Bound By Temptation (5 page)

“None taken.” If her expression grew any sweeter she’d get a toothache.

They all stood there in silence. Was she going to have to ask his name again? She turned to Robert and cocked an eyebrow.

He looked at her blankly for a moment and then grinned. “Lady Westington, do let me present Mr. Jonathan Masters. Mr. Masters, I believe
you have already made the acquaintance of Lady Westington.”

“Masters? The name does sound familiar.” It was there, tickling just beyond reach. And then it hit—no wonder he had looked familiar. “Who do I—Violet. You are Violet Carrington’s brother.”

M
asters saw the moment she put all the pieces together. One moment, her eyes were clouded with confusion, and the next, they sharpened with a cold, clear understanding.

“I should have known. It all makes such sense now.” She spoke to herself, but there was no mistaking the edge of ire in her tone. He could see her mind go through the steps—Violet’s marriages, his plans to marry Isabella to Colonel Foxworthy, the rumors surrounding Foxworthy’s death. Her eyes narrowed with each consideration. “You are searching for Isabella, trying to bring her home.”

“Yes, of course I am. It is my responsibility. What else would I be doing?” He sounded more defensive and bitter than he ought. Damn. He hated it when his guilt and insecurity showed through. He didn’t know why he felt the desire to explain, anyway. It was no business of hers why he had chosen the paths he had.

“You’re Lady Carrington’s brother. I confess you’re correct I had not put the names together.” Lord Westington stepped into the gap of social
awkwardness. “How is your sister? Lady Westington was just telling me she had not heard from her recently.”

“She is doing well. I last saw her at the baptism of the Marquess of Wimberley’s daughter this past Christmas. It was a most joyous occasion and I have rarely seen her happier.”

“You do not know her well, then,” Lady Westington spoke the words so softly that he was not sure he heard them. It was clear Westington had not. She stepped toward him, and he could feel the air stir as she moved.

He continued as if she had not spoken. “But you know Lady Wimberley as well, do you not? It is a pity that you were not in attendance at the christening of her daughter. We could have become acquainted at that time. It might have made things much simpler.”

She opened her mouth and then snapped it shut, her soft pink lips quivering. It was good to see her at a loss for words. He had never been fond of women who couldn’t be quiet.

Her eyes still flashed with emotion though. They were speaking the words that would not come to her lips. In the dim light of the afternoon they looked like fine topazes. He could see the darker rim of soft brown that ringed their golden centers.

He should not be thinking about her eyes. He turned quickly toward her brother—no, that wasn’t right, her stepson. It was impossible to picture them as mother and son. Even in a few
moments’ time he could see that the bond they shared was that of siblings or close friends. There was a playfulness in the expressions that passed between them that was totally lacking in parental authority.

He’d always wished he’d shared that with his sisters. No. That was not right either. He had the relationship with his sisters that necessity demanded. He would not wish for things that could not be.

The clock in the hall chimed, causing Westington to jump.

Lady Westington was still staring at him, her eyes burning with emotion. He wondered what secrets his sister had shared with her. What did she know of Isabella and the circumstances of her departure? Violet must have said something. She had never been known for her discretion. What woman was?

“Perhaps you’d like to be seated and I shall call for refreshments.” Lady Westington had pasted a smile on her face as she spoke. “Tea? Or would you prefer some port? Or even a brandy, given the chill.”

“Yes, there is a distinct chill in the air, is there not?” He spread his own best smile across his cheeks.

“I don’t know what the two of you are talking about,” Westington said. “I find it quite stuffy in here with the drapes drawn and the fire burning high. You must forgive me, however. The clock has reminded me that I promised my stable manager
I’d stop by before dinner. I’ve a mare about to foal, and I am concerned.” He turned to his stepmother. “Forgive me.”

“Of course.” Her tone did not sound forgiving in the least.

Masters could almost hear her counting the seconds until Westington left the room.

“What on earth are you doing here? Do you have no purpose but to plague me?” Her words were exactly the response he had expected.

“Actually, I came to return your belongings. It seemed only proper to do so.”

“My belongings?”

“Yes, a cloak, two shoes, and a single stocking. I felt quite ashamed when I realized you had left without your shoes. I’d brought them to my coach the night before to prevent your departure.”

“You feel ashamed for hiding my shoes, but not for tying me to your bed—or accusing me of stealing your watch?” She phrased it as a question, but clearly it was not intended as such.

“Perhaps I should not have returned your belongings. I am sure a woman of your means could have managed without them. Forgive my desire to help.” He walked away from the fire. “I can manage quite well without refreshment. I will return to the tavern to await the roads drying. And as for my watch, I recovered it from you, so I am content.”

Lady Westington paused for a moment. She glanced at the door and then back to him as if measuring how many paces it would take him to
leave. Her desire for his departure was clear. He watched her pull a deep breath in, the movement of her chest clear even beneath her thick wool gown and shawl.

“I am being rude,” she said, moving to a chair beside the fire. “Pointing out another’s faults can be so easy, do you not find it so? And as for your watch”—she repeated his words with clear deliberation—“you have still never told me why you believe I tried to steal it.”

He resisted remarking on the lack of courtesy in that remark; instead, he merely nodded stiffly and took the seat across from her, letting her question of the watch slide by. It would only increase the conflict between them to discuss it now.

She narrowed her eyes. “I do of course appreciate your bringing my belongings. May I have them?”

“I am afraid they are still in my coach. I was not sure that I would find you alone to present them, and it would have seemed ungracious to arrive with a bag as if planning to stay.”

“But you are planning to stay, aren’t you? You heard my brother’s invitation. Only a fool would stay at The Dog when he could be lodged here with all the comforts available.”

He refrained from asking what comforts those were. She clearly was set on provoking him and he would not have it—would not let her know how her closeness affected him. He was here to leave her belongings and to assure himself that she was not regularly given to thievery. With those two
goals accomplished, he could pursue his sister with an easy conscience. “No, I don’t believe I will avail myself of your comforts.”

He indulged in letting his gaze rove over her as he spoke, being sure to pause at all the most delightful bits. She really was quite splendid to look at, despite the shrewish temper. He felt how soft she was when he’d put her to bed. She’d been so warm—so warm and soft. Awake, she was neither warm nor soft.

Her back was stiff. He was sure if he took out a ruler he would find it a perfect inch and a half from the brocade back of the chair. She pulled herself even straighter with that magic only true ladies possessed. “I will accept that last comment at face value and not have the maids freshen a chamber. I believe it is time we come to the real purpose of your visit. I am sure you could have found someone lurking about The Dog’s stables who could have brought me my cloak without raising an uproar. Perhaps I had just forgotten it.”

“That would be the truth.”

“Yes. It would be.”

“Your shoes and stockings would have presented more of a problem.”

She quirked a brow. “If you say so.”

She made it seem as if she was questioning his intellect. He would like to know how she would have managed it. But he didn’t really want to hear her reply.

She leaned over and rang the bell on the table. The maid appeared instantly, shining with a
desire to please. “Mary, would you please have Cook send out some tidbits and a bottle of Robert’s port. I’ll have a glass of the dry sherry myself.” The maid turned to leave, and, as if on an afterthought, Lady Westington added, “Oh, and Mr. Masters mentioned leaving a package in his carriage, a gift for me from his sister.” She turned to him. “You did say it was in the brown leather bag.”

“No, a green brocade satchel just under the front bench.”

She turned back to the maid. “Ask one of the grooms if they can find it. I would love to see what secrets Violet sent me.”

The maid left.

“And what do you think of the secrets she has sent so far?” He leaned toward her and let his low voice surround her.

Her glance met his, and then her eyes dropped to his lips. She swallowed deeply and shook herself. Turning her face away, she answered, her voice carefully flat, “We are both aware she did not send you. You made her life a misery and she would never have forced you on mine.”

“Where did that come from?” He was surprised by her sudden vehemence. “I thought we were playing with manners.”

“Only in front of Robert and the staff. After last evening it seems a bit late for manners between the two of us.” She brushed at her skirts as if trying to brush all trace of him away. He could not tell if she succeeded.

She turned her face back to him. “Now why are you here?”

“I have come to assure myself both of your welfare—don’t raise that brow at me—it is true. I am not used to sending shoeless, cloakless women out into the streets. And I wished to assure myself that no harm had befallen you.”

She considered his words, her brow clenched—and then relaxed. Yes, she could see the truth of that. “And your other reason?”

“You will not be as charmed by this one. I merely sought further reassurance that I was not letting a master thief loose on the county. I am aware that you have decided that I never intended to summon the magistrate. I admit that I didn’t want to take the time away from my quest that would have been necessary to pursue a prosecution. I intended that fright would do the job for me.”

“Only I don’t frighten easily.”

“No, you don’t. I would have thought awakening tied to a strange man’s bed would have been a cause for alarm.”

Lady Westington slid back in her chair, making herself comfortable. At the same time, her very comfort highlighted the curves of her body. “That might have been true if it had been the first bed I had awoken tied to. I was more distressed by being tied fully dressed than I would have been bare as a newborn babe. Then I would have understood the rules by which we played.” Her smile grew catlike, and he found himself focused on her lips, waiting for her tongue to caress them.

There was a scratch at the door, and a maid came in with a tray of drinks. She poured them quickly and then vanished like a shadow.

Masters shook his head, breaking Clara’s spell. She’d done this before at the tavern with the bacon, one smile, one grin, one bite, and all his thoughts fled to his trousers. It was an art she clearly wielded with great precision.

He was no innocent boy to be taken in by such games. He forced his glance up to her eyes. They did not portray the confidence of the rest of her expression.

She caught his glance and he could see her eyes harden and grow more calculating, giving the impression that she knew exactly what she did and why she did it. Her tongue did dart out then, but he ignored its invitation.

He coughed. “It is clear that I am not as familiar with these games as you. I have always considered myself a country gentleman despite my recent time in London. I might never have spent more than a fortnight there were it not for my sisters—and my bankers.”

“Violet did say the estate was a shambles when you inherited.”

“And she did not know the half of it.” He leaned back, resting his head on the high back of the chair. It sometimes felt as if he had the entire world to worry about instead of only two sisters and an estate that, after more than a decade, was finally paying for itself. He wished he could close his eyes and sleep before the fire. His head was beginning
to pound. The quiet of the house was inviting with the rain pattering outside and only the distant noises of chattering maids to disturb him.

Of course, the quiet could not last. “Why didn’t you share your problems with Violet—forgive me if I call her that, I have never thought of her as Lady Carrington. Your sister cannot be but a few years younger, and she would have given her all to help.”

He sat up, letting the veil of disapproval fall about him. “It is really none of your business. All I will say is that she did help.”

“By marrying a man more than five decades older. I am not sure that was the type of help she would have chosen.”

He turned his head to look at her fully. She was stiffly upright, leaning slightly toward him, fully focused on his face. His answer was evidently of great importance to her. “It was the only help possible.”

She leaned closer. Although her voice was quiet, the force of her sentiment was unmistakable. “That’s easy to say when you weren’t the one paying the price.”

“I’ve never understood why my sister and now you must harp on the issue. It is over and done with.” He fought the urge to rub his temples. A dull pain was building, pressing ever stronger in his temples. At least she did not remark on the rumors that had come last year with Isabella’s disappearance. “Don’t look at me like that. I know that marriage to a seventy-plus-year-old is not every girl’s
dream, but Dratton was a good man and he cared for her. Do you imagine her life would have been better penniless, without a home? Who would have wed her then?”

“But what of love?” Her voice was softer, more inquiring.

“Love. I don’t know that it even exists. I am sure it does not exist when one is starving and cold. My sister has the life she has because of the choices I made.”

“They should have been her choices.”

“You sound just like her.” He stood and walked away from her. His head was pounding now. “I am so tired of opinionated women. Can you never just trust a man to take care of you?”

“There is no reason for us to. We can take care of ourselves.”

He turned back to her. “By flirting and flaunting your body. By depending on your sexuality to get you what you want. Is that what you call love?”