A Dangerous Temptation

by L. R. Olson

  “You all have your own homes, so what the hell are you doing here?”

  “I invited them,” Rafe said.

  I turned to face him, drink in hand. “Why? To congratulate me on my marriage?”

  Rafe snorted. “Because I found a trail that might lead to Evangeline.”

  I stiffened, surprised. We hadn’t talked about her in months, although I knew no one had truly given up hope. Still, I was beginning to wane in my enthusiasm that we would ever find her.

  “Where?” Will asked, always that gallant soldier, preparing for battle.

  Oliver didn’t speak, merely looked at the fire, as if he didn’t care in the least. As if this wasn’t all his doing. Hell, Rafe thought I was bad, at times I wondered if Oliver had any sense of compassion, any conscience at all. It was his fault Evangeline was missing, not that we blamed him. Still, one would assume he’d show some sort of guilt.

  “London,” Rafe said. “She was spotted in London.”

  “Where?” I didn’t dare get my hopes up. They’d been dashed too many times before.

  “East end.”

  “Christ,” Will muttered in disgust.

  Hell, let it be a mistake. “The slums?”

  Rafe nodded as he strolled toward the sideboard and poured himself a drink. “The slums.”

  “A whore.” Leave it to Oliver to say the one thing we were all thinking, but too horrified to say. “Lovely.”

  Will started for the door. “I’ll go.”

  Oliver nodded. “I’ll go with you.”

  It would most likely be a fool’s mission, but I didn’t speak my thoughts. They left the room. The house settled silent and still. It was hard to believe that Jules was upstairs, so close at hand. What hell had I brought her into? No one, not even Jules, deserved this. I sank into the leather chair near the hearth and stared into the dancing flames.

  “Jamie, what will you do with her?”

  I took a healthy gulp of whiskey. “Evangeline?”

  “Of course not.” Rafe sat in the chair across from mine. I couldn’t be annoyed with him for long. He looked a battered mess, but he’d watched my back in that pub. I could always count on him. “Your wife.”

  “What the hell do you mean, what will I do with her?”

  His jaw tightened. “Jesus, Jamie, she’s in love with you.”

  I laughed, finding true mirth in the ridiculous. “You’re insane. She hates me about as much as I hate her.”

  After our conversation in her bedchamber, perhaps even more.

  “But you don’t hate her, do you?”

  I shifted, uneasy. Did I? I hated how she made me feel. I hated that when I was near her I seemed to lose complete control. I hated that I couldn’t trust her, or myself.

  “You married Jules not to punish her, but because you wanted her. If you truly wanted to see her destroyed you would have left that house unattached, her family in ruins. Instead you gave them status, power.”

  I clenched my jaw, refusing to respond. Yes, I wanted Jules. Desperately, completely. But I sure as hell wouldn’t admit that to my gloating brother.

  “Penelope was never for you.” Rafe watched the flames. “Someone that weak would have been destroyed here. But Jules…she just might have a chance. She could make this a home.”

  I snorted. “A home? This will never be a home.”

  He studied me, curious and bemused, as if I was some oddity in a museum. “These games you play will ruin any chance you might have.”

  My hand tightened around my glass so that I thought it might shatter. “When did you become so bloody emotional?”

  “Not emotional. If you want to live in darkness, never seeing the light around you, so be it. But I know you. If you didn’t want to marry her, you wouldn’t have. You might not love her, but you care. You are certainly attracted to her.”

  “I needed a wife. She needed to be punished.”

  Rafe stood. “Is this about her or you?”

  I took another drink, wishing he’d leave me in bloody peace. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “I think you do. I think you’re pushing her away not because you don’t trust her, but because you don’t trust yourself. You don’t trust your own emotions. Don’t do this, Jamie. Don’t destroy her innocence, her pride. The very reasons why you find her so fascinating. Do you want to see that deadened, blank look we had to witness in our own mother’s eyes before she finally succumbed?”

  “Shut up, Rafe.” I tossed the glass and its contents toward the fire, finding satisfaction when it shattered against the stone hearth. I surged to my feet as the flames roared with outrage.

  Rafe sighed. “Jamie, I merely want to…”

  Without another word, I brushed by my brother and left the room.

  I would not destroy her and she would not destroy me. We would not have my parent’s marriage because we would live in separate homes, have separate lives.

  It would be a marriage of convenience and it would be the best for both of us.

  But first and foremost, I would do the one thing I’d been wanting to do for months…I’d fuck Julianna. And I’d bloody well enjoy it.

  Chapter 5

  Julianna

  The week went by at a snail’s pace.

  I became a prisoner in my own chambers, and even worse…in my own mind.

  But I admit it was of my own making.

  It wasn’t as if I was locked inside my room, or told I could not leave. I merely preferred to be alone, rather than deal with the likes of Jamie and his brothers. I stayed busy with my drawings, paints, and the unpacking of my trunks. I certainly couldn’t complain about my blue room, as it was quite lovely. The bedsheets were of the highest quality, the fire always warm, and my meals were plentiful and hearty, although I rarely had the appetite to enjoy them. All in all, I should have been quite content.

  It was the uncertainty that finally drove me mad. I was thinking more and more often about the end of the week, and Jamie’s dire warning of what it would bring. Memories of our only time together kept me up at night, heated my body with a lust that could not be controlled or ignored. I found myself wondering with more frequency if it would feel as good as it had the first time. Thoughts of what would come, thoughts of Jamie touching me, kissing me, made me nervous and desperate in a way I didn’t understand.

  And so when Rafe appeared the first few days to escort me about a dreary and dead garden for an hour or so, taking pity on me, I eagerly accepted. The cold, misty air cooled my fevered skin, made me think about something other than what would happen at the end of the week.

  Unfortunately, his conversation revolved mostly around James.

  “He’s not all bad, Julianna,” he’d said that second day.

  At my disbelieving glance, he laughed.

  “He dresses himself, you know. No valet. He said he refuses to stand there while someone dresses him like he’s a child.”

  I’d rolled my eyes. “It’s hardly an event that demands sainthood. Besides, it’s most likely because he merely wants to be in complete and utter control.”

  When Rafe changed the subject I’d realized I’d been correct in my guess. Rafe mentioned that Will and Oliver had left and frankly I was relieved. Dealing with two brothers was my limit, four would be too much for any woman. I wondered more than once what sort of masculine, cold and dark world I’d entered. At least I could find comfort in the fact that Penny hadn’t married James.

  My dear, sweet sister would never have lasted here on this dreary moor, no matter how much Jamie thought he loved her. Penny was made for sunshine and society, of laughter and gaiety. She could not take the seclusion, the melancholy. I’d written to my mother the first day, begging for information about my sister. But the mail was slow and I knew it would be weeks before I’d hear a reply. And so I was left to wonder if she had returned, if society had forgiven my parents.

  Rafe had introduced me to the housekeeper, Mrs. Vita and a few of the other staff. I’d done my best
to smile and be polite. But Mrs. Vita was an aloof woman, much like her master and the rest of the household. There would be no laughter and gossip, no sharing biscuits and warmed chocolate with this staff. Still, there was no cruelty in her eyes and for that I was thankful. The housekeeper, at least, did not make me nervous.

  The only one who made me leery was the nanny. I hadn’t seen her since that first day, and for that, too, I was grateful. The way she watched through her beady eyes unsettled me. It was as if she searched for something she could use against me at a later date. When I mentioned as much to Rafe he’d merely laughed, dismissing my comment.

  But by the fourth day Rafe was busy and I found myself anxious and unsettled, pacing my room like a caged tiger. I was too upset to sit still and read, although the library downstairs was full of books. I couldn’t paint or draw. I could only think of home and my father, longing for our sweet life that was now merely a memory.

  With a frustrated growl, I tore open my bedroom door. I was sick of my morose thoughts and could no longer be trapped in a room with myself. Intent on knowing my own home, and taking charge of my life, I left my chambers after breakfast and found myself wandering the estate.

  Instinct had me moving up the stairs to the third floor. After all, it was my lot in life to have children, to procure the Whitfield line of secession. In fact, as a woman, it was my only duty. I should see where my children would reside.

  The servant’s staircase was whitewashed and plain, but clean. Although the house was old, I could find no fault with the size of the rooms or the cleanliness of the estate. It was a well-run factory of sorts.

  I stepped into the hall of the third floor and almost ran into a maid. Startled she gasped, dropping the linens she held. I knelt quickly, helping her pick up the sheets.

  “Thank…oh!” Her eyes went wide when she realized my identity. “So sorry, my lady!”

  “Don’t be silly,” I said with a smile, handing her the sheets I’d picked up. “It was entirely my fault. I would like to see the nursery. Can you point me in the right direction?”

  “Of course.” I didn’t miss the way her gaze dropped quickly to my waistline before she pointed down the hall. The heat in my face burned. “Two doors that way, my lady. But it hasn’t been used in quite some time.”

  I couldn’t escape fast enough. “I understand. Thank you.”

  She scurried on her way and I was left to wander down the hall alone. It was quiet, up so high within the house. The servants were working below, and there were no children to cause commotion, to fill the home with laughter and love. But someday, within a year, two…there would be boys and perhaps girls to fill these rooms, to chase away the stillness.

  I pushed open the door and peered into the nursery. It was a large and open space with many windows that looked over the dreary landscape. Slowly, I moved across the chamber, noting the puffs of dust that stirred with each footfall. It was a room lost to memories, left to wait and rot. I peered out the windows. Flat, as far as the eye could see, a misty world of blue and gray. There was not even another cottage in sight. I felt alone, like a lost soul staring down from the heavens upon the earth.

  Below, two gardeners arrived, rakes in hand and began to smooth the gravel drive. Every morning, the same thing. Over and over. Day after day.

  I turned away from the windows. The room held four small beds, two cribs and a variety of wooden toys. It was obvious it hadn’t been in use for some time. It was my duty to fill the chamber. I felt a smile pull at my lips. My children could be happy here in this large, open space, even if I couldn’t. I trailed my hand over an old, lacy blanket. Someone had made it with loving fingers. Jamie’s mother?

  My smile turned into a frown.

  How could he stuff her into a dowager house? The women who had made this blanket hadn’t been uncaring, unloving. Disconcerted, I moved to the large windows once more and gazed out onto the land. I’d seen James ride off earlier and felt safe to search the place that would be my home. The very place where James had grown, lived even still. His entire life was here. What sort of childhood had he had on this desolate moor? Maybe it wasn’t curiosity at all that had me searching the halls, but something more. Maybe, just maybe, I hoped to understand my husband by knowing this house.

  Occasionally I’d hear the murmured voices of a servant as they rushed by the closed door, but all was silent and still up here at the top of the house. I was a ghost of a woman, wandering the estate alone. No one paid me any heed, not the staff and not my husband. Perhaps, come Friday, he would forget all about his promise to have me completely.

  “Do we have hope to believe there will be a baby soon?” a creaky old voice called out from the shadows.

  Startled, I spun around, my face flushing. I felt as if I’d been caught doing something I wasn’t supposed to be doing. Which was ridiculous considering that I was the lady of the home. The old nanny stood in the shadows of a connecting door. “No, I’m afraid not.”

  She moved into the room, her black skirts swooshing across the floorboards. “That’s too bad. We could use the distraction.”

  Distraction from what, I wondered.

  In the bright light of day she looked even older than I’d assumed, her face lined like the ancient rocks we’d passed traveling here. Her gray hair was a storm cloud atop her head, adding to her age. But those eyes…those eyes were alert and intelligent in a way that made me wary. This woman, I had no doubt, saw and noticed everything.

  She stared unblinkingly at me. “His mum would be mighty pleased, she would.”

  It was the first time anyone had mentioned his mother. “We missed her at the wedding.”

  I was being bold, fishing for information, and by the gleam in her eyes she knew it.

  The old woman shrugged. “Hard to go when ye aren’t invited. Near tore her up inside, it did.”

  I frowned. Why would Jamie not invite his own mother? A part of me, deep down, didn’t believe that he could be so heartless. Even after the way he’d treated me, I still held out hope that he was the man I’d known those months ago. Besides, I didn’t trust this woman.

  “I’ve heard they don’t get on well.”

  She snorted. “He was a wily one, he was.” She shuffled toward a cot. It seemed sacrilegious to see the woman next to so innocent a baby bed. There was something about her that made me uneasy. “Our Jamie. Never liked to listen to reason. Always had too much of a mind of his own.”

  She smoothed a gnarled hand across the lace blanket. The same hands that had forced the boys to take ice baths when they were young. I shivered merely thinking about it. The thought of the woman laying her claws upon any child of mine made me ill. She would never touch my babies. Never.

  “But his father showed him, he did.” She grinned. “Beat the boy so he could barely walk, and on more than one occasion.”

  I flinched. Dear God, no wonder why Jamie acted the way he did. Beatings. Ice baths. She thought to make me despise my husband with her less than pleasing description. Yet, she was merely doing the opposite. If anything, I felt as if I was finally starting to understand the man I’d married.

  The woman turned toward me. “Taught him to be the elegant and cold earl his father wanted him to be.”

  “Yes,” I whispered. How horrible I felt for that lad he had been. “He is elegant.”

  And most definitely cold.

  I finally had answers. Yet, I felt no relief. This was his father’s doing then. His sire had made him the man he was. While I’d had the ideal childhood with a loving family, Jamie had lived in this home of hells. “When did his father die?”

  There was an odd gleam in her eyes that made me nervous, as if she found my lack of knowledge amusing. She knew something incredibly important and couldn’t wait to tell me. “Has he not mentioned his past?”

  How I wished she would leave. I shook my head. At the same time I wanted to know more. Understand more. Understand Jamie.

  She shuffled forward, her wrinkled han
ds twisting together as if in glee. “The very house vibrates with secrets.”

  Unease tasted bitter across my tongue. “Secrets?”

  “We all have secrets, my lady.” She smiled, showing her toothless grin. “Even, perhaps, yer dear husband.”

  She was trying to upset me, that was obvious. And I was falling for it. Who was this woman and why did she feel the need to frighten me so? Not wishing to hear any more of her strange opinions, I started for the door. “I do believe luncheon is being served soon.”

  “If yer lookin fer yer husband’s chamber,” the woman called out. “Tis at the far end of the hall, the floor below.”

  I paused for the briefest moment, wondering why she’d assume I’d search out Jamie. Did she think I would have her fired? Had she tried to frighten me on purpose, so that it might cause trouble? Everything felt like a blasted game and I hadn’t been given the rules. “Thank you.”

  It wasn’t until I left the room that I found I could breathe once more. She seemed to suck the air from the chamber. Kindness alluded the woman, she took delight in frightening others. She would never touch my children. Ever.

  What had Jamie’s mother been thinking to allow such a hag to watch over her boys? I continued down the hall, and took a narrow set of servant’s stairs, more to get away from the witch than to see Jamie’s room, but suddenly I found myself at the end of the hall that held his chambers. The floor was just as quiet as the rest of the house. The only sound was the soft tick of a grandfather clock tucked in a corner alcove. Dreary paintings of the landscape outside hung along the white walls, providing the only décor. It looked like every other corridor in this house.

  I stared down the hall. Dare I?

  Curiosity spurred me forward. My slippered feet were muffled by the carpet as I was pulled by desperation. He was my husband, surely I deserved to see his living quarters. My parents slept together, shared the same room every night. I should at least know where my husband dwelled. Hesitating only a moment, I lifted my fist and knocked.