Temptation (19 page)

Her pleasure broke the last shreds of his self-control. With a guttural cry, he pushed into her once, twice more, and then he was lost to a world of sensation. His entire body was as stiff as his cock as his orgasm overtook him, overpowering him until he was helpless in its grip. Over and over the pleasure pulsed through his veins as his seed spurted into her with all the force of his years of abstinence behind it.

Lenora collapsed bonelessly onto the desk, her body racked with shudders.

Now that it was over, he felt a coil of shame grow inside him. Lenora was a fine woman. She deserved better than to be taken like a dog from behind. He reached out and stroked her hair. He loved her hair—it was the color of fire. And how she had burned him tonight. “I am sorry, Lenora. I did not mean to treat you so.”

He should slide out of her and button himself up again, but he was loath to lose the moment of complete intimacy he shared with her. When had she crept into his heart like this? Or had he always known she was the woman for him? Was his courtship of Beatrice merely a trick to blind himself to the truth—that Lenora, gloriously plump, flame-haired Lenora, was the woman who took away his self-control and drove him to the point of madness?

“You are sorry for treating me as a man treats a woman?” Lenora wriggled out from under him sounding more affronted than upset. “I can assure you, I need no apology. I enjoyed it quite as much as you did.”

He adjusted his clothing then, too embarrassed at his dishevelment to look at her. “But—” What a foolish risk the pair of them had run. One of the patients could easily have wandered out into the corridor, peeked through the open office door and caught him with his trousers down, working away at her like a piston. What would that have done to her reputation?

“You can be sure that Beatrice’s soldier did not apologize for taking her up to heaven.”

He looked up into her bright blue eyes that held not a trace of guile. They were shining with satisfaction, and with something that looked suspiciously like love. “You mean, you did not mind?”

“Why should I mind? I have been dreaming of you making love to me for months.”

How could he ever have believed that well-brought-up young women did not feel sexual desire? That it was wrong for them to do so? “I am glad of it, because I intend to repeat the experience with you as often as you will allow me to.”

He had felt uncomfortable at the mere thought Beatrice might desire him, but he wanted Lenora to find him irresistible. Even though he had just taken her, already he was starting to harden at the thought that she might want him to fuck her again. Knowing that she loved the feeling of his cock inside her, the touch of his hands on her breasts, made him feel like a king.

She traced the contours of his bottom lip with the tip of her finger. “You know I could not refuse you anything.”

He could not let this woman get away. “Then you will agree to be my wife? If I were to ask you with all my heart?”

“Your wife?” She gave a squeal of joy as she leaped into his arms. “Of course I will.”

He enfolded her in his embrace. Nothing had ever felt as right as this did. In Lenora’s arms, he had found where he belonged.

Captain Carterton sat in the kitchen of the deserted cottage nursing a snifter of the best French brandy. He had poured it out several hours ago and had still to finish drinking. It was a measure of how distraught he was over Beatrice that he couldn’t summon up any interest in his favorite vice.

He shook his head as he forced another swallow. It burned all the way down his throat, numbing his stomach, but unfortunately leaving his brain intact. His mind was in turmoil, as it had been ever since he and Beatrice had been discovered together.

How could he have misread the situation so badly from the beginning? He’d thought her letters had come from the heart, but they had been nothing but an idle amusement. He’d thought he could win her heart, but it had been protected with walls of stone. He’d thought he could seduce her into his arms, and in that he had been right. But his success had only served in alienating her from him.

The worst of it was that he couldn’t stop loving her. The thought that she had gone back to Dr. Hyde and begged him to overlook her folly in succumbing to another man had him feeling homicidal with rage. And with despair.

His fingers closed on the glass in his hand so hard that the snifter cracked, showering him with fragments of glass. He merely continued to sit there as the brandy soaked its way through his clothes.

Losing Beatrice was his own fault. He had pushed her too hard, and she had not been ready to accept all that he had to offer her. She was young, inexperienced. Until recently she had been a virgin. Was it any wonder she balked at being swept off her feet by a man she barely knew?

Beatrice was right to be cautious about him. Why would any girl, let alone a girl as beautiful as Beatrice, marry an officer who had only just escaped one war with his life intact, and who might be posted off to any other battleground in the Empire at any moment? He had an uncertain profession, and they lived in uncertain times. That was his only excuse for being so hasty in his courtship, and pushing his haste on her until she could not bear it.

He had promised Beatrice that he would not come running after her, but would leave her to make her own decision. It was the least he could do, after shamelessly pressuring her into falling in with his wishes, his plans. Whatever happened now would be up to fate, not to him.

But it never hurt to give fate a helping hand. Beatrice needed to know that he still loved her, that he was sorry for his actions.

And what better way to explain himself than in one last letter.

Beatrice sat in her room, silently brooding. She hated being unemployed. This morning she had gathered her courage in both hands and applied for a position at another hospital, a lesser one than St. Thomas’s. She’d given the matron her name, and a frosty look had come into the woman’s eyes. The interview had been cut short soon afterward.

She would not be given a post there—she knew it. Matron Baddeley must have seen to it that her fall from grace was known throughout all the hospitals in London out of sheer spite.

She hated being unemployed. She hated Matron Baddeley who had dismissed her. She hated Dr. Hyde who had refused to reemploy her and who was now, to everyone’s surprise, engaged to Lenora Coppins and looking quite ecstatic about it. Most of all she hated Captain Carterton who had brought all this misery on her.

No, she didn’t hate Captain Carterton. That was part of the problem. She was horribly afraid that she was in love with him.

She could tell herself over and over again that it was her position as a nurse she missed most in her current situation, but she would be lying. What she wanted most of all was to feel the captain’s hands on her, and the sounds of his voice telling her that he loved her.

How could she have been so blind to his small kindnesses, to the little generosities that marked him out as a kind, good-hearted man? She had been afraid of him, of what he could do to her, of the mess he was making in her orderly world. And her fear had caused her to break the heart of a man who truly cared for her.

His last words to her had not been a dismissal, but a goodbye. He was sick of feeling unloved, of being rejected. Didn’t that mean he still loved her? That he would welcome her back?

Quickly, before she lost her courage, she picked up a sheet of paper.

Back at the barracks, Captain Carterton sat moodily over his breakfast eggs and kippers. He had to be prepared for the worst, for Beatrice to soundly reject him. Or worse, to leave him with no answer at all, with the agony of hope but no resolution.

He would give her a week, maybe two. If he had not heard by then, he would squelch his hope into the furthermost corner of his soul and forget about it there.

The officers’ batman passed by him, a silver salver on his hand. “The morning post, sir.”

Carterton laid down his fork and picked up the letter with a decided lack of interest.

When he saw the handwriting, his heart stopped beating. With deliberate movements, he picked up the letter opener from the silver tray, slit the seal, and handed the letter opener to the batman. “Thank you, Willis.”

With shaking hands, he began to read.

Beatrice was in the kitchen with Mrs. Bettina making pastry for a peach pie when the doorbell rang. Since being dismissed from her post at St. Thomas’s Hospital, she had filled in her days helping out around the boardinghouse in return for cheaper rent. There was always so much to do, cooking, cleaning, laundry. Mrs. Bettina had gone up several notches in her estimation in the last weeks—she worked so hard every day looking after her houseful of lodgers.

She dusted the flour off her hands, gave them a quick wipe on her apron, and went to answer the door.

The post boy handed her a letter, tipped his cap to her, and was gone.

She stood there in the door, motionless, staring at the letter in her hand.

She had only sent her letter to him this morning. It was too early for him even to have received it, let alone have written her a reply. Had she been too late? Was this his final farewell?

Her legs could not hold her for another moment. She sat down on the stoop and ripped the letter open with trembling fingers.

Captain Carterton put on his smartest dress uniform, and pomaded his hair with care. He did not want to give Beatrice a single reason to look on him with disfavor. Out of the kindness of her heart she had given him another chance, and this time he would not squander it.

Her letter was lying open on his dressing table. Though he knew every line of it by heart, his eyes were drawn to her precious words.

Beatrice closed her eyes and leaned her head against the doorframe. Thank heavens it was not too late. She still had a chance with the captain. She clutched the letter tightly in her hand as she made her way up to her room to read it through again. The pastry crust would spoil, but no matter. She would turn it into a peach cobbler and no one would notice.

Safely up in her room, she spread the pages over her bed.

She sighed. How gladly she would take that role. If he gave her another chance, she would take him to heaven every day of his life.

She hugged the pages to her chest. She had forgiven him long ago. All he had done was done for love of her.

The streets were so full of horse and foot traffic Captain Carterton decided walking would be quicker than hailing a hansom cab.

He set out at a brisk pace, Beatrice’s letter tucked safely in his breast pocket and her last words running through his head.

If
he still wanted her? He shook his head as he strode along. He would want her until the day he died. There was no woman on earth for him but Beatrice.

The door to the boardinghouse was slightly ajar. He rapped on it with the head of his cane. If she was not at home, he would sit and wait for her, all day if necessary. They had already wasted too much time apart.

There was a sound of feet positively running down the stairs and the door flew open. Beatrice, her hair loose around her shoulders and her dress covered in a floury apron, stood there in front of him, a smile of hope and fear on her face.

He held out his arms to her just as he had on the first night. “Beatrice, my love.”

She ran into them, wrapping her own arms around him as if she would never let him go. “Thank heavens we are together at last.”