Tempt Me Twice

by Olivia Drake

  Slipping out of her pelisse, Meg hung the garment on a wall hook. “I saw John Thurgood strolling on the High Street today,” she said, her blue eyes sparkling. “Oh, my heart, he’s grown another inch over the Easter holidays. His chest is so broad and manly. And that dark gaze quite makes me shiver.” Feigning a dramatic shudder, she twirled a path around the old green chairs and the threadbare brown chaise.

  Kate wasn’t overly concerned to hear of Meg’s latest infatuation; her sister fell in and out of love daily. No doubt by tomorrow, Meg would have set her cap for another prospect. “John Thurgood is a graduate scholar and too old for a girl of six and ten. And where are your gloves, pray tell?”

  Her sister stopped dancing and glanced abashedly at her bare fingers. “Oh ... drat. I must have left them by the bridge.”

  “Folly Bridge, perchance?”

  “Why, yes.” Removing her plain black bonnet, Meg dropped it on a table. “Walking made me warm, and I stopped for a drink of water,” she said over her shoulder. “I couldn’t very well get my only pair of gloves wet, could I?”

  Kate gave her sister a stern, knowing stare. “I wonder if you may have been distracted. Perhaps balancing on the rail of the bridge? In full view of the townsfolk?”

  Meg had the good grace to blush. “So, Weaselly Beasley has already come to call. I daresay that old tattletale is determined to discredit me.”

  Their busybody next-door neighbor had indeed interrupted Kate’s packing to pass along the tidbit. “Mrs. Beasley couldn’t discredit you, dear, if you didn’t give her cause. That bridge is ancient and unsafe. You shouldn’t go near it.”

  “Tra-la, tra-la.” Meg waltzed to the mirror and tidied her silky black hair, the perfectly smooth, always obedient hair that Kate sorely envied. “The traveling players walk the high wire. Why should I be denied such fun?”

  “Because you’re a young lady, and you must behave yourself.” Kate stepped around the crate and touched her sister’s sleeve. “Oh, Meg. Surely you can see that.”

  Meg snorted. “Fie on propriety, I say. We’re leaving here anyway, so what matter is it?”

  “We’re moving into town,” Kate corrected. “And it matters because if ever I can complete Papa’s book and earn some money, you’ll have a season in London. In the meantime, you mustn’t acquire a reputation for silly behavior.”

  Meg pursed her mouth in a pout. “There’ll never be enough money for London, and you know it. There’s never enough money for anything. We can’t afford one new gown between the two of us. Even our mourning dresses are left over from when Mama...” She plucked at her drab black skirt, and tears glinted in her eyes so that she looked like a desolate little girl.

  Kate blinked hard to stave off her own tears. Not long after their father had departed on his ill-fated trek through Africa, Mama had succumbed to a lung ailment after being caught out in a cold downpour while tending her beloved garden. By necessity, Kate had become both mother and father to Meg. To make matters worse, they had lost their comfortable savings when the bank manager had embezzled the funds of the investors. She and Meg had managed to recoup only a small nest egg, barely enough on which to subsist.

  Of course, Meg didn’t know about the opportunity to acquire five hundred gold guineas that Kate had declined recently. At times, particularly when she lay alone in her bed, pondering in the darkness, she wondered if she’d made the right decision.

  Embracing her sister, Kate pressed a lace handkerchief into her fingers. “Don’t weep, dearest,” she murmured. “We must look forward, not back to things we cannot change.”

  Meg dabbed at her eyes. “If only Papa and Lord Gabriel had brought home a shipload of treasures. Gold and diamonds, ivory and emeralds. Imagine, we could have set those snobby Londoners on their ears.”

  Kate stiffened, remembering Lord Gabriel’s grandiose promises. How carelessly he’d breezed into their lives, offering to fund her father’s dreams, then whisking Papa away on a grand adventure. From time to time, Papa had sent them a jotted note along with an artifact like the ivory tusk of an elephant or a primitive jar. In turn, they had written to him, leaving letters at mail drops in remote outposts, never knowing if he’d received their missives or whether he’d ever even learned of his wife’s death.

  Only a fortnight ago, their hopes for his safe return had been dashed forever when a family friend had brought back news of Papa’s death in Egypt at the hands of thieves.

  Kate drew a long, steadying breath. “I would as soon have Papa back empty-handed. So long as he was alive.”

  “I, too,” Meg said hastily. “Oh, Katie, I didn’t mean to sound so greedy. It’s just that ... life is so much more bearable when one has money.”

  Kate couldn’t quarrel with that, so she drew her sister to the shelves by the hearth. “Come, help me pack these dishes.”

  Obedient for once, Meg took down a blue china plate and tucked it in the straw inside the crate. “I do wish we weren’t moving away from here. And to such dreary little rooms above that noisy, smelly marketplace.”

  “We must economize. The rent is a fraction of what we pay here.” Kate wrapped a teapot in a sheet of old newspaper, trying not to remember her mother pouring tea, laughing gaily and chattering about her beloved flowers. “With only the two of us now, we don’t need so much space, anyway. We have to be practical.”

  “I hate economizing, and even more, I hate being practical.” Meg gazed longingly at the open window, where the fresh scents of April drifted on the cool breeze. “If only we could go to the fair later...”

  Kate nested the teapot in the crate. “May I remind you, the cart will be here in three days’ time to take away our things. The new tenants will move in on Saturday. And we haven’t even begun with Papa’s study.”

  “Let’s work faster, then,” Meg said, opening a drawer at random and dumping the contents into a nearby wooden crate. She replaced the drawer, brushed off her hands, and said, “See? There’s nothing to it.”

  Kate eyed the jumble of old quills, pruning shears, and balls of string. “I wanted to sort through all that. We can’t fit everything into our new home.”

  “Then you would have more space if I were to join the traveling players,” Meg grumbled. “At least they lead a life of freedom and leisure.”

  Did she mean it? Would she truly run away from home? “This is nothing to jest about,” Kate said sharply. “Promise me you shan’t go off on a lark with that troupe of ne’er- do-wells.”

  Meg cast her a defiant glance. “I could enjoy being acclaimed as a famous actress. Don’t forget, I played Juliet at Miss Minchen’s Academy last year.” Clasping her hands, she intoned, “ ‘Come, nurse; I’ll to my wedding bed. And death, not Romeo, take my maidenhead!’ ”

  “It’s a far cry to go from a school stage to a real one. You’d spend long, tiresome hours memorizing your lines. On rainy nights, you’d shiver in a tent or a wagon without even a fire to keep you warm. You’d trudge through mud and snow to the next town, and all for a few pence tossed into a hat—”

  Meg let out a screech.

  Kate wondered that her diatribe could have sparked so profound a reaction from her sister. But Meg wasn’t looking at her. She stared goggle-eyed at the open window.

  Kate followed her gaze and choked back a gasp. On the sill perched a dark furry beast with humanlike features and long hairy limbs protruding from a boy’s breeches and shirt. That black, inquisitive gaze surveyed the interior of the cottage.

  “Merciful heavens,” she said breathlessly. “A monkey? A chimpanzee, if I’m not mistaken.”

  “Yes,” Meg said in wonderment. “He looks just like the one in the drawing done by Lord Gabriel Kenyon—the one Papa sent to us.”

  Kate felt the little clench that Lord Gabriel’s name always elicited in her, even as her mind whirled with confusion. “But ... where did the beast come from?”

  “The fair, of course! He must have escaped from the traveling actors.” Her alarm vanishing wit
h mercurial swiftness, Meg walked toward the chimpanzee. “What a darling creature! Are you lost? Can’t you find your way back home?”

  Babbling a string of gibberish, the chimpanzee stretched out to his pint-sized, bow-legged height.

  “Do be careful,” Kate said, hastening after her sister. “He’s a wild animal and might bite.”

  “Nonsense, he looks quite tame. And I do believe he’s just a baby. Doesn’t he have a dear, sweet face?”

  There was a certain charm to those simian features, Kate allowed. His dark eyes shone like those of a mischievous child. Succumbing to curiosity, she ventured closer and stopped beside Meg, who stood within arm’s reach of the chimp.

  “What do you suppose we should do with him?” Meg whispered as if he might understand her and take offense.

  “Return him to the fair, of course. But how?”

  “I’ll take him.” Eagerly, Meg reached out for the beast. Kate stepped swiftly forward. “Wait! He’s better off handled by his trainer. Why don’t you run along and alert the players—”

  In a lightning-quick movement, the chimpanzee thrust out a gangly arm and snatched the ivory comb that secured her tight bun. Kate clapped her hands to her hair—too late. A cloudburst of smaller pins popped out and rained onto the carpet. The too-thick, curling red-gold hair that was her bane tumbled down to her waist.

  “You little thief!” Kate sputtered. “Give that back!”

  She made a grab for him, but the chimpanzee bounded to the top of an empty bookshelf. There, he waved the comb in his leathery fingers, rolled back his lips, and loosed a series of high-pitched squawks.

  Meg’s eyes danced with laughter. “What a rum cove! I do believe he’s funning you, dear sister.”

  A bubble of hysterical mirth escaped Kate. Marching to the bookcase, she tilted her head up and held out her hand. “Naughty boy,” she scolded. “I’ll take that comb back now.”

  Hooting, the chimp walked back and forth atop the oak bookshelf, sending little showers of dust downward to tickle Kate’s nose. When he balanced the comb atop his head, he bore an uncanny resemblance to an ugly matron.

  “Weaselly Beasley,” Kate couldn’t help observing. “That’s who he looks like.”

  Giggling, Meg clapped her hands to her cheeks. “Gad-a-mercy, you’re right! He’s the spitting image of that hag.”

  “But not for long. I won’t let him steal Mama’s favorite comb.” Kate carried over a stool, lifted her skirts to step onto it, and reached for the chimpanzee. Even as her fingertips brushed one shaggy, crooked leg, he scampered down to the other end of the shelves. She moved the stool, but again he loped out of her reach.

  Clearly enjoying the game, the primate chortled, displaying a set of broad teeth.

  Meg dragged over a chair to the opposite side of the bookcase. “You stay down there,” she told Kate. “Between the two of us, he can’t get away.”

  But the chimp outsmarted them. He took a flying leap at the window and clambered up the faded gold draperies. Balancing on the wooden rod, he looked down on them and screeched in triumph, holding up the comb like a prize of war.

  The sisters exchanged an exasperated glance. “You’d better run for help,” Kate said. “I’ll stay here and watch that he doesn’t get into more trouble.”

  Nodding, Meg dashed into the small foyer of the cottage. Kate heard the squeak of the door opening, then her sister’s startled exclamation. “Oh, my heart and soul!”

  “What’s wrong?” Kate called.

  Meg didn’t answer, and Kate could hear her speaking to someone in the low, trilling, breathless tone she used with men. Blast Meg! She mustn’t dally with one of her suitors at such a moment.

  Keeping an eye on the chimpanzee, Kate sidled toward the archway that led to the foyer. She pasted on a polite smile and glanced out, intending to hurry her sister on her way.

  Instead, she witnessed her second shock of the day.

  The tall figure of a man blocked the doorway. His face was cast into shadow by the backdrop of brilliant morning sunshine, and Kate had to squint to discern his features: high cheekbones, jutting jaw, ocean-blue eyes. Like a pirate aboard his ship, he stood with his booted feet planted apart in a bold stance. The breeze ruffled his dark hair into an attractive disarray. His attention on Meg, he grinned at something she’d said and his white teeth shone against skin burnished by the sun to a rich teak hue.

  He looked up, straight at Kate. His smile died.

  So did hers.

  The Guardian

  Kate held herself rigidly upright lest she swoon for the first time in her life. Her palms felt damp and cold. Her mind reeled, resisting the identity of the man standing before her. Lord Gabriel Kenyon.

  In a sickening flash, she recalled their last meeting four years earlier, when she’d thrown herself at him like a love-struck ninny. Not only had his rejection lacerated her tender heart, it had left her with a lingering scar of humiliation, torment, and anger.

  Because of this man, her father was dead.

  “Don’t you remember Lord Gabriel?” Meg said, a coquettish note in her voice. “I vow, I didn’t recognize him either until he introduced himself. After all, I was only a girl of twelve when he left—”

  “Meg,” Kate interrupted. “Go on to the fair. Find out who owns that monkey.”

  Scowling, Meg opened her mouth to protest, but Lord Gabriel cut her off with a wave of his hand. “I do.”

  His deep voice raised the hairs at the nape of Kate’s neck. Feeling slow and stupid, she struggled for icy manners. “I beg your pardon?”

  “Jabbar belongs to me.”

  “Jabbar?”

  “The chimpanzee. The rascal ran away from me.” With the confidence of a man strolling into his own home, Lord Gabriel strode past her and entered the parlor.

  Trailed by an eager Meg, Kate marched in his wake.

  She caught his male scent, spicy and exotic. He had left England a brash young man soft from his rich, pampered life. Now, to her critical eyes, he projected the aura of a menacing stranger. He had grown more muscular, his face hewn from the hard angles of experience. His years in the wilds of Africa had affected his sense of propriety, too. With his unbuttoned blue coat, no cravat, and shaggy hair, he looked in need of a decent valet. The shocking display of his bare throat and the form-fitting doeskin breeches only enhanced his half-savage appearance.

  Beside him, Kate felt like a drab little mouse in her old black dress, the one with the torn lace on the sleeve that she hadn’t found the time to mend. A mouse with a tangle of curly, unbound hair that streamed down to her waist in rumpled disorder.

  Because his chimpanzee had stolen her comb.

  Pursing her lips, she said, “I’ll thank you to remove your wild animal from the premises at once.”

  Her prim manner only seemed to amuse him. “Jabbar is domesticated, housetrained in fact. He’s just a youngster.” Going to the window, Lord Gabriel tilted back his head and regarded the chimp, who was balanced on the drapery rod. “Think you’re king of the castle, do you? Come down now. Make your apologies to the ladies.”

  Jabbar looked as sheepish as a boy caught with his hand in a jar of sweets. He hunched his furry shoulders and peered at his master. Then slowly he clambered down the gold chintz curtain as if it were a jungle vine. Hanging his head, he approached Lord Gabriel.

  “I won’t bail you out of this one,” Lord Gabriel said in a stern voice. “You’ll give it back to her yourself.”

  Jabbar looked from him to Kate and back again.

  “Go on,” Lord Gabriel prodded.

  Knuckles balanced on the threadbare carpet, the monkey loped toward Kate. He fingered the ivory comb with uncannily human regret, and then handed it to her. Amazed in spite of herself, she watched as the chimp turned and leapt into Lord Gabriel’s arms.

  Meg clapped her hands. “What a pretty trick! However did you train him so well, my lord?”

  His smile charming, Lord Gabriel held the chimp as cas
ually as he might hold a human child. “Training is wasted on him—the scamp is too inquisitive for his own good. And too fond of mischief. On the voyage to England, he even crept into the wheelhouse and steered us off course.” Jabbar snaked a leathery hand into Lord Gabriel’s pocket and pulled out an orange. Chortling, he drew back his lips in a grin.

  “He is a darling,” Meg crooned, though her limpid eyes lingered on Lord Gabriel. “Where did you get him?”

  “I liberated him from a trader outside Khartoum. His mother had been killed by poachers.”

  “How dreadful! May I hold him?”

  “He’s heavier than he looks.”

  “Fiddle-faddle. I can manage.”

  With a slight smile, he handed the chimpanzee to her. “You do seem a girl who can manage whatever you set your mind to doing.”

  Their flirtatious exchange sparked a fiery resentment in Kate. Blast Lord Gabriel for charming her naïve sister. He should realize that Meg had practiced her wiles only on the callow boys of the university town. A sixteen-year-old knew nothing of handling ne’er-do-well rogues.

  Nor had Kate at one time. Her heart ached for the foolish girl she’d been, believing she could change him. Ever since then, a shrewd, no-nonsense manner had enabled her to parry their creditors, to take charge of the household after Mama’s death, and to provide sensible guidance for Meg.

  So why, Kate wondered, did a breathlessness catch at her lungs? She was no silly, romantic girl anymore.

  Surreptitiously, she twisted her hair into a topknot and jammed in the comb so firmly that her scalp hurt. Retrieving the smaller pins from the floor, she ruthlessly fastened every stray strand in place. She wanted to step out to the foyer and check her appearance in the mirror, but subdued that feminine vanity.

  When she turned, she saw Lord Gabriel watching her with a fixed concentration. A tremor flashed through her, shaking her hard-won confidence. Just as quickly, she denied the sensation. Lord Gabriel Kenyon was a callous barbarian. She felt only a hard knot of fury that he had dared to come back here to Larkspur Cottage after funding the expedition that had claimed Papa’s life.