Taste of Temptation (23 page)
Read Taste of Temptation Online
Authors: Cheryl Holt
Tags: #Romance - Historical, #American Light Romantic Fiction, #General, #Romance, #Fiction, #Fiction - Romance, #Love stories, #Romance: Historical, #Historical, #American Historical Fiction, #Regency novels, #Regency fiction
Odell studied her, obviously wondering if he should reprimand her or continue to bicker, but his temper was barely controlled. He gave up, not keen on releasing his pent-up emotions in front of Seymour.
“See to it that you’re home when I arrive.”
He clicked the reins, and the horse clopped on.
“Ooh, that man,” she fumed when he was out of sight, and she spun on Phillip. “What were you thinking? You’re my beau? You’re lucky you didn’t get me fired!”
Phillip shrugged, unrepentant. “It seemed the best way to play it”
“To
play
it? This isn’t a game, Mr. Dubois. This is my life! It’s the difference between my sisters living in a grand mansion or out on the streets with no food in their bellies.”
play
it? This isn’t a game, Mr. Dubois. This is my life! It’s the difference between my sisters living in a grand mansion or out on the streets with no food in their bellies.”
“You asked me for advice about men, Miss Hamilton. Captain Odell is not about to fire you.”
“Why not?”
“Because he’s in love with you.”
She blinked and blinked. “That is the most patently ridiculous thing anyone has ever said to me.”
“Trust me on this: He’s mad about you, and I was simply fanning his jealousy.”
“You are insane.”
“Am I?” he smugly posed. “As far as I can tell, my Spinster’s Cure is performing precisely as it’s meant to. I suspect you’ll be wed to him before the month is out.”
It was an easy prediction to make. If Odell married her, Phillip would look like a matrimonial genius. If Odell didn’t, she’d visit Phillip for more guidance and potions. In both situations, he came out the winner.
He escorted her to the wagon, vaguely listening as she complained about how wrong he was.
“Will you be at the village dance?” he inquired.
“Yes.”
“I assume Captain Odell will be there, as well?”
“Yes.”
“I suggest you dance with me numerous times.”
“Why?”
“So that we can further inflame his passions. A romantic stroll in the dark woods next to the village green probably wouldn’t be amiss, either. We’ll let him imagine we’re engaged in a torrid tryst.”
She scoffed. “He doesn’t care about me; he wouldn’t even notice I was gone.”
“We’ll see, won’t we?” he boasted.
They arrived at the wagon, and he handed her a bottle of red liquid.
“What’s this?” she asked.
“It’s the Woman’s Daily Remedy I mentioned. Have a sample, with my compliments.”
“I should drink it... why?”
“It will quiet your broken heart—until the Captain comes to his senses.”
“My heart is
not
broken.”
not
broken.”
“Isn’t it?”
When she hesitated, he grabbed the bottle and placed it in her purse.
“Everything will be fine,” he murmured. “Leave it to me.”
Chapter 13
“WHAT gown have you decided on, Mrs. Seymour?”
“The green one with the matching shawl.”
Lydia went to the dressing room and returned with the garment Maud had mentioned. Maud was silent as Lydia helped her into it. As Lydia stepped away, Maud twirled in front of the mirror, admiring herself.
She’d never been a beauty, but it was amazing how a bit of flirtation with a handsome man always made a woman prettier.
Over the past few weeks, Captain Odell had showered Maud with attention, taking her for rides in the carriage, sitting with her at meals, meeting her for drinks late in the afternoon. He’d been the absolute model of chivalry, becoming so indulgent that it seemed as if another person had begun to occupy his body.
She had no idea what had brought about the change. Nor would she question the transformation. The only explanation was that their living together in Michael’s home had caused an affection to develop. Why else would he be so intrigued?
He’d invited her to the village dance, and if she was lucky, she might finally wrangle the kiss she’d been seeking. If she was
extremely
lucky, perhaps she’d stir him to a sexual encounter from which he wouldn’t be able to extricate himself. After all, he couldn’t dabble with a woman of her station unless he married her in the end.
extremely
lucky, perhaps she’d stir him to a sexual encounter from which he wouldn’t be able to extricate himself. After all, he couldn’t dabble with a woman of her station unless he married her in the end.
“What do you think of my outfit, Lydia?” she asked the insolent girl. “Is it the appropriate color for me?”
“It’s fine.”
Maud sat on the stool at the dressing table. “Fix this curl, will you?”
Lydia grumbled to herself as she walked over and laid the curling iron in the fire. She was like an obstinate donkey, always hoping her chores were finished, and being surly when they weren’t.
Maud might have fired her years earlier, but Lydia often came in handy. For all her slovenly ways, Lydia was very good with hair and clothes. She was also a veritable fount of information, being content to spy, tattle, or betray anyone if the price was right, so Maud had assigned her to tend Helen and Jane Hamilton.
Maud was eager for facts she could use to the sisters’ detriment. She was determined to be shed of them, and with the captain now seeming to regret that he’d hired Helen Hamilton, it wouldn’t take much to push him into letting her go.
“I haven’t talked with you in ages,” Maud said. “How is Jane Hamilton getting on?”
“She’s getting on very well.”
Lydia spun away, hiding a grin.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing.”
“Has she scheduled any more of her horseback rides with Lord Hastings?”
“She and the earl have been
riding
quite a lot.”
riding
quite a lot.”
Lydia snickered, and Maud might have remarked on it, but suddenly, a high-pitched howl sounded out in the hall. The door was flung open, and Miriam raced in. She was still in her robe, not yet having dressed for the dance.
“Mother! Mother!”
“What is it?” Maud asked.
“Look at my face!”
“What’s the matter with it?”
“I’m covered with blotches!” Miriam moaned.
There was a lamp on the table. Maud lifted it and held it closer. She blanched.
“When did this happen?”
“I was having supper in my room when I noticed I was scratching, then scratching harder, and then... this rash popped out everywhere.”
Mother and daughter stared in horror at the mirror. Angry welts marred Miriam’s cheeks, neck, and arms. Not spots exactly, but not a rash, either. Maud had never seen anything like it.
“Are you feverish?” Maud was terrified that Miriam had contracted an awful new plague that they’d all catch.
“No, just itchy!” Miriam raked her nails over her skin, garnering no relief. “What should I do? Michael asked me to join him in leading off the dancing. You know what an honor it is! The entire village will be watching. I can’t go like this!”
“No, you can’t. Fetch some cold water!” Maud barked to Lydia. “Wet a cloth!”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Maud eased Miriam into a chair, waiting, then observing as Lydia sauntered in with a bowl and pitcher. She poured water into the bowl, dipped a cloth and wrung it out, then she handed it to Maud, who handed it to Miriam.
Maud wasn’t the maternal type, and she didn’t wish to touch the inflammation. She wasn’t about to show up at the dance appearing as if she’d contracted leprosy.
“Is it helping?” Maud inquired.
“Not really,” Miriam wailed, “but I can’t let it keep me at home. If I do, Jane Hamilton will take my place at Michael’s side.”
“Over my dead body,” Maud seethed.
“Oh, the swelling is getting worse!”
The evening was to have been Maud’s crowning achievement, capping years of effort at positioning Miriam so that greatness fell on her.
Michael was at the family seat, for his first visit as earl. Every person for miles around would be at the party, excited to meet the handsome boy who was now responsible for the welfare of so many.
The highlight was always the kick-off to the dancing. Michael had chosen Miriam—his dear cousin, whom he was expected to wed—to parade with him down the center of the village green. The whole world would have seen Miriam basking in his glow.
Wasn’t it just like her to wreck everything?
Maud glared at Lydia. “What would you suggest?”
“We could try to conceal it with some of your white facial powder.”
“I can’t cover my face with powder,” Miriam shrieked, appalled. “I’ll look like an elderly woman who’s hiding her age spots. Michael won’t know it’s me; he’ll think I’m an old hag.”
“Have you a better idea?” Maud fumed.
“No,” Miriam dolefully replied.
Lydia—with a bit of glee—grabbed the powder and began to dab a heavy coating on Miriam’s skin.
“THESE rural celebrations are certainly quaint, aren’t they?”
“Yes, very quaint. People seem to be enjoying themselves, though.”
Tristan gazed across the grass, studying the large crowd. Everyone was laughing, dancing, eating, and drinking.
Through the throng, he was vaguely aware that Maud was chattering, and her voice was so aggravating, like nails on a chalkboard. Why had he decided to commence a flirtation with her? What insane motive had been driving him?
It was all Helen’s fault.
He’d done it to make her jealous, but she hadn’t even noticed that Tristan was spending time with Maud. She was so unconcerned, he might have been invisible.
In his entire life, he hadn’t encountered a single female who’d told him
no
. He was the bastard son of an earl, a randy Scot, a sailor. Women viewed him as wild and dangerous, and they all wanted him because of it—except Helen Hamilton.
no
. He was the bastard son of an earl, a randy Scot, a sailor. Women viewed him as wild and dangerous, and they all wanted him because of it—except Helen Hamilton.
“There goes Miss Hamilton again,” Maud complained, yanking him out of his bitter reverie.
“What?”
He could practically smell Maud’s desperation to be allied with him, and he could have snapped his fingers and had her in his bed, but he was too obsessed with Helen to bother. He constantly pondered how he could be having sex with
her
instead of Maud. She’d refused him; his pride was bruised, and he was burning with rage.
her
instead of Maud. She’d refused him; his pride was bruised, and he was burning with rage.
He’d like to wring her scrawny neck for putting him through such misery.
“She’s with that Frenchman,” Maud pointed out. “I realize that—initially—you felt some sympathy for her plight, but must we keep her on? Surely, with her involved in this dalliance, she’s not an appropriate servant to be caring for Rose.”
Helen had been partnered with the blasted foreigner all night, twirling past Tristan over and over. What was his name? Dubois?
Who was he, anyway? Where had Helen met him? Why would Helen prefer him over Tristan?
“Captain,” Maud nagged, “did you hear me?”
“What?”
“We were talking about Miss Hamilton.”
“We were?”
“Yes, and I sincerely believe that—”
Miriam promenaded by on the arm of a man Tristan didn’t know. She had a scarf over her face, and she was ghostly white.
“What is wrong with Miriam?” he asked.
“Nothing. Why?”
“She looks like a damned specter.”
“She’s fine.” Maud forced a smile. “So I was thinking—”
“About what?”
“About Miss Hamilton! Captain, it’s so disconcerting when you’re distracted. This is important to me. I wish you’d pay attention.”
Maud snuggled herself closer, but Helen and her swain had parted company. Tristan watched as the dubious gentleman snuck off behind the blacksmith’s barn where the male partygoers were enjoying a whiskey away from the ladies.
“Would you excuse me?”
“What?”
He slipped away and was instantly swallowed up by the crowd.
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