Taste of Temptation (32 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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“CAPTAIN,” the butler announced, “Miss Hamilton requests an audience.”
“Thank you. I’ll see her now.”
The butler held open the library door, and Helen entered.
Tristan had been sequestered in a private appointment, and for more than an hour, she’d cooled her heels in the hall. She hurried in, ready to burst out with the fact that there was terrible trouble, when she noticed he wasn’t alone.
Maud Seymour was seated across from him.
Helen should have realized that Seymour would rush to tattle, but she’d been so frantic about Jane that the obvious hadn’t occurred to her.
She stumbled to a halt, recollecting Jane’s comment about how they’d never truly been welcome. Suddenly, she wasn’t nearly as sure as she had been of Tristan’s support.
“I... I... have to talk to you,” she stammered.
“I believe I know the subject.” He gestured to the chair next to Seymour, indicating she should sit.
Helen wanted to beg him to order Seymour out, but she couldn’t. Their affair was a secret, so he couldn’t show her any special favor, and she couldn’t demand it. As far as Seymour was aware, Helen was a servant.
Still, Helen asked, “May I speak with you privately?”
“There’s no need for a private discussion.”
“Please?”
“This is a family issue,” Seymour chimed in, “and the earl is likely to wed my daughter. What concerns him, concerns me. If I am not the person who should be present during this conversation, who is?”
Tristan pointed to the chair again, and Helen marched over, feeling as if she was about to face a firing squad.
She studied him, trying to glean some hint of his opinion, some evidence that she had an ally in the room, but he glared back with an unruffled, imperious expression.
“Mrs. Seymour has shared the pertinent details with me,” he started.
“Has she?” Helen hotly said.
“Yes, and we’ve decided how to proceed.”
“How to proceed? It seems easy enough to me: There must be a wedding, and from what Jane just confided, I’d say the sooner the better.”
Tristan stiffened as Seymour scoffed, “Why would you suppose there should be a wedding?”
“Jane isn’t some doxy. She’s a gently bred girl, from a good family, and—”
“Harry Hamilton’s daughter?” Seymour interrupted. “You have some nerve if you think she’s entitled to any heightened regard.”
“Maud,” Tristan scolded, “there’s no need for insults.”
“Well, she is Harry’s daughter. What did you expect would happen, with Michael being allowed to socialize with a child like her? She’s been throwing herself at him all summer.”
“Maud!” he said more sharply. “I insist you be courteous, or you’ll have to leave.”
“As you wish,” Seymour yielded. “I wouldn’t miss this chat for the world.”
Refusing to back down, Helen persisted with her argument.
“Despite Mrs. Seymour’s remarks about my father, Jane is from a good family, and Lord Hastings can’t use her like this without consequence. Marriage is the only solution we’ll accept.”
For a moment, Tristan looked pained, and he shut his eyes, pressing finger and thumb on the bridge of his nose. When he sighed and straightened, he gazed at her with regret.
“Here is what we’ll do,” he gently advised.
“We, being you and Mrs. Seymour? You’ve settled everything without asking me?”
“You’re the governess,” Seymour snapped. “Why would you have been consulted?”
Many livid replies could have been hurled:
Because I’m not just the governess; because I love Tristan Odell and I thought he loved me; because I assumed I mattered to him
!
But she couldn’t allude to any of them.
“I want to speak with Lord Hastings,” Helen declared.
“I want to hear—from his own mouth—that he concurs with this hideous insult”
“I’m afraid that won’t be possible,” Tristan responded.
She was silent, stunned, aggrieved beyond words.
“Miss Hamilton ...” Tristan stopped, then began again. “Helen, listen to me.”
“Give me a reason why I should.”
“Miss Hamilton!” Seymour chided. “Honestly. Remember your place.”
“In a situation such as this,” Tristan continued, ignoring Seymour, “there are many factors to consider.”
“I can think of only one,” Helen said. “A young lady has been callously ruined by Lord Hastings and amends must be made. Immediately.”
“Yes, amends must be made,” Tristan agreed. “But first, the liaison has to be severed, so Lord Hastings and I will be departing the property at once. Our horses are already being saddled.”
“He’s leaving? No. I want a wedding. I
demand
a wedding!”
Tristan shook his head. “It’s not going to happen, Helen. I’m sorry.”
Seymour added, “I can’t believe you’d expect such an outrageous conclusion, Miss Hamilton.” She peered at Tristan. “Since you graced her with your favor, Captain, she’s lost all sense of rank and station.”
Helen kept her attention focused on Tristan. He was stern and implacable, exhibiting none of the endearing traits he’d permitted her to see during their more intimate encounters.
She couldn’t reconcile this ruthless, obstinate person with the supportive friend she’d come to cherish. He was no longer Tristan Odell, the man who made her pulse race and her spirits soar. He was every inch
Captain
Odell, the uncompromising, merciless autocrat whom he’d appeared to be when they’d initially met.
“She’s my sister,” Helen futilely pointed out.
“I realize that.”
“She’s an impressionable eighteen-year-old girl.”
“I know how old she is.”
“She loves him! She’s positive he loves her, too. This is breaking her heart. It’s breaking mine.”
“I’m sorry,” he repeated, though he didn’t look as if he was.
Seymour cut in. “With each statement you utter, Miss Hamilton, you sound more deranged. Cease your begging and heed Captain Odell. He’s trying to inform you of your arrangements, but you keep interrupting.”
At the comment, Helen was so incensed that she wanted to charge Seymour and pound her to the floor till she was a bloody heap on the rug. She glared at Odell, waiting for him to reprimand Seymour, or at least attempt to smooth over her harsh tone.
Instead, he killed Helen a bit by saying, “Yes, Miss Hamilton, let’s finish this, shall we? The entire business is distasteful, and I intend to resolve it with a minimal amount of unpleasantness.”
“By all means,” Helen seethed, “don’t let my petty troubles keep you from your more urgent affairs.”
His cheeks flushed as if with chagrin, but he forged on, ever the dutiful guardian to his ward.
“We feel there should be a cooling-off period, that time and distance will make the affection wane.”
“Lord Hastings is a renowned libertine,” Helen retorted. “I’m sure he’ll get over Jane very quickly. His roving eye has probably already landed on the next girl he plans to seduce.”
Odell fumed, but pushed on. “He will accompany me on my trip to Scotland, then he will stay in Scotland with some Seymour relatives for six months.”
“Six months ...” Helen muttered, recognizing how inconsolable Jane would be. “What is to become of my sister?”
“The three of you—yourself, Jane, and Amelia—will return to London. I will have a house rented for you, and you’ll reside there till we learn if there is a babe.”
Several of his remarks were important, but only one struck her as being worthy of a response. “Am I being dismissed from my post?”
“Not dismissed, precisely,” he hedged.
“Then what,
precisely
, is occurring?”
“For now, you’ll receive an allowance. Future decisions will be made once we know whether or not your sister is increasing.”
Meaning: If there was a babe, the Seymours would take it and have it raised by trusted servants on a rural estate. Jane would be paid a nominal sum as damages, which they could live on until Helen found another job.
If there was no baby, their situation was very dire, indeed.
“If she’s not pregnant,” Helen inquired, “will we be tossed out on the street to fend for ourselves?”
“I’m certain we’ll be able to reach an accommoration.”
The offer was kindly tendered, but in light of how much Helen had cared about him, it was the coldest, cruelest thing anyone had ever said to her.
To her horror, tears welled into her eyes and dripped down her cheeks. She didn’t even try to swipe them away. She was too astonished, and it was a sign of how far they’d moved beyond their prior relationship that he displayed no reaction to her obvious sadness.
“Will I ever see Lady Rose again? Will Amelia?”
“Really, Miss Hamilton,” Seymour nagged. “As if we would let Rose consort with Amelia after this scandal!”
“I’m done working for you, aren’t I?” Helen’s gaze was locked on Odell.
“How can you imagine we’d still want you?” Seymour replied for him. “Your sister didn’t have any better sense as to the consequences of her behavior, but you surely do. Rose is the daughter of the earl of Hastings, the sister of the earl of Hastings, yet you assume you could remain as her governess? Jane is completely disgraced, and her disgrace is yours. You will never work for us again. Not as long as I draw breath.”
A heavy, humiliating silence festered, fraught with rage and betrayal. The spark that had once sizzled inside of Helen, the ember that had been lit when she’d first grown to love Odell, was extinguished.
Rage metamorphosed to hurt, then to hatred. Animosity wafted from her posture, her very soul.
“I presume you concur with Mrs. Seymour?” Helen tightly queried.
He was too much of a coward to answer. “Why don’t you go speak with Jane?” he urged. “Notify her of what will be expected.”
“Then we will send up the maids,” Seymour mentioned, “to pack your bags for the trip to London.”
“I ask,” Odell said, “that Jane stay in her room until the earl and I have departed. We won’t allow any further contact between them.”
“Not even a simple good-bye?” Helen pleaded. “Where’s the harm in that?”
“A clean break,” Seymour explained, “is for the best. She’ll get over him faster.”
They presented such a united front. There was a wall that separated her from them—a wall of rank and wealth and status—but due to her fondness for Odell, Helen had forgotten that it existed. She’d forgotten where she stood in the world, but they had reminded her swiftly enough.
Reeling with dismay, she rose and left.
As she headed for the stairs, she wondered why she’d involved herself with him. In an instant, her safe, secure spot had vanished. All that she’d built through the summer and into the autumn was wrecked.
She’d trusted him, had loved him, had even believed he would eventually marry her, but it had been a chimera.
She was a fool. A gullible, impetuous, stupid fool.
They were at his mercy, a step away from the streets again, and all depended on whether a babe was about to be born. Until the matter was resolved, they would be in limbo, and once it was finally settled, only bad choices faced them.
There’d be no wedding, no happy ending.
What was she supposed to tell Jane?
 
 
“WHAT were you thinking?”
“I guess I wasn’t.”
Michael glanced away, too ashamed to look at Tristan.
“How many times have I lectured you about this?” Tristan inquired. “How many times have I warned you?”
“Too many.”
Tristan was angry enough to spit nails, and he whirled away and went to the sideboard to pour himself a glass of whiskey. He glowered at Michael in a way that made Michael feel petty and small.
Michael had known better than to ruin Jane, but he’d selfishly proceeded anyway. Though he’d been aware that discovery could occur, it had been a vague notion, lost in a hazy future. He’d never imagined such an abrupt exposure of the affair, hadn’t anticipated such a wrenching conclusion.
“Have you spoken to her?” Michael asked.
“No, and you’re not going to either.”
“She has to be told what’s happening.”
“Her sister is handling it”
“She should hear it from me.”
“Hear what? That you’ve destroyed her life, and you’ll pay her a few pounds’ reparation?”
Tristan gulped down his whiskey, and Michael was surprised to note that his hand was shaking. Evidently, he was more distraught than he let on.

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