A Matter of Temptation

by Lorraine Heath

  He returned his mouth to hers with an urgency that belied the calmness of the words he’d spoken. She was referring to the duel, but she had a feeling that he was referring to the kiss. One had spawned the other. So they were linked.

  She felt an unexplainable sorrow, as though she’d married a man she thought she knew, only to discover that she was married to a man she knew not at all and was suddenly wishing she knew better.

  She placed her hands over his where they cradled her face, and she wondered what it would feel like to have them touch her with the same tenderness that his mouth was now exhibiting.

  He’d confessed that for a time he was lost…and she didn’t know if she should be more frightened. Would he become lost again?

  He broke free of the kiss, pressed his forehead to hers. “If I don’t come back—”

  “You don’t truly think that he’s going to kill you.”

  He pulled back slightly, holding her gaze. “The Duke of Killingsworth insulted his wife. I think he might very well seek retribution.”

  “Death for an insult is hardly equal. Let him blacken your eye or bloody your nose.”

  He smiled sadly as he trailed his finger over her trembling lips. “It wouldn’t be enough for me if I were in his place.”

  Then he turned and began walking away from her, away from the manor.

  She was left forlorn and alone, with the realization that she didn’t know this man at all. Not at all.

  A few minutes later, Eleanor came out of the manor, holding on to her son’s hand. “Weddy has gone to meet him. Would you like a cup of tea?”

  Men went off to battle, and ladies manned the home front. Torie could do little more than nod.

  And so they sat at the table in the garden with the breeze stirring the sides of the tablecloth, the tea cooling in the untouched china cups, the sun shining overhead. They discussed the latest dress patterns, the flowers, the weather, and how remarkable it was that Richard so resembled his father, each one pretending to care about any topic the other presented.

  A half hour passed before a gunshot sounded in the distance. A few seconds later another shot echoed.

  Chapter 14

  Robert stood at the edge of the cliff, staring down at the waves washing over the rocks and the shore, not thinking of his impending death but thinking of Torie, his wife.

  He’d enjoyed watching her as she’d visited with Eleanor. He had to give John credit; he’d chosen an exemplary lady to serve as the Duchess of Killingsworth. She fascinated him, and he’d seen in her eyes true concern at the possibility of his death. And her kiss of farewell…

  He could still taste it upon his lips.

  She loved his brother. Of that he had no doubt, and he knew a moment of despair that far exceeded anything he’d experienced during the last eight years. She could never be his, he could never hold her heart.

  He told himself there were other women. That if he resolved this encounter and managed to hold on to his dukedom, he could release her and find someone else to take her place. But would any other woman exhibit her combination of shyness and boldness? Would another woman have her smile or her laughter? Would he find such pleasure in simply gazing upon another woman as he did looking at her?

  It was selfish of him to bring her here, but he couldn’t quite make himself not be with her as much as possible.

  He heard grass rasping against cloth, boots hitting against ground. The arrival of his opponent. A man he’d always considered his one true friend. John had even managed to strip him of that. He’d taken every blessed thing, and he’d hurt people in doing it.

  Even as Robert knew, knew, he’d not been in a position to stop his brother, still he felt responsible. He was the true Duke of Killingsworth, and while he’d not been wearing the mantle, still, the responsibilities of righting the wrongs committed by his brother fell to him.

  Weddy—otherwise known as Geoffrey Arthur Stanbury, the fifth Duke of Weddington—came to stand beside him. He inhaled deeply. “A storm is brewing.”

  “So it is.” It was more than the darkening clouds, it was the scent on the air.

  “Then we’d best get to the task at hand. Your body will be soaked in blood when I carry it back to the manor. I’d rather it not be soaked in rain as well.”

  “I thought perhaps you’d choose to toss me into the sea afterward.”

  “Eleanor insists that I carry you back, allow you to have a proper burial.” He thrust the open case in front of Robert. “Since we have no seconds, you are free to inspect the pistols and choose your weapon first.”

  Robert pulled a pistol free from the case. “No need to inspect them. I trust you.”

  “The rules we used as boys?”

  “Of course.”

  “Do try to aim a little better. No sense in denying the sky its right to be filled with birds.”

  Weddington grabbed the remaining pistol, dropped the intricately carved wooden case to the ground, and spun on his heel.

  “I do have one favor to ask,” Robert said, again staring at the sea.

  “No need to ask. I’ll put the bullet right through your heart. Your death will be quick. I can’t say the same for the embarrassment you caused Eleanor. It lingered for some time.”

  “That’s not the favor.” He turned slowly and held the gaze of a man he’d once called friend. “If you should succeed—and I’ve no doubt that you will—I ask that you go to Pentonville and use whatever influence you have to meet with Prisoner D3, 10.”

  “And what message do I deliver?”

  “I think you’ll know when you see him.”

  “That’s a cryptic sort of favor, but consider it done.” He angled his head slightly. “Now, shall we?”

  “We shall.”

  They walked out several feet, then stood back to back.

  “Ten paces,” Weddington announced.

  Robert marked off the steps.

  One.

  He should have told Torie the truth from the beginning.

  Two.

  She wouldn’t be allowed to marry John after having married his brother.

  Three.

  Hello for John.

  Four.

  Unfair to her.

  Five.

  He should tell Weddington the truth.

  Six.

  But if even his best friend couldn’t discern the difference between the brothers…

  Seven.

  Weddington would no doubt call John out once he realized the truth of the situation.

  Eight.

  Who was next in line for the dukedom if Weddington killed John?

  Nine.

  Wasn’t there a cousin somewhere?

  Ten.

  Dash it all. It no longer mattered.

  He turned. Weddington already had the pistol raised, his aim steady.

  “Are you ready?” Weddington asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Fire!”

  Robert waited. Weddington waited.

  Robert swung his arm out to the side, raising it to the level of his shoulder, and fired his bullet out to sea. He heard a bird squawk. Damnation, he hoped he hadn’t hit it, but he wouldn’t look, wouldn’t avert his gaze from death. He wanted to be facing it when it arrived.

  He heard the explosion echoing around him, saw the smoke billowing from Weddington’s pistol, but felt nothing other than the wind rustling his clothing.

  Weddington took several steps toward him. “Robert?”

  “Who the deuce did you think I was?”

  “Your coward of a brother. Where the devil have you been?”

  “Five years ago, I suspected it was John pretending to be you, spreading the malicious rumors, but I could no more prove it than you can now prove that you are Robert.”

  They had trudged down the uneven trail from the cliff above to the shore below, until they reached a boulder at the edge of the sea. They sat on it, gazing out at the turbulent waters, and Robert couldn’t help but think how much those wa
ves reflected his life.

  “So you think he paid a warder to hold you at Pentonville without benefit of trail?”

  “I must confess to not having a very active imagination. That’s the only explanation at which I can arrive with any satisfaction. Besides, the warder came to the house to tell John when I escaped. He seemed quite distraught by my disappearance and quite relieved to find who he thought was Prisoner D3, 10 returned to his care.”

  “England’s perfect penal system seems to have a few flaws. But to hold you for eight years? Unbelievable. The place serves as more of a holding facility than anything else. Prisoners are only supposed to be there for eighteen months before being shipped off to a penal colony. Why were you never taken to a transport ship?”

  “Inside our cells was posted our information: our number, the date we entered our cell, the date we were scheduled to leave. The warder, Mr. Matthews, periodically changed mine, whenever the designated date for my departure grew nearer.”

  “And no one noticed?”

  “He was in charge of my cellblock. Why would anyone question him? And since our faces were always covered with a hood, why would anyone notice that the same man walked the exercise yard? It’s not as though we were recognizable.”

  “I think I would have removed the damned cap.”

  “You’d think. You’d think we all would, but without having been there, you can’t understand the oppressive atmosphere. We did what we were told because we knew it was the only way to survive. Far too many men go insane, Weddington. It’s an atrocious system.”

  “Well, you’re free now, back where you belong.”

  “There is still the matter of John and our moment of reckoning. You can’t possibly think he’ll accept me as duke without a fight or more treachery.”

  “I say sent a message to his warder and inform him that he’s to be placed on a damned transport ship immediately so he can serve out the rest of his life sentence in Australia.”

  “And constantly look over my shoulder, wondering if he’s somehow managed to make his way back here? So he can once more imprison me? Then I turn about and imprison him? No, I need a more permanent solution.”

  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Weddington turn his head toward him. “What of your wife? Torie, was it?”

  “Yes, Torie. Short for Victoria. She doesn’t know. It was John who asked for her hand in marriage, John to whom she gave it. My misfortune was escaping the night before the wedding, not knowing a wedding was to take place.” He shifted his gaze to Weddington. “I’ve not yet consummated the marriage. I’m running out of excuses not to visit her bed.”

  “Then stop making excuses. Even as angry as I was, I couldn’t help but notice how lovely she is. Besides, I have a difficult time believing she’d prefer John to you.”

  “She preferred him before we married.”

  “She didn’t have you to compare him to. How are you going to prove your claims?”

  “Haven’t a clue.”

  “I would be more than willing to announce that you are the Duke of Killingsworth.”

  “And John would no doubt have Lynmore claim that John is the true Killingsworth. And so it would go, each us of lining up friends to claim we are Robert, in which case he with the most friends would win.”

  “Not a bad way to achieve success.”

  “Except that I have been locked away for several years and am rather short on friends right now. Speaking of which, how did you know it was me?”

  “I didn’t. Not until you shot the bird. If I hadn’t been so incredibly angry with you, I might have realized it when I first saw you. Eleanor didn’t deserve what John did to her.”

  “I’ll make it up to her.”

  “It’s too late for that. Besides, it’s not your place. God, I thought I could never love her more than I did. We’d been married for eight months when Richard was born. The rumors had begun circulating before then, of course. They escalated when he was born. Eleanor, bless her, stood up to them, though, telling people our son had arrived early because it was the way of Weddington men to be in a hurry to get on with business. Of course, the truth was, she was already with child when we got married. My fault entirely. Could hardly keep my hands off her. Still can’t, truth be told.”

  “Your son looks like you.”

  “He does. But I can see much of Eleanor in him. He’s a smart lad. Speaking of smart lads, you’ll need to see about getting yourself an heir.”

  “Not until I’ve dealt with John.” A shiver raced through him. “I don’t even want to contemplate what he might do to a son of mine—one who would stand next in line to gain everything.”

  “Have the key to his cell thrown away.”

  “If only it were that easy. Sitting here, talking to you, I’ve come realize that it’s far more than proving that I’m Robert. I must secure the future for my family. And how do I do that?”

  He felt the first drop of rain hit his nose.

  “We should head back before we’re drenched.” Weddington stood up and held his hand out to Robert.

  Robert grabbed hold and let himself be pulled to his feet, taking comfort in the fact that their friendship had managed to survive John’s manipulations.

  “You could always kill him,” Weddington said.

  “Don’t think I haven’t thought of that. But what sort of man would that make me?”

  Weddington leaned near. “A live one.”

  “Can you believe it? I still can’t. He shot another blasted bird!” the Duke of Weddington exclaimed.

  After the gunshots had echoed in the distance, Torie had sat there frozen. “We should go see what happened,” she finally whispered.

  “I promised Weddy that I wouldn’t, no matter what I heard.”

  Torie hadn’t promised anyone anything. But she didn’t know the area, couldn’t risk getting lost again. And so she’d sat there for nearly an hour, terrified that he might have died.

  As the rain had begun to fall, she’d spotted the two men walking with a lively step toward the house, the wind carrying their laughter toward the ladies in the garden. And because the rain had yet to let up, they’d been invited to stay over for dinner.

  “You can hardly credit me with the hit,” her husband said, sitting at one end of the table while Weddington sat at the other. “I wasn’t aiming at the blasted thing.”

  “You weren’t aiming at all!”

  “I must say, Weddy, it wasn’t very charitable of you to leave me and Torie to worry so when you had no intention of actually going through with the duel. I’m quite put out with you, and I’ve no doubt Torie is put out with Robert.” She looked at Torie, who was sitting across from her. “I think we should deny them our comfort for a few days.”

  “Oh, Eleanor, don’t be cruel. You know how I suffer when you give me the cold Shoulder.”

  “No more than I this afternoon when I thought you might come back slung over Robert’s Shoulder.”

  “Oh, princess, have some faith in my ability to place a well-aimed shot.”

  “We heard two shots, Weddy.”

  “Well, yes, he only clipped the bird. I had to finish the poor bugger off. It was the gentlemanly thing to do.”

  “How can you all make light of this?” Torie finally asked. She’d held her silence through the entire ordeal. While the rain had begun to fall, while her husband had finally reached her, while he’d assured her that he was fine, and the men had started laughing again about a bird, then decided that the storm would only worsen…

  “Let’s go clean up then,” Weddington had said, “and we’ll discuss it all over dinner.”

  Only they weren’t discussing it, not really. They were discussing the stupid bird that had gotten in the way of a bullet—what rotten luck! Ha! Ha! Ha!—and not the fact that Torie had sat there for an hour not knowing whether her husband was alive or dead!

  “Do you know how a gunshot reverberates?” she asked. “Do you know how deafening it is once the bang falls silen
t? Do you know how terrifying it is to sit there not knowing what happened? And wanting to search for you, but not knowing exactly where the bluff is when there are bluffs all over the place—”

  “Torie?” Robert said quietly, calmly, placing his hand over hers where it rested on the table.

  But she didn’t want calm and quiet. She wanted…She didn’t know what she wanted except to rant.

  “And your wife wouldn’t leave because she promised she wouldn’t go looking for you and so we just sat there as though everything were normal, sipping our blasted tea—”

  “Torie?” Robert squeezed her hand. “It’s all right, darling. It was very inconsiderate of us.”

  “Who in the hell duels anymore?”

  “Apparently Weddington does.”

  “You’re still joking about it.” She clapped a hand over her mouth, mortified that she was screeching like a shrew.

  Her husband’s chair scraped across the floor as he stood. “If you’ll excuse us for a moment—”

  “Of course,” Weddington said.

  Robert came to stand behind her, placed his hands on her shoulders. “Come on, let’s step outside for a moment.”

  “It’s still raining, which is the reason that we’re still here!”

  “No, we’re here because our friends asked us to stay. And by outside, I simply meant out of this room.”

  She got to her feet, looked at the duke and duchess. “I’m sorry.”

  “No need to apologize,” Eleanor said. “You’re leaving gives me the chance to have a few harsh words with my Weddy. I’d planned to do so in the privacy of our bedchamber, but here works just as well.”

  “You’ll upset my digestion,” Weddington said.

  But when his wife glared at him, he simply sighed, laid down his fork, and said, “So it appears my digestion will be upset. Better that than my wife.”

  Robert escorted her out of the dining room, and once in the large hallway, took her hand, and led her through the labyrinth of rooms.

  “Where are we going?” she asked.

  “Someplace with a bit more privacy.”

  They finally went into a darkened hallway. A footman opened the door, and Robert pulled her into what she realized was the library. At the far end, lit candelabras flickered on either side of the room. This end, however, was shadowy. As soon as the footman closed the door behind them, Robert drew her into his arms.