Tempted (4 page)

She blushed.

“Hmph,” he said, more to himself than to her as he looked around. Next he went to the window, peering out to the alley below. When he turned back to her, his brows had lowered.

Abu jumped onto the ledge behind him.

Mary stiffened. “Let’s leave,” she said before charging toward him and grabbing his lordship’s hand and all but towing him from the room like a barge. As she turned to shut the door, she caught a glimpse of Abu sticking out his tongue.

“Mrs. Callahan, I must insist you stop touching me in such a familiar way. It’s very unseemly.”

“Indeed, you’re absolutely correct.” She let go of his hand, but the contact still remained, warm, masculine fingers having left behind the same sort of warmth the shell of a stove left behind long after its fire had been banished. How…odd.

He lifted a brow.

She thought she heard a scratch at the door. “Shall we proceed?”

He stared at her for longer than made Mary comfortable, his mouth opening at last to say, “Follow me,” in an arrogant tone.

Mary followed, for the sooner they were away from each other, the better. Warm stove, indeed.

And so Mary headed toward her charge with a belly full of optimism, certain that she had only to use a stern hand to keep Miss Gabriella in line. Aye. That letter had to have been left by a weak-kneed ninny.
Leave. Leave now,
she silently mimicked. As if she hadn’t raised four brothers. She could handle the lass. She would have her eating out of her hand in no time.

She were a demon-faced fairy, that was for certain. “Miss Gabriella,” Mary called nearly two hours later. She opened the door to what looked like a water closet, only to gawk for a full ten seconds at the marble pedestals apparently made for sitting on. She went to it, pulled the chain above it, amazed when water filled the bowl only to disappear suddenly. She pulled the chain four more times before remembering she needed to find Miss Gabriella. Lord, who would have thought the bleedin’ nobility emptied their bowels on fish-shaped pedestals?

Ten minutes later she was still searching. She stood in the middle of a long hall with doors on either side of it, clucking her tongue as was her habit to do when vexed. Next to her, a life-sized portrait of a feather-capped nobleman stared down at her from atop a rearing black stallion with no tail and skinny long legs.

“What you bleedin’ starin’ at?” she asked it before slowly turning around as she tried to think of another place to look. “I’m not as bog-minded as you think,” she added. “I knew this would happen. But the vile brat disappeared quicker than ale at a boxing match.”

A tap on her shoulder brought her around sharply. “Who, might I ask, are you talking to?”

Mary jerked. The marquis faced her. “You’re going to make me bleedin’ heart fail if you keep sneaking up on me like that.”

She waited for the aforementioned organ to settle back to its normal rhythm, but it was a fair way from doing that what with the handsome cove staring down at her. What’d the nobility do, breed for looks like they bred for good noses on hunting dogs?

“I beg your pardon, Mrs. Callahan. I did not mean to frighten you.”

Slowly, the buzz of adrenaline faded.

“Who were you talking to?” he asked again. “Myself,” she said, placing a hand against her hips.

“I see,” he said, one brow lifting like a string tugged at it from above.

And how he could be so bleedin’ controlled and yet so handsome to look at beat the bubbys off of her. He made her heart pitter-patter in the queerest sort of way which just went to prove she’d gone bleedin’ crackers starting with the moment she’d agreed to take this toad-faced job.

“And when you were having this conversation with yourself were you, by chance, referring to my daughter as the ‘vile brat’ and if so, might I ask how she’s connected to ‘ale disappearing at a boxing match’?”

“I’ve lost her,” she admitted because she was tired of searching for the ankle biter and thought maybe he could help.

“Lost who?”

“Your daughter.”

He straightened a bit, the cull seeming to be not at all surprised.

“I see,” he said.

“We were playing hide and seek,” she felt the need to explain, though why she did so, she couldn’t guess. Likely he wouldn’t care.

“Ah,” he said.

“Indeed,” she mimicked his well-cultivated tone.

He lifted his left brow. “Perhaps not the wisest game to play given my charge’s propensity for pranks.”

“You don’t think I didn’t think of that? But the little hellion only wanted to play hide and seek. No charades. No shuttlecock, just hide and seek. I should have let her hide in a closet then locked her in it.”

He lifted his right brow this time. “You seem a bit agitated.”

“Of course I’m bleedin’ agitated. I’ve been looking for her for nigh on an hour.”

“Mrs. Callahan, do you always swear?”

She stiffened, having been so upset she hadn’t even noticed the slips of her tongue. “Aye, my lord. ’Tis a wee bit of a problem I have. Beg your pardon.” She bobbed a curtsy just like a proper servant would.

“See that it doesn’t happen around my daughter.” Though she hated to do it, she really did, she curtsied again. “I’ll do my best,” she said, then muttered under her breath, “If I ever find the whelp.”

“As to that, I shall help you.”

Oh, lawks, he’d heard that,
too
?

“I am familiar with the
whelp
’s hiding places.” He nodded, indicating she should follow, then said, “Come,” like she was a retriever with a duck in its mouth.

Come,
she silently mouthed, but she followed as ordered. This was why she didn’t want to work for the nobility. Treated everyone like they owned them, they did. And yet here she was.

Someone should clout
her
over the head.

Off she went, only to be brought up short by an ear-piercing scream, and not a monkey scream either, but a full-fledged female-type scream, the kind that meant the person was frightened for her life.

She looked at the marquis and the marquis looked at her. They both turned and ran.

“It were a demon,” the scullery maid panted. “Little it was, but with big teeth, and a fierce growl that stole ten years off me life.”

What it was, Mary realized with a sinking heart, was Abu, though how the little mite had wandered into these chambers, she had no idea.

“Where did you see it?” his lordship asked, Mary’s eyes narrowing at the genuine concern he exhibited for his servant.

“In your room, sir. I was cleaning out the ash when something dropped from the chimney.”

Well, that explained
that.

“I screamed and it screamed back, pointing at me and bouncing up and down. ’Twas a terrible sight it was, m’lord, one I’ll never forget. Ghost white face. Beady black eyes. Sharp teeth.”

Mary closed her eyes, tilted her head back, shook her head. Lord, could this day get any worse? First she’d succumbed to greed and agreed to work for the cull and now Abu was running rampant around his lordship’s fancy house.

“Go below,” the marquis said. “Get yourself a good, strong cup of tea. Mary, you go with her.”

Mary’s eyes snapped open. “Go with her? I think not, m’lord. I’m staying with you.”

“Do not be absurd.”

She gave him a look for calling her absurd. “Your daughter is lost in this house, m’lord, or hiding, or playing. But wherever she is, she might need me should she run across A—” she bit back her pet’s name just in time. “A big scary thing,” she corrected.

“She’s right, m’lord. If the thing catches her, she might get carried off.”

Carried off? Was the maid sucking opium between chores?

“I’m going with you,” Mary said, drawing herself up, just as he did, then narrowing her eyes—just as he did— for good measure.

“Oh, very well,” he said.

“Oh, mum, so brave, you are,” the maid said, her eyes going misty. She reached out and clasped Mary’s hands. “Bless you for being so brave for Miss Gabriella’s sake.”

“Brave?” Mary said, feeling unexpectedly guilt-ridden. “I think not.”

“Oh, you are. You are. ’Twas a frightening beast he was, for sure.”

The only thing frightening about Abu was the talent he had for getting her in trouble.

“Mrs. Callahan,” his lordship said, having stopped his trek toward his bedroom. Mary looked up at him just in time to catch a look of impatience in his eyes. “Are you coming, or no?”

Mary squared her shoulders, the feeling she had boding ill for the outcome of their search.

He took her to his bedroom.

Of course, Mary had expected this, but what she didn’t expect was the bleedin’ size of the place. How silly she felt for being all giddy over her own lodgings when it was a broom closet in comparison. As big as Westminster Hall, his lordship’s room was, well, mayhap not
that
big, but near enough. High ceilings. Scalloped moldings. Gilt-trimmed furnishings atop a richly carpeted floor. And the smell of it. Masculine, it was, smelling of snuff and shaving soap and other man-type things.

But what caught her attention, what had her all but gawking, was the four-foot-high bed to her right. At least it looked four feet off the ground, and five feet wide. Maybe six. Lawks, it made her bed look like a hay manger. A bedcover with a matching canopy done in peacock blue hung over it. Matching drapes framed the windows opposite where she stood, right down to the gold tassels that hung off their corners. All it needed was a carved wooden crest at the foot of the bed, and a royal red coverlet with gold trim, and you’d have a replica of King George’s room, or so she imagined.

“Are you coming?” he asked again.

Mary jumped. His lordship had stopped, too, and was it her imagination, or had his face reddened a bit when he noticed where her gaze lay?

Nah. She was imagining things.

She nodded, motioning with her hands for him to shoo. She wasn’t sure, but she thought she saw his eyes narrow a bit at the gesture. Mayhap even saw him glance past her to the bed again, but she couldn’t be sure because the next moment he was turning away. Mary surreptitiously kept an eye out for Abu. The little wretch. Where the devil was he hiding? And what the blazes would she say when they found him?

“Stay back, Mrs. Callahan, for the creature could be dangerous.”

Dangerous. Hah.

He opened the door.

A furry body launched itself right at the marquis’s face.

“Oh my goodness,” Mary cried.

His lordship stumbled back. Abu screeched. Mary tried to reach for him. Abu, not his lordship.

“Get it off of me,” he yelled, clawing at his face. Mary tried, Abu screeching at the top of his lungs. She tugged. His lordship tilted toward her. Abu let go. Their legs tangled.

And in that moment, Mary knew they were going to fall. Abu must have sensed it, too, for the little wretch leapt away at the last moment.

“Demme,” she murmured. And then Mary closed her eyes, closed them because as his lordship fell toward her, she knew it would hurt.

It didn’t. Not at all.

She opened her eyes, first one, then the other, her brow scrunched together in an anticipatory wince that she never had to use.

He’d landed with elbows on either side of her. Mary was impressed. And not because of how he landed, but because of the way he felt nestled against her. They were like two spoons that fit perfectly, though she supposed he’d be the silver one and she’d made of tin.

“What the blazes was that?” he asked, craning his neck in the direction Abu had run off. He had a tiny scrape on the right side of his neck, little furrows of red that could only have come from Abu. She should know, she had a perfect view of it. Cords of muscle framed either side. Bronzed by the sun, they were, a testament to his time spent on the high seas.

Lord help her. Were those goose pimples she’d gotten? “Was what?” she murmured distractedly, because, hell’s fires, the feel of his lordship pressed against her made her realize he might not be so stuffy after all.

He looked down at her, likely about to call her blind, only they both froze. Really, she could feel the way his legs hardened against her own, the way his chest flexed, the way his shoulders stiffened.

Her breath caught. His did, too, only to be released in a gush. She could feel it waft against her face, the smell of his air sweet and deliciously masculine. And, no, those eyes weren’t the color of seashells at all. They were the exact shade of a bluebird’s feather, downy and soft and focused solely on her. And then something drifted around them, something tingly and warm that enveloped Mary in a cloud of surprise and temptation. Maybe it was the look on his face: part disbelief, part aloof chagrin. Maybe it were the devil, for Mary’s father used to swear he saw a red-capped fairy dance in her eyes. But something made her soften beneath him, made her lick her lips before saying softly, “Either someone’s dropped a sausage down your pocket or a large watch fob’s pressin’ into me leg.”

Chapter Three

Alex thought he’d misheard her. That was the reason why it took him so long to form a retort. Certainly it couldn’t be the way his body reacted to the feel of her pressed against him.

“I beg your pardon?” and he was abashed to hear his voice sounded rather hoarse.

“I said—”

“No, no.” He coughed. Frog in his throat. “I heard you,” he said, pushing himself to his feet.

Get away from her.

“I believe it is my watch fob, Mrs. Callahan.”

Not giving her a chance to comment, he straightened his jacket to cover the evidence of his reaction to her, evidence that jutted out…like a sausage. Good Lord.

He looked down, first to make sure the evidence was properly concealed. It was. Then at her. He became rooted to the floor.

Control momentarily slipped, fascination fell into place. Lord, she was a sight with strands of her fiery hair loose around her face. Like a painting he’d once seen of a Turkish woman as she reclined amongst pillows, her face peered up at him with that damnable glow in her eyes, her lips slightly tilted as if she fought a smile. Those lips made him long to lean down, to help her up, to…

Carry her to the bed?

He jerked, completely taken aback by the notion. “My lord, did you find it?”

Their gazes had to be wrenched away from each other in order to land on the butler.

“Sarah said she was attacked by a creature. Did you see it?”

“Indeed, I did,” Alex admitted to the man. He glanced back down at Mary.

Buff-colored sheets, the kind that glowed in candlelight—those would look stunning against her naked flesh…

He jerked his gaze away again, and damned if he didn’t feel his manhood bob in his breeches.

“Unbelievable.”

“What, sir?”

Alex met his butler’s gaze. “The creature attacked me,” he said without missing a beat. Lord, he needed to concentrate.

“Gracious, sir, are you all right?”

“I am.”

“And did it attack you, too, Mrs. Callahan?” the butler asked.

“No,” he heard her grumble. “His lordship did.”

“His
lordship
?”

“She jests, Simms. We collided with each other in my attempt to escape the creature.”

“Run away in fear is more like it.”

“I was
not
afraid.”

“
Get it off me,
” she mimicked softly.

“I
beg
your pardon?”

She slowly climbed to her feet, Alex abashed to realize he hadn’t even offered her a hand.

“But that’s right enough, m’lord. Most men of your rank collapse under pressure.” She leaned toward him, brow lifted teasingly. “Too much inbreeding, I says.”

Too much—

Collapse under—

He had to all but bite his tongue to avoid saying something rude and ungentleman-like. But then he caught the twinkle in her eyes. Lord, she was funning him. How … familiar. But he would not reciprocate. No indeed.

Perhaps maroon satin sheets.

Alex!

Turning his attention to Simms, he said, “Gather the male staff. Arm them with whatever you can. We’ll find the creature if we have to tear the walls down.”

“No, you can’t.”

Both men looked at Mary.

“Miss Gabriella is still hiding,” she said reasonably. “What if one of your staff finds her and mistakes her for the creature?”

Damnation, but she had a point. And a good one, too. New respect for her filled him. She had a cool head, Mrs. Callahan did. Even if she did have an outspoken tongue. Sausage, indeed.

“Very well, no weapons, but we’ll continue the search.”

Did he hear her sigh? Could she be that concerned for his daughter’s well-being?

Perhaps she was. Hmm. Perhaps hiring her had not been such a mistake, after all. Granted, he found himself damnably attracted to the lady, and her manners terribly forward, but that he could keep under control.

And then his manhood bobbed again.

They didn’t find the creature. Alex had a hard time deciding what infuriated him more: the fact that their search had proven fruitless, or that he couldn’t get the seductive image of Mrs. Callahan out of his mind.

And though he tried for the rest of the afternoon, and for most of a long, restless night, he found himself unable to deny that he’d felt a surprising surge of desire for his daughter’s new nurse. He woke the next morning with his manhood as stiff as a board, the ache to bury it between Mrs. Callahan’s sweet thighs so urgent that it made him roll over, stuff his face in his pillow, and groan.

Hours later, as he worked in his study, he still felt a stirring every time his mind strayed to thoughts of her, which was altogether too frequently. Every sound grated against his consciousness.
Was it her?
Every nerve seemed attuned for contact with her.
Did she feel it too?
Every thought seemed directed to the memory of what she’d felt like against him yesterday.
Would he see her today?

Rot and bother.

He didn’t like it. Not one little bit.

His butler chose that moment to deliver the morning post.

Alex looked up. “Have my daughter and her nurse begun their daily routine?”

Where the devil had those words come from?

“Mrs. Callahan is still abed, my lord.”

Alex stiffened. “Still abed?” he found himself repeating.

“Indeed, sir. Several of us have tried to rouse her, but she refuses to answer the knocks on her door.”

Alex rose from his desk abruptly.

“Is there a problem, sir?” his servant asked.

“After yesterday? Indeed, there could be.” Visions of his new nurse mauled by the creature entered his mind.

Alex left the room before he knew what he was about. And if he were honest with himself, he would admit that he was merely looking for an excuse to set eyes on her again, for surely if something had happened, someone would have heard a scream. Only he refused to be honest with himself, thus he thought the whole way up the stairs that she might be in serious jeopardy.

“Mrs. Callahan,” he called as he found her door.

No answer. A genuine stab of concern jabbed at his gut.

“Mrs. Callahan?” he tried again. He placed his ear on the door, put his hand on the knob. Not a sound.

Reminding himself that this was his home and that he had every right to look in a room that might be vacant or occupied by someone in distress, he swung the door wide.

Mary Callahan lay atop the covers of her bed, naked as a babe.

Good lord—

She was…

He swallowed, but it went down wrong, a bubble of air paining his insides. She lay face down, half her body uncovered, a white sheet draped over the small of her back, yet exposing her stunning backside, only to cover the back of her thighs in such a way as to look contrived. Her hair, that glorious hair he’d admired yesterday, lay loose around her head. She hadn’t braided it. Hadn’t put it in a cap. Didn’t do any of the things most matrons would do. Instead it and she lay atop the bed like a lazy cat, content in the world as it moved around her.

Odd’s blood. He almost fell to his knees at the lust that hit him square in the groin.

He must have let out a groan. Must have done something that penetrated the edge of her consciousness because she rolled over, exposing her breasts to his view, those plump, white globes shifting off to the side and looking no less stunning as they did so. The urge to go to her, to lie down, to suck on that dusky red nipple…Lord, to do any number of things he knew he had no business doing, much less
thinking
of doing, stoked a fire not even willpower could contain.

“Is she awake?”

Alex stepped back and slammed the door so quickly, Mrs. Grimes actually flinched. “No, no,” he fumbled for words. “Ah, no. She isn’t.”

Good lord, was that him sounding like a blithering idiot?

“Well, let me go in and wake her then.”

“No,” Alex said sharply. “Do not do that. She, ah … she might need her rest.”

A very ridiculous excuse to be sure, but he simply didn’t care. If Mrs. Grimes saw Mary Callahan the way she looked, she’d likely have a fit of the vapors. And then rumors would fly about the household that he’d been caught gawking at the new nurse’s naked flesh.

But
what
lovely naked flesh.

Alex!

“Are you certain, m’lord? Miss Gabriella has yet to be dressed. I’ve never heard of a nurse oversleeping her first day. Why, is it not her job to rise early and see to her charge?”

“Let her sleep,” he said firmly. “But send her to me the moment she awakens.”

“As you wish, m’lord.”

No, no, no. He didn’t wish it at all. Not at all.

She’d been naked.

He felt his cheeks heat. Damnation. He felt like he’d come face to face with his first light o’ love. He, one of the most feared revenue commanders employed by the Crown. A man who had dispatched more smugglers than most men had teeth. He was afraid to face his daughter’s new nurse.

And yet he must. If he didn’t reprimand her for her very obvious failure of duty, there would be talk. The staff might speculate that he found Mrs. Callahan attractive. That he was soft on her because of it. It wouldn’t do. Even if it was true.

And so he made his way back downstairs, entered his study and prepared to wait.

He didn’t cool his heels long.

Not ten minutes went by before he heard the sound of footsteps bounding down the stairs, his manhood having not relaxed one iota as he’d waited. Those footsteps crossed the marble hall with the sharp
rat-tat-tat
of a Naval drummer. There was no knock. No announcement of her name. Nothing. She charged into the room, the door slamming behind her with a
boom
that stirred the hairs on his head and blew his feather quill off his desk with a soft
shiiip
of sound.

“So you’re a bleedin’ Peepin’ Tom, are you?”

And the awakened version of Mary looked downright outraged. Alex actually felt his eyes widen as she came at him.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Don’t you give me that,” she said, coming to stand before him. She wore the same dress as yesterday, only for some reason today her breasts seemed bigger. Then again, he’d seen those pert, luscious breasts in all their naked glory. Perhaps he had a finer appreciation for them now. They truly were a spectacular set. What was it the lower orders called large-breasted women? Ah, yes, a bushel bubby. Her bushels were very,
very
bubby.

He blinked, realized the direction his thoughts had taken, and groaned silently.

“I know well and good you were in my room,” she said, placing her hands on his desk and leaning toward him, bushels all but spilling out. She’d pulled that glorious hair off her face, the bulk of it flowing over her shoulders and down her back. Yet some of the strands escaped from the side to fall down and touch his desk. The color was as bright as copper, yet as soft as autumn grass. It made him long to reach for it, to feel it, to curl a strand of it around his index finger and tug her toward him one tiny inch…at…a—

“I heard you slam the door then tell Mrs. Grimes that I was still abed. Now how’d he be knowing that, I asked myself, unless he’d seen me?” She leaned even closer. “Naked.”

And even though Alex prided himself on control, he felt that one word stab into him.

“I’ll not tolerate such behavior,” she said. “In fact, I’ve half a mind to resign right now. How dare you enter my bedroom uninvited?”

He slowly rose. He had the pleasure of seeing her lean back a bit, saw the way her eyes widened when he leaned toward her, too. Thank God he wore a jacket that concealed his damnable reaction to her.

“Mrs. Callahan,” he said softly, having to fight another daft-witted urge to glance at her breasts.

Control, Alex. Get control. You’re not the type of gentleman to have his head turned by a servant.

“I would have had no reason to invade the inner sanctum of your bedroom had you shown up on time to do the job you were hired for.”

Her eyes narrowed. Then she lifted a brow, her full lips pressing together for a second before she tilted her head and gave him a look reminiscent of a dairy maid he’d once seen…just before she poured a bucket of milk over some poor sod’s head.

“Well, now, if that isn’t just like a man. Blame it on the woman, would ya? Sure as ducks fly, it’s me own fault
you
walked into my bedroom, looked your fill, then slammed the bleedin’ door on your way out.”

“I thought you might be injured.”

“Injured? And how would I have done that? On me bleedin’ pillow?”

“You’re swearing again.”

“I don’t bleedin’ care,” she said. “I’m angry. You had no right to feast your peepers on me birthday suit.”

She was right. He hadn’t. He should have backed out of the room immediately. Should have jerked the door closed. Should have done any number of things other than barge into her room himself.