Pure Temptation

by Auria Jourdain

  A slight knock at the door interrupted his bath as a slave boy a few years younger than Marcus pushed through the door with a clean suit of clothing. Motioning to Talon’s face, the boy pointed to the smaller bowl then to himself. “Shave, M’sieu?”

  Holding up his hand, Talon shook his head. He only shaved himself. He swept the tendrils of his stringy, sweaty hair off his neck with the dirty jute rope and grimaced. The length had become a nuisance in the tropical heat. Turning to the boy, he lifted his ponytail. “How are you with scissors, lad?”

  The boy frowned. When Talon took his locks between his fingers and mimicked cutting, the boy’s eyes lit up. “Oui, M’sieu. Cornelius.”

  Talon pressed a small coin in the boy’s hand and pointed to the door. “Could you ask him to assist me?” Nodding, the boy scampered away.

  Turning to the mirror, Talon raked a hand through his grungy beard and picked up the razor. “Very well, Miss Montrose. You want to play games? Let’s see what you think of the new Talon Barberry.”

  AT HALF PAST FIVE, Talon descended the stairs and found his way to the nearest hallway, dismayed to be the first to arrive for dinner. He peered through a door into a small library. Lord Taylor stood at his mahogany desk shuffling through papers. Entering the room, Talon cleared his throat.

  The nobleman turned about, his blue eyes widening as he released a gasp. “Barberry?” With a jovial smile, the man held out his hand, and Talon shook it amicably. Taylor clapped him on the back. “You clean up spiffily, chap. Have a drink with me in the salon before dinner.”

  Talon followed the man through the hall to a large open room paneled in dark wood and adorned with more fancy French furnishings. Furrowing his brow, he scratched his head. “Milord, if I may speak plainly, you are English, are you not? Quite honestly, this house looks like it belongs in the French countryside.”

  Taylor smirked. “Indeed, my good man. Despite the fighting back and forth with England, this island has a distinctly Parisian style. And Lady Taylor has taken to the French finery. St. Pierre is known as Little Paris—did you know?” He poured Talon a small snifter of rum and handed it to him. “From my private stores. Cheers!”

  Talon sniffed the amber liquid, frowning as Taylor merely sipped his drink. The man arched an eyebrow as if issuing a challenge. Taking a deep breath, Talon tossed the spirits in one go—and coughed. His eyes watered as a line of fire seared the lining of his throat. “Good God, that’s strong.”

  Chortling, Taylor splashed another fingerful in Talon’s glass. “Glad you like it. I’m quite proud of my collection.” He motioned to a nearby chaise. As they settled, Taylor smacked his lips. “So, tell me, sir. How did you and Talia meet? She’s always been a wild girl, but her story of pirate mayhem seems ludicrous.”

  Running his fingers through his shorn hair, Talon nodded. “I assure you, it’s the truth, sir. After the crew mutinied, she needed an escort. I was on hand.”

  “Yes, quite. But as Talia is a woman, shouldn’t she have had a female companion?”

  He shrugged. “I know nothing of that, milord. Both of us were granted passage on the Nueva Linda. When the captain was killed, the escort assigned to her abandoned the ship with the crew. Miss Montrose had no qualms about hiring me since I was the only reliable person available.”

  The man raised an eyebrow. “Her father will be glad to hear that, I’m sure.”

  Brushing off the man’s dry remark, Talon sat forward. “If I may ask, sir, how did an English nobleman end up on this island?”

  Taylor chuckled. “Several years ago, I was given this appointment. As a young lord straight from Parliament, I was more than willing to take on this exciting adventure.” The older man’s eyes crinkled in mirth as he cricked a finger and drew Talon closer. “Truth be told, I had rallied for the position after hearing rumors about the potential wealth to be had.”

  Talon arched an eyebrow. “Indeed. And the plantation?”

  “I acquired the property during our last occupation some fifteen years ago.” Taking a sip of his drink, he hummed. “Can you believe we’ve made a return three times over just by clearing the land? There’s a demanding market in Europe for goods from the West Indies, especially wood. However, sugar and coffee are more lucrative.”

  “And rum, it seems.” Talon held up his glass, clinking it against Taylor’s with a smile. Ostentatious noblemen weren’t his usual cup of tea, but this man was a pleasant conversationalist. “I’ve heard fantastic stories of the tobacco and sugar plantations and the immense trading system from here to the mainland—and on to Africa of course.”

  Wiping a hand across his brow, Taylor wrinkled his nose. “Unfortunately, that is where we islanders disagree with Parliament. Our plantations can’t function without labor.” With a sidelong glance, Taylor pulled at his starched neckpiece. “It’s a barbaric practice, and I’m not proud of myself, sir. But I treat my slaves better than most of my neighbors if that makes any difference.”

  Talon raised his glass, stifling the urge to call out such hypocrisy. He wasn’t there to debate his host about the evils of slavery, especially since they needed the man’s assistance to get home. “You’ll get no judgement from me, milord. I was merely curious about your fine establishment.” Gulping the last bit of rum from his glass, he raised it in the air, hoping to God the foul swill stayed down. “Indeed, this is one of the finest liquors I have tasted in years.”

  As Taylor’s face lit up, Talon grinned. His performances were getting better.

  AT FIVE O’CLOCK, TALIA descended the long staircase to the gallery, refreshed from her afternoon nap. Apparently, Lord Taylor had finally arrived from St. Pierre, and Madame Taylor had announced they’d serve a late dinner.

  Talia cleared her throat politely, and the woman turned toward her. Her pale blue eyes widened, and she clapped her hands. “Talia, dear, you look stunning.”

  Warmth colored Talia’s cheeks as she caught her reflection in the hall mirror. Even though the violet satin gown was rather formal for this occasion, she’d chosen the finest dress in Lydia’s wardrobe. To top it off, she donned white gloves, making every effort to look like a lady. She wanted Talon to squirm with desire when he saw her.

  She fingered the delicate ivory lace sleeves trimmed in pearls. “Thank you, Madame. I only regret that I had no jewelry to adorn it.”

  “Let’s remedy that shall we?” Madame Taylor lifted her skirts and beckoned Talia to follow her up the stairs to her personal dressing room.

  “These pearls are magnificent, Madame.” Emerging from Madame Taylor’s boudoir, Talia fingered the cream-colored gems draped at her neck. The weight of the pearls balanced her gown perfectly.

  Madame Taylor bowed her head. “Thank you, Talia. They were my grandmother’s.”

  A gasp left Talia’s lips as her hands hovered over the clasp. “Mon dieu, you are too gracious. Perhaps I should wear something less sentimental. I am not worthy.”

  The woman patted her hand with a regal smile. “Nonsense, dear. They are Lydia’s favorite, too. Shall we make ourselves known?”

  She took Talia’s arm and they strolled down the staircase to the salon. Muffled voices filtered through the French doors, although Talon was nowhere to be seen. Madame Taylor hummed. “It seems Jonathan invited a colleague. They are fashionably early. Perhaps we should sit on the veranda and enjoy the evening breeze while we wait for your friend.”

  Settling into one of the plantation chairs, Talia smiled as Cornelius brought the coffee service and set it on the nearby buffet. He poured them each a steaming cup, and Madame Taylor nodded her thanks.

  The louvered French doors burst open, and a colored woman bustled in with an earthenware jar full of orange Birds of Paradise. As she arranged it near the center of the table, Madame Taylor touched one of the distinct blooms. “Marie, these are exquisite. Talia, have you ever seen such beauty?”

  Talia rubbed the velvety petals and murmured, “Oui, c’est magnifique.”

  “Upon le
aving London, I found my true love. I’ve spent years cultivating the largest collection of tropical flowers on the island. I could spend hours roaming our gardens, and these are by far my favorites.”

  Madame Taylor prattled on about the flora, and Talia gazed over her shoulder with a frown. It was nigh on six. Where in the world was Talon?

  Madame Taylor patted her arm. “You’re preoccupied, my dear.”

  The woman’s eyes sparkled as Talia choked on her coffee. “I apologize, Madame. I just wondered where my escort was.”

  “At your service, milady.”

  As the men ambled from the grand hall with their drinks, Talon bowed. Talia’s breath hitched. “Dieu... Talon?”

  The transformation of her partner was nothing less than amazing. His face was entirely clear of stubble. His hair, once long and straggly, was cleaned and shorn short, the sideburns long at his ears. Curls feathered against the back of his neck, and she clenched her fingers, wanting nothing more than to run her fingers through the perfect, ebony locks.

  Foregoing proper decorum, she caressed his clean-shaven cheek. Madame Taylor admonished her brazenness with a silent stare.

  Swallowing hard, Talia took a step backward, her heart racing as Talon’s gaze sent flames of desire through her folds. Crimson heat warmed her cheeks. Suddenly, she wished they were stranded in their private cove.

  She waved her fan in front of her face and said, “Pardon, Madame... Monsieur. I’ve never seen Monsieur Barberry so clean.” Taking a glass of wine from Lord Taylor, she took a hefty sip.

  Taylor furrowed his brow in remonstration as he squeezed between her and Talon. “I was taken aback too, my dear. I dare say the two of you put on quite a show at the embassy.”

  As the wine quickly made its way through her system, Talia began to relax. “I assure you it wasn’t meant as such, Monsieur. You witnessed our state. We left Lisbon over two months ago, and we were both in need of some proper hygiene. Talon more than myself, of course.” She winked at him with a toss of her curls.

  Raising his glass, Talon chuckled. “Miss Montrose exaggerates. I am usually a well-kept man, milord. And I do appreciate your lending me your suit. It is made beautifully.”

  “Not at all, my good chap. Now, are you two going to tell me what really happened? How in the world did you manage to lose your ship and run aground on Martinique?”

  She gazed at Talon. He gave her a nod, and she took a deep breath. “We were on a ship bound for Guadeloupe. I was on extended holiday in Lisbon with Carina Aringosa and her father. Unfortunately, their return plans had changed. They went on to London to meet her fiancé’s family, and Ricardo hired an escort so I could return to Papa.” She sighed. “Unfortunately, the crew became unruly. They killed the captain after a silly fight broke out on the quarterdeck.”

  “My word.” Madame Taylor’s hand fluttered at her chest as her eyes narrowed.

  Talia shook her head dramatically. “You can imagine my distress. Monsieur Barberry was the only other passenger on board. He came to my rescue when we had to escape.”

  As she gave Talon a pointed look, he nodded. “Indeed. As I said, milord, Miss Montrose hired me when her chaperone abandoned the ship.”

  Raising his brow, Taylor regarded Talon, his blue eyes sparkling. “Then it seems you’ve saved Talia, Mr. Barberry. I assure you her father will be quite pleased to know she is in safe hands.”

  Talon choked on his drink, and Talia blushed. “Merci, Monsieur.”

  Madame Taylor lifted her wine glass. “It seems we have a lot to celebrate.”

  Lord Taylor followed suit. “Indeed. Let us toast Mr. Barberry’s heroic efforts. Cheers!”

  An older slave woman appeared at the doors of the veranda and announced, “Massa and Missus, dinna’ is served.”

  Lord Taylor gestured toward the formal dining room. “Shall we?”

  They settled themselves around the mahogany table, and Talia’s mouth watered. Suppressing her ravenous appetite, she remembered her manners and rested her napkin on her lap. They hadn’t had anything but fruit and coffee for days.

  The Taylors were wonderfully hospitable, and the food they served was decadent. The chef had prepared the stuffed crab to perfection, the meat savory and tender. The crudité included a spicy mango dressing that Talia rather enjoyed. And for dessert, Madame Taylor had chosen a sinfully rich banana tarte tatin that melted in Talia’s mouth.

  Throughout dinner, Talon’s eyes never left hers. As they made small talk with their hosts, she returned his seductive looks, nearly coming undone as his eyes roamed over her décolletage like a man starving for sustenance. As subtly as she could, she leaned forward to accent her well-endowed form.

  In return, he flirted with her mercilessly, sending her innuendos that made her pulse race. When Talon told the Taylors that he couldn’t imagine her dressed in a more beautiful color than the dark violet that accentuated her sparkling emerald eyes, dew pooled at her folds.

  His hungry gaze left her needing more than just food. She wanted nothing more than to take him to her chambers and show him all the naughty thoughts that were running through her mind. Arching an eyebrow, he raised his glass and winked with unspoken promises. She blushed.

  Soon.

  At the end of dinner, Talon and Lord Taylor retired to the library for drinks. While Madame Taylor escorted Talia on a stroll around her beautifully manicured gardens, the pungent smell of orchids and hibiscus accosted her senses. “I can certainly see why you love it here, Madame.”

  The woman’s eyes glazed over as she handed Talia one of the blooms. “We’ve adapted quite nicely to our life here. Did you know that the indigenous people called this island Madinina which means Island of Flowers?”

  Talia fingered a nearby bloom, admiring its bold pink hue. “It’s fitting. We have hibiscus, but only in the spring and summer. I would love to see them year-round.”

  Linking Talia’s arm with hers, Madame Taylor pulled her close. “Tell me about Mr. Barberry. I see a roguishly handsome man that might have a wild side. He’s of British descent?”

  Talia stiffened against the woman and dabbed her neckline with her handkerchief. “I didn’t think to ask. I believe his grandfather sent him on this trip to look at purchasing land in America. His accent sounds British.” She smiled enigmatically.

  Madame Taylor tittered. “Fine, don’t indulge me.” Her smile disappeared. “But Talia, dear, promise me you’ll be careful. Men such as Mr. Barberry might be exciting, but most lack stability. Lydia, too, has married an overly zealous man, and Jonathan and I fear he will dishonor her.”

  Talia raised her eyebrows. She certainly could see how the woman’s perception of Talon might be skewed, especially upon first meeting. However, after working with him for nigh on a month, Talia had seen a side of him that others hadn’t. Obviously, he was good at his job. And his real persona was nothing like his portrayal. She was more than eager to crack the mystery that was Talon Barberry.

  A sigh escaped Talia’s throat, and Madame Taylor chuckled. “You and he seem to be acquainted rather well.”

  Talia in mock injury. “Are you insinuating Talon and I are more than friends, Madame?”

  “You know I am, dear child.”

  As Madame Taylor’s eyes crinkled mirthfully, Talia laughed. “You are incorrigible. I see where Lydia gets her vivaciousness.” She patted her hostess’ hand, thankful for the woman’s concern. “We have no formal plans besides traveling to Guadeloupe. After that, he will most likely go home while I return to Temptation Hall.”

  Madame Taylor hummed. “If you ask me, the man is smitten with you.”

  Slowing her gait, Talia bit her lip. Could that be true? Except for his emotional breakdown on the beach, Talon hadn’t expressed feelings for her. He’d opened up to her about his childhood, and her likewise. It had been glorious to make love and explore each other, and they’d had more than one escapade the last few days. But they hadn’t talked about how they would part ways.


  As they rounded the veranda, Talon’s deep chuckle emanated from the salon. Loneliness and dread swept over her like a wayward storm. She hadn’t known him long, but already she missed him. She blinked back tears as a deep ache pierced her heart.

  What if I never see him again?

  “NAY, MILORD. PLEASE, I’m feeling a rather unsteady.”

  Ignoring Talon’s pleas, Taylor poured more of his special punch into two snifters. Talon sighed in exasperation.

  The gadjo can hold his drink, to be sure.

  He sipped the spirits slowly, hoping his dinner would soak up the alcohol. It didn’t help that the man’s rum tasted like swill.

  As Taylor hovered over him with the decanter, slopping a bit upon his hand, he slurred, “My thanksh, Barberry. T’is my newest batch, home grown and distilled in Martinique. It’s taken me years to perfect thish recipe.”

  Since Talon needed information, and Taylor appeared to be in a talkative mood—and slightly inebriated—what better time to question him?

  Placing his glass aside, Talon cocked his head. “Milord, I’m curious about the conflicts that have arisen in the colonies. As my business takes me to New Orleans, I wonder if I have reason to worry.”

  The man smacked his lips noisily. “It is a precarious situation, to be sure. New Orleans is under Spanish rule, although both the French and the colonists are waiting in the wings to take over.” He swayed on his feet. “Not unlike our islands, mind. Thish is my second time sherving. Ten years past, England had short-lived rule over this beautiful place, and they sent me to straighten things out. That, dear chap, ish when I found my calling.”

  Taylor paused to offer a snuff of tobacco to Talon, but he declined. “Do go on, milord.”

  Stuffing the tobacco in his cheek, the man said, “Lady Taylor and I loved thish island and its people, so we built thish grand estate.” He threw his arms wide. “When the British relinquished Martinique to France, we made this our permanent home. Who wants to leave the warm, tropical weather for London?” He laughed, coughing up a bit of rum and snuff at the same time.