Taste of Temptation (33 page)

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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“You’re making too much of this,” Michael tried to protest.

“Too much? Are you mad? At the very least—the very least!—you will have to support that girl for the rest of her days. If she has a baby, you’ll have to support it, too. There will be trust funds to manage; schooling to provide; and the bitter, rare visits with a child you’ll hardly know—one who will never forgive you for how you treated his mother.”

After their own father’s shenanigans with Tristan’s mother, he knew of such things, and Michael panicked.

What if Jane was pregnant? What if they had a son and Michael never saw him? The prospect was too depressing to consider.

When he was with Jane, it always seemed so right, as if it was fated, so he hadn’t thought through the ramifications. He hadn’t peered down the road to this horrid moment, where he was dishonored and she was disgraced.

“You could fix this so she and I could be together,” Michael said. “Why are you being so difficult?”

“Can you actually assume it would be appropriate to continue the relationship?”

“I love her,” he was stunned to find himself declaring.

“Love, bah!” Tristan scoffed. “When did
love
ever have any bearing on marriage?”

“If you won’t let me marry her, she could be my mistress.”

“Yes, she could be, and you might sire several children with her. How would you explain them to your wife at your wedding?”

“Oh.”

“Are you proud of the trouble you’ve caused? Was it worth lifting her skirt?”

“It wasn’t like that”

“Really? Why don’t you tell me how it
was?”

“I care about her.”

“Big bloody deal. She’s still ruined, and you’re still a scoundrel.”

Michael was about to comment when Tristan held up a hand, halting him.

“If you’re about to claim that she was complicit, or that she wanted it, too, I swear to God that I will march across the room and pummel you to the floor.”

“I wouldn’t claim any such thing.”

“Good, because I won’t listen to any of your nonsense.”

“I always liked her—from the very beginning. She’s a very fine girl. Very fine.”

“So you deflowered her? Is that how you treat a woman you view as remarkable?”

“It’s not any different from what you’ve been doing with her sister.”

Tristan bristled. “Don’t drag Helen into this mess.”

“Nobody is screaming at you for being a lout. Why must I be castigated but not you?”

“Because I’m not an earl, and you are! You’re in the wrong. Admit it for once, would you?”

“Yes, I was wrong. I’m sorry.”

They sighed, then sat in silence, both morose and miserable. Tristan poured another drink and swallowed it down, the alcohol relieving some of his distress.

“What now?” Michael inquired.

“I told you: We’re leaving for London immediately, and we’re traveling on to Scotland.”

In other circumstances, Michael would have jumped at the chance for such an adventure, but he couldn’t accept the fact that he wouldn’t see Jane for six months. And if Tristan had his way, he would never be with her again.

Tristan kept ranting that separation was for the best, but why did it have to be so? Yes, Michael had behaved badly, but scandals could be smoothed over.

He just had to get a message to Jane, had to learn where she’d be and devise a method to secretly correspond. They could plan for when he returned to England.

Surely, she’d still be fond of him in six months. Wouldn’t she be?

The butler knocked on the door and peeked in.

“Your horses are ready, Captain Odell. You may depart whenever you are so inclined.”

“Thank you.”

Tristan finished his whiskey and pushed away from the sideboard.

“Let’s go.”

“I have to talk to Jane first”

“No.”

Michael’s temper flared.

Normally, he was content to do as Tristan bid him; Michael was amenable simply because he didn’t care overly much as to the result of Tristan’s decisions. But they’d finally arrived at a spot where the outcome mattered very much.

He stomped over to Tristan, knowing his brother was stronger and tougher, that if they came to blows, Tristan would win any battle, but this time, Michael wouldn’t back down as he always had in the past.

“I have tolerated your harangue,” Michael said, “and I’ve apologized. Yes, I failed to heed your warnings, and now a girl—one whom I love very much—has been harmed. I’ve listened to you and listened and listened, but I’ve heard enough. I will talk to Jane, or I will not leave.”

“Jane vacated the premises an hour ago. I sent her away before I summoned you to the library.”

Michael felt as if he’d been punched in the stomach.

“Where is she?” he bellowed.

“I will never tell you, and there’s no reason for you to ever know.”

Tristan went to the door and gestured to the hall.

“Go to the stables. Check the horses and the saddle-bags. I have to fetch my coat and pistol up in my bedchamber. I’ll be out in a few minutes.”

Michael glared at Tristan, yearning to hit his brother and to keep on hitting him until his smug face was a mass of bruises. But what good would it do?

Jane was gone, and Michael had been vanquished at every turn.

He shoved Tristan aside and stormed out.

“GET out of here!”

Helen shouted the command, being far beyond the time when she would have practiced discretion about Tristan coming to her room, but Tristan ignored her.

Michael was out in the barn, leading the horses around to the front, and Tristan was determined to be away before Michael had any notion that Jane was still in the house.

Once Maud had revealed the affair, Tristan had been at a loss as to how to proceed. To his surprise, she’d had the exact answers he’d needed, and he was amazed at how sensible she’d seemed. After a lengthy discussion, he’d decided to follow nearly all of her advice.

Though Helen had been crushed, marriage between Michael and Jane wasn’t an option Tristan had considered for a single second. During their meeting in the library, he’d hated appearing so callous, but adolescent romance was potent, and the infatuation had to be stamped out.

“Get out!” she shouted again.

“I have to talk to you.”

“You’ve made your position perfectly clear.”

“I haven’t said what I wanted to say.”

“Believe me: You’ve said plenty. Now go away, or I’ll start screaming, and I’ll continue screaming until someone comes to help me.”

He marched over until they were toe-to-toe. She was enraged, but he wasn’t in the best mood, either.

Did she think this was easy for him? Did she think he relished hurting her? If so, she had to suppose he was an unfeeling monster, when in fact, the debacle had left him extremely distraught.

Michael had ruined Jane, but Tristan had ruined Helen, too. What kind of brothers were they? What kind of men? Apparently, their father’s blood ran strong in their veins, and Tristan was very ashamed.

Why couldn’t she be more sympathetic? Why couldn’t she understand his point of view? He hoped to soothe her sufficiently that they could have a decent farewell.

“I’ll be leaving shortly.”

“Marvelous. I’ll be glad to see the last of you.”

“You’re angry; you don’t mean that”

“Oh, I do! I really, really do. You are the most despicable, disloyal—”

He grabbed her by the forearms and shook her.

“What did you expect me to do?” he demanded.

“I expected you to help my sister.” She pushed him away, seeming as if she couldn’t bear his touch. “I expected you to make Lord Hastings do the right thing.”

“He could not marry her!”

“According to whom? You and Maud Seymour?”

“Yes, according to us. I’m his guardian, for pity’s sake. I would not permit it, and I will not apologize to you.”

“Why wouldn’t you
permit
it, Mr. High-and-Mighty Captain Odell? Are you of the opinion that she’s not good enough for him? Is that what you’re telling me?”

“She is
not
good enough for him. He is a peer of the realm, one of the largest landowners in the kingdom, one of the richest men. He will wed as is appropriate to his rank and station. You’re a rational person. You know this to be true, and I have no idea why you’re raising such a fuss.”

“You could actually say that to my face?” she hissed. “You could actually claim that Jane is not worthy to marry into your family?”

“Yes.”

Before he realized what was happening, she slapped him as hard as she could.

It was a powerful blow that staggered him, and as he straightened, he was rubbing his cheek, his eyes cold with fury.

He’d rarely been hit in his life. With men, he was always on guard against it, and no woman had ever previously dared.

“If you were a man,” he seethed, “I’d hit you back.”

“If I were a man, it would be pistols at dawn.”

He frowned, wondering if this was the last time he would ever see her and not able to abide the notion that it might be.

He would stop in London and instruct his clerk to rent lodging for her before proceeding on to Scotland. Even if all went smoothly, he would be gone for several weeks.

Would she still be in London when he returned? If she fled, how would he ever locate her? Yet in light of all that had transpired, why would he want to find her?

Since the moment they’d met, she’d been trouble, and now, with her sister’s fiasco, his decision to assist her was coming back to haunt him in spades.

“Promise me”—he struggled for calm—“that you will move into the house my clerk rents for you. Promise me that you will wait while I travel to Scotland.”

“Why would it matter to you where I might be?”

“Promise me!” he roared. “I have to know you are safe until I can make other arrangements for you.”

“What might those arrangements be? Will you marry me? Will we all live together, just one big happy family? I can picture us in our tidy home: you and me and my sister, who is not ‘good enough’ for you.”

They stared and stared, a chasm opening between them, and he felt as if he was falling into it, as if he’d never claw his way out.

“I didn’t deserve that,” he quietly said.

“Didn’t you?”

“I’ve tried to reach an acceptable conclusion.”

“Acceptable for whom?”

Why was she behaving like this? She knew who Michael was. The standards were different; the stakes were different. Michael wasn’t some neighborhood lad who, when caught in a peccadillo, could wed the girl next door. He was the
earl
of Hastings.

His father had written to Tristan—on his deathbed, no less!—charging Tristan to select the best bride possible. By any measure, Jane was not the best, and she would never be Countess of Hastings.

It was as simple and as heartless as that.

Exhaustion swept over him, the weight of the world on his shoulders. “What do you want from me?”

“I don’t want anything from you,” she insisted. “I just want you to go away, then I never want to see you again.”

“Oh, Helen...”

He held out his hand, stupidly supposing that she might take it, that they might somehow bridge the gap separating them, but she gaped as if he was insane.

“Isn’t your brother waiting for you?”

“Yes, he is.”

“You probably ought to hurry, or the earl will be delayed. We can’t be upsetting the poor, cosseted child.”

Tristan was silent, a thousand comments coursing through his head. He yearned to confide how devastated he was, how sad and overwhelmed.

When he’d agreed to care for Michael and Rose, he’d known he didn’t possess the necessary skills to deal with the problems that might arise, but he’d had no idea how wretched it might truly become.

He needed Helen’s guidance and support, her friendship and counsel, but she was acting like a stranger, as foreign to him as if he’d just bumped into her on the street.

“I’ll be back in a few weeks,” he said. “I hope you’re still in London. I hope I can find you.”

“I wouldn’t count on it.”

“I’m sorry it ended like this.”

“Are you?”

“Yes.”

“You have a funny way of showing it.”