A Taste of Temptation

by Amelia Grey

  Copyright © 2005 by Gloria Dale Skinner

  Cover and internal design © 2014 by Sourcebooks, Inc.

  Cover design by Dawn Adams

  Cover illustration by Victor Gadino

  Sourcebooks and the colophon are registered trademarks of Sourcebooks, Inc.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without permission in writing from its publisher, Sourcebooks, Inc.

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Published by Sourcebooks Casablanca, an imprint of Sourcebooks, Inc.

  P.O. Box 4410, Naperville, Illinois 60567-4410

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  Originally published in 2005 by The Berkley Publishing Group, a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc., New York

  Contents

  Front Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Epilogue

  Author’s Note

  An Excerpt from A Duke to Die For

  An Excerpt from A Marquis to Marry

  An Excerpt from An Earl to Enchant

  About the Author

  Back Cover

  One

  “It is with true love as it is with a ghost; everyone talks about it but few have seen it.” As the new Season begins, many lovely young ladies will be looking for love among the ton’s of unattached gentlemen. And none will be more sought after than the last remaining bachelor of the once famous Terrible Threesome. Andrew Terwillger, the Earl of Dugdale, is back in Town, but is he looking to make a match?

  —Lord Truefitt, Society’s Daily Column

  Olivia Banning folded the week-old edition of the Daily Reader and handed it back to her aunt. “Lord Truefitt is colorful with his tittle-tattle, Auntie. I wonder if anyone in London’s Society ever tries to find out who he is.”

  Agatha Loudermilk laid the paper on the bed beside her and looked up at Olivia. “I’m sure there have been hundreds over the years who would like to know, but not me. If his identity were discovered, he would no longer have access to the ton and couldn’t write any more columns. He’s so clever with his quotes and so delicious with his gossip that I don’t want him to stop.”

  Olivia smiled down at her great aunt, who was propped against fluffy pillows having her morning chocolate and toast in bed.

  “He does have a way with openings. Remember, last Season he started every column with a quote that had something to do with horses.”

  “Yes, I do. And the year before that every column of gossip started with a quote from Shakespeare. It looks as if this Season he is starting each daily with a quote about ghosts.”

  Olivia gave her aunt an indulgent smile. “You are looking much better today. It must be because spring is in the air.”

  Her aunt’s lively green eyes sparkled as she said, “I am much better indeed, but the reason is not the sunshine or the passing of winter. Come and sit beside me, Livy.” She patted the bed. “I’ve been making plans for us and it’s time to tell you about them.”

  Intrigued by the excitement showing on her aunt’s aged face, Olivia pushed the newspaper aside and sat down. If Agatha was making plans for a party, it was a sure sign she was over the serious illness that had gripped her for most of the winter.

  “I must go to London soon and I need you to go with me.”

  Surprised by this statement, Olivia said, “Auntie, you were in bed with that terrible cough for weeks. You’re not well enough to take a trip to London. Besides that, I’m sure the roads are still boggy and treacherous. It’s best you forget about traveling for a while.”

  “I say nonsense to both your concerns, Livy. I’m feeling better than I have in years, and as far as the condition of the roads, they should be in passable shape by the time we’re packed and ready to leave.”

  Olivia knitted her brows together in bewilderment. “I don’t understand. You haven’t been back to London since you came to live in Kent and take care of me a dozen years ago. You’ve always said there is nothing for you in London anymore. Why do you suddenly need to go now?”

  Her aunt leaned forward and in a whispery voice said, “Lord Pinkwater wants me to come to him. He has something to tell me.”

  Obviously her aunt wasn’t as healthy in mind as she was in body if she was talking to someone from the afterlife. Olivia eyed her aunt with concern, for Lord Pinkwater had been dead for years.

  “I think you’re confused about something, Auntie,” she said softly, hoping not to upset her aunt’s delicate hold on reality. “You do remember that Lord Pinkwater died more than thirty years ago, don’t you?”

  Agatha laughed softly. Her bright eyes danced with intrigue. She suddenly looked very mischievous for a lady well past her prime.

  “Of course he did, my dear. How good of you to point that out. I should have said that his ghost is beckoning me to come to him.”

  At first Olivia didn’t know how to respond to that shocking revelation, so she merely repeated her aunt’s words in the form of a question. “A ghost is summoning you to London?”

  “Yes.” Agatha picked up her warm chocolate and sipped it.

  There wasn’t even a hint of a tremble or a shake in the blue-veined hand that held the delicate china cup, but something was wrong. Her aunt appeared as lucid as Olivia, but there was no way Agatha could be.

  Concern quickly turned to apprehension and a shiver of disquiet stole over Olivia. She wouldn’t allow herself to panic—yet. There had to be a logical reason for Agatha to think a ghost had visited her. Perhaps she was taking the opening of Lord Truefitt’s column a little too seriously.

  Agatha looked better and stronger than she had in months. The luster had returned to her long, silver hair. Her appetite was adequate, and she was taking long walks in the garden each day. Her face, while showing lines of age around her eyes and mouth, was glowing with good health.

  But what could have happened to her sound mind?

  Olivia cleared her throat and rearranged the folds of her pale blue morning dress while she thought about what to say. She certainly didn’t want to upset Agatha, so a calm approach was in order.

  “I don’t think you’re feeling well, Auntie. Perhaps I should take your tray and let you nap. We can continue our conversation later in the day.”

  “Oh, heaven’s angels, Livy, don’t make me sound like I’m on my death bed. My cough is gone, my strength has returned. I’ve been going downstairs for a month now. I am not sick in body nor am I weak in my mind.”

  Not knowing what else to do, Olivia rose from the bed and plumped the goose feather pillows behind her aunt. If mollycoddling wasn’t going to pacify Agatha’s fragile hold on reality she’d pursue a different approach and take charge of the situation.

>   Firmly she said, “And apparently your activities of the past four weeks have been too much of a strain on you. Clearly you are not yourself. You just said a ghost told you he wants you to come to London.”

  “He does,” Agatha said without a hint of embarrassment or doubt. “And my pillows are fine, thank you very much. Listen to me, Livy. I’m not going insane. I know Lord Pinkwater is calling to me and I must go to him.”

  Olivia let her arms drop to the sides of her muslin skirt. Not willing to give in to Agatha’s pronouncement, she said, “But that’s absurd, Auntie. Even if Lord Pinkwater’s ghost is alive—I mean, if he is real or present or whatever ghosts are—why would he be summoning you to London?”

  A faraway expression settled on Agatha’s face. Her eyes held an unusual glimmer and her thin lips settled into a wistful smile. Olivia had the feeling her aunt was looking into the past, at days long gone but often remembered.

  “You know that Lord Pinkwater was the man who broke my heart all those years ago, and that he is the reason I never married.”

  “Yes,” Olivia answered, wondering what could have happened to trigger Agatha’s reflective mood on the past.

  “I never gave up hope. I always felt he would come back to me some day. And now he has.”

  Olivia’s breath caught in her throat at the sadness she heard in her aunt’s voice. She’d always known that Agatha had never married because the legendary Lord Pinkwater jilted her when she was eighteen and ran off with another young lady more than forty years ago.

  In the twelve years Agatha had lived with Olivia she’d seldom mentioned the man. Olivia had assumed that after all these years her aunt had finally gotten over him, but apparently her heartache had only deepened.

  “But you knew he was a rogue who had many lovers before you agreed to the betrothal. He didn’t even marry the woman he left you for. I don’t think he ever loved anyone but himself. Why did you wait for him?”

  “I had to. It didn’t matter that he never really loved me. I loved him and that was enough. It still is.” She turned her gaze to Olivia. “At last, he wants me to come to him.”

  Suddenly Olivia reached over and put the palm of her hand to her aunt’s forehead. Agatha brushed it aside.

  “Stop that, silly girl. Don’t fuss or worry about me. I don’t have a fever, and I’ve not suddenly gone mad.”

  “I don’t think you’re crazy,” Olivia said, wondering if she really believed that. “Perhaps you’ve had too much tonic and you are imagining him calling to you in your dreams.”

  Olivia needed a logical explanation for her aunt’s sudden revelation.

  “I haven’t had any laudanum in weeks. Ask Susan, she will tell you.”

  “The maid will say whatever you tell her to,” Olivia insisted.

  “Then take all the tonics and elixirs in this house and throw them away if you don’t believe me.” She reached up and took hold of Olivia’s hand. Agatha’s skin was warm and her grip was as steady and firm as her eyes. “I’m not imagining this. Lord Pinkwater’s spirit is as real as you and I. This is very important to me, Livy. I must go to London and find him.”

  Olivia was moved by her aunt’s passion, but all that did was fuel her unease about Agatha’s state of mind. Olivia wasn’t even sure she believed in ghosts. She’d never had serious reason to think about it. She’d read about them in any number of books and heard stories, but she’d never seen one.

  And even putting all that aside, this wasn’t a time in her life when she wanted to leave Kent and travel to London. She was looking forward to the spring dances, house parties, and the continued attention of a certain young gentleman who had recently caught her eye.

  “If Lord Pinkwater has a ghost, I mean if he is a spirit or whatever he is, why doesn’t he just fly through the air and come to you?”

  Agatha let go of Olivia’s hand. “I don’t know the answer to that yet,” she said with all conviction. “I suppose he can’t. Or, perhaps it’s because London is where we met and where we last saw each other. Maybe he wants to tell me why he left me for Lady Veronica. Maybe that’s why his soul is not at rest. It doesn’t matter. I’ll ask him when we find him.”

  An anxious feeling shimmered down Olivia’s spine. “When we find him?”

  “Yes. I know he resides at a house in London but not which one.”

  “Auntie, surely you aren’t suggesting we go searching homes for a ghost.”

  Agatha smiled as sweetly as if she were talking to their minister after Sunday morning worship. “That’s exactly what we’re going to do. I have it all worked out. I’ve decided to give you a Season in London. That way we will be invited to all the best parties in private homes in Mayfair.”

  “You know he’s in a house in Mayfair but not which one? How do you know that?”

  Her aunt looked aghast that Olivia could even ask such a silly question. “Lord Pinkwater wouldn’t dream of staying in any other section of London, dead or alive.”

  Olivia felt sufficiently rebuked. “All right, but how will you determine which house he is in?”

  “I’ll know when we enter the house whether or not he resides in it. I’m not sure if I will sense his presence or if he will show me a sign. But I will know when I reach the house he inhabits.”

  Olivia lifted her skirts and knelt down beside the bed. “Auntie, you know I would do anything for you, but how can I help you find a ghost? I’m not even sure I believe in them. And you know I have no desire for a Season in London. I’m hoping to get to know Mr. Yost better when the spring assemblies begin.”

  Agatha patted Olivia’s cheek with her warm, soft hand and smiled at her with affection. “I know you think this young man pleases you, and perhaps in certain ways he does, but I think he is much too weak for you. You need a stronger, more prosperous gentleman.”

  “Nonsense. Look where my mother ended up with a strong, prosperous man. She spent all her days alone in the quiet countryside while her husband maintained a full social life in London. I’d rather have a country gentleman for a husband who will love me and live with me than an absent titled lord.”

  “And perhaps you will have such a country gentleman. But in the meantime, it will be good for you to spend the Season in London with me and meet gentlemen more fitting to your station in life than Mr. Yost. You might even catch the eye of a viscount or an earl.”

  It was obvious her aunt wasn’t listening to her. Attracting some peer was the last thing Olivia wanted. Her mother had married the youngest son of an earl but the union hadn’t brought her happiness.

  “I’m pleased to have caught the eye of Mr. Yost, Auntie, and you know that.”

  “Oh, heaven’s angels, Livy, I’m not asking you to choose a husband in London, but why would you want to settle for a common man in Kent before you at least look over the available gentlemen in London? I’m only asking that you go with me and help me search for Lord Pinkwater’s ghost, and then you can come home and marry Mr. Yost or whomever may catch your attention—if that is still what your heart desires. I don’t want to go without you, but I will. I must settle this part of my past which has haunted me for years.”

  Her aunt was serious. She would go alone.

  As a young child, Olivia remembered hearing many stories from her mother about how well-respected her Aunt Agatha was in London and what an exciting life she lived. Agatha Loudermilk, twice removed cousin to the powerful Duke of Norfolk, had sat at the tables of kings and at the feet of queens, but she’d only given her heart to one man.

  The undeserving Lord Pinkwater.

  Agatha had left her active life in London to come to the country and take care of her grandniece Olivia after Olivia’s mother died and her father didn’t want the responsibility of seeing that an eight-year-old girl had the proper upbringing. It was just as well since her father, whom she never really knew, died a year after her mother.r />
  Olivia couldn’t bear the thought that Agatha would return to London and be seen as a batty old woman no longer in her right mind looking for a ghost. She didn’t want that for her aunt. Olivia owed her. Agatha came to her aid when she needed it and now Olivia would help her. She would go to London and protect Agatha’s exceptional reputation.

  “Of course, Auntie,” she said with a resigned smile. “I will go with you, but I have one request.”

  The sparkle returned to her aunt’s eyes instantly. “Anything.”

  “Let’s not tell anyone we’re searching for Lord Pinkwater’s ghost. I think it will be best if we keep this between us.”

  Agatha patted Olivia’s hand. “I won’t say a word to anyone but you, my dear.”

  ***

  The low rumble of chatter filled the club room at White’s as Andrew Terwillger, the fifth Earl of Dugdale, looked across the table at his two friends. A bottle of the best port money could buy stood in front of them. The first pour was still in their glasses and already Andrew sensed Chandler and John were restless and eager for the evening to be over.

  At the far side of the room a warming fire crackled and hissed, taking the chill out of the air. The gentlemen’s club was filled with men Andrew had known for years. Some played billiards in the next room; others participated in heated games of whist or some other card game, while a few were just drinking, talking, and laughing. Everyone seemed to be having an enjoyable time, except the two at Andrew’s table.

  Andrew was trying to figure out why he hardly recognized the men who’d been his best friends for over fifteen years. They hadn’t changed in appearance but were both different in demeanor.

  He’d just returned from having been gone almost a year and he was ready to give in to some well-deserved debauchery. But his friends couldn’t be less interested in drinking, gambling, or seeking the bed of a shapely young woman.

  Andrew asked, “Why do I get the feeling that I’m keeping the two of you from something?”

  Chandler Prestwick, the Earl of Dunraven, and John Wickenham-Thickenham-Fines, the Earl of Chatwin, glanced quickly at each other before looking back to Andrew.