Taste of Temptation

by Cheryl Holt

  He dipped down and kissed her, his fingers kneading her breasts, when suddenly the wine he’d drunk was gurgling in his stomach. He wasn’t nauseous, but it was a peculiar stirring, as if butterflies had been released.

  The world had narrowed, the area around them darkening so that she was very far away, as if he was viewing her down a long tunnel.

  He watched the decades race by. They were married, having children, growing old together. A gentle awareness soothed him, as if he was seeing exactly what was meant to be. If he chose the appropriate route, he could be with her forever.

  He opened his mouth, about to utter an inane romantic comment that would convey his heightened sentiment, but a voice of sanity in his head was shouting, No! No! Don’t do it!

  In an instant, the vision blinked out, the present returning with a vengeance. He was in Jane’s bedchamber, in her bed.

  He shuddered, shaking off the onerous perception.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked. “For a minute there, it seemed as if you’d ...”

  “As if I’d what?”

  “You were ... lost in a fog. It was very eerie.”

  The incident was rapidly fading from memory, the details so hazy he could already scarcely recall them.

  He flexed, his erection pressing against her loins.

  “I’m definitely here,” he said.

  “You definitely are.”

  “There’s no fog swirling.”

  She laughed and drew him down for a kiss, fanning the flames of his desire, but the sensations had changed.

  He’d planned to have a rough and merry tumble, where he would sweet-talk and flatter, then take what he wanted. But for some reason, he was awash with other feelings, ones that were new and unusual.

  If not for her inferior status, she might actually have been his bride, so he needed to make the experience special for her.

  “Michael ... ?” She was patting him on the shoulder.

  “What?”

  “You are acting so strangely.”

  “I was thinking about you.”

  “In a good way, I hope?”

  “In a very good way. I’m just so glad to be here with you.”

  “I’m glad you’re here, too. I feel as if I’ve been waiting for this moment my entire life.”

  “So do I.”

  And he was being sincere. Fate had steered her directly into his path, and he was desperate to be joined with her. He couldn’t delay another second.

  He kissed her with a renewed vigor, fussing with the straps of her nightgown, working it down till the fabric was pooled at her waist.

  Her breasts were bare, the pointy tips urging him to misbehave, and he sucked one of them into his mouth. He laved and played, moving back and forth, back and forth, until she was panting and writhing beneath him.

  “How do you like it so far?” he teased, as he nibbled across her bosom.

  “I’m quite satisfied.”

  “Ha! I haven’t begun to satisfy you.”

  “You’re a man of many talents.”

  “I certainly am.”

  He tugged off her nightgown so she was naked, and he stretched out atop her again, giving her no chance to be embarrassed by her nudity.

  “You’re very beautiful, Jane. I’ve never met a prettier girl.”

  “I’m happy to know that I please you.”

  “You’re so right for me. You’re my perfect match.”

  “Yes, I am. I’m so relieved that you realize it.”

  “We should always be together.”

  She hugged him as tightly as she could, initiating another torrid kiss, and if he hadn’t been so overwhelmed by passion, it might have occurred to him that she was hearing his words in a manner he never intended, but he was too aroused to worry about what she was thinking.

  “I want to make love to you, Jane,” he murmured, “as a husband does his wife.”

  “I told you, Michael: Whatever you want is fine with men.”

  “It will hurt the first time.”

  “I know.”

  She spread her legs, her thighs cradling him, welcoming him.

  With eager fingers, he opened his trousers and centered himself.

  Even though she hadn’t had an orgasm, she was wet and relaxed from his ministrations. In any other situation, with any other woman, he might have been more considerate, might have ensured that she found her pleasure before he found his, but with the tip of his phallus wedged into her virginal body, he was consumed by a need to ravish her that was almost feral in its power.

  He took a deep breath, fighting for control, but it was no use.

  He eased himself in, flexing and flexing, and when his path was finally blocked, when he encountered the evidence of her chastity, he was deluged by such a wave of lust that he gripped her hips and pushed himself in.

  She tensed and arched up, crying out in dismay, and he tried to hold himself still, but she was so hot and so tight, that he couldn’t prevent the wild ending working its way through his loins.

  He impaled himself, once, again, and he came with a blistering rush, spilling himself far into her womb with nary a thought to the consequences.

  Just that fast, it was over, and he buried his face in her nape, mortified that he’d performed as if he was a fourteen-year-old lad and sneaking out behind the stable with Lydia.

  He was a more skilled lover than he’d proved himself to be. He knew how to be gentle, how to coax and cajole, but she’d spurred him to a pinnacle beyond what he’d ever achieved with any paramour.

  The notion—that she stimulated him to an extreme level—was disturbing. He was afraid he might like her more than he should, which was simply a recipe for frustration and disappointment.

  He retreated from her and rolled away, as she winced in pain.

  For a long while, they were silent, resting side by side, like two strangers staring at the ceiling.

  “Are you all right?” he eventually inquired.

  “Yes, I’m all right.”

  “I hurt you, didn’t I?”

  “I’ll mend.” There was another uncomfortable lull, and she said, “Is that all there is to it? I had expected something more ... romantic.”

  “I’m sorry. I guess I didn’t do it very well. I should have slowed down; I should have helped you through it.”

  “I’m fine. Don’t worry about me. I liked it ... really.”

  She was lying; he could tell. He’d acted like a bumbling lout, and she’d suffered because of it—though she was too polite to say so.

  Glancing over, he was stricken to see that she was crying. He’d fornicated with many women in his short life, but he’d never romped so badly that he’d driven one of them to tears.

  He pulled her into his arms, and for a moment she resisted, as if she didn’t want to be touched by him, then she snuggled close and sobbed her heart out.

  Feeling out of his element, he held her, running a soothing hand up and down her back, whispering words of consolation and support. Ultimately, her weeping ended, and in an exhausted stupor, she fell asleep.

  Once he was certain he wouldn’t wake her, that he wouldn’t be required to hash out the dreadful episode with a distasteful conversation, he slid away. Like the cad he apparently was, he yanked a quilt over her and tiptoed out without a good-bye.

  Chapter 10

  “Miss Hamilton! In the library. Now!”

  “I’m sorry, Captain Odell, but I’m busy. I can’t attend you.”

  Helen stuck her nose up in the air, spun away, and swept up the stairs after Rose and Amelia.

  He stood in the foyer of Michael’s country house, watching her go, and his fury soared.

  The impertinent tart! How dare she refuse his direct order!

  It was four o’clock, time for their afternoon meeting, and he wasn’t about to let her skip it.

  Since their quarrel aboard the Lord Hastings, he’d hardly seen her. Their trip to Hastings Manor had been just as hectic as Maud had predic
ted.

  If he had traveled alone, on horseback, he could have arrived after a single lengthy day of riding, but with several carriages lumbering along, loaded down with six females and all their trunks and boxes, it had taken three days.

  He was exhausted, his temper flaring, and he was in no mood for sass from his governess.

  When they’d fought in his cabin, he’d simply thought he was being prudent, having an adult discussion with an adult woman about sexual behavior. Upon his referring to her virginity, she’d been so offended that one would think he’d asked her to disrobe in front of a group of strangers.

  The butler was lurking, pretending not to have noticed Helen’s insolence.

  “Have tea delivered to the library,” Tristan said. “Miss Hamilton will be joining me. She will join me every afternoon at four.”

  “Very good, sir.”

  “Have tea ready for each appointment.”

  “I will see to it.”

  Tristan started off as the other man hid a smirk, obviously skeptical that Helen could be brought to heel, and Tristan, himself, wasn’t certain of his options.

  Short of picking her up and carrying her to the room, how could he force her to comply? He had no idea.

  He stomped up the stairs, winding down the labyrinth of halls that led to the nursery, where the girls would study their lessons and sleep in the adjacent bedchambers.

  As he approached, he could hear them talking. He increased his stride, determined to storm in and demand an explanation for Helen’s rudeness, but the mention of his name piqued his curiosity. He lagged, then tiptoed closer.

  “Do you like Captain Odell?” Rose inquired.

  “Of course,” Helen glumly responded.

  “Would you marry him if you could?”

  Helen coughed, as if choking on the prospect. “Definitely not. Why are you two asking all these ridiculous questions?”

  “Did Mr. Dubois really give you a love potion?”

  “No, he didn’t.”

  “Why would he say such a thing, then?”

  “I don’t know.” Helen sounded unusually exasperated, as if the topic had been incessantly raised.

  “Maybe you should buy a potion from him,” Amelia chimed in.

  “Whatever for?”

  “To use on Captain Odell, silly.”

  The comment set off a rash of giggles, which left Tristan disconcerted. He didn’t believe in magic; but then again, Helen claimed to have put a spell on him, and he’d been smitten ever since.

  “Why on earth,” Helen scolded, “would I use a love potion on Captain Odell?”

  “So he marries you.”

  “He’s not going to marry me. Will you get the notion out of your busy heads?”

  “Mr. Dubois’s sister gave a love potion to Jane,” Amelia tattled.

  “When?”

  “When you were chatting with Mr. Dubois.”

  “Why would Jane need a love potion?”

  “You never know who might have caught her fancy,” Rose mysteriously replied.

  “If Jane is willing to try one,” Amelia pressed, “why aren’t you? I mean, Captain Odell is very nice, and you could—”

  “Amelia!” Helen snapped. “Let it go! Please.”

  Tristan chose this moment to enter. Rose and Amelia grinned, while Helen blushed with embarrassment.

  “Hello, girls,” he said, and they curtsied.

  “Hello, Captain.”

  They answered together, as if they were one person rather than two. Rose was blooming with happiness, and he was delighted to observe it.

  “Will you be all right on your own for a bit?” he asked them.

  “Yes, yes ...” They were glancing back and forth at Helen and himself.

  “Miss Hamilton and I will be down in the library.”

  “We will not,” Helen insisted. “Besides, the girls and I need to decide which dresses they’ll wear to the village dance on Friday.”

  “You can decide tomorrow.”

  “We’re scheduled to talk about it now,” she mutinously retorted.

  Ignoring her, he took her arm and guided her out. Although she wasn’t exactly amenable, she wouldn’t struggle in front of her charges. She flashed him a look that could have killed, but kept on without verbal complaint.

  “I’ll send her back in an hour,” he said over his shoulder. “You two stay up here till she returns.”

  He continued on, humored at how he’d manhandled her.

  “How long were you standing in the hall?” she muttered through clenched teeth.

  “Long enough to hear you gossiping about me.”

  “We weren’t gossiping!” she hotly declared.

  “Ha!”

  “We weren’t!”

  “Don’t deny it, Helen. My ears are in fine condition.”

  Apparently, he’d shamed her into silence, and it was a blessed relief. Without another word, he was able to escort her all the way to the library.

  The butler was hovering with the tea tray. Tristan deposited Helen in a chair, then went around the desk to sit himself. They stared, an angry, awkward impasse fomenting.

  The butler cleared his throat. “Shall I pour, sir?”

  “No. Miss Hamilton will do it for me.” He glared at Helen, daring her to contradict him. “Won’t you, Miss Hamilton?”

  For the briefest second, she seethed, appearing as if she’d decline to obey, but she reined in her temper and gifted the butler with a winning smile.

  “I’m happy to oblige the captain in whatever fashion he desires.”

  “There you have it.” Tristan waved the man away. “Miss Hamilton and I have numerous topics about which we must confer. See to it that we’re not disturbed.”

  “I will, Captain.”

  The butler left, closing the door behind him. Tristan rose and trailed after him to spin the key in the lock. He pulled it out and stuck it in his coat pocket.

  They were finally sequestered, and Tristan suffered an emotion that was near to joy. Helen had an entirely different view of the situation.

  “Are you insane?” she barked. “Open that door right now.”

  “No.”

  He returned to the desk and sat, studying her, curious as to why she caused him to act like such a bully. He’d never previously had to force a woman to endure his company. Then again, no female of his acquaintance would have conducted herself as Helen did.

  “The butler will have heard you locking me in,” she complained. “In a matter of minutes, the story will be all over the house that I’m in here alone with you, against my will.”

  “If he tells anyone”—Tristan faced the door so that his voice carried—“he’ll be fired, so I’m sure he’ll be a veritable fount of discretion.”

  Someone in the hall—the butler, certainly—tiptoed away.

  Tristan smirked. She fumed.

  “You are a beast.”

  He wouldn’t dignify the insult with a reply. Instead, he said, “Let’s get a few things straight.”

  “What would those things be?”

  “You work for me, Miss Hamilton.”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “At the moment, I’m not calling you Helen, because you’re behaving like a spoiled child. Perhaps my formality will get your attention, and you’ll realize my level of aggravation.”

  “I’ve never wanted you to call me Helen.”

  “Another example of your impossible nature.”

  “I’ve been a model employee.”

  “Except for skipping the meetings I arranged.”

  “I suppose a person could look at it that way,” she grudgingly allowed.

  “You don’t seem to understand that you must do as I say.”

  “I think I’ve been plenty accommodating.”

  She scowled, vividly reminding him of the failed seduction onboard his ship. He didn’t know why he’d invited her for a visit, why he’d taken her to his private quarters. And he definitely didn’t know why he’d almo
st relieved her of her virginity on the table in the middle of the room.

  He was lucky they’d quarreled before the girls had burst in.

  “Now that we’re settled here at the manor, we’ll begin having our daily appointments.”

  “I’m positive my schedule will be much too full.”

  He sat back, his gaze narrowing with his fiercest ship captain’s glower, but it had no effect.

  “Why, precisely,” he inquired, “do you feel you can counter my wishes?”

  “Because—as you just mentioned—I am your employee, but when we’re together, we’re inclined to mischief.”

  “I believe I explained as much that day in my cabin.”

  “Yes, you did. Quite clearly.”

  “So what is your problem, Miss Hamilton? I’m dizzy from trying to follow your convoluted logic.”

  “I need this job, and I intend to keep it. If we continue on as we have been, eventually there will be trouble. We’ll be discovered by a servant, or Mrs. Seymour will find out, and my reputation would be ruined. I’d no longer be fit to supervise Rose, so you’d have to let me go.”

  “Can you deem me so fickle that I would fire you over a bit of scandal?”

  “You wouldn’t have any choice.”

  “Oh, I always have a choice.”

  “As do I,” she said, “and I’ve made mine. No meetings. Not at ten. Not at four. Not at supper. No meetings.”

  He’d spent a good share of his life with people telling him what he could and couldn’t do. His bastardry had left others with the impression that he could be denied things he wanted or needed, simply because his father hadn’t married his mother.

  He was prideful and competitive, possessed of his father’s aristocratic temperament. He wasn’t very proficient at taking orders, that being why he’d mustered out of the Royal Navy as swiftly as he could and, on a wing and a prayer, had started his own shipping enterprise.

  When would she learn that he would never do as he was told?

  “Miss Hamilton”—he rose from his chair—“is there some reason you imagine that you will set the agenda between us?”

  “Well, you can’t control your baser impulses, so one of us must keep a level head.”

  “And that would be you?”

  “Yes.”

  He rounded the desk, as she warily watched him. Once she realized he was proceeding directly for her, she made a pathetic attempt to escape, but he was too quick.