Taste of Temptation

by Cheryl Holt

  “Yes.”

  “We’ll be sisters, won’t we? We’ll be together forever.”

  They clasped hands and smiled.

  Chapter 8

  “BONJOUR, Bonjour! Please, mes petites, come closer. Take a look.”

  Phillip Dudley laid on thick his French accent, welcoming the group of four young ladies to his wagon. The door was propped wide, his array of bottles and jars carefully arranged for eye-catching effect.

  “What may I get for you? A love potion, perhaps?”

  The two younger ones giggled, turning toward the oldest one, and he smiled as he saw that he knew her.

  “Miss Hamilton?”

  “Hello, Mr. Dubois.”

  “Who are your charming companions?”

  “My sisters, Jane and Amelia, and our friend, Lady Rose Seymour.”

  “I am honored!” He gave a theatrical bow, which initiated another chorus of giggles. “What brings you down to the harbor? Is it because you wish to sample more of my wares?”

  “Actually, we’re visiting a ship. My employer is a ship’s captain, Mr. Tristan Odell. Maybe you’ve heard of him?”

  “I have, as a matter of fact. Isn’t he guardian to Lady Rose and her brother?”

  “Yes, he is, and he’s invited us on board for a tour.”

  “My,” he mused, “aren’t you stepping in high company all of a sudden?”

  “I certainly am.”

  “If you’re working, you must have had some good luck since we last met.”

  “My situation has improved dramatically.”

  He could see that it had. Earlier in the summer, she’d been bedraggled and exhausted and hadn’t had a penny in her pocket. He’d feared for her, but over the course of a few weeks, she’d blossomed.

  She was brimming with health, her cheeks rosy, her figure pleasingly rounded, and in her fetching green dress, with a matching parasol dangling over her shoulder, she was the very picture of poise, grace, and refinement.

  “Does Captain Odell realize how fortunate he is to have you?”

  “Yes.” She chuckled, oozing confidence, and it was another positive change.

  “Vous êtes très jolie,” he told her, grinning.

  Amelia leaned nearer and explained, “He says you’re very pretty.”

  “It appears,” Miss Hamilton said, “that someone has been paying attention to her French lessons. I must be a better teacher than I imagine.”

  Jane Hamilton was examining his merchandise, and he turned to her.

  “I have many excellent remedies,” he claimed.

  “I can see that.” Longingly, she touched a bottle. “How do you know my sister?”

  “She stopped by a while back. I gave her a potion.”

  “Which one?”

  “It was my Spinster’s Cure—designed to ensure she marries.”

  Jane glanced over at her sister. “Helen, you didn’t tell me you’d been out buying love potions.”

  “I haven’t been.” Helen flashed him a killing glare.

  “Have you had any luck?” Phillip teased.

  “With finding a husband? No, and I haven’t been trying, either.”

  Her protestation elicited snickers and shrewd peeks from Amelia and Rose—as if they shared a secret.

  Was romance in the air? He hoped so. When a woman fell in love, he always made money.

  “Are you looking for something special?” Phillip asked Jane.

  “Do you really sell love potions?”

  “I really do.”

  “Might I have one, Helen?”

  Helen seemed alarmed by the prospect. “No, you may not.”

  “You’re such a stick in the mud,” Jane complained. “Where’s the harm? It’s all in good fun.”

  “I mean no disrespect to Mr. Dubois,” Helen stated, “but his tonics are nonsense, and I won’t waste a farthing on such foolishness.” She spun to Phillip. “Might I speak with you for a moment, Mr. Dubois? In private?”

  “Oui, mademoiselle.”

  Furtively, he motioned to his sister, Clarinda, who’d been watching them. While he chatted with Helen, Clarinda would parlay with Jane and give her what she was so anxious to have.

  He guided Helen around the wagon, far enough away that she wouldn’t hear what Clarinda was saying to her sister.

  “What may I do for you?” he queried.

  “I must ask you about that Spinster’s Cure.”

  “What about it?”

  “Well ... ah ... you’d mentioned that it has brought about numerous marriages.”

  “The potion is packed with powerful magic.”

  “You’re a smart fellow, Mr. Dubois. Do you actually believe that?”

  “Yes, and I’m suspecting you do, too, or you wouldn’t be questioning me.” He stepped nearer and laid a comforting hand on her arm. He was at his best, his most persuasive, when he was reassuring a worried female. “What is it, cherie? You can tell me. Have you taken the potion?”

  “I ... sort of swallowed it by accident.”

  “By accident?”

  “I was merely trying to quench my thirst, but ... a man walked in front of me, and now ... oh ... I don’t have the vaguest idea how to explain it.”

  “What’s happened?”

  “He’s quite infatuated. Dangerously infatuated.”

  “Who is the man? Let me guess: your employer, Captain Odell?”

  She frowned, disconcerted by his prescience. “Your deductive abilities are astounding.”

  “I am famous for them.” His smile was smug. “Odell fancies you?”

  “Yes.”

  “He’s very dashing, very rich, and handsome?”

  “Yes,” she said again.

  Phillip held out his hands, as if confused. “Then what is the problem?”

  “Would he ... he ... marry me someday?” The instant she voiced the possibility, she waved away her words. “Never mind. I’m being absurd.”

  He chuckled kindly. “Miss Hamilton, the ways of fate are very strange. If you drank the Spinster’s Cure as I instructed, then your destiny has been altered. You will be wed to him very soon. Neither of you will be able to prevent it from occurring.”

  For just a second, her façade slipped to reveal how lonely she’d been, how beaten down by her recent travails. She was desperate for his comments to be true, desperate to have found a man who loved her, but rational thought quickly settled in, and she scoffed.

  “This conversation is ridiculous.” She started off toward the girls. “I do not believe in magic. I do not believe in spells. I do not believe in charms ...”

  She muttered the sentences like an incantation, as if convincing herself. He laughed and followed.

  “Helen,” Lady Rose said, “what were you talking about with Mr. Dubois? Have you bought another love potion?”

  “I most certainly have not.” She gestured down the street, to where they could see the masts of the tall ships tied up at the dock. “Let’s go, shall we? Captain Odell will be wondering where we are.”

  “WHAT did you need?”

  “A love potion.”

  Clarinda Dudley assessed Jane Hamilton. Since she had always lived with her brother, she scarcely recalled an existence beyond his colorful peddler’s wagon.

  They traveled constantly, from one end of the country to the other. Their nomadic routine often seemed like a grand lark, particularly in the summer when the days were sunny and warm, but the long, cold winters could be grueling and difficult.

  What would it be like to be Jane Hamilton, to wear expensive clothes and reside in a fine house?

  Usually, Clarinda enjoyed her itinerant way of life, but lately she’d been restless, and her dour mood was making her question her choices, her decision to remain with Phillip rather than carve out a separate path for herself.

  At the advanced age of twenty-five, she dreamed of simple things: a cozy cottage in the country, a garden where she could grow fresh herbs for her tinctures. Perhaps even a hus
band—if she could ever find a man who wasn’t a fool.

  “We have various therapies,” she informed Jane. “What were you hoping to achieve?”

  “Jane!” Amelia scolded. “Helen said no.”

  “She’s not my mother, Amelia,” Jane replied. “I can buy a blasted potion without begging her permission. Be silent.”

  Jane grabbed Clarinda’s arm and eased her away, and she whispered so that the girls wouldn’t overhear.

  “There is a gentleman whom I like very much.”

  “But he doesn’t like you in return?”

  “I think he does, but I’m afraid it might be temporary.”

  “Ah ... I see. You would like his interest to be permanent.”

  “Yes. He’s a terrible flirt, so he’s distracted by a pretty face. I’d like his attention to fall on me and stay there. Have you something that will make it happen?”

  “Yes,” Clarinda lied.

  Her medicines were brewed with natural ingredients, and they healed as they were intended, but the elixirs Phillip insisted on selling, too, were trickery pure and simple.

  They possessed no magic, and she knew of no special formula to imbue them with supernatural properties. Still, women were desperate, and Clarinda did nothing to discourage them from purchasing Phillip’s concoctions. Why should she?

  On many occasions, his potions created precisely the result Phillip had claimed they would. Clarinda didn’t credit Phillip for the successes, but the human mind, which was powerful beyond their understanding.

  If one of Phillip’s remedies helped a female to believe that the impossible was possible, Clarinda would never tell her otherwise.

  She went to the wagon and poured some powder into a pouch. She handed it to Jane.

  “What should I do with it?” Jane asked.

  “Put it into his food or drink.”

  “How many times?”

  “Just the once. Are you near enough to him to accomplish it without difficulty?”

  “We’re living in his home. We dine together every evening.”

  “That makes it easy.”

  “Yes, it does.” Jane studied the pouch, running her thumb over the leather. “Are you sure it will work?”

  The poor girl looked positively miserable, overflowing with unrequited love, and Clarinda sighed, unable to fathom what it was about the feminine condition that turned sane women into such blithering idiots.

  She’d never met a man who could make her heart pound, and her charlatan brother was the perfect example of the deviousness of the male species.

  “He must be a handsome devil,” Clarinda said.

  “Very handsome, but he’s so far above my station.” Jane was quiet, pondering, then she shyly added, “He’s old enough to marry. He could marry me—if he wanted to.”

  “And why wouldn’t he want to?” Clarinda loyally retorted. “Who could be better than you?”

  “I’m not from an aristocratic family, and my father was a renowned scalawag.”

  Clarinda frowned. “Are we talking about the earl of Hastings? Is that the fellow who’s captured your fancy?”

  “Yes, but his guardian would never deem me to be appropriate.”

  Everyone gossiped about the new earl. He was a flirt and a flatterer, his antics bandied about by all of London, and suddenly, Clarinda worried that she shouldn’t have encouraged Jane. Wasn’t she setting the girl up for heartbreak?

  “Do you really suppose he could grow to love you?” Clarinda carefully probed.

  “I’m certain of it. Next week, we’ll be on holiday at his country property, so we’ll be spending significant amounts of time alone. I know I can win him.”

  Clarinda couldn’t bear to contradict her.

  “Then I’m sure you will,” she kindly agreed.

  Phillip’s conversation with Helen had ended. She marched toward them, muttering under her breath, and Clarinda motioned to the pouch. Jane stuffed it into her reticule.

  “Let’s go, shall we?” Helen said. “Captain Odell will be wondering where we are.”

  “Miss Hamilton,” Clarinda called, before they could start off, “your sister tells me that you’re off to the earl of Hastings’s estate.”

  “Yes, we are. His tenants are having a celebration to kick off the harvest.”

  “It’s a beautiful spot,” Clarinda said. “You’ll enjoy yourselves very much.”

  “You’ve been there?” Jane queried.

  “We were in the area last year. I was up at the manor many times, delivering tonics to the housekeeper.”

  She had no idea why she’d mentioned the fact. The place had represented an odd sort of harbor for her, and she had such marvelous memories of those visits. She’d become friendly with several of the maids, so there had always been the offer of hot food or a cold beer in the kitchen when she’d stopped by.

  In contrast to hers, their lives had seemed so easy. While she had freedom and independence, she’d envied them their structure and routine, their starched clothes and warm beds. She might have stayed there forever, but Phillip had involved himself in a peccadillo with a widow in the village, so they’d had to move on.

  It had been the only occasion she’d seriously considered breaking off with him.

  “Is the property very grand?” Jane asked.

  “As grand as the new earl is said to be,” Clarinda replied.

  She and Jane exchanged a complicit look as Helen herded her charges down the street.

  As Clarinda watched them depart, Phillip came over and put his arm around her.

  “Why do pretty girls always depress you?” he inquired.

  “Because they make me realize what I don’t have.”

  “What is it that you don’t have compared to them? Their world is all fussy morals and stuffy rules. If you carried on in the same fashion, you’d go mad in a week.”

  She didn’t think so, but she didn’t feel like belaboring the point. He was so vain, so convinced he was right, that she could never win any quarrel.

  “What did Miss Hamilton want?” she asked.

  “She claims the Spinster’s Cure worked.”

  “Again? What is it with that potion?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Who is the man?”

  “Captain Odell, the Scot who came to town to serve as guardian to the earl and his sister.”

  “Oh, Lord.”

  “Is Jane Hamilton a satisfied customer?”

  “Yes.”

  “Who’s the lucky fellow tormenting her? Anyone I know?”

  “Lord Hastings.”

  “Poor child,” Phillip grumbled.

  “Do you suppose we ought to ...” Clarinda’s voice trailed off.

  “Ought to what? Just say it.”

  “Should we follow them to Hastings Manor? If the Spinster’s Cure has succeeded again, I’d like to figure out why.”

  “We’d spy on Miss Hamilton and her captain? Don’t we have better things to do?”

  Not really, she thought, but she said, “Don’t pay any attention to me. It was a silly idea.”

  He shrugged. “There might be some money to be made—selling more tonics and whatnot to the Hamiltons.”

  “There might be,” she concurred. “And I’m worried about Jane chasing after the earl. She’s out of her league with him.”

  “Not our business, Clarinda,” he quietly counseled.

  “I know, but I still feel guilty about what happened to Lady Redvers. I’d hate to have something awful occur again—especially if we have the means to prevent it.”

  He pondered, then nodded. “I’ll reflect on it. Maybe we will go.”

  “You named your ship the Lord Hastings?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “Why not?”

  Helen had never been on a ship before, and she gazed at the deck, imagining it skipping across the waves with the sails unfurled. She could picture Odell behind the wheel, barking out orders and saving everyone from
peril.

  “I believe you’re being flip with me,” she scolded.

  “Perhaps.”

  He grinned his wicked grin, the one that made her pulse flutter with excitement, and he rested a hand on her back and guided her toward a ladder. The girls had disappeared down a different hatch with his First Mate, and she glared over her shoulder to where they’d gone.

  “Where are you taking me?” she asked.

  “The governess gets her own private tour—from the captain himself.”

  “What if the governess doesn’t want a private tour?”

  “She gets it anyway.” Nimble as a monkey, he leapt down and was swallowed up by the dark hold.

  She hesitated, anxious about following, when he murmured from below, “Come, Helen. I’ll catch you. Don’t be afraid.”

  The coaxing tone was her undoing. She stepped onto the top rung, fussing with her skirt as she dangled a foot to find the next one.

  “Don’t you dare peek under my dress.”

  “Too late.” His laugh drifted up.

  “Ooh, you wretched bounder.”

  “Your legs are very shapely.”

  She kicked at him, found nothing but air, and lost her balance. She tumbled down, landing in his arms.

  “I thought you’d never get here.” He kissed her and set her on her feet.

  “Stop that.”

  “Stop what?”

  “Stop kissing me right out in the open where anyone can see.”

  “But when I’m around you, I’m a sweltering bundle of unassuaged passion.”

  “You are not.”

  “I am,” he insisted, but she was positive he was joking. She’d never been the type of female who could drive a man wild.

  “You kiss me because you can,” she said, “because I let you.”

  “It’s definitely a possibility.”

  “If I had an ounce of moral fiber, there’d be no hankypanky between us.”

  “Want to make a wager?”

  “With you? Never.”

  He escorted her down a narrow hallway, halting at the end to usher her into a room that had to be his cabin.

  It was small and austere, much as she envisioned a monk’s cell might be. There was a table in the middle strewn with maps, shelves along the walls filled with books, a few trunks with closed lids so that she couldn’t snoop inside, and his bunk.