Heart’s Temptation Books 1–3

by Scott, Scarlett

  Chapter Five

  Her words struck him with the force of a bullet. Then you need but give it to me. The idea that he was responsible for her happiness was more terrifying than facing a wall of enemy troops. Christ, if only it were that easy. If only he could give in to the madness of desire. If only he could be a suitable husband to her.

  But she knew so little of him. He bore scars far uglier than those he wore on his skin. How could he be a proper husband to such a gentle, sweet innocent? He didn’t think he could. Just the thought scared the hell out of him.

  “Would it were that simple,” he told her at last, releasing her fingers and putting a step’s distance between them for his own sanity. “You must know I would do anything for you.”

  “Not anything,” she denied with a hint of sadness.

  The gathered assemblage began tittering at what he presumed was a particularly witty Shakespeare line. He cast a glance over the glittering ladies. Though they were all turned out to perfection, none could even compare to the woman standing before him. The word “lovely” didn’t begin to do her justice. He wanted her badly.

  But he could not have her.

  “I only seek to protect you from yourself,” he murmured. “One day, you’ll thank me.”

  “So you have recently said,” Bella snapped. “I grow weary of hearing such piffle.”

  He was as frustrated as she sounded. As much as he told himself to stay the hell away from her, he couldn’t seem to resist. It had taken every speck of his conscience to keep from taking her innocence the night before. He had wanted to plunge inside her and lose himself, to make her his.

  Unbidden, images of her lush, naked body rose in his mind. Their sinful interlude had been the most meaningful he’d ever experienced in his life, even unfulfilled. He knew how she tasted, knew the delicious moist heat between her thighs, knew how to bring her to her climax.

  He stifled a groan. He could not continue like this, by God. He shifted his stance, praying his arousal wasn’t noticeable thanks to the cut of his trousers. Christ, he had to distract himself or he would go mad.

  Thornton saved him from making an ass of himself, approaching them with an affable smile.

  “Bella,” the marquis greeted. “Jesse. I trust you’re enjoying our hostess’s damnable parlor games?”

  “Pray excuse me,” Bella muttered, “but I fear I have a megrim. I should like to sit down.”

  Without waiting for their acknowledgment, she disappeared.

  “Damn women,” Thornton growled. “Why must they forever be having the megrims? A great lot of shite if you ask me, friend.”

  Friend. The sobriquet sent another wave of guilt crashing over him. If Thornton knew he’d been naked with his sister the night before, Jesse would be sporting a black eye and broken nose instead of a rigid cock.

  He cleared his throat. “The fairer sex is more delicate than ours.”

  “You’re being far too charitable, old boy.” Thornton grinned. “Fortunate man not to be plagued by the whims of women.”

  “If I had to hazard a guess, I’d reckon you are suffering the whim of one in particular,” he observed.

  “Am I that obvious?” Thornton shook his head. “I am, by Christ, and I know it. I know I should keep away from her, and yet I cannot seem to do so, even at the expense of my honor and reputation.”

  Jesse understood more than his friend knew. “I’m sure you aren’t the first or the last man to be so bedeviled by love.”

  “Spoken like a man who knows.” Thornton raised a brow.

  Jesse nearly swallowed his tongue. Christ, was he that obvious? He hoped like hell Thornton hadn’t noticed the inordinate amount of time he’d been spending in Bella’s company. He decided not to answer his friend. They watched the remainder of the recitations in an uneasy silence.

  Bella’s mood turned quite dour over the next few days. Jesse didn’t want her. Nothing she could do or say would alter his mind. No matter how she tried to throw kindling on the fires of his jealousy, she only wound up with a meager spark. He’d made it plain that he would prefer to marry her off to the Duke of Devonshire than to wed her.

  She decided to cut him from her life, which proved more difficult than learning how to make a proper curtsy had been. And Bella had never been particularly graceful or adept at curtsying. Indeed, it wasn’t long before her efforts were thwarted. He found her in the gardens, where she had taken to hiding in favor of the library for fear he’d discover her there again.

  The crunching of footsteps on the path alerted her to the arrival of an unwanted intruder. She didn’t even need to look up from her book to know it was him. His mere presence set her on edge. He stopped perilously near to her, so close his boots had come into her vision. She didn’t want to see him.

  “Lady Bella, you are precisely the woman I was looking for.”

  His pronouncement earned him a suspicious glance. Their gazes clashed as she looked up. Her breath faltered, her stomach suddenly nervous. She wished she hadn’t met his gaze. “You were seeking me out, Mr. Whitney?” It was far better, she thought, to maintain a polite wall between them. But a swift dart of hope entered her imprudent heart nonetheless.

  “I have something for you.” He reached into his coat and fished out a handsomely bound volume that had been wrapped with a ribbon. “It’s my way of crying truce.”

  Truce. Bella was quite certain she had no idea what truce meant from him. “Do you always dole out books by way of apology? If so, I suspect your library is quite empty.”

  He inclined his head. “Your barbs have the keenest knack for finding their mark.”

  She rose from the bench, weary of craning her neck to look up at him, and slipped the book she’d been reading into the hidden pocket on her gown. “I merely believe in honesty. There appears to be too little of it in this hard world of ours.”

  “I’ve tried my best to be honest with you,” he said, his voice a low, buttery drawl.

  Bella summoned a false smile. “I can only blame myself. Think nothing of it.”

  “That’s the problem, Bella. I do think of it.” His eyes held the same intensity as his voice. She couldn’t look away.

  How he confused her. She wanted him to kiss her. She didn’t want a truce, a book, or an admission. She wanted him to remove the boundaries he’d created. “Why?”

  “I’m not without a heart, Bella. I simply want what is best for you.” He paused as if he were about to say more but didn’t trust it. “Here you are.” He held out the book for her.

  She stared at the volume, at his strong hands so capable of being gentle, of bringing the most exquisite sensations to life within her. She almost didn’t want to accept the gift from him. “You needn’t have, Jesse.”

  “I know.”

  His frank concession had her glancing back up at him, startled. He grinned then, his devilish dimple once again in full show. “I wanted to, Bella. Please take it.”

  She would have preferred his heart, but she wisely kept that bit to herself. “I won’t accept a gift, generous though it may be of you.”

  “It’s not a selfless deed. I’ve missed your companionship and your eager wit. I find you have an unparalleled mind.”

  She couldn’t resist a jibe. “For a girl of my years?”

  “For a woman of your station and beauty. Many ladies are content to be a mere blossom in a vase, lovely to look upon and nothing more. But you are like the wild rose, growing up amongst the vines.”

  She tried in vain not to allow his compliment to start a warm glow seeping through her. “Thank you for your kind words, but I’m still afraid I cannot take the book.”

  “Of course you will.”

  He was certainly sure of himself. Bella was conflicted. She didn’t wish for them to remain at odds. Indeed, even if he didn’t return her feelings, she relished his company. “You’re a stubborn man.”

  “More stubborn than you know, my dear.”

  His grin dissipated. There was a hidd
en meaning to his words, she had no doubt. But she could no sooner make him say what she longed to hear than take flight. She was convinced in that moment that he surely felt something for her. She accepted the book from him, her fingers brushing his.

  “Men and Women,” she read aloud from the spine.

  She glanced back up at him to find his familiar grin back in place, façade restored. “I thought it seemed appropriate, somehow,” he said easily.

  Bella did not particularly appreciate his wit. The subject was a bitter one for her.

  “Robert Browning poems.” She studied the volume, wondering at the meaning behind his gift.

  “I enjoy Love Among the Ruins in particular,” he told her. “I suppose it reminds me of the war in a sense. Have you read it before?”

  “I haven’t,” she admitted. “It seems you have finally bested me in my literary pursuits.”

  A hesitant smile reappeared on his lips. “I’ve read it often over the past few days. It’s long been a favorite of mine, but something made me seek it out again.”

  He was exceptionally handsome this morning. Her heart hurt just looking at him. Perhaps she was foolish to think his cryptic words possessed a hidden lining like the book pockets she’d sewn into her dresses. Had she learned nothing from his repeated rejections of her?

  It would seem she had not for she couldn’t keep herself from asking him the question gnawing at her. “What has renewed your interest?”

  He startled her again by reaching up to touch a curled tendril of hair that had intentionally been left out of her coiffure. “You,” he said simply.

  Bella inhaled on an unsteady breath. The heavy weight of the unspoken emotions between them was already enough to topple her. But the stark longing she saw in his eyes would surely make her lose her composure altogether.

  She turned and pressed a kiss to his fingers, the gesture as ardent as it was reverent. “I’m honored to have been in your thoughts.”

  He caressed her cheek. “There has been little else.”

  The admission shook her. She wanted to throw herself into his arms and forget the world, the house party, propriety, everything. It was incredibly unfair of him to be hot as a scalding teakettle one moment and cold as Wenham Lake ice the next. “Why must you torture me?”

  “If it gives you any comfort, know that I torture myself as surely as I do you,” he whispered. He bowed his head, his lips so near to hers she felt the warmth of his breath fanning over her mouth.

  She gripped the book so tightly its edges cut into her hands. “Do you care for me, Jesse?”

  He stilled. “You are the sister of my oldest friend. Of course I care for you.”

  “Not as Thornton’s sister,” she persisted. “Pray stop using him as a wall to be built between us.”

  Stiffening, he stepped away from her, dashing her hopes of another stolen kiss. “Answering your question will not do either of us a service.”

  “Forgive me if I disagree with you,” she told him, her tone rife with pent-up emotion. “I should very much like to know where I stand.”

  His expression went carefully blank. “There can’t be more than friendship for us, Bella.”

  Friend. Sister. Innocent. Bella wearied of the roles he would have her play. Sadness warred with anger within her. “Then why must you insist upon seeking me out? Why follow me into the gardens when I’ve been doing my best to stay away from you?”

  “Because I can’t stay away from you, goddamn it,” he burst out, his polished veneer cracking to reveal the emotions he battled to hide.

  Bella gaped at him. He sounded furious. She’d never seen him lose his self-possession so completely other than the night she’d gone to his chamber.

  He raked a hand through his hair, leaving it askew. “I can’t stay away,” he said again. “I don’t know why. You’re too damn young and innocent for the likes of me.”

  “Surely not so innocent any longer,” she reminded him. Their heated interlude in his chamber had been haunting her for days. She knew she’d never be the same girl she’d once been. She had tasted passion and she wanted more.

  He sighed and passed a hand over his face. “You are as innocent as you need to be to go to your future husband without shame. That is all that matters.”

  Bella longed to grab him by his coat and shake him. How dare he be so obstinate? “Do you know what truly matters, Jesse?”

  She waited for his answer, but he was silent as a stone, his expression equally hard.

  “Being loved is what matters.” She searched his eyes. “I pity you if you are determined to live the rest of your life without it.”

  He maintained his silence. Bella’s frustration grew to a crashing crescendo.

  “Have you nothing to say?” she demanded.

  “You know it must always be thus,” he told her at last. “My little romantic, I’m afraid I don’t even believe in love.”

  His pronouncement took her by surprise. Such a dearth of passion had not even occurred to her. “It’s not possible,” she denied. “You cannot profess to be an admirer of poetry and great literature and not believe in love.”

  Jesse’s sculpted mouth quirked into a self-deprecating smile. “I haven’t seen much to convince me the kinder nature of man or woman exists.”

  She noted he had said man or woman. Perhaps she had finally hit upon the crux of the matter. “Has a woman hurt you?”

  His gaze grew even more shuttered. “Let us say I was very unwise in my youth and have never forgotten the lessons taught me.”

  He’d suffered a broken heart at the hands of another woman. She was stunned, both that she’d never before thought of such a possibility and that he admitted it. Still, she supposed she shouldn’t be so taken aback.

  Of course he would have loved before. He was over ten years her senior. He had lived an entire life before meeting her. There would necessarily be ladies in his past. But even if her rational brain told her it was only natural, jealousy stirred within her. She hated to think another woman had experienced his heated embrace, his kisses. Perhaps another woman had even lain naked with him and experienced the pleasures to which she had been newly introduced.

  The thought almost made her ill.

  “Were you in love?” she asked, needing to satisfy her curiosity though it might well prove upsetting.

  “I was a blind fool,” he said lowly. “You’d be amazed how ruthless people can be to one another. Maybe it’s war that brings out the monsters in us all. But I’ve seen the cruel side of human nature and I can’t say I ever wish to see it again.”

  There was far more, she sensed, to what he was telling her. He must have loved the mysterious woman from his past. He must have loved her very much. There was still the pain of betrayal in his voice when he spoke, still a strong tide of bitterness.

  Bella touched his coat sleeve. “Whoever she was, she certainly wasn’t worthy of you.”

  “It was a long, long time ago.”

  But not so long ago that it didn’t haunt him still. An unaccountable wave of sadness washed over her. “I wish I could rewrite your history.”

  He withdrew from her touch. The void between them was almost tangible. “Our histories make us who we are, the bad as much as the good.”

  Perhaps he had no regrets. She knew she had no right to feel possessive of him, but her stubborn heart refused to consider him a lost cause. “I suppose you’re correct. But surely there’s no harm in wanting to replace the bad with good.”

  “I’m afraid that’s a Sisyphean feat.”

  “Do you think if we had met before,” she began, only to allow the sentiment to trail away. Like so many things, it was likely best left unspoken.

  “We cannot change who we are or what we’ve done. The book is yours to keep,” he said in a tone devoid of emotion. “Do with it what you will, Lady Bella. It’s all I can give you.”

  He offered her a formal bow and turned away.

  She watched him leave, feeling quite helpless. S
he wanted so much more from him than a mere spine and set of inked pages. But if he remained unwilling to overcome his misguided loyalty to her brother and the demons of his past, what choice did she truly have? He could have taken her that night in his chamber and he had not. Perhaps the time had come for her to put an end to the mad tendre of her youth at long last.

  After his beloved figure had disappeared from view, she stood for a long time in the garden path with the great hedges towering over her. She glanced back down at the pretty volume in her hands, opening it to make a disquieting discovery.

  Mr. Browning had dedicated the collection of poems to his wife.

  As the second and final week of her house party neared its end, Lady Cosgrove crowned her success as a hostess with a Shakespeare-themed mask ball. It was generally considered to be the most important event of the entire fortnight. Ordinarily, Bella would have been aflutter with excitement. She’d chosen her costume with great care. But she couldn’t summon up much enthusiasm given the doldrums that plagued her.

  She danced with the Duke of Devonshire as if she were an automaton, listening to him with half a mind while she searched the throng of revelers for Jesse. He was the man in whose arms she longed to be. Meanwhile, the dowager preened like a happy little owl from a corner of the ballroom, secure in her hopes that Bella would finally snag herself a coronet as a matrimonial prize.

  After she politely disengaged herself from Devonshire, time crept by for Bella with the speed of a century. Still no sign of Jesse, drat the man. She had to admit to herself he was the only person she longed to see even as she was approached by a series of gentlemen. She danced to pass the time. She flirted to cure her boredom. She kept a false smile on her lips and tried not to think too much about how dreadful and empty her life would be without Jesse in the coming months.

  After the house party was over, he would be returning to London while Bella would be off to her brother’s country seat, Marleigh Manor. She knew not when or if she would see him again. The mere thought left her feeling as if a gaping hole had been torn into her heart. It seemed impossible to think that only a fortnight had passed and yet her life had been so irrevocably altered.