Tempted by His Touch: A Limited Edition Boxed Set of Dukes, Rogues, & Alpha Heroes Historical Romance Novels

by Darcy Burke

  The commotion faintly registered in Evelyn’s mind, but she wasn’t quick enough to help. When little Mary looked at her, still giggling, Evelyn’s staid disposition thawed and she laughed.

  “Where’s papa?” Nadir asked after a couple of minutes.

  Evelyn froze as her heart sunk into her stomach.

  “Mama?”

  “Now children, leave your mother be,” Lillian answered. “She’s been…”

  “It’s all right, Miss Lillian.” She swallowed the lump in her throat. “Darlings, he’s been working very hard.” Her voice sounded stronger, she decided, as her fingers straightened Nadir’s collar after removing the bib. Turning toward Mary, she added, “I think luncheon is over. Miss Lillian will take you for your naps.”

  A childish grumble came as the nursemaid gathered them by their chubby little hands. The pitter-patter of little feet ambled down the hall with the woman’s steps behind them. Evelyn inhaled deeply, grateful for the quiet. She loved them both dearly, but, even now, Nadir resembled Tristan, and that resemblance struck hard, living with the man who avoided her.

  “Evie!”

  Evelyn almost jumped. Sarah’s voice rang loudly from the doorway as she headed straight for her. Sarah’s smile dazzled. The girl seemed to be so giddy–youth, Evelyn decided, herself ancient in comparison.

  Sarah gave her a hug. “I’m so glad to see you! I heard you’ve been ill.”

  Ill? “I’m perfectly fine,” she argued, straightening her seat. “Whoever told you otherwise?”

  “Harry said Tristan told him you’ve been under the weather.”

  Evelyn cringed. She struggled to keep a stoic face. “Truly, I’ve been fine.”

  Sarah sighed, taking Evelyn’s hands. “My dear, I have a hard time believing those words when I see the dark circles under your eyes and the shallow cheeks. In fact,” she pulled back, inspecting Evelyn’s hands and face under a narrow gaze. “Have you been eating?”

  She yanked her hands from her friend’s grasp and instantly jumped on the defensive. “Of course, I’ve been eating. Please, Sarah.” She stood and led them into the adjoining parlor.

  “Evie,” Sarah said softly. “I know you two have had a disagreement.”

  “I see,” she replied, sitting on the settee and busied her hands arranging her skirts. “Your gentleman friend steps into places he shouldn’t.”

  Sarah shook her head. “He’s been quiet, outside confiding Tristan is busy at work and rarely leaves. No actually, the evidence of disquiet is clearly shown on you.”

  Had her skills of hiding her fears, her lack of being wanted, dissipated because she allowed herself to feel again? She steeled herself and concentrated on schooling her face. “I’m in good health, dearest.”

  Sarah held a questioning look but blinked, and it vanished as she smiled widely. “Excellent! For I so need your help.”

  She laughed. It felt good, and she grabbed at that emotion, hanging onto it with her life. “Pray tell, what for?”

  “Oh, dear, you know exactly what for! I’m here to get your help on the menu.” At Evelyn’s lost look, Sarah clapped her hands in amusement. “For my wedding breakfast.”

  Evelyn’s heart skipped. The wedding. Sarah and Harry.

  Sarah’s smile didn’t wane. “You can’t tell me you’ve forgotten?”

  The woman was right. She totally forgot. Realizing her jaw had dropped open in surprise, she snapped it shut and pasted a smile on her lips. “Sorry, my dear.” For better or worse, as the vow said. Even if he’s a murderer. Bile rose in her throat.

  Her friend wasn’t listening. Instead, she’d fished out of her pocket a folded piece of paper. With bubbling excitement, she opened it, rambling, “I’ve had several items suggested here. Sweetbreads, salmon, beef roast, pastries…”

  The words blended together in Evelyn’s ears, like the sound of a buzzing bee—annoying but not enough to respond to it. Her temper rose as Sarah’s words spun the scene of an elaborate table, decorated with the best china, crystal and silver, with vases of lilies, roses, asterias, with more adorning the center. How Evelyn’s wedding feast should have been; maybe it was, but her mind shut out the entire affair. Richard appeared before her eyes, fallen and bloody. He glanced at her with a knowing look before his eyes snapped shut. Tears filled her vision and the fight to retain them was lost.

  “Oh dear,” Sarah murmured. She raced to Evelyn’s side. “Evelyn, what is wrong?”

  She couldn’t speak, her tongue too thick to form the words.

  “How thoughtless of me,” her friend continued. “Why didn’t you say something?”

  What could she say, other than accuse her husband of a crime? Her heart twisted. Her husband.

  “Evie, talk to me,” Sarah pushed. “I need you to talk to me. My wedding is but days away and I’ll expect you there, by my side. Whatever is wrong, we need to resolve because Harry’s asked Tristan to be his best man. We’ve wanted you two all this time.”

  Evelyn shook her head violently. Standing with him at her friend’s wedding? She prayed for strength, but none came. “No, I can’t.”

  Sarah gave her a sympathetic look. “Oh, dear. It happened. I knew it would.”

  Obviously the girl wasn’t hearing her correctly. In fact, her comment made no sense. “You knew he took Richard’s...”

  “Yes, we all did,” Sarah interrupted her. The woman’s face glowed with happiness. “Harry and I knew you two would love...”

  She couldn’t believe her own ears. Her anger and frustration coiled like a snake. “He killed Richard!” She hissed and immediately put her hand over her mouth, falling back on the cushions, appalled at herself.

  “What?” Sarah’s astonished whisper asked. She instantly came and sat next to Evelyn.

  “How? When?”

  “In the East.” She swallowed.

  “I don’t understand,” Sarah’s eyebrows knitted together. “Did he tell you of this?”

  She shook her head. “Lord Dunsford knew.”

  “Dunsford? Evelyn! The man has had interest in you for far too long. You are married. What good would it do him to pry you apart?”

  That was the question she had as well. “I’m sure he just wanted to tell me the truth. He knew how much I loved Richard and he me. A certain justice, I would gather, to seek airing it, even now.” She sniffled and locked her jaw to keep the sob inside.

  “Justice? Posh! I would not believe him so blatant.” Sarah’s face contorted like she’d bitten into a lemon. With a shake, the sour look vanished, to be replaced with one of a sympathetic friend. “What did your husband say?”

  More like what he didn’t say. “He didn’t deny it.”

  “He told you he took Richard’s life?” Her friend’s voice sounded flabbergasted. Evelyn wanted to cringe at the disbelief, only now, she wondered how much of it was her own.

  “Not in so many words. Just acknowledged he was dead,” she muttered. “That I didn’t know the facts.”

  “And I suppose you allowed him to air them?”

  “He failed to give them.” She left out she’d given him no time, that she had kicked him out of her room.

  Sarah’s face softened. She pulled a lace handkerchief out of her pocket and dabbed at Evelyn’s cheeks. “Oh, poor Evie. No wonder you look so exhausted and thin. This has more to do than just accusing the man you wed of this, doesn’t it?” She added as a whisper, “Perhaps, because you’d allowed him just a space closer, more intimate?”

  A pause filled the air. Evelyn couldn’t breathe, her throat closing. She didn’t want to admit it. They had been like a true married couple, and his betrayal stabbed her deeply.

  Sarah’s eyes widened. “Oh dear. You and he,” her voice faltered. “I mean, you know what I’m implying! And then let him get a little closer to your heart.”

  Evelyn shut her eyes. This couldn’t be happening, not to her. She’d sworn, after that night, to not let a soul close. But Tristan…

  “Evelyn, you d
eserve a happy life. I thought he’d given that to you. After all you’ve suffered…”

  How could she tell her friend he’d done more? That her suffering wasn’t of the intensity she’d thought it was, that she remained a virgin that night? No, she simply couldn’t share that.

  “Well,” Sarah dabbed her eyes once more, then shoved the linen into Evelyn’s hand with a grin on her face. “Divorce is unconscionable. We all know that. So if you believe what he did, your only relief would be to live separately, either here or with one of you in another house, like other unhappy couples do. But, for social events, you’ll go and pretend to be amiable together.”

  That thought did not bring any warmth to her. She missed Richard. Her first love. And her husband? Her thoughts had been torn for the last week or however long it’d been, including the sleepless nights, tossing and turning. How could she still love him and hate him at the same time? But she did pick up on the end of Sarah’s statement.

  “How many couples do you know in London like this arrangement?”

  Sarah gave her a lopsided smile. “More than you’d care to know. You would have heard it too, if you’d joined me at some of the galas.” The girl bit her lower lip. “Come, keep your promise to me for my wedding, and I’ll make sure there’ll be no mischief.”

  Evelyn inhaled. Sarah had stayed with her through it all when she returned from the country, Mary in tow. She’d been her defense against any rumor that was too vivid, too true to be sown. Her friend and confidant. Evelyn knew deep in her heart she loved Sarah like a sister, like Madeline, and for being at her side not too long ago, Evelyn knew she had to follow through.

  Tristan St. James could go to Hell!

  ***

  Dunsford stood impatiently as the tailor finished marking the new cutaway coat to fit. He fumed. One would think the sap knew all his measurements at this point. But as the man had pins on the cushion in his hand, Dunsford kept his mouth shut.

  The door to the study flew open, and a footman scurried forward. “Post, sir.”

  Dunsford took the note. He knew the impression in the wax seal and waved the tailor off. The man left the room, leaving only the footman standing, fidgeting to the side. After a glare aimed at him, the footman stuttered, “I’m to wait for your reply.”

  He snorted and went to his desk, ripping the note open. A smile spread across his lips as he read the contents. So, Evelyn was estranged, in a manner of speaking, from that bastard, he concluded with glee. She was so delectable…Then he read the bottom of the message and snarled.

  “The next shipment is detained? Whatever brought this about?”

  The footman struggled to remain stoic. It made Dunsford angrier. There was no way he was discovered unless…those involved will pay if that was the case. He grabbed his pen and wrote his reply, folded the missive and sealed it. A pin in the jacket stabbed him as he rose, and he cursed the wretched thing. Shoving the paper into the footman’s hands, he waved him away. “Off with you!”

  “My lord,” the man sputtered as he sped out of the room.

  Dunsford yelled over his shoulder to the next room, “Get this damn thing off me!”

  The tailor scurried back in and began removing his pins to remove the jacket. Dunsford stood, his mind contemplating the next move, a smile of complete satisfaction spreading across his face.

  ***

  Tristan took another pull from his whisky glass, allowing the burning sensation to blaze a trail down his throat. The impact of the liquor no longer gave him the total obliteration he wanted, but it helped deaden the pain.

  He slumped at his desk in the War Office over a tabletop stacked with numerous files, scattered papers and reports. The feeling he was on the verge of discovering the traitor, or insanity, plagued his beleaguered mind. Absently he stared at his ink-stained fingers and blots on the rolled-up sleeves of his shirt. Falling back in his chair, he grasped the half-empty glass in one hand and ran his fingers through his messy hair for the umpteenth time. The smell of the gaslights in the room, mixed with the musty reek of old papers, wood and stale air rivaled the memory of gunpowder, sand and faint blood. The memories invaded his mind–of Aatifa, her father, Grifton and his dying demand and his own self-hatred. He swore he could hear Aatifa’s laughter in the air, the command of the traitor’s men to come with them, the sound of a blade piercing a man’s body, how it slid in so easily. And the river of blood that followed…

  He closed his eyes, this time succumbing to the pain and anguish versus fighting it. To give in provided the escape he needed, to no longer hear the accusation from Evelyn’s lips. He never made it to talk to her last time. The wound of her words too deep. If he couldn’t drown the pain of her rejection, losing his mind was the next best thing.

  “Tristan?”

  He refused to open his eyes. Sounded like Harry, should be Smyth with the final file he needed. The clicking of boot heels came closer, but he tried to shut it out. Not yet, not yet…

  “Tristan, what the hell are you doing?”

  Tristan opened his eyes reluctantly. Harry stood before his desk, his hands fisted, resting on his hips. Tristan frowned. His friend looked way too formal for the morning hours.

  “I’m working,” he stuttered. “Care for a drink, Harry?” He stood shakily, his free hand to the desktop to steady himself.

  “Good God, man, do you know what time it is? Or even what day?”

  Did it matter? He didn’t think so.

  Harry yanked the glass out of his hand. Tristan found his reaction time faltered when he tried to keep the glass. His friend took a whiff and snorted.

  “Whiskey? For all that is holy, its seven o’clock in the morning!”

  Tristan squinted. “Really? Hadn’t noticed.”

  “Well, how could you? Tied up in this office out of Hell.” He pushed Tristan’s chair upright, almost dumping him on to the floor. “Get up. Today I’m marrying, and you’re to stand with me.”

  Marriage? He tried to wrap his thoughts around that and failed.

  “Sarah? Lady Winston?”

  “That’s today?” His foggy brain tried to clear itself.

  “Come on,” Harry said, his arm under Tristan’s to get him to stand.

  “No, wait, I’m waiting for my assistant…”

  “I do not care.” Harry didn’t let go, but directed them toward the door, picking up Tristan’s jacket and hat on the way. “Apparently you are leaving it up to me to get you ready.”

  He tried to wrangle himself out of his friend’s handling. “Just let me go. I will be there.”

  “Damn right you will,” Harry guffawed. “But not if left to your own devices. Your marchioness will be there as well.”

  Tristan stumbled. Evelyn…he missed her more than he cared to realize. It’d dawned on him…sometime, when it happened precisely he had no clue, but in his goal to realize Grifton’s dying wish, Tristan had fallen in love with his wife. A tragedy to be sure, for his life was nothing other than a damn title and vacant estates. No, that wasn’t true. Not only was Evelyn there, but so was her daughter Mary and his son Nadir. Nadir…his and Aatifa’s love child. God, how he had failed her. He closed his eyes at the dismal thought of how he also had a company of men in the East, their lives still in danger until the bastard traitor was caught.

  Harry led him out of the building and to his carriage. After shoving Tristan inside, making him fall unceremoniously to the floor, Harry knocked the ceiling, and they were off. Tristan pulled himself up to the cushioned seat and sank into it, his head starting to pound. The morning sunlight streaming through the windows didn’t help, and when he sought to pull the shades down, Harry grabbed his wrist, preventing him.

  “Naw, my dear boy. Tea. Or coffee. But I’ve got to have you in a straight manner prior to my bride’s arrival.”

  He so wanted to tell him not to do it. Marriage only meant heartbreak.

  “Not everyone falls prey to demons like youdo.”

  “I beg your pardon?”
<
br />   “Tris, I’ve seen you like this before. Like when you returned at the beginning of this year last. You hid for days in your study, alone, I might add. Then you reconnected with that trollop from prior to your leaving. Hmmm, what was her name?”

  Tristan cringed. “Penelope Wainscott.”

  “Ah yes, and that ended so well.”

  Yes, he had reunited with his mistress upon his return, especially in need of her after his father dumped the worthless family status on him. But she only saw him as a means to an end–a way to escape her father’s marriage game to seal family fortune and fame. Penelope was beautiful and alluring, or so his memory recalled, but his body betrayed him. His vileness invaded their relationship, when he’d take her but then refused to spend time with her for any other reason. He kept her imprisoned in his house, rarely took her out and never stayed the night with her. Polite and courteous but nothing more. Hardly an adequate lover, for the demons played with his mind as he played with her body.

  He ended it during a soiree at his townhouse. Her reaction to this shouldn’t have surprised him—after calling him every name in the book, in front of the crowd, she stormed out. The worst part was, he didn’t care.

  Harry’s carriage came to a halt, and Harry ushered Tristan inside. As the footmen prepared his bath and the butler saw to his face being shaved, guilt ate at Tristan’s insides. He had failed Grifton and his men in Afghanistan. He had failed Aatifa. He had failed Evelyn in the worst way possible. But she was here and now. He steeled himself for it. His soul demanded he beg her for forgiveness. Could he?

  ***

  The church was so lovely. To be violently ill and lose the contents of her stomach here would be dreadful.

  Evelyn swallowed the rising bile in her throat, begging for the moment to pass. In all the excitement of today, she’d been ill twice this morning. The cause was so clear. Tristan was here. In fact, he stood but six feet away. As the priest prattled, Evelyn studied the man who was her husband. Her estranged husband, she corrected herself.

  Tristan stood to Harry’s right. Tall, regal even in his dark grey cutaway jacket, pristine starched white shirt collar and necktie, he was every girl’s dream of dark and handsome. He did look thinner than before. And his bronzed skin had paled. She bit her bottom lip, worried. Despite the fact his clothes hung on him, looser in the middle, he was still incredibly handsome—and ignoring her.