Tempt Me Twice

by Olivia Drake

  His concern was so genuine, Kate felt disloyal for her doubts. Yet she felt compelled to ask him the same question she’d asked Lord Gabriel. “Have you a document proving your guardianship?”

  For a full three seconds, Sir Charles stared at her. Then he inclined his head in a nod. “Not with me, alas. My solicitor in London holds all my important papers.”

  Reeling at the news, Kate stared at the baron. “The agreement is signed by my father?”

  “Of course. If you like, I can make arrangements for my man to deliver the document, though it might take a few days.”

  Putting a hand to her brow, she didn’t know what to say. Unlike Lord Gabriel, who claimed only a verbal understanding with her father, Sir Charles actually possessed a legal paper with Papa’s signature. As highly as she regarded Sir Charles, she felt uneasy being dependent on any man, let alone one who was merely an acquaintance to her.

  “This is all so sudden,” Kate murmured. Then something occurred to her. “I’ve a great-uncle who will provide for us, I’m sure.”

  Sir Charles narrowed his eyes. “I thought you had no family left.”

  “There’s Great-Uncle Nathaniel. So you see, we needn’t depend on the charity of others.”

  “I wouldn’t dream of offering charity,” the baron said quickly. “That’s why I thought to purchase the contents of your father’s study, as a fair exchange for both of us. Have you reconsidered my proposal?”

  “My answer remains the same. I shan’t sell anything yet.”

  “Are you quite certain? Pardon me for saying so, but the proceeds would prove a great help to you and your sister.”

  Kate compressed her lips. That fact had been pointed out to her more than once today. And she found it strikingly odd that both her visitors wanted Papa’s effects.

  “I’ll let you know if ever I change my mind,” Kate said to placate him. Hearing the rattle of the tea cart in the corridor, she lowered her voice to a whisper. “I must ask that you mention nothing of money matters to Meg. It would only distress her.”

  “Of course, but...ye gods!” Abandoning dignity, Sir Charles shot out of his chair as Meg pushed the cart into the parlor, followed by a knuckle-walking Jabbar. “Where did that beast come from?”

  Before Kate could think of a logical reason for an illogical situation, the chimpanzee spied their visitor and let loose an ear-splitting screech.

  “Quiet now!” Meg scolded in a schoolmarm voice. “This is our guest and dear friend, Sir Charles Damson. Sir Charles, this is Jabbar.”

  Kate refrained from mentioning the foolishness of introducing a monkey to a lord of the realm. She hastened forward to help Meg with the tea cart. “Forgive me, Sir Charles. I should have warned you about the chimpanzee.”

  The look of stark horror melted from the baron’s refined features, and with a tolerant smile, he strolled toward the chimp. “By Jupiter, he gave me a start. Not at all what one would expect to encounter in the home of two such pretty ladies.”

  Jabbar bared his teeth and growled, puffing out his hairy chest.

  Sir Charles stopped and chuckled. “Why, if it weren’t absurd, I’d say the little fellow’s jealous. One can’t blame him for wanting to keep the two of you all to himself.”

  Meg preened. “How kind of you, sir. I can assure you, Jabbar wouldn’t harm a flea.”

  The chimp chose that moment to leap up and down, beating his fists on his chest in a distinctly simian challenge. His angry hooting echoed through the small parlor.

  “Or so we hope,” Kate muttered under her breath. Not for the first time, she regretted the weak moment when she had succumbed to Meg’s pleading to keep the animal. Her only excuse was that she’d been utterly flummoxed by Lord Gabriel’s claim to guardianship.

  A claim she’d rejected as ridiculous. A claim he’d sworn to honor.

  “I’ll inspect these rooms you’re renting in town,” he’d said. "To see if they meet with my approval. If not, I’ll arrange for a more suitable place for you and your sister to live. ”

  "You’ll do nothing of the sort, ” Kate retorted. "I don’t need your approval. ”

  “Yes, you do." His face was firm, unyielding, ominous. “You and Meg are my responsibility now. That means you ’re both subject to my decisions. ”

  “Then I’ll meet you in a court of law,” she’d flung back. “You’ll have to prove your claim.”

  Thinking back on his arrogance made Kate burn. Lord Gabriel had had the audacity to laugh at her threat. He knew as well as she that a judge would rule in favor of a rich man, brother to the Marquess of Stokeford and a member of one of the most powerful families in England. Especially if Great-Uncle Nathaniel spurned his duty toward her and Meg.

  But now, circumstances had taken a new twist. If Sir Charles truly did possess a document signed by her father, she would be forced by law to accept his guardianship.

  Frustrated by the tangled situation, Kate snatched up a scone from the tray and gave it to the chimp. “Take him to his cage in the kitchen,” she told Meg.

  “But—”

  “Do it, please.”

  Meg marched off with a screeching Jabbar in tow. Gathering the shreds of her composure, Kate made a show of pouring three cups of tea from the pot she’d hastily unpacked not half an hour ago.

  “You must tell me where you obtained that wild creature,” Sir Charles said, resuming his seat on a gold-striped chair, its shabbiness accentuated by his refinement. “Surely your father didn’t send it all the way from Africa.”

  “No. Jabbar doesn’t really belong to us,” Kate said, stirring a lump of brown sugar into Sir Charles’s teacup. She clenched her teeth at the memory of how Lord Gabriel had overridden her objections and indulged Meg’s plea to keep Jabbar. It was the last time, Kate vowed, that she would let him dictate to her. “Jabbar is staying here only temporarily. His owner couldn’t keep him at the inn for fear of alarming the other guests.”

  “His owner?”

  “Lord Gabriel Kenyon.” The name tasted bitter on her tongue. With effort, she maintained a pleasant expression, hoping Sir Charles hadn’t detected the malice in her tone.

  A strange alertness darkened his pale gray eyes. “What’s that?” he said. “Kenyon was here?”

  Meg stepped back into the parlor alone. “Yes, and he saved Jabbar from some evil traders. He said we could adopt him if we wished.” She giggled. “Adopt Jabbar, that is.”

  Kate cast her a warning glance. Meg obstinately lifted her chin.

  With his gloved fingers, Sir Charles stroked the diamond stickpin that anchored his immaculate cravat. “Well, well. Kenyon certainly took his time returning from Cairo. More than two months have passed since the attack. Did the rascal mention what kept him away for so long?”

  “He was recovering from his wounds.”

  “Those robbers stabbed him,” Meg said, wilting dramatically onto the chaise. “Why didn’t you tell us he’d almost died?”

  “Poppycock. I was told his wounds were minor.” Taking a drink from the dainty cup, the baron lifted an eyebrow as if to cast doubt on Lord Gabriel’s tale. “Your father hinted...perhaps I shouldn’t say.”

  Kate leaned forward. “Hinted what?”

  “That he didn’t entirely trust Kenyon.” Sir Charles held up a hand. “But it was only an impression I had. There’s probably nothing to it.”

  Or was there? Kate wondered. “If only Papa were here to ask.”

  The baron’s face softened. “I didn’t mean to distress you. Remember that your father adored you... both of you. On the day before he died, Henry told me how very much he looked forward to seeing his dear, sweet daughters again.”

  A lump formed in Kate’s throat. “Did he say...anything else?”

  “Only that he regretted staying away from England for so long.” Sir Charles smiled, encompassing Meg in his kindly perusal. “He was a man of few words, as you know, and for him to voice such sentiments, even to a friend, can only underscore the depth of h
is feelings for you two.”

  Kate swallowed hard. Strange that Papa had so seldom mentioned Sir Charles to her. But the baron was right; Papa had been a reticent man, especially with his family. And she hadn’t been a biddable young lady who had invited his confidences. It was a fact she would always bitterly regret.

  No longer able to speak of her father without weeping, she changed the subject. “Will you stay long in Oxford this time, Sir Charles?”

  “Only tonight, I fear. Then I must travel to my estate on the Cornish coast. I’ll be hosting a large house party at the end of the month.” He wrinkled his nose in a wry expression. “Alas, one can never quite trust the servants to arrange things properly.”

  “A party?” Meg said, fairly bouncing on the chaise. “Will all the ton be there?”

  “Only those who matter,” he said with a smile. “One must be particular about one’s friends, of course.”

  “Tell me, are you inviting”—she lowered her voice to a loud whisper—“the Lucifer League?”

  Sir Charles froze, his teacup suspended midway to his mouth. “Where have you heard of them?”

  Kate set down her cup with a clatter. “Meg? What on earth are you talking about?”

  “A group of noble pagans who worship the ancient gods,” Meg said in shivery delight. “They have lewd ceremonies and call upon the devil himself. At chapel, I overheard the boys whispering about it.”

  “You shouldn’t listen to tales told by prankish boys who ought to be listening to the sermon,” Kate chided.

  “It isn’t a tale, it’s the truth!”

  “Only partly so,” Sir Charles said, brushing at his yellow nankeen pantaloons. “The Lucifer League is a harmless club of aristocrats who are bored with society.”

  All wide-eyed curiosity, Meg leaned toward him. “Do you know any of them?”

  “In my elite circle, one can’t help being acquainted with these gentlemen,” the baron said, shrugging. “As to their sins, I suppose they practice the same vices as other coves. I daren’t say more in the presence of innocent young ladies.”

  “But can’t you at least tell us—”

  “Meg,” Kate said sharply. “That’s enough.”

  Meg closed her mouth, though her slippered foot tapped out a rebellious message on the rug.

  Sir Charles sipped his tea. “For myself, I prefer more genteel company. May I say, two such lovely flowers of English womanhood would enhance my little gathering. I’d be honored if the two of you would attend.”

  Meg stopped tapping and perked up.

  “That’s very kind of you, but my sister is not yet out,” Kate said, swallowing her own secret yearning to attend a society party. “It wouldn’t be appropriate.”

  “I’ll be seventeen on the thirtieth of April,” Meg declared. “Jane Fairfax attended her first ball on her seventeenth birthday.”

  “You are not Jane Fairfax.”

  Pouting, Meg crossed her arms. “You never let me do anything. I’ll probably be twenty-five before you even let a man pay court to me.”

  Mortified by her sister’s rudeness, Kate frowned a warning at her. “We’re in mourning, pray remember. Out of respect for Papa, you shall wait another year.”

  “A pity,” Sir Charles said with obvious disappointment. “But as your guardian, I extend an open invitation to the two of you to visit Damson Castle in Cornwall.”

  Meg’s eyes grew large. “You’re our guardian?” She cast an accusing glance at Kate. “You never told me that.”

  Kate tensed. As pleasant as the baron was, she felt a natural aversion to trusting him or any other man. “I knew nothing of the arrangement until today. I shall have to consult Great-Uncle Nathaniel on the matter.”

  “But he’s away in Italy,” Meg said, turning adoring eyes on the baron. “While Sir Charles is right here in England. Dear Sir Charles, it’s so admirable and gallant of you to take us under your wing.”

  Reaching out, he fervently clasped her hand. “Thank you, my dear. Indeed, I would be happy to fulfill your every wish.”

  “Nothing is settled,” Kate said firmly. “It will be weeks before I hear from our uncle.”

  But Meg and Sir Charles had eyes only for each other. “Now that you mention it, sir,” Meg said, “there is a favor you might do for us.”

  He pressed his palm to his neatly buttoned coat. “Ask and it’s yours.”

  Sliding a defiant look at Kate, Meg said, “There’s a fair in town. Perhaps you’d be good enough to escort us to it this evening.”

  Hidden Treasure

  “Walk over! Walk in! Witness the dangers of tightrope dancing. Only one penny admission.”

  Kate fished in her reticule and drew out two coppers. Before she could hand them to the bewhiskered hawker, Sir Charles tossed him a few coins, which the stout man deftly caught in his hairy fist.

  As they walked into the torch-lit tent, she tried to give her pennies to Sir Charles. “Please, I won’t have you paying for us. It isn’t proper.”

  He smiled benevolently. “Nonsense, my dear. I’d be insulted if you didn’t allow me the pleasure of acting as your guardian in this at least.”

  For all his gracious manner, she felt uneasy accepting his largess, for it struck at both her pride and her prudence. Accordingly, she had posted a letter to her great-uncle, asking him to assume the role of their protector—on paper at least. It didn’t matter that Great-Uncle Nathaniel was a rogue who would balk at accepting responsibility for his two grandnieces. So long as he signed the consent, their blood relationship would prevail over any other claim in a court of law. Then, while he stayed in Italy, she could live her life without interference from any man.

  In the meantime, there could be no wrong in letting Sir Charles escort them to the fair. It did her heart good to see her sister enjoying herself.

  Blue eyes sparkling, Meg motioned them to the front of the throng, where she’d found a place on the crowded bench. “Hurry, the show’s about to begin! We can squeeze in right here.”

  She linked arms with Sir Charles and drew him down beside her as the spectators shuffled position to make room. Unfortunately, Kate came up short of space, and she only just managed to find a seat a few rows behind them, squashed in between a group of rowdy university students and Mrs. Islington, a bovine-like matron who greeted her with a nod, then resumed chattering with her husband, the butcher, who sat at her other side.

  To make matters worse, the people behind Kate kept moving around, and someone’s knees poked into her spine. She sat erect and rigid, uncomfortable in such close quarters with strangers. It was worse than being late for chapel and having to squeeze into the packed gallery. But at least she could be thankful she hadn’t seen the gossipy Mrs. Beasley, who had gone off that day to visit one of her married daughters.

  Lifting her gaze to the tightrope, Kate experienced a tingling rush of anticipation. A woody scent drifted from the layer of sawdust in the center of the tent, where a high rope stretched between two tall poles. Strutting back and forth before the benches, the grizzled huckster called everyone’s attention to a small, wiry man dressed in black breeches and a yellow shirt.

  The barefoot man climbed a ladder to the top of the wooden pole. As he stepped out onto the rope, Kate gripped her fingers in her lap. Arms outstretched, the man took a few cautious steps on the swaying rope and then executed a wobbly somersault to the wild clapping of the crowd.

  “Jabbar could do much better,” said a husky voice in her ear.

  Kate jumped, glancing first at the students, then back over her shoulder, where a familiar pair of ocean-blue eyes glinted at her. A jolt struck the breath from her lungs. Lord Gabriel, the cur. It was his knees that prodded her lower back.

  As before, he was dressed casually without gloves or hat, his shirt open to reveal his strong brown throat. He looked big and masculine, more like a common laborer than an aristocrat, and to her shame, she felt a thrill all the way down to her toes.

  Instantly hostile, s
he whispered, “What are you doing here?”

  “Same as you. Enjoying myself.” In the torchlight, his gaze held a certain naughtiness. “Or perhaps as a spinster on the shelf, you’re only here to chaperone your sister.”

  “I’m not—” She broke off a terse retort that she was twenty years of age and far from an old maid. “I’m not here merely to chaperone my sister, and well you know it.”

  “Then you should pay closer attention to her, for she’s sitting with”—glancing past her, he narrowed his suddenly stony eyes—“Sir Charles Damson.”

  “There weren’t enough seats for all of us in the front row.”

  “A gentleman would have let the ladies sit together.” Kate had wondered at that very thing. But what harm was there in letting her sister benefit from the attentions of a well-mannered aristocrat? Especially one who was kinder and more generous than the blunt, overbearing Gabriel Kenyon.

  “Sir Charles is a gentleman. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to watch the show.”

  Pointedly, she returned her attention to the tightrope dancer, who had tied on a blindfold and walked backward across the swaying rope. As the crowd oohed and aahed, Meg clung to Sir Charles’s arm in exaggerated fright. Perhaps her sister was being overly familiar, Kate thought with chagrin. She resolved to have another talk with Meg about appropriate conduct.

  Lord Gabriel’s warm breath tickled Kate’s ear again. “You told me Damson was in London.”

  She bristled at his accusatory tone. “He was kind enough to stop for a visit on his way to his estate.”

  “So he’s going on to Cornwall. When?”

  “Tomorrow.” She twisted around in her seat, ignoring the harrumph from the plump woman beside her. “How do you know where he lives, anyway?” she asked in a brusque whisper. “I thought you scarcely knew Sir Charles.”

  His gaze bored into her. “I own an estate some ten miles from his. And I forbid you and your sister to associate with him.”