Heart’s Temptation Books 1–3

by Scott, Scarlett

Of all the women in the world, why did he have to want Bella? The very last thing Thornton needed, in addition to the troubles he’d already created by brawling with Ravenscroft, was to worry about his innocent sister being ravished by his trusted friend. If fate had any sympathy, Jesse would never have met her. Why couldn’t she be horse-faced and dim-witted?

  She’d been gracing the Duke of Devonshire with an obvious amount of attention. Damn it if didn’t bother him. Across the drawing room, she was at it again. Margot Chilton was an irritating presence at his side. He tried to pay attention to the girlish drivel she spouted.

  “I do so love to draw, don’t you, Mr. Whitney?” she asked coyly.

  “I’ve never been particularly good at the arts,” he admitted, trying to wrest his gaze from the stunning Bella.

  “I have a fair hand for watercolors as well.”

  He forced himself to look at Miss Chilton. She was not a bad sort, but she didn’t have much wit and she certainly lacked Bella’s loveliness. “Indeed?”

  “I confess I listened with much fascination to your stories of the American West the other evening at dinner.” She smiled tentatively.

  He didn’t know much more about the Western world of outlaws and thieves than anyone else, but Bella had asked him to regale the party, he recalled. He knew what he read in the papers, and he’d known of Jesse James during his war days. The stories of the carnage wrought by James under Bloody Bill Anderson were legendary. But that was hardly a fit subject for a lady’s ears.

  “I’m delighted to have entertained you,” he told Miss Chilton, wondering when he could escape her clutches.

  He heard Bella’s sweet laughter joining with Devonshire’s. It was akin to someone pouring ice water down his back. Jesse told himself to leave her to her comfortable fate with a man like the duke. He was an aristocrat, kind if not a bit staid, and would provide her with the life she deserved. Jesse, on the other hand, was all manners of wrong for her. He’d learned the painful way what havoc a relationship based upon lust could create. Hadn’t he already caused enough damage with foolish decisions?

  But Bella, it seemed, was willing to test fate though he might not be. She approached him, her hand on Devonshire’s arm, a smile at the ready. He couldn’t look away.

  He bowed. “Lady Arabella, Your Grace, good evening to you both.”

  “The same to you, Mr. Whitney.” Bella offered him her hand.

  Jesse took it and kissed it, wanting with all the passion raging through him to yank her into his arms and take her away. Instead, he released her as though her touch didn’t make him feel as if he’d just downed too much whiskey.

  The duke took Miss Chilton’s proffered hand, bussing the air above it. They all exchanged insipid pleasantries for a time. Jesse was hopelessly ensnared in Bella’s gaze. Unless he was mistaken, he detected longing in her expression for just a brief moment. God help him, he didn’t think he’d ever wanted a woman more in his entire existence.

  “This evening was quite unique, wouldn’t you concur?” Devonshire asked their small assemblage at large.

  “It was lovely,” Jesse agreed, but he didn’t remove his enthralled gaze from Bella. If he had thought her beautiful before tonight, he thought her a goddess now.

  “I did think some of the ladies were perhaps overdressed for the occasion,” Miss Chilton said, wearing a sour pout. The dismissive glance she gave to Bella made it plain she spoke of Bella’s elaborate gown.

  “I too noticed an excessive amount of false hair,” Bella snipped back at Miss Chilton. The smile on her lips was feline enough to show the kitten wasn’t afraid to make use of her formidable claws.

  There was a decided amount of feminine animosity in the air. Now that Bella mentioned it, Miss Chilton’s hair did seem to possess an unnatural amount of volume to it. And dear Lord, was there a stuffed bird lurking in there? How had he failed to notice before? The thing looked positively evil.

  The expression on poor Miss Chilton’s face turned bilious. “Lady Bella, I can’t imagine what you speak of. I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

  “Indeed.” Bella’s voice was sugar itself. “Pray forgive me if I misspoke.”

  And she was patently insincere. Who knew of the tigress lurking beneath her exquisite shell? Devonshire appeared flummoxed by the entire exchange, but Jesse couldn’t tell if it was the references to fashion or the obvious venom spewing between the ladies.

  He had to admit he was rather enjoying himself. It occurred to him that perhaps Bella was as jealous as he. To test his theory, he turned to Miss Chilton. “May I say that your coiffure is astoundingly pretty?”

  “You may indeed.” She flushed with pleasure. “Thank you, Mr. Whitney.”

  Bella’s eyes were on him, hard as flint. He almost smiled.

  “The weather has been spot on for hunting, wouldn’t you agree?” Devonshire intoned, perhaps seeking to redirect their dialogue into safer channels.

  “It certainly has,” Jesse responded, merely agreeing out of a sense of politeness.

  “I tell you, there’s nothing finer than the scent of gunpowder and the crack of shots on an English country morning,” Devonshire continued.

  Jesse recalled all too well the scent of gunpowder, along with the scent of rotting flesh in the July sun and the thunderous roar of cannon balls exploding, limbs flying through the air. It was as if a trigger had been pressed inside him. Suddenly, the war unleashed itself on him again. Whoever had said war was hell had been wrong. The real hell was what came afterward.

  The last thing he needed was to appear a madman to the glittering lords and ladies around him. They needn’t know the savagery lurking beneath his gentleman’s exterior. The heavy dinner he’d consumed began churning in his stomach and his skin went hot. It was time to take his leave. He avoided all the gazes directed at him. “If you’ll excuse me, I fear I’m weary.”

  Without waiting for their responses, he strode from the drawing room, hoping like hell he could make it back to his chamber without doing something foolish. Even after all the time that had passed, there were still moments when the horrors he’d witnessed assaulted him. It recurred with far less frequency now, but he knew the signs well enough. There was never any telling what caused it, but when the fires of Hades were at his heels, he knew when to run.

  Something was wrong with Mr. Whitney, Bella knew instantly, and it wasn’t as commonplace as the jealousy she’d hoped to stir within him. No indeed, it was something far more profound and far more dangerous. He’d looked as if he were about to cast up his accounts just before beating a hasty retreat, and she knew enough about him to realize it likely was related to the duke’s unaware reference to hunting.

  I have no need for guns in my life, he’d said.

  But she suspected it was far more than a dislike of guns that kept him from a country grouse shoot. Thornton had hinted once that something very bad had happened to Mr. Whitney in the war. He’d been a young man then. She couldn’t fathom the destruction and death he must have lived through. Her own life had been as easy as an afternoon tea by comparison.

  “Do you suppose I said something amiss?” Devonshire wondered, his expression one of genuine puzzlement.

  “I’m sure Mr. Whitney was merely fatigued,” Bella hastened to dismiss his concern.

  She didn’t want anyone to deduce what she had about him. For some inexplicable reason, a fierce need to protect him rose within her. She knew then she had to go to him. You cannot forever be a man alone, she’d told him, and she meant those words. He’d given her no reason to have hopes he might one day grow to care for her. But she cared for him regardless of his emotions. There was no earthly way she could allow a man in such obvious pain to suffer on his own.

  Bella had to escape the drawing room at the first opportunity.

  Her course of action settled, she pretended to catch the dowager’s eye. “Dear me, it looks as if my mother requires my assistance,” she said in a light tone she didn’t feel. “If you will
both excuse me?”

  She curtseyed and beat a path to her mother. It didn’t escape her notice that for once, she was running toward her mother rather than away. Bella hoped the dowager wouldn’t notice anything was wrong. Her mother could be rather canny in the most unwanted situations.

  “Bella, darling.” The dowager beamed at her as she took up her dutiful role at her mother’s side once more. “I was just having a most improving discussion with Lady Cosgrove.”

  Their hostess appeared slightly aggrieved and it wouldn’t surprise Bella to learn her mother had somehow insulted her. Lady Cosgrove was a mild-mannered and genial lady. Bella would have to mend fences. She sighed. “Lady Cosgrove, we must thank you for a wonderful house party. Truly, you have outdone yourself thus far.”

  “Thank you, my dear Lady Bella.” Their hostess’s frown eased. “I was just telling your mother it is a shame indeed that we shan’t be graced with your recitation for our Shakespearean theater.”

  Bella cut her mother with a glare. The dowager had forbade Bella’s participation because she didn’t deem the recitation of Shakespeare appropriate. Dealing with her mother truly could be vexing at times. “Please accept my apologies, my lady.”

  “Accepted, dear girl.” Their hostess rose from the settee. “If you will excuse me, I must continue mingling.”

  When Lady Cosgrove flitted away, Bella turned to the dowager. “Maman, must you insist upon being so stringent with Shakespeare? It is only innocent fun, you know.”

  “Dramas are coarse and common self-indulgences better suited to the poor than anyone of consequence,” the dowager stated in an august tone. “And as for Shakespeare, the man championed the eating of babies! Utterly preposterous.”

  “Maman,” Bella was compelled to protest, aghast at her mother’s lack of literary acumen. “We’ve been over this before. That was Mr. Swift, and it was satire.”

  “Tut.” Her mother frowned with unparalleled vehemence. “I forbid you to speak of it again.”

  “Very well.” Perhaps this was her opportunity to flee. “I find I’m quite done in, Maman. I think I shall make an early evening of it.”

  “What of the duke? I should think you’d want his ear for at least a bit longer. You can’t leave him to suffer the company of that Chilton chit. Her father is a mere viscount and a pockets-to-let drunkard at that.”

  “I fear I must.” She sighed, trying to sound her feeblest. “I truly am fatigued.”

  “Very well.” Her mother gave in. “I shall accompany you.”

  Drat. She didn’t want to arouse suspicion, but neither did she want to be encumbered by her mother’s presence. “I wouldn’t wish to curtail your enjoyment of the evening,” she tried as nonchalantly as she could manage.

  “Nonsense. I’m far too old for drawing room pleasantries. I daresay I don’t care for most of the assemblage here anyway.” Her mother announced this last loudly enough to be overheard as she rose and fluffed her ever-present gray skirts.

  Dear heavens. The dowager certainly wasn’t about to make this easy on her. With another suffering sigh, she played the dutiful daughter and followed her mother out of the chamber.

  Once in the safe confines of her bedchamber, Bella rang for her maid and went to great lengths to uphold the pretense that she was planning an early slumber. She allowed Smith to undress her and take down her hair and dismissed her as usual. After Smith was gone, Bella hurried to put on her least fussy frock, a demure morning gown that she could manage to wear without the encumbrance of a corset. She bound her hair into a simple bun.

  What she was about to attempt was extraordinarily ill-advised. If she were caught sneaking about in the halls as an unattached miss, her reputation would be reduced to ruins. But she’d seen the haunted expression on Mr. Whitney’s handsome face. She knew he needed her.

  Her mind firmly made, she peeked out into the hall. A servant bustled away from her in the dim light, turned a corner and disappeared down a back stair. Beyond that, there wasn’t another soul in sight. She slipped from the chamber, holding her breath when the door emitted a rather obvious creak. She fervently hoped the remainder of the guests would be occupied in the drawing room for at least enough time for her to locate Mr. Whitney’s chamber.

  As quietly and quickly as she could, she started off down the hall, scanning each name placard. Every groan of a noisy floorboard sent her heart plummeting to her slipper-shod feet. She was acutely aware of the sound she made. It seemed hours passed as she traveled nearly the entire length of the Tudor wing. Just as she was beginning to despair, she found it.

  Mr. Jesse Whitney’s bedchamber. She had no business being there, but an overwhelming thrill skittered through her all the same. She cast frantic looks about her again before summoning the nerve to deliver a tentative rap on his door.

  No answer.

  She tried again. Still nothing could be heard on the other side. Her conscience warred with her heart before her heart won and she tried the knob. The door opened with a barely audible squeak.

  “Who the hell’s there?”

  The otherworldly growl was almost unrecognizable as Mr. Whitney’s. But there was his telltale drawl. She knew a moment of fear as she peered into the poorly lit chamber.

  “It’s Bella. May I enter?” She hovered at the threshold, praying no one would appear and catch her about to commit the unthinkable sin for an unwed lady.

  “Bella?”

  Her eyes adjusted to the darkness. He had lit a lone gas lamp on low. And dear heavens, he’d removed his jacket, waistcoat and shirt. He was bare-chested and magnificent, wearing only his trousers, leaning against the large oak bed. There was an intensity in his voice she’d never heard before.

  “Are you unwell?” She took care to keep her voice no louder than a whisper.

  “For the love of Christ, go back to your chamber, Lady Bella.”

  “No.” Hoping she’d made the right choice, she stepped into his chamber and closed the door at her back.

  “You don’t know what you’re doing,” he warned, stalking toward her even though he had told her to leave.

  She instinctively took a step in retreat. “I thought perhaps you needed a friend.”

  Bella couldn’t help but notice how broad and muscular his chest was, dappled with whorls of blond hair. His stomach was taut as a drum. Her mouth went dry. He’d been stripped of his gentleman’s airs. He seemed savage, filled with raw emotion. An answering heat burst into flame inside her. She rather liked the stranger in his place who looked at her as if he wanted to devour her.

  A feral grin curved his lips. “It isn’t a friend I’m in need of, Bella.”

  She knew she should not ask, but she had never been very good at doing as she ought. “What is it you need?”

  He stopped inches from her. “You have by the time I count to fifteen to get out.” Even as he spoke the words, he reached out to caress her waist with a possessiveness he’d never before shown.

  Without her corset’s rigid barrier, she could feel his large hands splaying over her, the power and heat so barely contained. Bella took a deep breath and cupped his face. “I won’t leave you,” she vowed.

  “One,” he muttered, already working at the double line of buttons on her bodice. “Two.”

  Her body was on fire with longing. She wanted very much to kiss him, to comfort him. To make him whole. “Jesse,” she whispered, emboldened enough by the intimacy of the setting to use his given name. “You needn’t exercise your knowledge of arithmetic on my behalf.”

  “Fifteen,” he skipped ahead.

  “I think you may have forgotten numbers three through fourteen,” she offered needlessly.

  “You don’t know how much danger you’re in right now,” he warned.

  “I don’t care,” she countered.

  “You don’t know me.” He tore a whole series of buttons from their moorings. “You haven’t the slightest clue as to the madness rotting my brain.”

  “I don’t believe i
t’s madness.” Bella searched his gaze, seeing the stark pain, the anguish lurking in his eyes. “I believe you’ve been scarred by what you’ve seen.”

  “Goddamn it. You have no idea.” He closed his eyes and pressed his forehead against hers. “Forgive me. I have no right to touch you with such familiarity. I’m an animal.”

  His profanity took her aback but failed to deter her. “I knew when I saw your face in the drawing room. I knew instantly that something had come loose inside you.”

  “I don’t understand why.” He buried his face in her neck, inhaling deeply as if he wanted to drink in her scent. “It’s been fifteen years for God’s sake. All it requires is one pompous prick in a drawing room mentioning guns, and I’m back to the beginning.”

  A shudder racked his strong body. She slid an arm around his lean waist, yearning to comfort him any way she could. Her heart hurt for him. With her free hand, she stroked the silken strands of his golden hair. “You mustn’t punish yourself.”

  He pulled back to stare down at her, his expression severe. “Thank Christ you didn’t come to me sooner. I was out of my head. I could have done you harm.”

  She was certain he needed to unleash the torment within him and that he unjustly punished himself. “I don’t believe for one instant that you would have ever harmed me, Jesse. I do know you despite what you may think. You’ve revealed much of yourself to me, perhaps without even being aware.”

  “I pray to God you’re right.” He dropped his head again, resting it this time upon her breast. “I would never want to hurt you. It’s merely that I don’t trust myself when the storm comes upon me.”

  Bella rubbed his back in soothing motions. “I told you before that you cannot forever be a man alone, and I meant that.”

  “You are so sweet and innocent.” Jesse—for he would always have to be Jesse to her from this point on—pressed a kiss to her neck. It was reverent. It was passionate.

  It was the feather that pushed her off a cliff.

  Bella was his forever. She knew it then with absolute certainty. “Not so sweet and innocent,” she murmured, her hands going to the fastening of his trousers.