Taste of Temptation (25 page)

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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

BOOK: Taste of Temptation
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“Is this your bedchamber?” she stupidly asked.
“As if you didn’t know, you little hussy.”
“I think I’d best be going.”
She spun as if to hurry out but he pointed to a chair and growled, “Sit your ass down.”
“I don’t believe I ought. I really, really should—”
“Sit down!” he bellowed, and she scurried over and plopped onto the hard seat.
He glared at her, his torrid gaze meandering down her torso, taking in the fact that she wasn’t dressed, that her long hair was curling down her back.
His examination was very thorough, as if he was stripping her with his eyes, as if she was naked. Her body rippled with anticipation, her nipples tightening into painful buds that pushed against the fabric of her nightgown.
He didn’t speak, but kept looking and looking, and finally she said, “Was there something you wanted?”
“Bloody right there was something I wanted!”
He approached until he was directly in front of her, and he trapped her by slapping his palms down on the arms of the chair.
“You tell that cheeky sister of yours to stay away from my ward.”
“What?”
“I see the game she’s playing, and it won’t work.”
“What
game
is that?” She bristled.
“She can flirt and tempt and tease to infinity, but Michael Seymour will never marry her.”
“Why, you arrogant wretch! How dare you make insinuations about my sister!”
“When they are fully deserved, I’ll say whatever I like.”
“When you insult her, you insult me—and my dear, deceased father. I won’t stand for it.”
“Your
dear father
? Now there was a scoundrel.” He flashed a feral grin. “You certainly inherited his tendencies toward duplicity and deceit, didn’t you.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t you?” He pulled away and stood. “The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, does it, Miss Hamilton? Are you a
Miss
, by the way? Or have you lain with every Tom, Dick, and Philippe in the county?”
She was so furious, she couldn’t decide where to begin chastising him.
He hadn’t deigned to notice her in weeks, and this was how he chose to act?
She leapt to her feet, ready to slap him silly then storm out, but he shouted again, using his most authoritative ship-captain’s roar.
“I told you to
sit down,
Miss Hamilton! What part of that command do you fail to comprehend?”
To her great mortification, she obeyed, her bottom slamming onto the cushion so fast that gravity had to have tugged at an especially quick rate.
She watched, mildly horrified and incredibly intrigued, as he started to pace. She felt as if she was one of his sailors, listening to a list of transgressions that detailed why she was about to be flogged.
“You are not to ever be alone with Mr. Dubois.”
“What?”
“You are
not
to be alone with him. Do you hear me?”
It was the strangest edict ever.
“Yes, I hear you, and I think you’re out of your mind.”
“YOU ARE NOT TO BE ALONE WITH HIM!” he yelled.
He was on the verge of hysterics, and she couldn’t fathom why, but she remembered Dubois’s assertion that the captain was wild for her.
Could Dubois be correct? Was Odell
jealous
?
A vain thrill coursed through her. What if he was? What did it mean? Where would it take them?
“I can’t see,” she blithely said, “how my relationship with Philippe is any of your business.”
“Philippe?” he gasped, his voice shrill. “You call that blackguard
Philippe
?
”
“Why wouldn’t I? He’s asked me to marry him three times. We’re very close, so there’s no reason to—”
Before she could finish the sentence, he swooped in and lifted her into his arms, and he turned and marched to the bedroom.
She squealed and fussed and kicked, but it was no use. He was bent on his destination, and he wasn’t about to let her escape. Not that she wanted to; it just seemed that a lady should protest.
He dropped her onto the mattress, and though she tried to squirm away, he was on her in an instant, his lean, hard body stretched out the length of hers, pinning her down.
“He is
not
a gentleman,” he fumed.
“Maybe I like that about him.”
“He’s not even French, you little fool. He’s a damned Englishman, with a fake accent, who’s playing on your gullible nature.”
“That can’t be. I trust him with my life. He has so many plans for us.”
“Oh, he has
plans
, all right. Plans such as planting a babe in your belly, then running off with all your money.”
“All my ... my ... money?”
She laughed and laughed. She couldn’t help it.
Obviously, Mr. Dubois and the captain had conversed. What had Dubois said?
When next they crossed paths, she’d have to profusely thank him.
“What is so funny?” he snapped.
“You. You’re absolutely hilarious.”
“I’m protecting your virtue and reputation.”
“Ha! I may work for you, but you don’t own me. I’m an adult woman, and I can consort with whomever I please. It’s not your place to order me about.”
“Is that really what you suppose?”
“Yes.”
“Hear me and hear me well, Miss Hamilton: Dubois’s name isn’t even
Dubois
. It’s Dudley. He is a fraud and a villain, and you are never to speak with him again.”
“I’m sorry, but I’m afraid I have to—”
“Aren’t you listening?
Never
again!”
 
 
TRISTAN felt possessed, as if demons had entered his body and he couldn’t expel them.
Ever since he’d met Phillip Dudley, ever since he’d learned Dudley’s low intentions toward Helen, he’d been in a fine fettle.
How could she not see Dudley for what he was? How could she fail to detect his dubious character? How could she enjoy his company more than Tristan’s?
He’d tried to avoid her. He’d tried to ignore her. He’d tried to pretend she was nothing to him, but he had to face facts: They were bound in ways he didn’t like, but there was no setting aside their connection. And he was tired of fighting it.
Since he’d arrived home from the dance, he’d had too much to drink, so he understood that alcohol was spurring him on. In a moment of temporary insanity, he’d decided to stomp to her bedchamber, to demand an apology and an explanation.
If he’d been more sober, he might have reassessed, might have changed his mind, but when he’d opened his door and found her standing there, all sense had flown out the window.
He was a smart man, and he could recognize an important sign when it hit him on the head. Fate had delivered her to him, and he wouldn’t decline the sensual gift.
She was meant to be his, and she would be. It was as simple as that. She would forget Dudley. She would give Tristan everything he’d been craving, and they would both be happier for it.
He dipped down and kissed her, and to his surprise, she tasted like alcohol, as if she’d imbibed quite a lot of liquor, too. He sighed with relief. If they were both intoxicated, they could blame their misbehavior on their compromised conditions. In the morning, there’d be a perfectly rational reason why they’d proceeded—they were foxed—and if she was angry, he wouldn’t have to feel guilty.
“Have you been drinking, Miss Hamilton?” he asked, wanting to be sure.
“Yes.”
“You seem much more...
calm
than usual.”
“I tried an elixir known as Woman’s Daily Remedy. It’s relaxed me.”
“Has it?”
“Definitely, and since I’m lying beneath you, hadn’t you ought to call me Helen?”
“Yes, Helen, I believe I ought”
“I hate how you say
Miss Hamilton.
It always sounds as if you’re scolding me.”
“That’s because I always am. You drive me wild with your foolishness.”
He was stunned by how marvelous it felt to be with her. To his mortification, he’d been drowning in despair, lost and miserable without her, and at having the chance to dally, his spirits soared.
He kissed her again, and she joined in with a gusto that seduced and delighted.
Her hands were everywhere, roaming over his shoulders, back, and arms. She stroked her fingers through his hair, played with the earring in his ear.
His own hands explored at will, as he toyed with her breasts, her nipples, her thighs and flanks. Her legs widened, welcoming him to drop between them, but she was still dressed in her nightgown, and in his frantic caressing, he became entangled in the fabric.
He was too impatient to waste time removing the garment, so he grabbed the bodice and ripped it down the center. In an instant, she was naked.
In horror, she shrieked and pulled away.
“Are you mad?” she huffed. “You can’t be ripping off my clothes. You’ve ruined the only nightgown I own. What am I to do now?”
“You could simply sleep in the nude—in case a certain gentleman visits your bed. He might enjoy finding you in such a naughty state.”
“Sleep in the nude? You might as well tell me to shave off my hair.”
“Then ask your employer to buy you another.”
She snorted with disgust. “He’s a cheapskate. I don’t imagine he would.”
“If you obliged him once in awhile, you might be amazed at his generosity.”
“Impossible. He’s an ogre. All he does is scream and rant at me.”
“He merely wants to be sure you’re paying attention.”
She looked as if she might continue her complaints, but he wouldn’t listen. She’d already said more than he ever cared to hear, and all of it was idiotic and misguided. Her hands were clutched to her bosom as she tried to drag her robe over her naked form, but he wouldn’t allow her to hide herself.
The time for virginal games had passed. The time for protests and demurring had ended. He seized her wrists and clasped them over her head, and he was enough of a cad to admit that he liked having her pinned beneath him and at his mercy.
He glanced down her torso, feeling like a conquering Celt about to ravage an innocent maiden. She was perfectly shaped to give a man pleasure: rounded breasts, narrow waist, flared hips. His gaze landed on the triangle of hair between her legs, and a wave of lust shot through him that was so virulent he was glad he was lying down. If he hadn’t been, his knees might have buckled.
He began kissing her again, and he kept on and on until she was writhing in agony, then he nibbled her breasts, and he sucked on her nipples, going back and forth, back and forth.
She was such a carnal creature that it was but a simple matter to bring her to orgasm. He slid his fingers into her sheath, and with a few deft flicks of his thumb, she shuddered and cried out.
As she let go, something inside him resolved, as if an argument had been waged and was finally settled.
When he’d initially decided to venture to her bedchamber, he hadn’t been certain of his purpose. When he’d found her lurking in the hall, he still hadn’t known the precise conclusion he sought. Even when he’d picked her up and carried her to his bed, the goal had been hazy.
Yet now, everything was crystal clear. He would fornicate with her. He didn’t care that he shouldn’t, didn’t care that it was wrong, didn’t care that she might not wish to proceed.
He tugged his trousers down to his flanks and wedged the tip of his cock into her sheath. The strange position galvanized her.
She calmed and sobered, her smile fading.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“I’m going to make love to you—as a husband does his wife.”
“Will I lose my virginity? Is that what will occur?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t want to then.”
“I’m going to anyway, Helen. We can’t keep dancing around this situation.”
“But I thought...”
“What?”
“We had to be married before it could happen.”
She blushed, her cheeks stained a pretty shade of pink, which underscored how naïve she was. In light of her inexperience, he was behaving like the worst sort of scoundrel. He never despoiled virgins—it wasn’t in his nature—and when there were so many loose women in the world, it was totally unnecessary, but he couldn’t stop.
Since it was fated for them to be together sexually, it was pointless to fight the inevitable.

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