Heart’s Temptation Books 1–3

by Scott, Scarlett

  “But there will be a scandal, Alexander.”

  He did not deny it.

  The dowager pressed a quaking hand to her heart. “Will you not have a care for your sister’s reputation?”

  “Bella will not be affected.” He spoke with more conviction than he felt. In truth, society was fickle and loved nothing more than a good disgrace. He could not be certain that she would be received in society as well if he conducted an open affaire with Cleo, but he believed that the de Vere name carried significant clout and fortune behind it to allow her to continue her life as normal. He would remain a Peer of the Realm, with all the power such a position yet maintained and Bella’s dowry, of course, would remain the same. He was not entirely selfish in this, but neither was he willing to live without Cleo by his side any longer.

  “Dear God,” his mother whispered, almost to herself, as if he were no longer in the room at all, “he means to ruin us.”

  Following luncheon, the men of the company departed for a short hunt with Lord Cosgrove while the ladies retired to the drawing room. Cleo thought she’d rather sip arsenic tea than endure several hours of banal conversation but had little choice, having already used up her allotment of megrim pleadings. She made certain to seat herself on the periphery of the gang of feathered and glittering ladies. Tia and Helen followed suit, flanking her on either side of the Louis Quinze sofa she occupied.

  “Lovely rout of the evil Lady Thornton,” Tia congratulated with a saucy grin, adjusting her violet gown with silver bead overlay. She had the regal air of a princess, twin diamond stars pinned to her bodice to complete the effect. Her blonde hair was twisted into a dashing chignon with a complicated waterfall of ringlets down her back. Tia, in typical Tia fashion, had refused to wear mourning weeds for her husband any longer than six months.

  “Thank you.” Cleo still did not feel as if she had been victorious in the match of wits. Indeed, she felt quite trounced. “I am not certain it was a rout, however.”

  “I should think Thornton is completing said rout just now,” Helen added. She wore a bold red gown with a tiered skirt of ivory and a gold sash. The effect was au militaire and rather dashing. Her golden locks were styled in a soft coronet of braids.

  A cursory examination of the occupants of the drawing room confirmed that the dowager marchioness was not among them. Lady Bella sat on her own across the room, already delving into a book and ignoring the rest of the assemblage.

  “Do you think it possible?” she asked Helen, doubtful Thornton would take his dragon mother to task for her sake.

  “I think it probable.” Helen patted her arm reassuringly. “Dearest, do you not see how protective Thornton is of you?”

  “He looked like an angry bear at luncheon,” Tia concurred. “I feared he would jump across the table and stuff his trout down the dowager’s gullet. Actually, I envisioned him doing just such a thing in my mind and it was immensely amusing. It would have been well-deserved.”

  Cleo frowned. “I thought you two didn’t approve of Thornton.”

  “We’ve had a good chat about it and decided we don’t disapprove,” Helen said cryptically.

  “By which you mean to say?”

  “We wish you happy.” Tia pursed her lips. “We fear for your heart. But if you must stay the course, we shall support you.”

  The news gratified her. She would need her sisters, always her bulwark in the past, even more now. “I haven’t the slightest notion what course I will take.”

  Helen wore a sympathetic expression. “It’s already been decided, dear. I could see it in your eyes at luncheon.”

  “And I could see it in your gown this morning,” Tia put in with an arch air.

  Cleo flushed at the reminder of her impulsive interlude with Thornton in the library. It had been very unwise and yet she would like nothing more than to repeat it as soon as possible. “Would you believe it rent on a hook?” she tried.

  Tia eyed her shrewdly. “How many hooks are lingering in the Cosgrove library? I confess I have not seen any there myself.”

  “Nestled between the Chaucer and the Plato?” Helen suggested with a wink.

  “Perhaps between his lordship’s thighs,” Tia whispered with a titter.

  “Hush, both of you,” Cleo grumbled, horridly embarrassed and afraid someone would overhear.

  Just then Margot Chilton began to read the gossip papers aloud.

  “Oh, do listen to this tempting on dit,” she called loudly enough for sheep farmers to hear her in the next county. “A lady of high standing is said to be causing quite a stir at a venerable country house party. At the same fête, two gentlemen, equally notorious—one for his impeccable character and the other for his lack in that virtuous arena—came to blows and it was not over Romeo & Juliet.” She looked up from her scandal sheets, a feline smile curving her lips. “I dare say this may well be about someone in our own company. Who do you think it could be? How thrilling to be in the moment!”

  Nausea cramped Cleo’s stomach into knots. A dozen pairs of eyes swung to her. Drat Margot Chilton. She held her head high, unwilling to allow them to see the effect they had on her. “Indeed,” she drawled, “though I should think it rather tedious.”

  Tia sniffed. “I’m sure I never read the scandal rags. No one who is anyone does these days.”

  Margot’s face flamed. Several snickers went through the assemblage. She folded the gossip sheet in her lap. “I suppose those who fear to find themselves within don’t dare read it.”

  Lady Cosgrove interjected. “Let’s do put the vulgar thing away, Miss Margot. I’ve more worthy entertainments in store for us whilst the men are out having their sport.”

  Minor relief slid through her. At least she could avoid blatant speculation. Her emotions were too fresh and raw for her to keep them at a distance. Certainly, she was most concerned with keeping Alex from scandal. His positions in society and in the Liberal Party were far different from hers as a society wife. And she could never forgive herself if she were responsible for his downfall, despite his heated protestations to her. She well knew that the words a man spoke after making love were not always to be trusted. Likely he would now regret his hasty actions. She shifted in her seat, discomfited at the thought.

  Lady Cosgrove’s worthy entertainments, as it happened, proved to be a series of silly parlor games that did their job with most of the ladies. Cleo, however, remained undistracted. After an interminable hour of charades and whist, she escaped from the room. Unnoticed, or so she supposed until Lady Bella caught up with her out in the hall.

  “Lady Scarbrough?” Alex’s sister’s voice was hesitant yet strong enough not to be ignored. “May I request an audience?”

  Groaning in her mind, Cleo stopped in her tracks and faced Lady Bella. She fastened a smile on her lips and clasped her hands together. “Lady Bella. Of course you may. Where shall we sit?”

  “Perhaps we ought to seek out your chamber,” she suggested, unsmiling.

  Oh dear. That did not bode well. But she refused to allow her concern to show. She inclined her head. “I have a small sitting area that will be of use. Let’s walk together, shall we?”

  Lady Bella still clutched her book and she did not speak during the entire awkward walk to the Tudor wing. For her part, Cleo could not speak past the knot of worry tangling in her stomach. And then they reached the room bearing Cleo’s name, stepped inside and found Thornton waiting within, sprawled in a chair.

  “Alex,” both women exclaimed in unison. He appeared equally startled to see his sister swishing into Cleo’s private rooms and shot up as if a chamber maid had lit a fire beneath his bottom.

  Cleo acted with haste, ushering Bella inside and snapping the door closed on possible wandering servants or guests with eager ears. It wouldn’t do to incite more gossip and speculation than they already foolishly had.

  There was no sound save the ominous rustling of Bella’s silk gown. Alex rammed his fingers through his black hair.

 
“Bella, Jesus Christ.”

  His sister flinched at his tone and his harsh language. “Pray remind yourself that you are in the company of ladies.” At that, she sent Cleo a searching glance.

  Her skin prickled. She was still a lady, blessed angels’ sakes. Nothing had changed except her resistance had shattered. But that was the way of it in their world—the man had his pleasure and the woman paid the price. Goodness, from the expression on Lady Bella’s face, Cleo mused, one would suppose she’d been caught in the act of filching Lady Cosgrove’s jewels.

  “Apologies to you both,” Thornton muttered. “Truly, I only intended to leave a note that I didn’t care to entrust to servants.”

  “Indeed, brother.” Bella’s tone was dry and Cleo realized a spitfire hid beneath her muted exterior. “This has all the makings of a sensation novel. We need only a specter moaning through the halls.”

  “Lady Bella,” Cleo began, needing to intervene. “I expect you are no more startled than myself to find the marquis here. But I do hope we can be friends?”

  Bella turned back to her, face drawn. “I do not yet know, my lady.”

  Cleo met Thornton’s gaze. This interview was fast becoming the most unwanted she’d ever suffered. It was his fault. Was he not supposed to be the responsible, propriety-loving politician?

  He sighed as if reading her thoughts. “Bella, your discretion is required.”

  Bella swatted his shoulder with her book. “Pooh! Act with discretion yourself if you require it, you duffer.”

  Thornton scowled, rubbing his arm. “Why are you angry with me?”

  She sent Cleo a look that was not pleasant or even marginally friendly. “I shan’t make a row in front of her.”

  “Lovely,” Cleo grumbled to herself. They had not even begun an affaire in truth and already they were the butt of gossip and familial dissension.

  “If you don’t feel comfortable addressing Lady Scarbrough, then why are you in her chambers?” Thornton growled.

  “We were meant to have a discussion,” Bella answered. “Gossip has already made its way to London concerning your actions here. If you have a care for your reputation—”

  “If you have a care for yourself, you’ll stop speaking before you say something out of turn,” he interrupted. “You are my younger sister, damn it, not my mother. And I will not have you gainsaying me, or I’ll drop you and mother both and you can live with some rusty country cousin who hasn’t a care for you.”

  His threat struck home with Lady Bella, for she paled. “Do what you must,” she whispered before turning on her heel.

  “Lady Bella,” Cleo called after her to no avail. The door slammed closed, leaving her alone with Thornton. She pivoted back to him. “That was badly done of you. Your sister only has your best interests at heart.”

  “She’s practically a schoolgirl,” he scoffed, raking a hand through his already much-abused hair yet again. “She hasn’t an inkling as to my best interests.”

  “Still, your words to her were harsh.”

  His jaw tightened. “Christ. I can’t believe you would defend her when she treated you little better than if you had been swept from the gutters.”

  “There were scandal sheets read in the drawing room,” she told him quietly. “We were mentioned in them, though not by name. It is only a matter of time before all manner of gossip erupts. Perhaps we should keep our distance for a time, until the tongues stop wagging.”

  “Damn it.” He stalked across the chamber, heading for the door his sister had so recently tested. “You’re right. I should go after her.”

  “Yes, do.” In truth, she wished most fervently that he would remain with her, but she also understood that his duty to his family necessarily trumped any duty he may feel to her. That quickly, he was gone. He had said nothing, too, against keeping a distance between them and she worried that she could not manage a distance any greater than an arm’s length. She sank down into a chair as if a great weight had been cast upon her shoulders and indeed it had.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “Bella, stop.”

  Naturally, being a female and his sister both, she ignored Thornton’s command, bustling down the hall without a pause. Her skirt even twitched in her agitation. Hell, what had he done—what grievous sin had he committed—to deserve this punishment? Had he not just dealt with the dowager? Now he must face the dowager-in-training when all he longed for was Cleo’s sweet, lush body beneath his. They hadn’t even made love in a proper bed yet, Chrissakes.

  “Bella,” he attempted again.

  She crashed into her bedchamber, oblivious to the noise and spectacle she made. He barreled through after her, patience thinning. Under ordinary circumstances, he would never disrupt Bella’s privacy. But she had already taken it upon herself to disrupt his peace and meddle in his affairs where she was not wanted or needed and he meant to return the favor. First, he would give her his mind on the inappropriate attention she had been paying Jesse.

  “Get out of here.” She turned about in a flurry of angry green silk and launched a book at his head.

  Had he not ducked quickly, it would have landed him square in the right eye.

  “Get out!” she screeched.

  “Good Christ, Bella, let’s not make a row.” He was horrified by her uncharacteristic reaction. Didn’t have a clue how to respond or control her apparent rage.

  “Let’s not make a row?” She wrestled a book from the table beside her bed and hurled it at him. “I dare say it’s too late for that, brother. You have gone from being the gem of the Liberals to the gossip on everyone’s tongue. Have you no respect for yourself? Have you no control over your deeds that you must shame us all by sniffing after her skirts as if you were no better than a common hound?”

  “That’s quite enough, Arabella de Vere,” he told her in his sternest tones. “You’re making a rumpus without reason.”

  “Has she made you come after me?” Bella demanded to know, her cheeks flushed with rage and exertion to match her dress.

  He rather didn’t want to admit it, but his face must have given away the truth. His sister threw up her hands. “I despair of you. Truly, it’s no better than if you were her dog.”

  Sister or no, Thornton had withstood all the insults and hurled objects he would from the spoiled chit. Had he ever thought her bookish and meek? Christ, what had he been thinking? She was Lucifer decked out in a lady’s finery.

  And she had overstepped her bounds. “That is enough out of you, miss.” He stalked the length of the chamber, determined to thwart any more bric-a-brac throwing she may have in mind. “You will recall to whom you speak. I haven’t an inkling what’s gotten into you, but I don’t like a bit of it.”

  “You told me there was nothing untoward between yourself and Lady Scarbrough and yet it is plain to everyone—even town gossips—that there is. I am sick with it, Alex. Already, I must endure mother’s endless carping on every subject beneath the sun. Now I must also watch my brother ruin his life. All this for what?”

  “For love,” he said before he could hold his bloody tongue. Bella’s expression could surely be no more startled than his. He wasn’t the revelatory sort. “I’m in love with Lady Scarbrough. There. I’ve said it now.”

  She pressed her fingers to her lips, covering a gasp. “But she is married.”

  “Oh bloody Christ,” he growled. “Why can’t you just go back to being a wallflower and wearing whatever dress mother tells you? I haven’t the patience for this.”

  “Alex, think of what you’re doing.” She gripped his arms, her blue eyes searching his. “I only think of your best interests. Before you act with haste and indecision, think for God’s sake, of what you will lose. All your life you’ve been consumed with politics. It’s been all you ever wanted.”

  “Do not ask me to explain any of this, Bella.” His voice was hoarse. “I cannot.”

  What his sister said was truth. These last few years of his life had been solely dedicated with
ruthless persistence to the furthering of both his party and his own political standing. He very much believed in reform. He had long since given up the naïve notion that he alone could affect change, but he had never stopped believing that his party and his Prime Minister needed him.

  Bella wanted him to choose between the life he had built for himself and the woman he wanted in his arms and in his bed for the rest of his days. Cleo had attempted to force him to recognize that just such a choice may come. He knew now it well may and sooner than he’d supposed.

  “Brother, why would you do this to yourself?”

  “Because to not would be the greatest mistake,” he answered. “Do not think that I haven’t already weighed the ramifications.”

  “I cannot believe it to be so.”

  He frowned. “You need not. But I would warn you, Bella, that you should not entertain any girlish romance between yourself and Mr. Whitney. He is your senior by many years and a man beyond your ken.”

  Bella’s eyes flashed with angry fire. “How dare you?”

  “I dare as the head of this family and as a man who knows what is best for his innocent sister who knows nothing of the hard world around her.”

  “You have so little knowledge of me that I wonder you think yourself a fit judge for whom I may keep company with,” she sniped.

  Thornton clenched his jaw and his fists, trying with great difficulty to stymie his anger and frustration. “I know enough,” he bit out. “You’ll stay away from him and you’ll keep a civil tongue in your head. I’ll not hear another word against Cleo from your mouth. Do you hear?”

  Bella stared at him and he knew instinctively he’d lost whatever respect with which she may have once regarded him. “I hear well enough.”

  But he knew just as well as she that hearing did not mean a blessed thing. She’d gotten headstrong and he feared this was merely the beginning of a new, intrepid Bella. Damned if he wasn’t cut up about it.