A Dangerous Temptation

by L. R. Olson

  “Yes,” I said, determined to keep calm no matter what. Despite what it seemed, I had been in complete and utter control of my emotions at one time. Before I’d met Jules.

  She stared at her plate. “You slept with me, wanted me those months ago, you can’t deny it.”

  “I don’t.”

  I wanted her here and now.

  She looked up, meeting my gaze. “How could you marry my sister when you’d betrayed her? Had you no heart? No conscience?”

  My jaw clenched, but I did everything in my power to calm my racing heart, to dampen down the urge to defend myself. She was merely curious, merely being honest. I could offer her no less. With a sigh, I relented. “I liked Penny. She was pleasant. I sure as hell wasn’t in love with her. It was supposed to be a marriage of convenience. That was all.”

  She frowned, not looking convinced.

  The fish course was taken away. My wife, I noticed, had barely touched her plate. “Jules, most men have mistresses. As long as they’re discreet, no one seems to mind. Do you not realize that?”

  She flushed. “And…will you?”

  That depended entirely upon whether she would be willing to share my bed or not. I dropped my gaze to my wine glass. But the thought of sleeping with another didn’t feel right. I did not wish to lie to her. Honestly, I hadn’t even thought about having a mistress since our marriage. “I have slept with no one since you those months ago.”

  She blinked her eyes wide, the surprise apparent. As much as I was loathe to admit it, I’d told her the truth. Why? Why hadn’t I slept with anyone? It wasn’t natural, and I worried she would read too much into the comment. Expect too much from me.

  “I’m sorry I ruined things between you and Penny.”

  Once again I could have lied, made her feel guilty as hell. I didn’t. “There was never, nor would there have ever been, any attraction between me and Penny.”

  She frowned, obviously confused. “You didn’t love her?”

  I laughed, I couldn’t quite help myself. “No.”

  “You don’t love me either, yet you were forced to marry me.”

  “If anyone was forced into marriage, it was you.” I played with the stem of my wine glass. It was time to give her something, just a little. “Jules, I married you because I wanted you. Hell, I can’t…”

  She looked at me so curious and hopeful that I couldn’t seem to hold back.

  “I can’t sleep at night without dreaming about having you.”

  She flushed, sliding an embarrassed glance toward the footmen who stood stoically by, staring straight ahead as if they didn’t hear a word. Hell, if we’d been alone, I would have had her on the dining room table. I lifted the glass and downed the wine, ignoring the sudden flare of heat that raced toward my cock.

  “I’ve been looking into other properties near Dorset,” I said, deciding to change the subject. “So that you might live by your parents after our first child is born.”

  She was quiet for a moment, mulling over my comment. “The child and I would live there?”

  I nodded slowly. It was completely normal for a husband and wife to live separately, and that had been my plan all along. So why now did it not sit right with me? Why did the thought of my child living in a different home feel unnatural?

  “And you? Will you live with us?”

  Her softly spoken question jerked me from my thoughts. “I will visit you upon occasion. We must, after all, have a second son.”

  “Oh. I see.” She played with her napkin, her gaze upon her lap. Her sudden morose contemplation confused me. What the bloody hell did the woman want? I’d assumed she’d be ecstatic to be rid of me. Hell, I was giving her complete and utter freedom.

  “I need to stay here,” I explained. “There is the house, and the tenants to manage.”

  She forced those lush lips up once more and gave me a brittle smile. “Of course.”

  I wasn’t sure what to make of her reaction. She seemed almost disappointed. But no…that couldn’t be. She despised me as much as I did her. Except…I wasn’t sure I actually hated her any longer. Had her feelings toward me changed as well?

  “Will you live with us?”

  Dear God, had there been hope in her voice? Did she actually want me nearby?

  She picked at her next course, her thoughts far, far away, her temper sullen. It couldn’t be possible…but it seemed as if Jules actually cared.

  A slow smile spread across my lips, the evening suddenly looking brighter.

  Hell, she wanted me. It was a start.

  A very, very good start.

  Perhaps there was hope for us after all.

  Chapter 9

  Julianna

  “Out here, my lady,” Cora said with a giggle.

  Bemused, I followed her out the side door and onto a stone patio. She had appeared a week ago, along with a wardrobe of new gowns. My very own lady’s maid. She was a sweet local orphaned girl not yet seventeen. A bit young, still, her enthusiasm and cheerfulness was more than welcome.

  “He told me to lead you here, my lady.”

  “Who?” I asked. Her excitement was contagious and I found myself smiling.

  I’d been smiling a lot lately. How things had changed in the last couple weeks. Every evening I had dinner with James. Our meals weren’t as carefree as the meals I’d shared with my family. But we had pleasant conversations all the same, and he seemed genuinely interested in my thoughts and beliefs. Yes, our time together had started out awkward and unsure, but it was slowly getting better and I found an ease with him that I hadn’t felt with anyone else ever.

  Cora led me across the patio toward the side garden where plants were trying desperately to bloom. Even the flowers suddenly seemed determined to thrive here. The entire world appeared brighter now that James and I had decided to lay aside our feud and attempt civility.

  “What is it?” I laughed.

  “There!” She pointed toward the far end of the patio, then hopped up and down in glee. “Do you see it?”

  On a chair rested a large straw hat and a folded smock of some sort. But it was the easel and paints that took my breath away. A studio out of doors where I might paint?

  “Lord Whitfield had it set up for you, my lady. He thought you might enjoy being outside. Ordered the paints and canvases all the way from London.”

  Warmth spread throughout my chest, down my arms and tingling my fingers. It was an emotion I was all too familiar with, and an emotion I never thought I’d experience with James. Blimey, I was actually starting to like him. Care about him, even. “He did?”

  She nodded, her round face beaming.

  Tentatively I went to the easel. At the edge of the patio, next to a small table and chairs, I would have the perfect view of the moors. I laughed. Yes, the house needed another painting of the dreary landscape before me.

  But it wasn’t the new paints or canvas that thrilled me. No, it was the fact that James had actually thought enough about me to go to the trouble at all. He knew how important my art was to me. He could have given me flowers or jewelry, something any girl would have wanted. It would have been so easy. But he knew what I truly desired.

  “Such a wonderful lord, if you don’t mind me saying, my lady.”

  Cora had a dreamy look in her eyes, and I realized that my husband had captured yet another heart. If I’d seen him pay any attention at all toward the maids, I might have been jealous. But he was as aloof with them as he was with everyone.

  “As a master, I mean,” she said with a flush, perhaps thinking I was annoyed with her devotion. “Pays so very well. Everyone wants to work here.”

  “Do they?” I felt the complete idiot for not knowing my own household. But that would change. I was determined. James was going out of his way to be kinder, to try, and I would too.

  “I know it is vulgar of me to mention money, but Lord Whitfield pays his staff more than anyone in England. Everyone gets an entire day off, once a week, and he’s always fair.
”

  I was learning more and more about my husband as the days went on. Although he wore a cold, harsh façade, I was beginning to realize that James wasn’t all that he portrayed to the outside world.

  “I do apologize, my lady.” Cora’s face was beet red. “I do know I speak too much.”

  “Not at all.” A cool breeze swept across the patio, bringing with the familiar scent of the moors. A scent I’d actually started to crave. A scent that reminded me of…home. This home. “I enjoy it. I’ve been a bit lonely here.”

  She grinned, relieved. “That’s exactly what he said.”

  I frowned, confused. “He?”

  “Lord Whitfield. When Mrs. Vita complained I was too young and immature. She said to be a good maid, I must learn to be invisible. But Lord Whitfield said that the chatter would do you good. It was obvious he worried you were lonely. He wanted someone caring and happy, he said. Even doffed his hat to me, when we spoke. What gentleman does that for a maid? None of my acquaintance!”

  “Indeed,” I murmured, bemused and unsettled. Even my own father rather ignored the servants. There was so much about James I was still uncovering.

  “Mind you, he did warn me that if I spoke too much and did not do my duty to satisfaction, he would let me go.” She paled, pausing. “I’m not chattering too much, my lady? I do so like it here!”

  “No,” I soothed, as I picked up a paintbrush, testing the bristles. “You’re doing exceedingly well.”

  She flushed with pleasure. “Shall I get tea, my lady?”

  “It’s early, but…why not?” From the oak tree nearby a robin sang. It was a beautiful day, my relationship with James had taken a turn for the better, and I could paint to my heart’s content. How could I not be happy?

  “And after, I’ll lay out your dinner gown, my lady.”

  “Very good.”

  She scurried off, so eager to please, and left me to my art. I settled on the stool in front of the easel. Someone had placed a vase of flowers upon the table next to me. The purple blooms were from the moors, a flower I’d noticed when I’d thought to escape those weeks ago. When everything had changed.

  Noting the card placed within the wild blooms, I realized with a start they must have been here for me. I reached out and took the small missive in hand.

  Julianna, I hope you find these paints to your liking. If you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask.

  Yours,

  James

  Simple enough, yet I flushed with pleasure and tucked the card into my apron pocket, wishing to save it. Yes, I wanted to soak in the attention. To savor our truce. Accept what he gave willingly. Yet…yet, a tiny part of me held back. He’d hurt me so thoroughly in the past. Could I trust him?

  I picked up a jar of vibrant red paint. At times even now I felt as if I walked on eggshells, as if I might do the slightest thing he’d disapprove of and he’d hate me all over again. Was this to be my life? Constantly craving the man’s attention, yet fearful of having it at the same time? It was no way to live, that was for sure.

  “You paint.” The words were spoken as a statement, not a question.

  Startled, I spun around.

  The brother with the scar upon his handsome face had returned. He stood at the top of the steps, his long hair wind-tousled, and what was apparently a permanent frown upon his lips, for I’d never seen him smile.

  I set the jar down. “I do.”

  He merely watched me for a few moments, as if trying to understand. As if he’d never come across a female before and wasn’t quite sure what to do with me. As he stared, I took the time to study him. His face was flushed from his ride, his clothing fine and tight against his muscled thighs, his chest broad. If Rafe was a charming rake and James was an elegant lord, this man was a powerful soldier, always prepared for battle, never quite relaxing.

  “You’re Will,” I stated simply.

  He looked fully at me, bold as you please. He had nothing to hide. Even the scar, although it must have hurt something fierce, only added to his appeal. “I am.”

  I smiled. “It’s nice to properly meet you.”

  He nodded and started to walk away. Confused, I surged to my feet. Had I said or done something to upset him? “Wait!” I called out, so eager for company that I would even accept this taciturn man. “Please. Can I ask you something?”

  He paused, his back to me, his shoulders tense. I could feel the urge within him to bolt. He didn’t want to converse, and certainly not with a silly female. How I missed Rafe and his easy banter.

  “The war,” he snapped.

  Confused, I started toward him. “I’m sorry?”

  He wore a deeper flush than first appeared, and I didn’t miss the annoyance in his gaze. He seemed embarrassed about something. “The scar is from the war.”

  “Oh,” I stated, still slightly confused. He’d assumed I was going to question him about the injury. It wasn’t surprising then that he was annoyed with me. He started to walk away. “No, you don’t understand. That’s not why I stopped you.”

  He sighed, as impatient as James. Apparently a reluctance to speak ran in the family. But then with the secrets they held close, I wasn’t surprised. His fierce gaze swung to me, giving me pause. Was this Will the son who had killed their father?

  “What?” he snapped.

  As much as my rational mind told me to fear this man, to let him leave, I couldn’t seem to. It was his eyes that truly caught my attention. While my blue gaze was pretty enough, his eyes were stunning. The deepest, deepest depths of the ocean.

  “Yes, by all means, take your time,” he snapped. “Look it over.”

  I blinked, frowning. “You’re as rude as your brother, you know.”

  “Which?”

  I quirked a brow. “Do I truly need to answer?”

  The left corner of his mouth twitched, almost as if he was going to smile. “What do you want?”

  I placed my hands on my hips. This angry monster would not get the better of me. The best way to disarm James was with honesty. Perhaps the truth would work on his brother as well. “If you must know, I was admiring the color of your eyes.”

  He blinked, startled, and I realized I’d won this round. A flush crept up his neck and into his cheeks. He looked away, embarrassed. I had to bite back my laugh. I found utter enjoyment in making this mountain of a man suddenly shy. “What do you want?”

  “The nursemaid.”

  His brows snapped together. “Old Pickens?”

  I nodded, hesitating. What if he adored the woman? Someone did, why else would she still be in residence? Uneasy, I glanced at the windows, as if expecting to see the witch watching me even now. It had been many a times that I’d found her staring from the shadows. She didn’t like me, that much was obvious. But I didn’t exactly enjoy her company either.

  “What about her?”

  I returned my gaze to Will. “Why is she still here?”

  He shrugged as he glanced at the house, as if he too expected her to be watching us. Surely this man wasn’t afraid of her. Blimey, maybe she truly was a witch. “Been here all our lives, I suppose.”

  I bit my lower lip, pressing my hand to my belly. Soon, perhaps even now, I would have a babe growing within my womb. I would not let that mad bat get her claws on my child. Feeling suddenly morose, my good mood vanished. What sort of life would my child have here in this dreary castle? Or would we be free to live where ever we wished, as James claimed?

  “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  I had a feeling he didn’t ask the question often. In fact, he seemed downright annoyed. “I don’t like her.”

  He laughed, those blue eyes sparkling. And I had a feeling he didn’t laugh often. How peculiar he seemed. “No one does.”

  Although his comment should have made me feel worse, it actually put me at ease. So, I wasn’t the only one then to find her strange and frightening. My instincts had been spot on. “Was she cruel to you as children?”

  “Very.
”

  I frowned, annoyed. Exactly what Rafe had implied. So why then did James allow her to stay?

  “Tied us to our chairs for hours if we fought. Once forced Rafe to eat a worm when he’d been taunting Oliver with the creature.”

  I felt the color drain from my face. “Why is she here?”

  “Because our stepmother insisted.”

  “But why would that matter?”

  He hesitated, studying me as if to judge my worth. His lack of response said he didn’t trust me much. This was my future child’s life. I needed to know all.

  I reached out, resting my hand on his forearm. “Please.”

  He sighed but relented. “James wanted our stepmother gone. She said she would only leave if he allowed Pickens to remain.”

  My anger flared. “As a spy.”

  He smile, a crooked grin that made him look more endearing than heartless soldier. “Very perceptive.”

  “But why does he allow your stepmother to rule?”

  “Because, my dear, Pickens is the much, much better of two evils.”

  A shiver whispered through my body. “You’re saying that woman who gave you ice-baths, who terrified you as children, is better than your stepmother?”

  He didn’t respond, perhaps finally realizing how nervous he was making me. But he didn’t need to reply. Dear lord, what sort of monster was their stepmother?

  “He’s not afraid, if that’s what you think. He merely doesn’t want her spreading her vile gossip. He’s trying his damnest to rebuild the family reputation.”

  “And you don’t think it’s important?”

  “I’ve never really cared what people think of our family, but then my children won’t be inheriting our mess.”

  Mine would. I glanced at the house. The estate that defined James. That gave him purpose. That trapped him here. “It’s just a house,” I muttered. “Merely a pile of stone.”

  “It’s more than that to him. It’s the reason why he had to endure what he did.” Will leaned against the brick wall that surrounded the edge of the patio. “Poor James had to take the brunt of it, from Father, our step-mother and Pickens.”