Tempted By His Kiss

by Tracy Anne Warren

  Perhaps on Sunday she ought to have stayed home to rest, but she rose early to attend church with the family. After services, she was introduced to Lieutenant McCabe, a soft-spoken, rather serious young naval officer, who was home for a few weeks’ leave. When he invited her to ride in the park, she readily agreed. His experiences and conversation reminded her so much of her old life that she felt a little heartsick afterward.

  He called for her the following morning at ten, both of them having agreed that the park would be far more enjoyable before the fashionable hordes descended later in the afternoon. As for Cade, she explained that his injury did not yet allow him to ride, but that her fiancé had no objection to the outing. Of course, she hadn’t bothered to consult with Cade. Why should she, she decided, since his goal was for her to find and marry another man?

  Outside on the street in front of Clybourne House, the lieutenant assisted her onto her horse, a lovely dapple grey mare with an easy going disposition. Seated side saddle, Meg took a moment to comfortably arrange the long velveteen skirts of her bishop’s blue riding habit with bishop sleeves, the brass buttons on the frogged, military-style front of her bodice winking in the band of sunshine that peaked out from behind a passing cloud. As she watched, the lieutenant mounted his own horse, then cast her an inquiring glance to make sure she was ready. At her nod, the two of them set off.

  A surprisingly insistent breeze brushed against her cheeks during the short ride to Hyde Park, the long tails of the stylish, blue-grey chiffon scarf knotted around her tall riding hat sailing outward like streamers. The filmy ends floated even higher after she and Lieutenant McCabe entered the park, urging their mounts to a faster pace.

  She let the ground disappear behind her, giving herself over to the spontaneity of the moment. At length each of them slowed, dropping into a leisurely walk side by side.

  “That was exactly what I needed,” she declared, patting an appreciative hand against the side of her horse’s neck. “In the summers when I was a girl, I used to ride by the seashore. I didn’t realize how much I had missed it.”

  “Then I am glad we came here today,” McCabe said, his mouth lifting in a smile that displayed a set of overlapping incisors.

  “As am I.”

  She studied him, deciding that he had a pleasing rather than handsome countenance. For one, his nose was far too large and hawkish to ever be deemed attractive, and his long lantern-shaped jaw was not much better. He had a rangy build, carrying himself with the loose-muscled gait of a born seaman. His hair was washtub blond; and his cheeks, tanned from his months at sea, were edged by a pair of neatly maintained side whiskers. Without question, however, the lieutenant’s eyes were his best feature, the irises composed of a series of concentric blue and brown rings, intriguing gold flecks scattered in between like star-dust.

  “I once had the great good fortune of meeting your father, Miss Amberley,” he stated as they walked their horses. “I was invited to dine aboard his man-o’-war, when I was no more than a very green midshipman. Despite his generous hospitality, I found myself far too awed to say more than a handful of words.” He paused, as if remembering back. “A great man, the admiral, and a fine sailor. I was profoundly saddened to hear of his passing.”

  Meg swallowed against the sudden tightness in her throat. “Thank you, Lieutenant. My father’s loss has been one I have felt most keenly.”

  “Yes, of course, you have.” He cast her an apologetic look. “Pray forgive my clumsy insensitivity. It was not at all my intention to upset you or depress your spirits.”

  She forced a smile. “You have not. Actually, it’s rather nice to talk with someone who knew Papa and remembers what a wonderful man he was. I find I am losing touch with many of my old friends from the navy. I correspond by post with a few, but the longer I stay landlocked, as it were, the more difficult such relationships are to maintain.”

  He straightened his shoulders, his leather saddle squeaking faintly as he angled himself toward her. “I should be delighted to keep you abreast of all the latest news should you care to write to me. As I am sure you know from your father, life aboard ship can get rather lonely at times, and I would welcome the correspondence. I lost my own parents when I was a boy and have only a few people here in England with whom I keep in touch. It would be a pleasure to make you one of them.”

  His gaze met hers—an intent gleam of clear attraction shining in his hazel eyes.

  Abruptly, his expression changed, his eyelashes lowering to shadow his gaze. “Oh, but forgive me yet again,” he said in a thickened voice. “I confess your engagement slipped my mind for a moment, and I did not consider how improper such an offer might appear. In no way did I mean to give offense to either yourself or Lord Cade. Pray accept my pardon, dear lady.”

  Meg’s fingers tightened against her reins, realizing an opportunity was upon her. She sensed that she had only to encourage the lieutenant’s interest with a gentle nudge and he might well be persuaded to advance their relationship beyond a casual, friendly acquaintance.

  Really, he is perfect for me, she mused. Interesting, intelligent, and personable, with a shared similarity of experience. She and McCabe had each lived lives revolving around the sea. Both of them had suffered loss and loneliness at an early age and understood what it meant to awaken knowing each new day was a gift to be cherished. In addition, she had felt an instant and honest rapport with the man from the moment they met. A sense of quiet companionship and comfort, the kind one enjoyed when slipping on a warm, familiar old robe.

  She barely knew him, but felt sure he would make a caring husband and an excellent father. With the right words and a few, well-chosen looks, she imagined she could encourage him to do more than ask her to share a long-distance correspondence.

  All I need do is give him a smile, she thought. Tell him I would be delighted to write to him, and not to worry over my fiancé. Then let nature take its course. Yet even as her lips parted, no sound emerged.

  Before she could consider the reason behind her silence, a fat drop of rain fell from the sky and struck her cheek. Seconds later two more raindrops descended, leaving a pair of round, dark patches on the skirt of her riding habit. Only then did she notice the huge black thunderclouds lumbering toward them on the horizon, the earlier breeze whipping up in hard gusts.

  “We should head back,” the lieutenant said, glancing over his shoulder at the rapidly darkening sky. “Looks like we’re in for a gale.”

  She nodded and turned her horse around. Beside her, he did the same. Casting another glance at the swiftly approaching storm and the desperate way the leaves appeared to cling to the shivering tree limbs, she could only pray they were in time to outrun it.

  In the Clybourne House library, Cade rubbed a hand over his aching thigh and poured himself another draught of whiskey. He downed half in a quick gulp, then filled the glass to the top again before setting the stopper into the crystal decanter with a faint ringing clink.

  Bloody leg, he cursed silently. Ever since he’d awakened this morning, he’d known a storm was on its way. Ironic to realize that his injury had turned him into a kind of human barometer, capable of sensing changes in moisture and atmospheric pressure. Perhaps he should lend himself out to the academics in the Royal Navy, he thought sardonically, who tasked themselves with the study and prediction of the weather. Who knew what intriguing information he might be capable of providing to them?

  Thinking about the Royal Navy, he scowled, wondering where Meg and that sailor chap she rode off with this morning might be. In his opinion, the man was deuced inconsiderate to have taken her out in the first place, considering the potential for rain. And a worse fool for having failed to return her to the house by now.

  Ignoring his limp, which was more aggravated today than it had been in weeks, Cade stalked to the window, his cane thumping forcefully against the polished hardwood floor. Yanking aside the sheer drapery, he stared out across Grosvenor Square. His brows angled into a deeper furr
ow at sight of the dark, menacing clouds.

  As he watched, a handful of gravel-sized raindrops hit the glass in a loud, staccato splatter. Seconds later thunder rumbled hard enough to rattle the window panes, lightning crackling across the sky in a jagged, flashing arc. A pregnant silence followed as if the entire world were poised on the brink of some cataclysm—as perhaps it was—the sky suddenly splitting open to unleash a virtual wall of water.

  Cade cursed and let the curtain fall back into place. He tossed back another swallow of liquor, then thumped across the room, his open book and reading spectacles lying forgotten where he’d left them in the leather-covered armchair before the fireplace.

  Perhaps he should call for the chaise and go out after her? He thought. But Hyde Park was only a few blocks away, so by the time the servants brought the coach around, Meg and the lieutenant would surely have returned.

  Ignoring the nagging discomfort in his leg, he paced, pausing to swallow the remaining whiskey in his tumbler, then pour himself a refill.

  Five minutes later he was on his way out into the hallway to order the chaise, after all, when Croft opened the front door. A blast of cold air erupted inward, bearing Meg in its wake. Her purplish-blue riding habit was plastered to her body, her once fashionable riding hat bent into a soggy, squashy mess, the formally wispy scarf tied around its base shrivelled into what looked like a pair of limp, pitiable braids.

  Behind her came the lieutenant, water sluicing from his own sodden hat brim to pool in a small lake around his feet. He shivered and flicked water off his frame in a manner reminiscent of a large dog returning from a hunt. A laugh rumbled from the lieutenant’s throat, his lips turning upward in a rueful smile as he angled his head to catch Meg’s gaze. She laughed in reply, holding her arms out at her sides in a kind of dripping pantomime.

  Cade’s hand tightened around the top of his cane. “So you’re back then, are you?”

  Meg swung her head his way, having clearly not noticed his presence until that moment. “Cade!”

  The grin fell from the lieutenant’s face, his expression sobering abruptly as he also met Cade’s gaze.

  Cade glared and leaned more powerfully onto his walking stick.

  “Uh-hmm.” McCabe audibly cleared his throat. “I expect I ought to be on my way before this weather turns any worse.”

  Looking back at him, Meg shook her head in protest. “How could it possibly be worse than it already is? No, you must stay, since I would not feel right sending you back out now, not with it pouring so hard.”

  I would, Cade decided.

  Seeming to read Cade’s thoughts, the lieutenant glanced again at Meg. “Fear not, dear lady, I have been in worse storms than this aboard ship. I’ve had watches where I had to stand literally soaked through for hours, so a little wetting is no matter.”

  A tiny pair of lines formed above her nose. “Yes, but—”

  “Besides, I could do with a change of attire and have naught here to wear.”

  “I am sure Cade or the duke would be happy to loan you something of theirs.”

  Don’t count on it, Cade mused.

  McCabe hunched his shoulders and kept his gaze fastened on Meg. “Nevertheless,” he murmured, “I would do well to return home. My thanks for a most memorable outing, Miss Amberley.”

  “And mine as well. This is a ride I shall not soon forget. I would still have you remain, but since you insist, I shall bid you a safe trip home.”

  The lieutenant made her a very proper, formal bow, his wet boots squelching against the tile floor as he turned and strode toward the exit. Cade waited until Croft shut the door behind him, then sent the butler a nod of dismissal. The servant moved away in silence.

  Gathering the long, heavy skirt of her sodden riding habit over one arm, Meg swung toward the stairs.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” Cade demanded.

  She paused. “Upstairs to my room, of course. In case you had not noticed, I am dripping water all over the foyer, not to mention being cold and soaked through.”

  Without anticipating his own actions, he let his gaze rove in a long sweep over her body, slowing for several lingering moments as he stared at her breasts. Her nipples, already visible against the wet cloth of her bodice, tightened further beneath his perusal, hardening as if they were an extra set of buttons lodged between the braiding on her jacket.

  “Yes,” he drawled. “That much is quite apparent.”

  Her pale blue eyes sparked like the centres of a flame, her free arm coming up to cover her bodice.

  A niggling twinge of guilt rose inside him over his un-gentlemanly behaviour, but Cade stubbornly refused to look away. “Well,” he said, redirecting the conversation. “It’s no more than you deserve for going riding when it was coming on rain.”

  Her mouth dropped open, the arm holding her gown falling to her side to release the fabric in a great wet plop. “Of all the gall! And it wasn’t ‘coming on rain’ when the lieutenant and I set out. The sky was sunny, with only a few passing clouds.”

  “I could have told you bad weather was approaching had you taken a moment to ask. But you rushed out of the house so quickly this morning, I didn’t even realize you’d gone until Mama and Mallory happened to mention it on their way out to the Oxborns’ breakfast party.” He paused and flexed his palm against the head of his cane. “Had fun with your lieutenant, then, did you?”

  “He isn’t my lieutenant, but yes, I had a most enjoyable ride.”

  “Better than your outing in Peacham’s phaeton? Or promenading with Lord Longsworth? Or how about your rowing excursion on the Serpentine with Astbury? At least the earl, even if he is a bone-brained macaroni, had the sense not to return you to the house drenched to the skin.”

  She made a noise deep in her throat, a sound not dissimilar to a growl. “It seems to me you ought to be pleased I am so popular with the gentlemen, considering our arrangement. Now, if you are done with your interrogation…”

  He thrust out his jaw at a mutinous angle. “I am not.”

  “Well, I am.” In a turn-about, she was the one to sweep her gaze over him this time, her eyes narrowing in clear speculation. “You’re foxed, aren’t you?”

  His brows drew together in a fierce scowl.

  “If anyone needs a good soaking—particularly in the region of the head—it’s you, my lord,” she continued. “And a pot or two of strong black coffee as well. Perhaps if you drink enough of that, you might be fit company by dinnertime, although I rather doubt it.”

  “I may have had a couple whiskeys,” he admitted, “but believe me, Miss Amberley, I am far from inebriated.”

  “Just surly then, hmm? Well, you can take your temper out on someone else. As for me, I have had enough and am going to my bedchamber.” Gathering the wet hem of her riding habit inside a fist, she marched to the stairs, droplets of water appearing in a damp trail behind her.

  “Meg!” he called. “Meg, come back here!”

  She didn’t miss a step, but kept marching upward at a steady, determined pace, one riser at a time.

  “Meg!” he ordered again, his hands turning to fists as he watched her round the landing and disappear from view. Without thinking, he took three limping steps forward before he realized what he was doing and drew to a halt.

  Let her go, whispered a voice inside his head. Stop and simply let her go. Yet as he stood there, his grip tight on his cane, he found himself wondering why the idea suddenly seemed so hard. Trembling, he forced himself to turn and go back to the library.

  Inside, he crossed to the liquor cabinet and reached for the whiskey decanter. As if to prove to himself—and her—that he didn’t give a damn what she thought, he splashed a full measure into his tumbler. But as he took up the glass, he made no move to raise it to his lips, studying the amber brew for a long, contemplative moment.

  Abruptly, he set the glass on the table, firmly enough to send a few drops of liquor sloshing over the side. Striding to the bellpull, he
gave the cord a tug before he had a chance to change his mind.

  A footman arrived shortly thereafter.

  “Coffee,” Cade ordered. “Bring me a pot of hot coffee.”

  “Right away, my lord.”

  “And have Cook add some rolls as well, since I missed breakfast this morning.” Skipped breakfast, he corrected silently, having opted to partake of a liquid meal instead.

  Maybe Meg was right, he mused as he sank down into his chair. Perhaps he should try to take better care of himself. To his amused consternation, Meg was always slipping little tidbits onto his plate at family meals, subtly encouraging him to eat, as if she truly was his fiancée. Sometimes he didn’t think she even knew she was doing it. But his mother noticed, he knew, and approved.

  She will be sad when Meg finds another man and leaves. Mallory and Esme as well. His sisters had taken a great liking to their new “sibling.” Even his brothers approved, including Edward, who sent him speculative glances every now and again, as if wondering whether he didn’t want to change his mind about his and Meg’s scheme.

  Well, I don’t, he assured himself. The day Calida died, something died inside him as well, something that would never come back. Whatever he felt for Meg…well, it wasn’t love.

  As for his irritation with all her gentlemen callers, he simply did not approve of her choices, that was all. None of them—especially that damned lieutenant—were good enough. Meg could do better, and he was just looking out for her best interests, as any thoughtful friend would.

  Satisfied, he picked up his book and waited for his meal to arrive.

  CHAPTER 12