Heart’s Temptation Books 1–3

by Scott, Scarlett

  “I beg your pardon?” Hurt flashed through her. “Of course I had no such plans in mind. How could you even suggest something so horrid? Do you not care for me at all? No, don’t answer. Of course you must not or else you would never suggest something so detestable.”

  Now she was well and truly humiliated. What a fool she’d been. He was her senior by many years. She was unsophisticated, a mere girl by his standards. Of course he would want nothing to do with her, and yet she had sought him out, questioned and kissed him as though she had the right, fool that she was.

  “Pray accept my apology,” she murmured through nearly numb lips. “I never intended to distress you. I assure you from this point on, I’ll take care to keep my distance from you.”

  “To hell with keeping a distance,” he nearly growled, his American drawl becoming more pronounced in his ire. “The damage has already been done. I’ll need to seek an audience with your brother.”

  The fiercely protective Thornton would murder him, Bella was certain of it. Had her heart been capable of leaping from her breast and leading her on a merry chase about the chamber, it surely would have in that moment.

  In dawning horror, she pressed her hand over her mouth. “You must not. Thornton shall trounce the both of us. And my mother would have an apoplectic fit. I’d be ruined.”

  “Bella, you’re the innocent sister of my greatest friend. I don’t have much choice.”

  “It was perfectly acceptable of you to kiss me when no one was watching,” she pointed out. “But you’ve been caught out, and suddenly it’s wrong?”

  “Damn it.” He raked a hand through his hair. “It’s been wrong the whole time, but it’s gone too far now.”

  “No,” Bella rushed to deny. “No one need be the wiser. I don’t want to be the cause of dissension between you and Thornton, nor do I relish the prospect of a rush to judgment.”

  She wanted pursuit and passion. She did not want her brother’s misguided idea of sibling loyalty to destroy what dismal chance she had of impressing Mr. Whitney. She wanted to do things in the proper way.

  The shifting expression on his handsome face said he was at war with himself, uncertain of how to proceed. While it was true that they had indeed gone too far, it was apparent he had no wish to hasten into a forced marriage either.

  “Please,” she pressed. “You cannot go to Thornton. Even if you don’t care for me at all, I pray you’ll grant me this boon.”

  “Very well, my dear.” His voice was severe. “But you must in turn promise me you’ll never again find yourself in a compromising position with a gentleman. Not all your suitors will be blessed with a conscience.”

  He was once again speaking down to her as though she were a pitiable and callow youth. She didn’t appreciate it, especially given his particular lack of conscience. If he cared he’d upset her, it didn’t show. Truth told, she was beginning to find him rather arrogant. She was fast realizing that not all life’s choices were as simple as she would have them be.

  It was time to put some distance between them. “I suppose I shall count myself fortunate that you have one then, Mr. Whitney.” She dropped into a mocking curtsy. “I bid you good day.”

  Jesse felt like an utter bastard. He had always prided himself on his impeccable control. In the war, his life had been chaos, every day a battle against death, against the enemy, even against those he’d loved. For the past fifteen years, he’d taken care to avoid turmoil. He had lived a quiet life, poured his efforts into business, into travel abroad. Never had he accosted an innocent young lady with passion, not once and certainly not twice.

  Perhaps he was descending into madness. Lord knew it had happened to some of his fellow soldiers. He’d thought he was beyond that dark time, beyond the nightmares he’d suffered intermittently ever since, but something in the last few days had brought it creeping back to him. He’d found it impossible to sleep for fear of the dreams that threatened to claim him.

  How could he ever face Thornton again? Hellfire. He had promised not to reveal the truth to his best friend, and perhaps his motivation had been more selfish than selfless. He truly treasured the brotherly bonds he’d forged with Thornton. And if he were brutally honest, he didn’t trust himself with an innocent heart like Bella’s. He didn’t have enough of himself left to give her. Certainly, he couldn’t love her the way she deserved. The war had ruined him. Lavinia had ruined him. Bella was a kind soul who didn’t know just how deep his wounds ran.

  As he beat his hasty retreat from the library, he was so consumed by his tumultuous thoughts that he nearly collided with a set of enormous gray skirts. He was infinitely dismayed to realize the skirts belonged to the dowager marchioness. She sniffed the air as if she smelled something foul and sliced him with a glare.

  “Do watch where you’re walking, Mr. Whittlesby,” she took him to task.

  “It’s Whitney, my lady,” he corrected although she’d been mispronouncing his name for years now. “Please accept my apology. I hope I didn’t give you a start.”

  “That is precisely what I said.” She looked down her nose at him, her expression one she might reserve for horse manure that had the effrontery to appear in her line of vision. “I daresay it would do to be more careful when traversing the halls, Whittlesby. Truly, I could have been injured.”

  The dowager was a formidable opponent. She couldn’t be more different from her lovely daughter. Bella was beautiful and warm in nature, always ready to give. The dowager, on the other hand, had the appearance of a peregrine falcon, dark and sharp-beaked. A hunter.

  “Once again, I offer my apologies.” He gave her a bow. “May I escort you somewhere?”

  Her eyes narrowed with what he supposed was either disgust or suspicion. “Why are you not at the hunt?”

  Ah, it was suspicion then. “I do not care for sport,” he said simply.

  “What sort of man doesn’t care for sport?” She sniffed.

  The sort of man who knew the scent of gunpowder and death, who still heard the cries of the wounded in his sleep. The sort of man who knew what it was like to be given a uniform and a musket as a naive young country boy and sent into battle, who had watched more than one soldier take his last breath. But she needn’t know that much. “You may place the blame on my American sensibilities.”

  “Indeed. I have heard all manner of social atrocities committed at the hands of your countrymen. Why, I’m given to understand many of your people cannot even bother to dine with the use of cutlery. One can only hope your presence on our august shores will be improving upon your character.”

  He begged to differ. It rather seemed his character was going to the dogs.

  “Indeed, my lady. One can only hope.” He bowed again, anxious to be anywhere other than in her arrogant presence. “I bid you good day.”

  “One more thing, Whittlesby,” she called out when he would have strode away.

  He turned to her. “Madam?”

  “You will do well to stay away from my daughter.” Her expression hardened. “She is to have a coronet and nothing less when she marries. There is no place for you in her life and I’ll not allow her to be ruined by some American jackanapes.”

  “I hold Lady Bella in highest esteem,” he assured her honestly. “You have my word I will keep my distance.”

  He just hoped like hell he could keep it.

  Chapter Three

  A great deal of scandal was brewing at Lady Cosgrove’s country house party. Bella was kept entertained with the company’s antics by her maid Smith as she prepared for dinner. There was all manner of belowstairs gossip, from Lady Aylesford spending far too much time with Lord Ribblesdale to Lady Grimsby falling asleep at the breakfast table.

  Thankfully, none of it pertained to Bella. She’d been able to seek out the kind Lady Stokey, who had merely waved off Bella’s concerns. She’d been very relieved at the woman’s understanding. It had saved her from ruin and worse. After all, she had no wish to be a cause for resentment to Mr.
Whitney.

  Bella sat still before a mirror, watching Smith’s animated reflection as she worked her hair into a sophisticated knot with sprays of curls framing her face. “My dear Smith, you do work wonders.”

  She wanted to look at her best advantage for the Elizabethan-themed dinner awaiting her. Bella had decided to try a different tactic in her battle with Mr. Whitney. She was determined to put on her loveliest evening dress and flirt madly with every man in sight. Every man, that was, except for Mr. Whitney.

  “You have the most beautiful hair, my lady,” Smith chattered happily. “I’m fortunate you were blessed with such thick, glossy locks. Miss Chilton’s lady’s maid says it takes mountains of false hair to accomplish even the simplest styles.”

  Miss Margot Chilton, also in attendance at the house party, was not a favorite of Bella’s. “One must also wonder how much pearl powder her poor maid must apply to that horrendous nose of hers.”

  Smith laughed. “Oh, I shouldn’t say aught as I’ve got quite a beak myself.”

  “But Miss Chilton makes it so easy to malign her.” Bella wrinkled her nose. “I suppose I should exhibit more sympathy, but she is quite awful.”

  “Fret not, my lady. She was gossiping about Lord Thornton’s row with Lord Ravenscroft, saying the two were fighting over Lady Scarbrough’s affections.”

  Good heavens. Her brother, the supposedly staid politician, was currently losing his head over the married Lady Scarbrough, and it was causing the dowager no ends of distress. Apparently, he had actually come to blows with the Earl of Ravenscroft earlier in the day while a large audience watched in fascinated horror. Bella was aghast that her brother had sunk to such depravity. She had scarcely even seen him thus far at the house party, aside from his daily escort to the breakfast room and sitting at the same table as he during dinners. She couldn’t make sense of the sudden distance he had put between himself and his family. The brother she knew had always been above reproach. It was the odious Lady Scarbrough who turned him into an utter lunatic, she had no doubt. But of course, love could do strange things to a person. She knew that all too well.

  Bella sighed. “Oh dear. What did she say?”

  “Forgive me, my lady, but she said your brother was fighting with the earl over Lady Scarbrough’s affections. She swears she saw Lady Scarbrough in the thick of it.”

  “Thank you for telling me, Smith. Could you please do your best to blunt the talk belowstairs?” She frowned as she worried for her brother’s once-sterling reputation. She feared he was on a course bearing no positive outcome.

  “I will of course,” Smith offered. “You know where my loyalty lies.”

  A thought occurred to her. Perhaps she was being overly cautious, but she wanted to make certain Lady Stokey was trustworthy. “Smith, have you caught wind of any other scandals?”

  “Nothing more than the ordinary.” Smith put the finishing touches on her coiffure. “There you are, my lady. Pretty as a picture.”

  Bella studied her reflection. She had to admit that Smith’s dab hand had truly worked its magic this evening. “You’ve done a very fine job, Smith. I’m fortunate to have someone as talented as you to help me with my toilette.”

  Her maid flushed. “Thank you, Lady Bella. Is there aught else I can do for you?”

  “That will be all, thank you.” She cast a critical eye over her evening frock as Smith took her leave. It was a lush cream satin that had been designed by the great Worth. Her skirt was adorned with embroidered roses while French lace trimmed her perfectly fitted cuirass-style bodice. The dress was draped and tiered to perfection, molding her figure to advantage. And though the baleen stays supporting her cinched waist were a trifle uncomfortable, she wasn’t about to complain. Worth was truly a master. If she couldn’t impress Mr. Whitney this evening, she never would.

  For reasons that perhaps had more to do with the meddling dowager’s influence on Lady Cosgrove and less to do with their hostess’s concern for social niceties, Bella was seated nearly an ocean away from Mr. Whitney. But the distance between them didn’t serve to curtail her plans as her mother may have hoped. She used the opportunity to her advantage by plying the Duke of Devonshire with as much attention as was politely possible in hopes Mr. Whitney might notice.

  Devonshire made for an agreeable dinner partner, but she couldn’t seem to keep from casting surreptitious glances Mr. Whitney’s way. Several times, she swore she felt his intense gaze on her only to find him laughing with the odious Margot Chilton. It seemed he was determined to make good on his word. Bella longed to fling a great glob of her dinner all over Miss Chilton’s dress, but she suppressed the urge in favor of civility.

  By the time the ladies took their leave of the men, Bella’s hopes were quite dashed. She had turned herself out to tremendous effect, had sought to make him unbearably jealous. And she had failed.

  Perhaps she was nothing more than the naïve girl he believed her to be after all. The ladies were shepherded to the drawing room for a series of parlor games that Bella found almost as loathsome as she did Margot Chilton. She wished she had a book to read.

  Her mother presided over her like a hawk, her countenance grim.

  “That Scarbrough woman will be the ruin of us all,” the dowager lamented in a careful undertone.

  Across the room, Margot Chilton volunteered herself for the first round of charades. Bella wanted to rip the false hair from her head. But she refused to allow her anger to show. “Maman, I do believe my brother is playing a most willing role in this scandal.”

  “Men are weak-willed,” her mother declared. “Your father had the character of a bowl of aspic. I am decidedly disappointed that Thornton seems to be patterning himself in a similar vein. It’s in the blood, I suppose.”

  Margot began gesticulating in the center of the chamber.

  “You’re a donkey,” Bella guessed unkindly.

  That earned her a narrow-eyed glared from her apparent rival. Bella sent Margot a sweet smile in return.

  “Parlor games,” the dowager hissed, “are vulgar. I insist you cease playing immediately.”

  “Perhaps you are a cow,” Bella called, ignoring her mother entirely.

  Margot’s glare turned frigid as Wenham Lake ice.

  “A remarkably large sheep?” Bella suggested next.

  “Arabella,” her mother snapped. “Listen to your poor, suffering mother for once in your life. What did I do to deserve such unnatural children?”

  “I am sorry, Maman,” she fibbed. “I quite lost my head.”

  The dowager sighed. “It is bad enough Thornton has lowered himself to pugilism before the cream of society over some lightskirt.”

  “I daresay you ought to lower your voice.” Bella was aware of the proximity of the notorious gossip Lady Grimsby even if her mother was not. The only time that lady was not listening for tidbits was when she was snoring over her eggs.

  This time, the dowager sniffed. “Nonsense. Now how did you fare in conversation with the Duke of Devonshire? A worthy match there, I tell you.”

  “He’s dull,” Bella grumbled, quite forgetting to play her normal game of agreeable daughter. “All he did was natter on about rebuilding his country seat.” In truth, he hadn’t been a bad dinner partner, but he was simply not the man who occupied her every thought.

  “You could do far worse than a gentleman like the duke,” the dowager pointed out. “Thank the blessed angels that you’ve stopped speaking to that awful American. I was grateful indeed when Lady Cosgrove seated you nearer to someone more appropriate to your station as the daughter of a marchioness. If one doesn’t stand on ceremony, one doesn’t stand on anything at all.”

  “I was under the impression one stands on one’s feet,” she quipped, her irritation from Mr. Whitney’s dismissal of her at dinner making her bold.

  “Hold your tongue, Lady Arabella. When did you become possessed of such deplorable manners?” She pressed a dramatic hand to her brow. “The world has gone to the do
gs, I tell you.”

  That rather gave her an idea. Margot Chilton was still pantomiming, no one having guessed her less than clever rendition of whatever she was pretending to be.

  “You are a rabid dog,” Bella guessed next.

  “I give up!” Margot shouted in a most unladylike lack of decorum. “A baker. I was a baker.” With a ferocious frown in Bella’s direction, she all but stomped back to her seat.

  Maybe it was small of her, but Bella felt a surge of satisfaction. If she’d had to suffer through extra whalebone crushing her all evening and hadn’t earned so much as an appreciative look from Mr. Whitney, at least she could win one battle.

  “Really, Bella,” her mother clucked sotto voce. “I know the Chilton girl is dreadful, but that was cruel.”

  She shrugged. “I was simply exercising my creative liberties.”

  The dowager’s eyes turned to slits of suspicion. “Has this anything to do with the attention a certain American blackleg paid her at dinner?”

  “I hadn’t noticed,” she lied again.

  “A liar is worse than a tradesman.” Her mother sniffed with disdain.

  “I haven’t the slightest idea what you’re talking about.” Bella searched the assembled ladies for an escape route. “If you don’t mind, I think I shall go have a word with Lady Stokey.”

  “She’s the sister to that infernal Scarbrough woman,” the dowager protested.

  Bella once again chose to ignore her.

  After the men rejoined the ladies following dinner, Jesse had a difficult time ignoring Bella. She was an ethereal beauty in a gown that made the lush woman’s body hiding beneath the silken trappings all too apparent. And all too tempting. Dear God, he’d been hiding his arousal for most of the night, and no amount of staring at Miss Margot Chilton’s sizeable nose could make it abate.