A Matter of Temptation (17 page)

“If you insist.” He bowed slightly. “Ladies, we’ll see you in a bit.”

Robert looked at Torie. “Do you mind if we go?”

“No. Spend some time with your friend.”

“We may be a while. You needn’t wait up.”

“All right. I’ll see you in the morning, then.”

He looked incredibly awkward as he leaned down and brushed a kiss over her cheek. “Sleep well.”

Watching as they walked out of the room, she couldn’t explain the ache of longing that suddenly filled her chest.

“Have you ever taken a dip?” Torie asked.

“Once.” Eleanor’s cheeks reddened. “Weddy warming me up afterward was quite lovely, but we wouldn’t be doing
that
with company about, now would we?”

“I suppose not. I wonder what they find appealing about jumping into cold water.”

“Haven’t a clue.”

“Y
ou’re not really going to jump in, are you?” Robert asked, his voice echoing between the stone walls that circled the pool.

“Hell, no,” Weddington said as he retreated into what served as a changing room.

The bathing house had been built a good distance from the manor. Stone pillars guarded the entrance to the stone building. In spite of the rain, they’d managed to bring torches with them and placed them in the sconces on the wall. Eerie shadows danced around the inside of the building. A wide flight of stone steps led out of the pool.

Weddington emerged from the room and held up his hands, each holding a bottle. “I love
Eleanor with all my heart, but there is nowhere in the manor where she would not follow, and I thought we needed a bit of time to talk—alone.”

“Like old times?”

“Like old times.”

They sat on the stone floor, their backs to the wall. Weddington opened a bottle and handed it to Robert before opening the other one for himself. He tapped it against Robert’s. “To friendship renewed.”

“To friendship that remained.”

Robert took a swallow, the whiskey burning down his throat. He gasped, released a harsh breath, and smiled broadly. “Whew! That was good.”

“And there’s plenty more where that came from.”

“Do you think your father ever deduced that we weren’t taking dips for our health in here?”

“I think he might have suspected.”

Robert took another swallow, raised his knee, and set his wrist on it, the bottle dangling. Dropping his head back, he watched the shadows dancing over the ceiling. “We had some good talks here.”

“Yes, we did. I’ve told Eleanor about your situation.”

Robert rolled his head over to the side, so he could see his friend more clearly.

“She asked me why I didn’t kill you, and since she knew it was my intention…” Weddington
shrugged. “I’ve never lied to her and I don’t keep things from her. She won’t say a word to anyone.”

Robert looked back at the ceiling. “This situation has already hurt you and Eleanor enough. I don’t want it to cause any further harm.”

“I don’t suppose between this afternoon and now that you’ve determined how best to handle it.”

Robert brought the bottle to his lips, gulped the intoxicating brew, lowered the bottle, and licked his lips. “No. But as I was playing with Richard, all I could think was that with John alive, I would never know that my children were safe.”

“Perhaps if you reassured him that he would always be provided for—”

“I’ve been thinking about that. It’s not about the money. There was never any question that he would have an allowance that would allow him to live in the manner to which he’d become accustomed. It had to be about the dukedom itself. The title.
All
the titles. The prestige, the power, the respect accorded someone of rank. He’s already demonstrated the lengths to which he will go in order to be duke. I can’t assume that my being on to him is enough to deter him.”

“What are you going to do, then?”

“I don’t know.”

“I think you might have another problem that you didn’t realize you had.”

“What would that be?”

“Your wife.”

“I’m very much aware that there is a problem there.”

“Are you aware that she loves you?”

Laughing at the absurdity of the question, he took another swallow, letting the warmth race through him. “She loves John.”

“It wasn’t John she couldn’t take her eyes off in the drawing room.”

He snapped his gaze over to Weddington. “Only because she thought I was John. If she realized I wasn’t the man who’d asked for her hand, she wouldn’t be giving me any attention at all.”

“I think you’re wrong. I think she likes what she sees when she looks at you. I think it’s
you
that caused her to smile. I think it was the thought of losing
you
that caused the duel to so upset her. And I damned well know that you love her.”

“I can’t love her.”

“But you do.”

“But I can’t. It was John—”

“Do you honestly believe that she could have loved him?”

“Yes!” He shot to his feet, drinking the whiskey as he went. “The day we married she told me how fond she was of me.
Incredibly desperately
. Only it wasn’t me, it was John she was referring to.” He dropped down to his haunches. “The morning after I escaped, I woke up to discover I was to marry. By the time I realized it
wasn’t simply a lady marrying a duke, the deed was done.” He looked down at the bottle dangling between his knees. “I don’t want to give her up, but when she learns the truth, she will want to be rid of me.”

“Robert, I have known her for only an afternoon and an evening, but I cannot for the life of me envision so sweet a woman falling for so unscrupulous a man as your brother.”

Robert lifted his gaze. “I don’t believe she is aware of what he did. He has all of London convinced that the Duke of Killingsworth’s twin brother immigrated to America.”

“I’d heard the rumors. Do you remember all the times he talked about going to America? So his finally going didn’t surprise me.”

“Only he didn’t go. He’s supposedly written stories about his fantastic adventures.”

“I’d heard that as well. I daresay it’s quite mad. All the more reason to win your wife over to your side.”

Robert took a sip of his whiskey, something Torie said filtering through his mind. “She told me she had doubts about marrying me—or the man she thought was me. It’s so damned confusing.”

“Consider this. John is a schemer. It is very likely that he never revealed his true self to her. And if that is the case, do you honestly believe she deserves him? You know the truth of him. Why would you condemn her to a life with him? Not that I think you’ll be able to grant her one. The
law prohibits a wife from marrying her husband’s brother.”

“But surely if I return her chaste, if I can undo the marriage, make the courts understand that it was through no fault of her own that she married the wrong brother—”

“I think you should consider that perhaps she married the
right
brother. You shouldn’t take measures to stop her from falling in love with
you
, the real Robert Hawthorne.”

With a good bit of whiskey sloshing around in his belly, Robert thought that Weddington’s view on his current situation made perfect sense. Was damned near brilliant, actually.

He dropped into the chair in the bedchamber that Weddington had led him to, with a wink and nudge that Torie was in the bedchamber next door. Weddington had offered to send in his valet, but Robert had declined the offer. He wanted to be alone with his thoughts.

He’d been so concerned about her discovering that he wasn’t the man she knew as Robert that he’d given no consideration to letting her discover the man he was. He still had no plans to bed her. Should the marriage be dissolved, he wanted to take nothing from her that he couldn’t give back. Such as her innocence.

But he could spend more time with her, spend money on her. He could even write her sonnets. Well, writing sonnets might be a bit too ambi
tious since he’d never written one in his entire life and had read them only when the schoolmaster forced him to.

His mind was wandering off in a direction of no consequence. Reaching down, he grabbed his boot and tugged, tugged, tugged until he jerked it off, then tossed it onto the floor.

He fell back in the chair and held up a finger. He needed to return his mind to the plan. Yes, the plan. Sonnets. No, not sonnets. That would be disastrous. He could read her sonnets that someone else had written. Like Shakespeare. As Robert recalled, he’d written a few good ones that might appeal to a woman’s heart.

Time, money, sonnets. What else? He knew so little of courtship. When he would have been engaging in it, honing his skills, he’d been creating shadow friends. Not a lot of good they’d be in wooing a woman.

He heard a light rapping on his door.

Damnation. Weddington had sent his valet after all. Robert looked at his forlorn boot lying on the floor and the one still on his foot and decided he might very well need the services of a valet.

“Come in!”

The door opened, but it wasn’t the valet. It was his wife, standing there in a nightgown and wrapper, her bare toes peeking out from beneath the hem.

“I thought I heard you in here.”

“I’m sorry. I’ll be quieter.”

So much for his plans to woo her. Here was the perfect opportunity for him to say something witty, and he apologized.
Give it up, Robert, you’ll never win her over
.

“You didn’t disturb me. I wasn’t asleep yet. I was actually pondering a problem that I thought you might be able to help me with.”

He straightened. Straightened? What was he doing still sitting? A lady had come into the room. His lady. He shot to his feet, wobbled a bit, stilled, and realized how silly he must look tilted as he was with one boot making one side higher than the other. Ah, yes, a man as suave and debonair as he was…she would have no choice but to fall madly in love with him.

“Your problem? How can I help you with it?” he asked.

With a shy tucking of her chin, she pointed. “Perhaps I should help you first. You still have a boot on.”

He glanced down. “Ah, yes, so I do. And here I thought the storm was causing the house to list to one side, like a ship on the sea.”

“Are you foxed?”

“No, no. I’m simply feeling very merry.”

“Would you like help getting your boot off?”

“Oh, no, I can manage, thank you very much.”

Missed opportunity there, Robert. She would have had to get nearer in order to help
.

“Your problem?” he repeated.

“Your boot first.”

“Very well.”

He sank onto the chair, lifted his foot, grabbed his boot, and tugged, tugged—

“You do need help,” she said as she walked over.

Her rose and lily scent wafted around him, as intoxicating as the whiskey in which he’d recently indulged. She knelt down, took hold of his boot, and pulled, having no more luck than he had.

“My valet usually has better luck if he…” He let his voice trail off. His valet in the position he was going to propose was one thing. She was something else entirely.

She raised those dark brown eyes to his, and he thought he could so easily get lost in them. No, not lost. It was as he’d told her earlier in the day. With her, he could find himself again.

“What does your valet do?”

“Well, he…uh…I can get it off.” He tried to bring his foot up but she refused to relinquish hold.

“You’ve tried and I’ve tried. What does your valet do?”

“He gives his back to me. Straddles my leg. I raise it, he grabs hold of the boot, then I place my other foot on his backside and push,” he finished quickly.

“I see.”

“I thought you might. Let me have my foot back now, if you please.”

Instead she straddled his leg, bringing his foot
up, holding on to his boot. Her nightgown lifted until he could see her calves. They were lovely. He wanted to reach down and run his hands along them, then sprinkle kisses over them.

“Hurry up and push,” she called out. “Your foot’s getting heavy.”

His gaze traveled up, up to her hips. Good God. Her backside in no way resembled his valet’s. His mouth grew dry. He should do this quickly for her sake.

“Come on, be quick about it,” she demanded.

Without further ado, he pressed his foot to her firm—it was so firm—rounded backside and shoved. The boot came off and she tumbled forward, caught her balance, and righted herself.

He jumped to his feet. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine.” She clutched his boot to her chest.

“I thank you for your assistance. I much prefer being the same height on both sides.”

She released a self-conscious laugh that caused her dimple to form.

“What is it?” he asked.

“Sometimes you seem so very different that I hardly know what to think.”

And that was the problem. He was beginning to sober just a bit, and Weddington’s notion about wooing her suddenly seemed like an incredibly bad idea. “You said you had a problem that I could help you with.”

“Oh, yes.” Very carefully she set his boot on
the floor and clutched her hands in front of her. “I couldn’t figure out how to do the elephant.”

He angled his head slightly. “Pardon?”

“The birds and the dog and the deer with the antlers I could do, but the elephant baffled me.”

He was no doubt looking equally baffled because she added, “The hand shadows. From earlier. With Richard.”

“Oh, yes, the elephant. It’s quite simple really.” He glanced around, looking for an empty bit of wall. “Do you mind sitting on the floor?”

“No.”

“Marvelous.” He grabbed a lit lamp from the table and set it on the floor. “Let’s try it over here then. Sit in front of me so I can place my arms around you like I did Richard. Makes it easier to shape your hands,” he felt obligated to explain. Now that sobriety was returning with stunning swiftness, he realized it was best to avoid her, because holding his passion in check if he gave it any freedom at all was not going to be easy. It was like taking an inmate to the gates of Pentonville, opening them, and saying, “All right now, take a step out, then come right back in.” Not bloody likely.

To reach her arms as she held her hands in front of the lamp required that he be very close to her, and that was best achieved by placing his legs on either side of her hips. She exhibited no hesitation at all as she nestled against him. The possibilities caused his heart to thunder and his mouth
to go dry. Once he finished helping her with her “problem” he thought he might make a trip back out to the bathhouse and this time jump feet first into the frigid pool. Head first. Sideways. Every way imaginable. And he would stay there until he—and his manhood that was clamoring for attention—had shriveled into nothing.

“The elephant?” she prodded.

“Yes, the elephant.”

He took her left arm, could feel her heartbeat fluttering madly at her wrist. Was she as nervous as he?