Too Tempting to Resist: Gothic Love Stories #3

by Ridley, Erica

  Rebecca had learned that lesson already.

  She tied a bonnet about her head and shoved her arms into a thick pelisse. If there was nothing for her here in the castle, then it was past time for her to take her search to the village. Someone was bound to fancy her.

  She just had to find him.

  With a pinch to her cheeks for a spot of much-needed color, she swept out of her bedchamber and down the stairs to the main entryway.

  Daniel fell into step beside her before she even reached the front door.

  “Where are you going?” he asked.

  “Delmouth.”

  He frowned. “Shopping for something specific?”

  “A husband,” she answered tartly.

  “Then I’m coming with you.”

  She glared at him.

  He glowered back. “I haven’t seen you for two days.”

  She arched her brows. “You don’t think a male companion might be a bit superfluous in a husband-hunt?”

  “I can’t let you go alone. There are smugglers in those caves.”

  “I won’t be alone. I’ve got…” She scanned the corridor for the nearest maid. “Mary! Put on a cloak. We’re taking a walk to the village.”

  “Yes’m.” Mary grabbed a parasol and hurried to join her.

  “Fine.” Daniel also accepted an umbrella from the butler. “I’m still coming with you.”

  “Fine.” Rebecca strode out into the brisk autumn air without waiting for him to escort her. “Make yourself scarce if we come across eligible gentlemen.” She glanced over her shoulder at the maid. “Not you, Mary. You’re my duenna. Stay close, so the natives know what a proper, respectable lady I am.”

  Mary nodded.

  Daniel lowered his mouth to Rebecca’s ear. “That mouse couldn’t save you from the hiccoughs.”

  “Fortunately, I do not suffer from hiccoughs.” She strode through the front garden toward the castle drawbridge. “I suffer from an arrogant viscount inexplicably determined to play savior. Or tourist. You’ve never cared about Delmouth before. Why go with me now?”

  “I should have gone before. I want to go now. With you. I want to see what I’ve been missing.” He met her eyes, his gaze unreadable. “I have a feeling I’ve lost out on more than I realized.”

  She didn’t dignify that with a response. She couldn’t. It hurt too much.

  He was right, of course. He’d missed everything. She’d missed him. But it still didn’t matter. He had his world and she had hers. Wishing things were different had never worked for anyone.

  “Take my arm,” he commanded.

  She slanted him a you-must-be-jesting look.

  He opened the umbrella to block a fine mist of ocean-scented raindrops. “Please take my arm. We are just two old friends out on a leisurely promenade along pirate-infested waters, protected by a wisp of a maid who spends most of her life caged inside a haunted castle.”

  Rebecca grudgingly curled her fingers about the crook of his arm. “Have you considered writing travel pamphlets?”

  He nodded. “Next on the list, if the viscountcy bit doesn’t work out.”

  They settled into a companionable silence, with miles of rolling grass on one side and golden cliffs leading to endless turquoise-blue sea on the other.

  Halfway between the castle and the village, they passed an abandoned cottage atop a humble knoll.

  Rebecca smiled wistfully. She rather loved that tiny cottage. Close enough to town to be convenient, far enough away to be private. An unparalleled view of the caves and the sea. Peace filled her. Marriage to one of the local gentlemen wouldn’t be half bad if it came with sunshine and a beautiful view.

  She gestured toward the hillock. “If I could have had my dowry money outright, I would have let a small room in a house like that one. From here, you can smell the ocean and hear the waves on the beach.”

  He turned to her in surprise. “Old Banfield gave you a dowry?”

  She shook her head. “The new earl did. He has daughters of his own, so he needs to be rid of me. Five hundred pounds is quite generous. He is letting me decide whether I wish to spend it on a Season, or use it as a dowry.”

  Daniel cocked his head. “And you decided dowry.”

  “My first choice was independence, but since that wasn’t an option…” She lifted a shoulder. “A Season would be illogical. I cannot compete with younger, wealthier debutantes. I didn’t manage to bring anyone up to scratch when I was their age. Here in Cornwall, a five hundred pound dowry makes me at least somewhat attractive.”

  Daniel stopped walking.

  “Everything about you is attractive,” he said fiercely. “Your quick mind, your sharp tongue, your soft hair, your perfect lips. There isn’t a man alive who could spend an hour in your company without falling half in—”

  He spun forward without another word and all but marched toward the village in stone-faced silence.

  Rebecca’s heart was beating too rapidly to do more than cling to his strong arm and keep her trembling legs moving forward.

  “Mary is a terrible chaperone,” he growled when he’d regained his composure. “If I wanted to kiss you, she couldn’t stop me.”

  “Mary isn’t in charge of my choices or my actions,” Rebecca replied softly. “I am.”

  His jaw tightened. “Then you shouldn’t have let me accompany you.”

  She nodded. “I know.”

  As they approached the village, Daniel pointed at a painted sign. “Is that a milliner?”

  “The only milliner,” she acknowledged. “Right next door to the only modiste.”

  “Let me buy you some gowns.” He turned and gazed down at her earnestly. “You look beautiful because you can’t help but be beautiful, but if a new wardrobe would make your life easier… It would be my honor to help in any way I can.”

  She was tempted. For the teeny, tiny space of a heartbeat, she wanted more than anything to say yes.

  Not because she cared what the village gentlemen thought of her. But because she wanted Daniel to see her looking her best. As elegant and refined as the sophisticated ladies he was used to. She didn’t want him to be attracted. She wanted to steal his breath away, the way he’d always stolen hers.

  “No,” she said aloud. “I don’t want your money.”

  The more she thought about it, the more it sickened her. For how many women had he made a similar offer? Was half of London’s most ravishing ingénues clothed on the viscount’s penny? The last thing she wanted to be was just another name on his list.

  He reached for her arm. “Rebecca, listen to me. There’s no one else I’d rather spend my—”

  “It’s unnecessary.” She jerked free from his grasp. “I refuse to wed a fool who chooses his bride based on the modishness of her gowns. That’s not a husband I’d want. I intend to marry the first man who wants me for me.”

  Daniel stared at her for a long moment.

  She stared back defiantly.

  “Not the first man,” he muttered and jerked his shoulders back toward the street. “Is that a tavern?”

  “The best public house in town.”

  “Thank God.” He straightened his hat. “I could use a drink.”

  So could she.

  Daniel strode up to the bar, where two local gentlemen perched on wooden stools.

  Both leaped to their feet and doffed their hats when they caught sight of Rebecca.

  “Good day, miss,” said the blond one. “I’m Mr. Harrod. How do you do?”

  “I’m Mr. Gruger,” said the red-haired gentleman. “May I offer you a drink? Or perhaps nuncheon?”

  “I was going to buy her a drink,” Mr. Harrod complained. “We haven’t even finished the introductions.”

  “Then you should have asked first,” Mr. Gruger said smugly. “Miss? Would you like a glass of wine?”

  “I will buy her drinks,” Daniel thundered, his green eyes flashing.

  Rebecca folded her arms beneath her breasts in annoyance. If
she couldn’t have him, then he bloody well shouldn’t ruin her chances of meeting someone else. She arched a pointed eyebrow in his direction. “You will not purchase a thing.” She smiled at the others. “Lovely to meet you, Mr. Harrod, Mr. Gruger. I am Miss Bond and I’m positively famished.”

  Both gentlemen glanced over their shoulders at Daniel.

  With obvious effort, he waved their concerns away. “Buy her whatever you like. I’m her… guardian. Her protective, all-seeing guardian. Treat her with respect. I’ll be right over here.”

  After the briefest of hesitation, Mr. Gruger found a table to share at the opposite end of the tavern from where Daniel was perched.

  Acutely aware of him scowling at them from across the room, Rebecca smiled at the two gentlemen and did her best to be charming. If her smiles were a little wider than usual and her laughs a little louder, surely it had nothing to do with the knowledge that Daniel was grinding his teeth into dust from the effort to keep from hauling her out of the tavern and away from these gentlemen.

  Perhaps it was petty of her to be pleased at his suffering. He had caused her far more pain, more times than she could count. If he wanted her for himself, they could end this farce now.

  But he didn’t. Not as a wife, anyway. And if it hurt his pride to discover there were men who felt differently—men who were interested in Rebecca with or without a five hundred pound dowry, men who wished to buy her meals and get to know her over a glass of wine—then it was a good lesson for them both.

  She’d been shut up in that dark castle for so long that she’d forgotten her own worth. Her heart lifted. She could find a husband. She did deserve happiness.

  From this day forward, she wouldn’t settle for anything less.

  Chapter 9

  Daniel slumped into a wingback chair in the dark corner of an unused parlor. Ghostly whispers rustled in the rafters overhead. For once, the drafty stone and menacing shadows of Crowmere Castle matched his mood perfectly.

  Rebecca was going to get married.

  Perhaps not to either of the insipid greenhorns from the village tavern, but he could no longer pretend that no matter what happened in his life, Rebecca would be somewhere out there, exactly the same as she’d always been.

  It wasn’t that Daniel had expected her to wait for him, precisely. He had been cruel to her. Twice. Her life was her own. And he would never make her promises he couldn’t keep.

  She deserved better.

  The surprising thing wasn’t that Rebecca had options. It was that she was still unmarried. He could not credit it. If she had bothered to step out-of-doors once or twice over the past few years, some handsome villager would’ve snapped her up long before now.

  Daniel would have, if he were a country gentleman. Hell, he’d be tempted to even if he weren’t a country gentleman. He rubbed his temples. If only Rebecca were suited for London life! But she didn’t even like the city. Her dream home was a cliffside view of a dangerous smugglers’ cove in the middle of nowhere.

  Still, he couldn’t help but imagine what it might be like to have her for his wife. Rebecca’s bloodlines weren’t terrible—no matter what Daniel’s grandmother might claim—and besides, he didn’t give a rotten fig about any of that nonsense.

  He liked her for her. He always had.

  Yet no matter how hard he tried to protect her, he would never truly be able to keep her safe. He could give her his name, shower her with all the finery she might desire, but the one thing he could not do was control the tongues of others.

  If Lady Octavia chose to make Rebecca’s life hell, it wouldn’t stop at merely barring her from Almack’s. A few well-placed words from the dowager, and no society hostess wishing to remain in her good graces would dare invite Rebecca to so much as a tea.

  While Daniel was in convocations or visiting tenants or at Parliament, where would that leave his wife? At home alone. Day in and day out. Wishing she were back in Delmouth, where at least she had ghosts to keep her company. His muscles tightened. Rebecca would be bored, at best. At worst… hurting. Miserable. Resentful.

  That was not the sort of union either of them desired. She would begin to hate him for plucking her from a world she loved and forcing her into one she despised. He would hate himself for the same reasons. They were all wrong for each other.

  An unselfish man would put her needs first. If Daniel truly wished to be her friend, he should be doing everything in his power to ensure her future happiness. He absolutely should be helping her find a quiet country husband, just as she had asked.

  No matter how much it killed him.

  Because, much as he might like to, he couldn’t give Rebecca what she wanted. Or even what he wanted.

  He was going to have to let her go. Stand back and watch her wed some tanned, muscular farmer.

  In all probability, this might be the last time he and Rebecca ever saw each other again. She would be a wife, perhaps a mother with a brood of happy children, living in the cottage above the sea she’d always dreamed of having.

  And he would still be a viscount. Throwing giddy soirées full of people he didn’t care about. Wed to a perfect society wife whom he never saw outside of the ballroom, because that was how well-bred marriages worked. Father to a spare and an heir that he would likewise never glimpse, because the aristocracy left the raising of children to governesses and nannies.

  Delightful. He could hardly wait.

  He pushed himself up from the leather chair and out of the empty parlor. If these were the last days he’d share with Rebecca, then he wished to make the most of them. Even if it meant doing so as friends.

  After all, that was why he’d come to Crowmere Castle, was it not? To beg for her friendship?

  A sigh scratched from his throat. With a woman like Rebecca, friendship would never be enough.

  But it was all he was going to get.

  With growing anxiety, he searched in vain for her throughout the castle. She wasn’t with any of the other guests or secluded in the library. It was raining too hard for her to be in the maze or the garden, or to have taken a soaking wet stroll into the village.

  In growing frustration, Daniel strode faster through the twisting corridors. Rebecca wasn’t in the solar or any of the sitting rooms. She certainly wasn’t in the music room. And according to the maid he’d bribed with a shilling, Rebecca was not in her chamber—nor had she left the castle.

  She had vanished.

  He leaned the back of his head against the closest wall and closed his eyes.

  His shoulders slumped. What if one of the men from Delmouth had invited her for a ride in his carriage? What if Rebecca was even now falling in love, pushing Daniel a little further out of her heart with every passing minute?

  The delicious scent of sweets being baked wafted into the drafty corridor. Daniel opened his eyes. It couldn’t be. It was.

  Cinnamon-raisin biscuits.

  Rebecca.

  He dashed around the corner and into the kitchen before his heart had a chance to slow.

  Her eyes widened when she saw him. “How did you know I was down here?”

  “Easy.” He tried to look nonchalant. “You weren’t in any of the other rooms.”

  “It was the smell, wasn’t it?” She gave him a considering look. “I always did know how to bring you running.”

  Daniel held his silence rather than admit just how literal her power over him truly was.

  “Do you want to wait?” Rebecca glanced at an hourglass on a shelf above the oven. “Less than two minutes to go.”

  He dragged one of the empty wooden stools closer to her. “What’s the occasion?”

  She tilted her head and fixed him with a perceptive gaze. “You probably thought I forgot. I didn’t. When you first arrived, I was still too hurt and angry to wish you a happy birthday.”

  “I’m not sure I deserve it now,” he confessed.

  “You probably don’t,” she agreed. “I’ll check on the biscuits anyway.”

&nb
sp; She pulled the tray from the oven just as the last few grains of sand slipped down the neck of the hourglass.

  Daniel’s mouth watered. The biscuits looked divine. Perfectly round, perfectly golden, with an aroma so cinnamon-sweet the very air tasted like sugar. He reached for the one closest to him.

  Rebecca smacked his hand. “Not yet, goose. You’ll burn your fingers. Give the biscuits a few minutes to set.”

  Properly chastised, he returned his hands to his lap. “Thank you. I mean it.”

  She lifted a narrow shoulder. “They’re just biscuits.”

  He shook his head. “Nothing is ever just biscuits.”

  She blinked. “What does that mean?”

  “I…have no idea. It sounded deep until I said it.” He reached forward and took her hands. “Rebecca, believe me. I never meant to hurt you. When I was awful to you outside that ballroom when we were children, it was because we were children. I don’t know if you know this, but seventeen-year-old boys are incredibly stupid. Me, more than most.”

  She arched a brow in silence.

  At least she hadn’t slapped him. That was encouraging.

  He took a deep breath. “I was dying to impress you. But I wanted to impress my grandmother even more. My father had never been good enough for her. Then he died, and I became heir. To this day, I have never lived up to her standards. Back then, I was still young enough and scared enough to want to try. You never deserved to be caught in the crossfire.”

  “You’re right,” she said quietly. Her voice shook. “I didn’t.”

  “Nor did I mean to hurt you during your come-out Season in London.” He stroked the back of her hand, his chest tight. He had to make her see. “Twenty-one-year-old lads are marginally more intelligent than their seventeen-year-old counterparts, but I happened to inherit a viscountcy in the meantime.”

  She gazed back at him flatly. Her eyes were luminous with suppressed pain.

  He forced himself to continue. “Not only was I trying to live up to my grandmother’s impossible standards, I was now under the magnifying glass of the entire ton. Anything I said, anywhere I went, every little detail appeared in the society papers. Now that I’m older, I no longer care what the caricaturists and society matrons think of me—”