A Dangerous Temptation

by L. R. Olson

  “This has to do with Jules.”

  My eyes opened, my body stiffening. Despite all the months that had gone by with no success, hope still bloomed within. “What the hell do you mean?”

  He looked hesitant, as if he wasn’t quite sure if he wanted to tell me. “I found something. A clue.”

  I surged to my feet. A small bit of hope, but it was something. “What?”

  “Come, you’ll see.”

  He didn’t wait for me but started toward the door. The house was silent, still, as I’d needed it. Wanting to be alone, I’d dismissed all but three of the staff a month ago. I couldn’t stand the noise, couldn’t stand chatter. I’d needed silence and darkness to wallow within my anger and grief.

  “Damnation, Rafe.” I stomped after him, not even bothering to grab my coat. “Just tell me now.”

  But he tore open the front door and headed down the stoop. If this was one of Rafe’s tricks to force me back into society, I’d kill him. I crossed the threshold, the cold wind bracing and forceful. I welcomed the harsh bite, for it was better than feeling the aching need that had resided in my chest since Jules had left. Rafe was already inside the carriage. The streets were a canvas of brown sludge and brilliant white snow. Lantern lights glowed warmly behind closed windows. Not a soul could be seen outside. A few flakes drifted down.

  For one long moment I stood there, savoring the stillness. “Where are you?” I whispered, looking up at the dark sky.

  “Jamie?” Rafe called out.

  Reluctantly, I followed after my brother and climbed into his carriage. The moment I settled on the seat, Rafe tapped the roof. The coach took off. We fell into an uncomfortable silence. Although it was dark, I could feel my brother’s gaze on me. There was something he wasn’t saying.

  “Tell me.”

  He sighed. “It’s a painting. I thought it looked like Julianna’s.”

  My anger boiled. My brother had saved my arse more than once, which was the only reason why I hadn’t slammed my fist into Rafe’s face. “You dragged me out in the middle of a snow storm for a fucking painting?”

  “It’s something,” he snapped back.

  I knew I’d been a right arse, and Rafe was only trying to help. We fell silent. The only sound was the clomp of horse hooves as they raced down the cobbled lane. He was right. I had no reason to be angry with him.

  I pushed aside the curtains and stared out onto the dark streets. “Well, are you going to give me your monthly report?”

  “Do you want me to?”

  I slid him a wry glance. “Do I have a choice?”

  Every month, it never failed, Rafe appeared to tell me of the vile things my stepmother and Claudine were saying in London. They’d started with rumors, attempting to play the victims. When I’d not responded, they’d taken more drastic measures. They’d showed bruises and scars on Claudine’s person and blamed them on me.

  London, I knew without Rafe telling me, was starting to accept it as truth. It was human nature to believe the worst, I supposed. Perhaps I could have put an end to the rumors by attending a ball or two. In fact, I was rather positive that was why Rafe told me the gossip…he hoped I’d get angry enough to defend myself. He couldn’t seem to accept that I didn’t care.

  “You need to know what they’re up to.”

  I rested my head against the seat and closed my eyes. “No. I don’t.”

  Even Rafe, who had switched between being amused by their attempts and angry, now merely seemed resigned. When he continued to sit there silently, I opened my eyes. “What? Do tell. I’m all eagerness.”

  “Her brother has arrived.”

  Not surprising. The man was always at her elbow, like a damned mutt protecting its master. Claudine’s brother had been as blind to her faults as I had been. But he’d lived with her, grown up with her, he’d known she was mad. He just couldn’t accept the fact. He would have done anything to pawn her off on someone, to prove she was sane. A happy family.

  “Rumor is that your stepmother is going to the courts with proof of your marriage to Claudine.”

  “She won’t find proof.” Claudine was merely the emotional mess behind this supposed marriage. My stepmother was the mastermind. “She has nothing.”

  “They said you married and they can bring the priest to England who will prove it.”

  My fingers curled, my annoyance flaring. “Why the hell am I having to justify myself to you?”

  The coach turned onto another street. “You don’t have to, Jamie. I believed you then, and I do now.”

  I searched his face but it was too hard to see his features in the dark carriage. Did he believe me or Claudine? The lack of sleep was making me stupid and distrustful. I looked out the window onto the dreary, dark streets. The wind howled fiercely. Only a few lamps remained lit, most of the street thrown into shadows. Was Jules warm where ever she resided? Was she content without me? Happier, most likely.

  The carriage slowed, jerking me from my morose thoughts. We’d stopped in front of a row of affluent townhomes. “Where are we?”

  “Lord Baston’s.”

  I knew the man, although we weren’t well-acquainted. “Why?”

  Rafe jumped from the carriage as the door opened. “You’ll see.”

  “Rafe,” I growled, reaching my limit. I would definitely make my brother rue this tomorrow when we sparred. Slamming my fist into his face, or whatever willing partner I could find, had been the only way to release my anger, the emotions that had built within. “You’re trying my patience.”

  “It will be worth it.” He moved up the front stoop, his boots crunching over the snow. “Besides, at least it’s something.”

  I started after Rafe. The front door opened at his knock, the butler bowing low. There was no surprise upon his dour face. He was expecting us. “Lord Baston is awaiting you in the parlor.”

  “Thank you, Rollins.”

  The old man stood to the side. “Shall I take your coats?”

  “No,” I said. “We won’t be staying long.”

  He nodded and closed the door behind us. “Very good, my lord.”

  Rafe started through the opulent foyer, his boots tapping over the marble floor. I had little choice but to follow. Gritting my teeth, and praying for patience, I went after my brother. “This better not be a waste of my time.”

  “Yes, because drinking yourself into oblivion isn’t a waste of time.”

  “Shut up, Rafe,” I snapped.

  “Whitfield!” Baston called out from the leather chair where he lounged near a roaring hearth. He was the classic satisfied lord…ruddy cheeks, belly round with succulent meals. “Good to see you. Nasty weather, let me get you a drink to warm your insides.”

  He stood.

  “Baston,” I muttered, wondering what I was doing here. “No need. We won’t be staying long.”

  “Nonsense. Your brother said you were interested in art?” He moved to the sideboard and poured two glasses of whiskey. “Had no idea.”

  I slid Rafe a glance.

  He shrugged.

  “Art is a sign of culture, I always say.” Baston moved toward us, handing me, then Rafe a glass. “Why, look at the Romans. The men who started the movement. A thriving culture indeed.”

  “Until they fell,” I muttered, setting my drink on a table. For once I had no desire to get roaring drunk. “Where is the painting?”

  Baston gave me a tight smile. He didn’t care for my tone. The man was used to respect from his peers. I didn’t bloody give a fuck. “Just there.”

  I turned, facing the wall where he indicated. A medium-sized painting of a cottage near the ocean. The floor seemed to give way. I swore my heart stopped. “Julianna’s painting,” I whispered.

  “Do you know the artist?” Baston asked.

  My heart started beating once more, slamming wildly against my ribcage. I spun around. At the same time I pulled the pistol from my waistband and pointed it directly at Baston. I was cynical enough to expect the
worst, and the worst sure as hell was rushing through my mind. “Where did you get that painting?”

  “Jesus, Jamie!” Rafe snapped, lunging in front of Baston. “You can’t pull a pistol on a peer!”

  Baston had gone pale, peeking over Rafe’s shoulder with wide eyes. Damnation, I knew I appeared as insane as Claudine, but I was desperate. I studied the man’s face for guilt, his eyes for deception. Shite, I found none.

  “Lower the gun, Jamie,” Rafe said calmly.

  I forced my arm down. “Where did you get the painting?”

  Rafe stepped forward and took the pistol from my fingers. It was only then that Baston seemed to relax. He snatched a handkerchief from his jacket pocket and mopped up the sweat on his brow. He was shaking so badly I feared he might faint.

  “The painting, Baston,” I snapped, eager to get the information before he collapsed. “Where did you get it?”

  “Interesting piece, yes?” His voice came out shaky. “My wife fell in love with the work. A female artist, from what I’ve heard. Cost me a pretty penny as I got into a bidding war, but whatever makes the wife happy. Seems to speak to the female population for some reason.”

  Because it represented hope. Freedom. And so many women were repressed.

  It was like a bloody magnet. I couldn’t pull my attention from the painting. It was as if I was receiving a message from Jules, herself. As if she was near. The very air seemed sucked from the room.

  The urge to snatch that painting from the wall and take it with me was overwhelming. I’d pay whatever needed to own that piece. I started to demand the painting, but something held me back.

  I raked my hands through my hair. “Shite.”

  I wouldn’t take the painting. I couldn’t do that to Jules. Her dream had been to have her work hang in the house of a lofty lord where everyone would see the piece. Baston loved to socialize. Always held parties. The painting would be admired here by many, it would affect the lives of others. I would not take that from her. Besides, the painting deserved to hang here in London instead of being hidden away for only my unworthy attention.

  I could appreciate it, I could admire it and even adore it, but I couldn’t own the work. For owning something so beautiful, hiding it away, would do a disservice to the world. To Julianna.

  “Can you tell me the name of the seller?” I asked, my voice coming out gruff, my throat suddenly tight. “I think I’d like to meet this artist.”

  “I can, but good luck getting her whereabouts. She’s a recluse and little is known about the woman.”

  I smiled for the first time in months. “I’ll uncover the information, doubt me not.”

  ****

  Julianna

  “Penny? Is it really you?”

  My sister stood at the doorway smiling sheepishly in the rain. Her bonnet held back most of the awful weather but not enough to keep the chill at bay. “It is!”

  I grabbed her upper arms and pulled her into the house, giving her a close hug. “I’ve missed you! I can’t believe you’re here! Is Samuel with you? Mother and Father?”

  I pulled back, giving her room to breathe. My surprise quickly gave way to delight.

  “Samuel, only.” She pulled at her bonnet ribbons, untying the frilly piece. I didn’t miss the style. It was something she shouldn’t have been able to afford. “He’s just putting the horses away. We have our own coach, you know.”

  I glanced outside, seeing Samuel lead the horses to the small stable at the back of the cottage. Mother had been writing to me. I knew Penny and Samuel had procured a townhouse in London, but I had little other information. The letters, especially with the weather, were few and far between. Until Millie was born, I’d had so little to say anyway.

  Hello Mother, how are you? I’m feeling rather melancholy once more. Typical day. And yes, in case you were wondering, I do still dream about James.

  James kissing me. James watching me while I paint. James.

  After a few months I’d even grown sick of myself. That was when I’d gone to town and hired Mrs. Willow. I’d needed someone in good cheer. Someone to force me into society once more. I didn’t exactly want the children of the little village to tip-toe by my cottage on a dare, thinking I was some reclusive witch locked away making potions. Yet, that was what I’d become.

  Mrs. Willow had assumed I was a widow and spread the word, even though I’d neither confirmed nor denied. She was also the one who had forced me to eat when I’d had no appetite. Her constant chatter had made me think of something other than James.

  I took Penny’s cloak, noting the rich fur lining the woolen material. “Samuel procured a good position then?”

  Her cheeks were flushed with cold. The blue velvet gown only brought out the color in her eyes. My plain gray gown was pathetic in comparison. She looked as pretty as always. Even more so in love. For a moment I envied her happiness. “Oh very, very good!”

  “Come in,” I said, closing the door. “Will you be staying?”

  “No.” She followed me into the parlor. It was a small cottage, claiming only two bed chambers upstairs, while a parlor, kitchen and library were on the first floor. “Mother said your place was quaint so we’ve gotten rooms at the local inn.”

  I resisted the desire to roll my eyes. “Quaint? It does well enough for us.” I hung up her cloak, then led her toward the parlor. Yes, it was small, quaint, but it was mine. Completely and utterly mine.

  “Oh, I meant no offense! We just assumed everyone would be more comfortable if we stayed at the inn.”

  “Well, know that you’re welcome to stay here any time you wish. Will you be in town long?”

  “Sadly, no. Only a couple days. Samuel is here to buy a new thoroughbred for the man he now works for.”

  We settled on the blue settee, placed close to the fire. “You should have told me you were coming. I would have been better prepared.”

  She studied the room, taking in the comfortable, if worn chair across from the settee. The small cabinet in the corner which held a few trinkets, and finally looked back at me. “I wanted it to be a surprise!”

  I knew the cottage wasn’t to the standards of a typical earl’s wife. But I liked it well enough. It was cozy and warm, and in the summer, it was surrounded by roses. From what Mother had written, I wondered if Penny’s townhome outshone my place. And once again, I questioned Samuel’s mystery position which, apparently, made him enough money to keep them in relative splendor.

  “Let me have Mrs. Willow make us tea.”

  She perked up. “You have a house maid?”

  “Mrs. Willow does it all, but mostly helps with Millie. She’s a godsend.” I couldn’t quite hide my grin. “I’m not yet destitute.”

  “Mother mentioned you sold a painting.”

  I flushed, feeling somewhat proud of myself, and slightly embarrassed for it. “Yes. Father did bring it to the attention of some friends. I’m happy to report a few men, or should I say their wives, appreciated the work. In fact, it went to auction. I’ve been commissioned to paint another.”

  I had enough coins to last me a year, if I was frugal. I only prayed I could sell more. Yet, how long did I truly believe I could stay hidden away from life? It was a sweet village, quite out of the way. Yet it was still connected to the world. Reality would come crashing in.

  “That’s wonderful.”

  Penny fell quiet, sullen. She looked anything but thrilled. Something was wrong, that much was obvious. I knew my sister well enough to realize when something bothered her.

  Mrs. Willow suddenly appeared. “Oh, we have company!”

  Penny smiled, no doubt grateful for the interruption.

  “My sister, Penelope,” I explained. “She and her husband are visiting.”

  “Wonderful!” Mrs. Willow clasped her ruddy hands together in front of her large bosom, her round face glowing. A cheerful woman, she always smiled, it was one of the reasons why I’d hired her. “I’ll get tea.”

  “Thank you.” />
  “So then,” Penny said, drawing my attention back to her. “You really don’t need anyone.”

  I frowned. What an odd thing to say. I waited until Mrs. Willow was out of hearing distance. “Penny, what are you getting at?”

  She looked at the fire, the floor, everywhere but at me. “Jules, have you spoken with Whitfield?”

  I stiffened, my good mood gone. The reason for her visit was suddenly quite clear. I wanted to curse her for mentioning his name. “No. And he can’t know where I am, Penny. He’ll take her from me. You know he will. Being that he’s a man, the courts would side with him.”

  “Certainly he’s not that bad.”

  Damn Penny. It hurt to even think about James. Why was she doing this to me? “Isn’t he? He forced me to marry him.”

  The soft murmuring mew caught my attention. I stood and moved around the settee toward the little basket resting near the chair. Millie stared up at me with wide, innocent eyes. My heart squeezed. The thought of anyone taking my child terrified me. I slid my hands under her warm body and lifted her, holding the baby close to my chest.

  “Ohhh,” Penny cooed. “There she is!”

  Just like that my anger fled. Penny stood, reaching for the child. Reluctantly, I handed her to my sister. I’d had Millie over a month ago, yet I still hated parting with her, even for a moment.

  Penny held her close, smiling greedily down at the baby. “I do so hope to have one of my own soon.”

  I smiled. “You will.”

  With a sigh, Penny met my gaze. “Jules, you can’t live here alone.”

  My smile fell. “I won’t be alone. I’ve talked Cecilia into moving here.”

  Penny settled upon the settee. “You need a husband.”

  I stiffened, more than annoyed. Not only did I not wish to discuss James, but I felt quite offended by the fact that my sister seemed to think me a mere child who couldn’t survive on her own. “I’ve done quite well for eight months without one, Penny.”

  “No, don’t get me wrong.” Millie started to fuss and she rocked her gently. “You, more than anyone, can thrive alone. Yet…yet…”