least not in his presence—Monsieur Marceau was as strict about the time supper was served, as he was particular about the cut of meat he used to prepare the meal. He ran the kitchen as if the fate of the world depended on how succulent the game served and how empty the plates when they were returned to the kitchen. At present, the dinner bell would chime in five minutes.

  “I absolutely forbid you from changing the subject. You must tell me, when last have you seen your American? What happened when he escorted you home the night of the ball? Did he have his way with you?” she asked, her green eyes dancing.

  Catherine smiled and replied sotto voce, “Three times.”

  Just then, Olivia entered the room. Trailing behind her was her brother.

  Meghan, who’d been about to speak, immediately fell silent.

  “Look who is down from London?” Olivia announced, grinning up at him.

  Lord Granville caught Catherine’s gaze and bestowed on her one of his roguish smiles. His attention then went to Meghan and his smile disappeared just like that.

  “Good evening, ladies,” he said bending at the waist in a bow.

  “Good evening, Lord Granville.” Catherine said, dipping to a shallow curtsey.

  She sensed a moment of panic in Meghan before her mouth curved into a smile. “Lord Granville,” she said sweetly but she didn’t sound like herself at all.

  “I persuaded Rhys to join us for supper as Papa won’t be able to.”

  Lord Granville laughed wryly and shot a glance at his sister. “I don’t remember you needing to do that much convincing at all.”

  “That is right. It’s not every day you have the honor of our company.”

  “Yes, three very charming and beautiful women. I’m the envy of every man alive, I’m sure,” the earl replied, all mock sincerity.

  The dinner bell chimed.

  “Come, let us go. You know how Monsieur Marceau gets if we’re late.” Olivia turned and led the way.

  Rhys stepped back and gestured with his hand for them to precede him. Meghan was unusually silent on the walk to the second dining room.

  Catherine preferred this one to the principal one, which seated fifty people comfortably. The smaller one was no less ornate, the crystal chandelier no less brilliant but the room was a third the size, and the table was made for a party of twelve. And its cozier dimensions meant one didn’t have cause to shout to speak to the person sitting directly across from them.

  They were quickly seated, Rhys at the head, Olivia to his left and Catherine and Meghan on his right. The first course, a hearty vermicelli soup, came at once, the main course not very long after. Apparently they were all ravenous.

  Conversation did not commence in earnest until Olivia turned to her brother and asked, “Is it true, Rhys, that you have finally settled on a bride? Papa hinted that I should prepare myself for a wedding.”

  For an infinitesimal moment, Meghan went absolutely still. Catherine caught it in the corner of her eye. But her friend recovered quickly as she cut into her glazed duck.

  Rhys chuckled. “I fear our father is getting ahead of himself. I haven’t made up my mind as yet. This isn’t a decision I make lightly. I shall be wed to this woman for the rest of my life.”

  “Who is it that you have in mind? Is it Lady Julia Lloyd? She’s a lovely young woman and I’ve heard her mother isn’t the least interfering. Or perhaps you prefer Miss Elizabeth Young. She’s quite the beauty and loves a good charity.” Olivia appeared to be enjoying herself thoroughly.

  “I’m sure our father would rather you expend your efforts on finding a husband and not on a quest for my future wife,” he replied dryly.

  “Oh don’t be so provoking. You are my favorite brother—”

  “I am your only brother,” he pointed out.

  “—and you know how I adore a good wedding,” she continued without acknowledging the interruption. “I would accept either as my future sister-in-law.”

  “And you’re so certain that either lady would accept my proposal?”

  The question he posed bordered on ludicrous, as he must know.

  Olivia rolled her eyes in exasperation. “No sane, single, eligible woman in all of England would refuse you.”

  Meghan nearly choked on her wine at the remark that earned a bark of laughter from the earl.

  “Clearly you’ve forgotten Millicent Rutherford.”

  Olivia waved it off as if that particular proposal was of little consequence and one that needed to be discounted. “You were much too young then and everyone knew she’d been in love with James Rutherford forever, you yourself said that.”

  Meghan’s eyes watered but the coughing had subsided.

  “Lady Meghan, should I have Stuart call for a physician? I hope you aren’t coming down with something.”

  The earl was so solicitous, had she no knowledge of their past acquaintance, Catherine would have believed him to be sincere. She also noted that no mention was made of his failed attempt to court Meghan. Obviously a subject no one wanted to touch, certainly neither of the affected parties. Again, she truly began to wonder if the two had been more intimately involved than her friend had let on. The tension between them—or whatever it was—was thick enough to asphyxiate an elephant.

  Meghan removed her hand from her mouth after she’d regained her composure. “Nothing a drink of this won’t take care of,” she said and promptly guzzled her wine, leaving not a drop in the bottom of her glass. After delicately clearing her throat she remarked quite nonchalantly, “But I must admit I’m surprised to hear you’re contemplating marriage.”

  “And why is that?” the earl asked, cocking an eyebrow before taking a drink of his wine. He peered at her over the rim of the crystal glass.

  “You simply do not strike me as the sort of man who’d find marriage agreeable to your…way of living,” she replied gingerly and then proceeded to spear the duck with her fork and put it in her mouth.

  Lord Granville chuckled softly to himself as he stared down at his plate for several seconds. When he finally raised his head, Meghan had his undivided attention. “Which is a fine indication that you, Lady Meghan, don’t know me as well as you think you do.”

  Catherine was immediately struck by his statement. Apart from the blatant cryptic nature of it, she was guilty of withholding things from Lucas about her. Important things. Things that would surely matter to a gentleman of means and wealth. Would he still want her after she told him?

  “But please, do not look so concerned, Lady Meghan, I have not set my sights on you…this time.” The pause that punctuated his statement was deliberate, the latter spoken softly and without apparent rancor.

  Meghan immediately dropped her gaze to her plate, her face becoming a violent pink. Olivia cleared her throat and said nothing.

  You don’t know me as well as you think you do.

  Catherine couldn’t get that statement out of her mind. Were her past trespasses things a man could ever forgive?

  “Lord Granville—”

  “Miss Rutherford, I can safely say we’ve been acquainted long enough to dispense with such formalities, wouldn’t you agree? When someone as young and beautiful as you addresses me by my title, I feel stodgy beyond my years,” he said, his roguish smile back in place. “Rhys or Granville will do just fine. Whichever you find more to your liking.” His gaze flickered to Meghan. “Of course my invitation includes you too, Lady Meghan.”

  Catherine smiled. “Then I shall insist you call me Catherine.”

  Meghan didn’t reciprocate his offer and her pointed silence echoed throughout the room.

  “Beg pardon, I interrupted you. You were saying?” He motioned with his hand for Catherine to continue and resumed eating.

  “Are you eager to start a family?”

  A small smile played across his lips as he finished chewing. “I suppose you could say so. Is
n’t that why most gentleman choose to wed, to carry on the family name?”

  “Perhaps many but not all. My brother and his friends married for love. I don’t believe they ever set out to marry.”

  “Do you find my approach to marriage too pragmatic for your tastes?” he asked, amusement gleaming in his brown eyes.

  “No indeed not. But from what I know of society, men and women approach marriage with different minds.”

  “Do they?” His tone was laced with a certain amount of skepticism.

  “I believe so.” Catherine looked over at her friends for, if not verbal support, certainly moral. She was met with knitted brows—Olivia—and a carefully blank stare—Meghan.

  “Well, I can only speak for myself and I choose to marry for the usual reasons.”

  “You are in love? Or perhaps you are looking for love?” she probed.

  He emitted another soft laugh. “Unfortunately, Miss—Catherine, I am not so romantic.”

  She wouldn’t argue the point that one didn’t have to be romantic to be in love but it was true. “Then may I ask that if you don’t intend to marry for love, what will you look for in a wife? That her lineage is impeccable? That she is pretty and cultured and accomplished at the piano?”

  His gaze flickered across the table at Meghan but his expression revealed nothing. “I won’t lie, I have no objections to a pretty wife,” he said, winking. “Though I fear father would be more concerned when it comes to the matter of my future wife’s lineage, my requirements in that department aren’t quite as exacting. As for the piano, all I can say on that is that I am tone deaf.”

  His latter remark drew chuckles from her and Olivia. Meghan could not have looked more uncomfortable by the current vein of the conversation.

  Catherine appreciated his candor but her inquisition wasn’t over yet. “But I’m certain there are women you wouldn’t consider. A woman too old to give you a child or perhaps a woman with a sordid past?” She made the whole thing sound delightfully salacious to artfully disguise the true intent of her questions.