Taste of Temptation

by Cheryl Holt

  She was shaking, astonished by his generosity.

  “You did all that for me?”

  “Yes.”

  “But ... but ... why?” she asked again.

  “I love you, Helen. I love you more than my life.”

  She started to cry. She hadn’t planned to; she was just so overwhelmed. Tears dripped down her cheeks, and at the sight, he appeared stricken.

  “Don’t cry,” he said. “You know I hate it when you’re sad.”

  “I can’t help it.”

  “I’m only returning what never should have been taken from you in the first place.”

  She cried harder.

  When the duke’s men had come with their wagons, when Helen had tarried with Jane and Amelia, observing as they’d emptied room after room, she’d convinced herself that her possessions were just things.

  How could it matter if someone took them? They could buy new, when times improved, but she’d been lying to herself.

  The loss of her home, where her father’s laughter still rang in the halls, had been a crushing blow, and she hadn’t realized that there was a single person who understood how devastating it had been.

  Tristan Odell had understood, and he’d expended the effort to repair the damage that had been inflicted. While she’d been hiding in her temporary apartment, bemoaning her lot and feeling sorry for herself, he’d been quietly fixing all that was wrong.

  Her sister was wife to an earl. Her family’s estate had been restored to her. She could wed—if she dared—and have the children she craved. And she could have a handsome, kind, and considerate husband to boot.

  He came up off his knees, and he sat in the chair next to her. He pulled her onto his lap so she could cry on his shoulder.

  “I didn’t think you loved me,” she wept. “I didn’t think you cared.”

  “You blasted woman! Of course I love you. I’ve always loved you.”

  “You never said anything.”

  “I was too much of a coward.”

  “You bought my father’s house!”

  “Yes, I did.”

  “You bought it for me!”

  “To make you happy.”

  “The gesture is too sweet for words.”

  “I was hoping you’d feel that way.”

  “I don’t know what to say.”

  “How about yes?” he asked. “In case you’ve forgotten, there’s a proposal on the table, and you haven’t replied.”

  She smiled, unable to speak, the tears still flowing, and he swiped them away.

  “Stop your blubbering, Helen. You’re ruining my best coat.”

  “I’m sorry I believed all those awful stories they told about you. I shouldn’t have. I was just so afraid. I thought I was all alone again. I thought you’d forsaken me.”

  “Never,” he vowed. “I never would. Now what is your answer?”

  “Yes, yes, yes, I’ll marry you. In a second. In an instant. Immediately and eternally.”

  “Are you sure? Because with me, it’s forever. I won’t have you changing your mind before we can get it accomplished.”

  She gazed into his blue, blue eyes, captivated by how remarkable he was, how strong and steadfast and true. He would be her husband, her lover, her friend. For the remainder of her days, he’d be by her side, her most devoted companion, her most reliable ally.

  “I will never change my mind.”

  “Then I am the luckiest man in the world.”

  He let out a whoop of elation and—given his usual stoic manner—it was completely out of character. He leapt to his feet with her in his arms, and he twirled in circles, kissing her as they spun round and round.

  The door banged open, and Rose and Amelia rushed in.

  “What happened, Captain?” Amelia queried. “Why were you yelling?”

  “We were trying to listen,” Rose added, “but we couldn’t hear you at the very last.”

  Tristan stood Helen on the floor, and he smiled at the two girls.

  “Let’s just say that I owe Phillip Dudley ten pounds.”

  “Whatever for?” Helen inquired.

  “He bet me that he’d be dancing at my wedding next week.”

  “Have you scalawags slipped me a love potion?”

  “Yes,” they all retorted at once.

  Helen grinned at Tristan. “Since I am suddenly, wildly, and madly in love, I guess he won that wager hands down.”

  “I guess he did, too. I will never doubt the man again.”

  “You’re getting married?” Amelia asked. “You’re serious?”

  “Yes, we’re serious,” Helen responded.

  “And we’ll all be together,” Rose chimed in, “like a real family?”

  “Yes,” Tristan said, “like a real family.”

  Rose and Amelia squealed with joy, then raced over to join Helen. The three females in Tristan’s life hugged him as tightly as they could.

  TURN THE PAGE FOR A SNEAK PEEK AT

  CHERYL HOLT’S NEXT NOVEL OF SENSUAL DESTINY

  Dreams of Desire

  COMING DECEMBER 2010

  FROM BERKLEY SENSATION!

  Chapter 1

  PENWORTH HALL, RURAL ENGLAND,

  AUGUST. 1814 ...

  “I might deign to hire you, Miss Lambert.”

  “I hope you will, Lord Penworth.”

  “But you would be expected to exhibit the utmost decorum at all times.”

  “Oh, absolutely. I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

  Lily Lambert sat in her chair, staring across the massive oak desk at the arrogant, officious aristocrat John Middleton, Earl of Penworth.

  He was extremely handsome, with dark hair, piercing blue eyes, broad shoulders, and excessive height, but good looks couldn’t mask the fact that he was an overbearing boor.

  She’d been eager to serve as companion to his two wards and his fiancée, but now she wasn’t so sure.

  When she’d agreed to come for the interview, Mrs. Ford—owner of the Ford Employment Agency-had warned her that Penworth could be fussy and domineering, but no amount of notice could have prepared Lily for how unpleasant he would truly be.

  She’d been in his presence for all of five minutes, and he’d done nothing but chastise and complain. What an onerous boss he would be! He didn’t appear to like servants very much. Or females. Perhaps it was simply female servants whom he detested.

  She kept her expression blank, not by so much as the quiver of a brow providing any evidence of her own level of aversion to his rank and status.

  For the prior decade, she’d been nanny, governess, and companion to the spoiled offspring of nobles just like him, and she’d endured plenty of nonsense. Because of her dismal history, her opinion of him was very low—even though she scarcely knew him.

  She wondered if he was the sort to seduce his maids, but she thought he wouldn’t be. He was too conceited, too set on being marvelous. He’d never stoop to fraternization.

  “I’m a hard taskmaster,” he said, intoning it like a threat.

  “And I’m a dedicated worker.”

  “If I issue orders, they must be instantly obeyed.”

  “I would be yours to command.”

  “I’ll brook no sloth or insubordination.”

  “I wouldn’t dream of idleness or rebellion.”

  He snorted at that. “I won’t have you down in the kitchen, criticizing me over your supper—a supper I have supplied in my own house.”

  “I am loyalty personified.”

  “I demand fidelity and constancy.”

  “I’m constant as the day is long.”

  “But are you devoted? Can you be trusted?”

  “Of course I can be trusted.”

  He meticulously studied her, as if she were an agitator bent on causing trouble. Then he held up the thick file Mrs. Ford had sent. It was filled with glowing letters of recommendation, but all of them were forged. Lily had written them herself.

  She was petite and pretty, and
she labored in grand mansions that were occupied by toplofty husbands who were used to taking whatever they wanted, so she’d fended off many advances. With mischief exposed, the wife of the miscreant was never inclined to be rational.

  Lily had been fired—through no fault of her own—more times than she could count, and she refused to starve merely because an oblivious noblewoman couldn’t make her spouse behave.

  Being all alone in the world, Lily had no family to lean on for support, so she had to do what was necessary to get by. If financial security meant drafting a few fake letters, so be it, and the positive reports weren’t really false.

  She was a dedicated worker. She was reliable and steady. She was kind and courteous, so she suffered no qualms about furthering her claims of proficiency, and she’d never been caught.

  In her experience, the person hiring was always in a hurry, needing someone to start immediately, so references were never checked. Lily acted competent, thrifty, and educated, so people were easily convinced that she was precisely who she said she was.

  “You have an impressive resume,” Penworth remarked.

  “I try.”

  “Yet I must admit that I’m wary.”

  “Of what?” she snapped before she could stop herself.

  He’d flustered her, and her composure slipped. She hastened to shield any reaction.

  “How old are you, Miss Lambert?”

  “Twenty-five, milord.”

  “You’ve had numerous positions. Why so many? Are you prone to quitting? Will you pack your bags after a few weeks? Will you leave me in the lurch? I would hate to find myself trapped in Scotland with my wards unattended.”

  He was guardian to eighteen-year-old twins, Miss Miranda and Miss Melanie Newton. They were daughters of a friend who’d perished from fast living.

  They were accompanying Penworth on his annual hunting excursion to his castle in Scotland, as was his fiancée, Lady Violet Howard. She was the same age as the twins and making the journey north as well.

  Of all the dreadful situations for which Lily was remotely qualified, having to spend the autumn traipsing after a trio of rich, indolent adolescents had to be the worst available option. She viewed the coming ordeal with a nauseating resignation, but while she didn’t particularly want the job, she couldn’t afford to decline it.

  After the disaster at her last post—what she referred to as the incident with her employer’s husband—she was anxious to flee London for a bit. In case any gossip leaked out, she had to be far from Town so stories could fade before she returned.

  Her ability to obtain work was dependent on a stellar reputation, and she was determined to hide until the storm had passed.

  “Your questions are understandable, Lord Penworth, but if you look closely, you’ll see that I have perfectly logical reasons for my frequent moves.”

  “Those being?”

  “I was companion to several elderly ladies who died, so the jobs ended.”

  “I suppose,” he allowed, as if she should have been so accursedly loyal as to have stayed on after her employer was deceased.

  The man was an idiot.

  “I was also governess,” she said, “to various girls who went on to marry. Once they were wed, my services were no longer required.”

  At this news, he harrumphed as if her charges had done something shocking by marrying, and she could barely contain her exasperation.

  What sort of woman was he seeking? A saint?

  He opened the file and began to read, poring over every detail, as she fidgeted and fumed in her seat.

  Ultimately, he exhaled a heavy sigh. “Fine. You’re hired.”

  The remark was the exact opposite of what she’d expected, and she gaped at him. “What did you say?”

  “You’re hired.”

  “Oh.”

  She’d been so sure of rejection that acceptance was almost a letdown.

  “You don’t seem very excited,” he mentioned.

  She flashed a tight smile. “I’m positively ecstatic.”

  He barked out a laugh, the sound rusty, as if it didn’t happen often.

  “Is this you in ecstasy, Miss Lambert?”

  She couldn’t abide his condescending tone and answered more sarcastically than she should have. “Would you like me to leap up and twirl in circles?”

  “I doubt my poor heart could stand the sight. A simple thank-you will suffice.”

  “Thank you.”

  His chin balanced on his hand, he leaned back in his chair and assessed her. She scrutinized him in return.

  He was thirty, so there was only a five-year difference in their ages, but he was so urbane, so patronizing and sophisticated, that he seemed decades older. Wealth, station, and life experience separated them as clearly as if a line had been drawn.

  His long legs were stretched out, one foot crossed over the other. Even though he had slouched down, he appeared to be uncomfortable, and she wondered if he ever relaxed.

  “You’re very interesting, Miss Lambert.”

  “Why do you say so?”

  “I’ve given you a place in my household, but you’re not gushing. Most females—when I take the time to personally interview them—are a tad more obsequious.”

  “I offered to rejoice, but you said you’d rather I didn’t.”

  “So I did.”

  “Have you changed your mind? Would you like me to flatter and compliment? I certainly can if it will make you happy.”

  “Don’t you dare go all sycophantic on me. We’re merely completing a business transaction.” He tapped a pensive finger against his lips, and he scowled. “There’s just one problem.”

  “What is it?”

  “You’re very pretty. It worries me.”

  On hearing the comment, she felt as if they’d stepped into a murky bog.

  She didn’t consider it vanity when she admitted to being pretty. There was nothing wrong with her vision, and she could see her reflection in a mirror. She was blond and blue-eyed, with a heart-shaped face and pouting lips. Her high cheekbones and dimples had driven several aristocratic sons to write absurd, unwanted poetry about her.

  In addition to her comely features, she was pleasingly plump, rounded in the right spots, with a bosom that was fuller than it should be, a small waist, and curvaceous hips. Her shapely figure attracted male attention that she didn’t solicit or condone, and she occasionally received risque proposals that involved her posing in the nude.

  “My looks are ... worrying to you?” she tentatively ventured.

  “Yes, so I’m afraid I have to set some ground rules.”

  “Ground rules?”

  “Yes.”

  “Such as?”

  “There will be no flirting with the footmen.”

  “Definitely not.”

  “Nor can I permit drinking or cavorting. No frolicking with boys in the village. No late night dips in the pond in your undergarments.”

  She was so insulted she couldn’t think straight.

  “Anything else?”

  “No gambling. I absolutely draw the line at wagering.”

  “I’ll do my best to avoid it.”

  He raised an imperious brow. “Are you mocking me, Miss Lambert?”

  “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

  “Recently, we’ve had a rash of untoward behavior, and it’s my opinion that much unpleasantness could have been averted if I’d been clearer from the start as to the conduct required.”

  “Your housemaids have been disruptive? They’ve been swimming in the pond and dallying with the footmen?”

  “Not my maids. The companions I’ve hired for my wards.”

  “How many have you hired?”

  “In the past year? Seven.”

  His cheeks flushed as she gawked at him, trying to make sense of the information. Why would so many have come and gone over such a short period? Was he just particularly bad at choosing capable people? Or was he an impossible brute?

  Lily was
acquainted with many of the women from Mrs. Ford’s agency, and there was no more boring, humdrum group in existence. She couldn’t imagine any of them instigating the type of trouble he’d described.

  Suddenly, she was swamped with misgivings, and an alarm bell began to chime.

  “You’ve had seven companions?”

  “Yes, and none of them has had the fortitude to stick it out.”

  “May I inquire as to why?”

  “No, you may not. Suffice it to say that it was a lack of character on their parts.”

  “On all their parts?”

  “Yes,” he haughtily insisted. “I asked of them what I ask of myself. I maintain the highest standards of decency and decorum. I would never cause a scandal, initiate gossip, or involve myself in an immoral situation. I demand the same of my servants.”

  What a dreadfully dull household it must be, she mused. Then again, it had to be better than being groped in a dark hallway or having your employer’s husband sneak into your bed in the middle of the night.

  “I don’t suppose any of this was due to mischief by your wards?”

  “My wards? Why would you even suggest such a thing? Their reputations are beyond reproach.”

  “So ... it was simply a scourge of amorous, flighty ladies’ companions?”

  That imperious brow was raised again. “You doubt me?”

  It would be completely impolitic to answer yes, so instead, she stood.

  “I had said thank you,” she told him, “but I must change my reply to no thank you.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “This job sounds to be quite above my level of competency. I’m sorry, but I wouldn’t be right for it.”

  Cursing herself for a fool, she started out. They were at his country manor, Penworth Hall, a two-day journey from the city. Mrs. Ford had loaned her coach fare to attend the interview, with the understanding that Lily would pay her back from her first month’s wages.

  If she walked out, how would she square the debt? And if she snubbed the Earl, why would Mrs. Ford place her at another post? Lily had lost many of the positions Mrs. Ford had found for her. Why would Mrs. Ford keep Lily on?

  She’d almost made it to the door when Penworth barked, “Miss Lambert, sit down.”

  “I can’t. I really must—”