The Earl's Temptation

by Emma V. Leech

  There was an air about him that made her afraid to look up and meet his eyes but really what was the point in ignoring it. Why should he be angry with her? He wanted her to make a brilliant match. It had been him after all who had joked about having young men throwing themselves at her feet. Surely if that was truly his ambition for her future, a duke would be the height of achievement and everything he could want for her to have. She swallowed, finding her mouth dry and all too aware of the heat of his large hand holding hers as he positioned her for the waltz, and then she looked up.

  Her breath caught at the intensity of his gaze on hers and she found herself powerless to look away. There was tension in every line of his body, she could feel the taut muscle beneath her hand where it rested on his heavy shoulder and she wished he would say something. The silence surrounded them, as though it had sliced them apart from everyone else in the room and they existed in another place entirely. There was only Alex, and his eyes on her, eyes that seemed filled with too many emotions for her to decipher, no matter how she tried as she stared in the grey. It was like looking upon a winter sea, ever changing, dangerous with turmoil, threatening to drown her and never let her go if she dared to get too close to the perilous undertow.

  She stared back at him, defying the warning she saw there and hoping he could read the thoughts in her mind ... drown me, hold me down, never let me go.

  ***

  Alex sat in the carriage on the way home from the ball with his thoughts snarled up in a tangle of emotions. The whole evening had been torture of the most intolerable kind imaginable. Though the worst part of it had undoubtedly been watching her dance with that bastard Sindalton. The duke's dark gaze had left him in no doubt whatsoever of where the scoundrel's thoughts were when he had taken Céleste in his arms for the waltz. The fact that everyone around him insisted on remarking as to what a striking couple the two of them made hadn't helped in the least. But when he had seen the bastard wink at her, practically announcing his interest to everyone in the room, his reaction had been a shock to him.

  For a moment he had felt unsteady as a wave of jealousy and rage swept over him, but it hadn't been those emotions that had hurt him the most. Fear. Cold and sickening it had wrapped itself around his heart like the hand of a cruel god, posed to rip it from his chest at the slightest provocation. Because whilst he had told himself he could live with the sacrifice of watching her marry another - a good man, a man who would love her and respect her and never bring her shame by the actions of his past - giving her to one as besmirched as he would kill him. He would never recover. But the pretty blush on Céleste's face and the soft glances she'd cast up at the handsome duke left him in no doubt that she was not immune to the man's charms.

  By the time the waltz had finished his emotions were at such a pitch he had practically snatched Céleste's hand and dragged her back to the floor for his own dance. Too desperate to erase the memory of that man from her thoughts and have her think only of him once more, he took possession of her hand.

  He wondered if she had the slightest idea what she'd done to him? He closed his eyes and remembered the feel of her in his arms, the now familiar scent of her favourite perfume, and the more subtle fragrance that lay beneath it that was uniquely her and her alone. The simple scent of honeysuckle and sunshine that brought back memories of waking and find her in his arms, her golden hair spread over his chest. Oh God, why hadn't he taken her then, when he could? When she had been his and his alone, before the world had seen her and discovered just what a treasure they had almost lost. Before every man in the bloody world had seen her and coveted what was his.

  Giving her up to allow her a better life, a chance with a better, more honourable man was one thing. But he was damned if he'd lose her to Sindalton or one of his ilk. He'd heard the rumours over the past days in town. The man was in the market for a wife, and the bastard was wealthy enough to overlook Céleste's lack of a dowry. He wasn't just toying with her, he meant to marry her and make her a duchess.

  His throat worked with unwanted emotion as he tried to formulate a plan. He would have to speak to her, warn her as to exactly what kind of man she was dealing with before things went any further. Maybe he could halt this folly before it went any further.

  The carriage drew up in front of his London residence in Mayfair and he stepped down, handing down his Aunts and a yawning Henri who looked like she was more than relieved to be back.

  Céleste, however, looked just as bright and alive as she had when he'd first seen her this evening, and his breath caught as she put her gloved hand in his and he handed her down. Get a grip, man, he cursed himself.

  The butler let them in and they handed their coats and gloves to the footman and everyone said a weary goodnight and began to climb the stairs.

  "Céleste," he said, stopping her with a touch of his fingertip against her arm. She looked up at him, her wide blue eyes questioning, and it was all he could do not to allow the fingertip to trail down the length of her arm, over her satiny skin. "May I have a word with you before you retire?"

  "Of course, my Lord," she replied, smiling at him. She glanced up at Aunt Seymour who gave her small smile and a nod of agreement before continuing on her way to bed.

  Céleste stepped away from the stairs and followed him to his study.

  "Can I get you a drink? A glass of ratafia perhaps?" he asked.

  "No, thank you, my Lord."

  "I think perhaps you may call me Alex now?" he said, smiling at her. She seemed far too composed, he thought, remembering how carefree she had used to be in his presence. Though of course he had hoped to cure her of that. How well his aunts had taught her. Now she seemed perfectly indifferent to his proximity. Perversely he felt the need to do something about that. He wanted to see desire flare in her eyes as it had been wont to do when he was close to her.

  "As you like, Alex," she replied with a polite smile, watching him as he fixed himself a drink. He saw her gaze on his glass and remembered that she had a fondness for brandy, which of course was quite unsuitable for a young lady. He took a sip from the glass, allowing the fine spirit to slide over his tongue, appreciating the warmth and the subtle flavours of nutmeg and vanilla. He had a sudden, desperate desire to taste it on her tongue and before he could stop himself he offered her his glass.

  "Would you like to try?"

  She looked up at him, those wide blue eyes watchful. Taking a step forward she didn't reach for the glass as he had expected but simply raised her chin a little. His pulse picked up, a soft thundering under his skin as he moved the glass to her mouth and pressed it softly against her lips. She opened her mouth a little as he tilted the glass and closed her eyes as she took a sip.

  Alex swallowed, trying to tamp down the surge of desire as he moved the glass away and her tongue swept out, tasting the lingering traces of brandy on her lips. He was frozen by the desire to reach down and take her mouth for himself, to search out the taste of the brandy on her lips, to spill the rest of the glass over her skin and chase every decadent drop from her flesh with his tongue.

  "Mmmm," she said, the sound sultry and decadent in the dark seclusion of his study. "That is very good."

  He took a breath and forced himself to take a step back from her, though his eyes couldn't seem to tear themselves away from her mouth.

  "Your accent," he said, his voice rather hoarse. "You've lost your accent."

  "Yes," she said, smiling at him. "I have."

  He frowned, inexplicably bereft.

  "Aren't you pleased?" she asked him, with one slight lift of her eyebrow. "That is what you wanted isn't it?"

  "No," he replied, aware that he sounded terse and unappreciative of all the hard work she must have put in to rid herself of it. "I told Seymour to leave you be."

  She tilted her head, looking at him with a curious expression. "Why? Aunt Seymour said it was ugly."

  "It wasn't!" he snapped, running a hand through his hair in irritation.

  "You did
n't think it was ugly?" she repeated, her voice soft.

  "No," he replied, shaking his head and staring at her, wondering if she could see the desperation in his eyes, wondering if she had any idea of the effort it was taking to simply stand still in the same room as her when all he wanted was to take her in his arms. "I thought it was perfectly charming."

  "Oh," she gave a sigh and then grinned at him, looking exactly that tantalising mix of innocence and bedevilment that he found so alluring, just as she had all those months before. "Well, zhat is a relief. It is terribly 'ard to keep up, you see?" she winked at him and he gave a bark of laughter.

  "Thank God," he murmured.

  She took a step closer to him and all his senses were on alert, his flesh prickling with the need for her to touch him. "Don't you want me to change, Alex?" she said, looking up at him from under her lashes. "I thought that was why you sent me away from you? So that I could be a nice English girl, and not bother you anymore?"

  "I-I," he began, no longer knowing what it was he wanted further than the desire to claim her, to tumble her to the floor right here, right now, and lose himself in the lush heat of her body.

  "You wanted to talk to me though?" she said before he could manage to find a reply that wouldn't make him sound like a raving madman. She turned away from him, apparently blind to his distress and went to lean on his desk.

  Her hands were braced behind her, her bottom perched slightly on the edge and she leaned back a little, highlighting the generous swell of her breasts as the pretty gold embroidered material stretched tight. His brain ground to a halt as he noted the faint rise of her nipples beneath the fine cambric and he was struck by the desperate desire to close his mouth over the material and trace the shape of each enticing nub of flesh with his tongue.

  "Alex?"

  He dragged his eyes from her breasts and turned away, downing the remainder of his drink with one swallow and raking a hand through his hair as he fought to master his ragged thoughts. He had wanted to talk to her? He had. The Duke. Thankfully the memory of the slick bastard taking Céleste in his arms sharpened his wits a little.

  "Yes, I wanted to talk to you. To warn you."

  "Oh?" she said, and he could hear the amusement in her voice. "That sounds rather ominous. Am I in great danger?"

  Yes, he wanted to shout in fury. You're in danger from me, you little fool, if only you knew it. The fact that she had come to this room with him, alone, at night, that his Aunt hadn't batted an eyelid ... Had they forgotten the kind of man he was?

  "The Duke of Sindalton is a rake," he said, trying to invest the words with as much force as he could. He needed her to understand what she was dealing with. "Even if he isn't just toying with your affections for his own amusement, which wouldn't be unheard of, even if he were to make you an offer, he'll never be faithful to you. He'll make you a duchess and then go off and have affairs with anyone he pleases, and I doubt he trouble himself to be discreet either. He's got a reputation for whoring and gambling and drinking to excess ..." he paused, well aware he was repeating words that had been levelled at himself many times and took a moment to look up at her, to see if his harsh words had found their mark. To his horror she merely looked entertained by his warning.

  "He sounds positively breathtaking, Alex," she said and he was only too aware she was laughing at him.

  "Do you think this is a joke?" he growled, finding no humour whatsoever in the situation.

  The amusement fell from her eyes and she stood, walking toward him. "Non, Alex," she said, her voice quiet. "I do not think it is a joke." She moved slowly, closing the distance between them and reaching up on tiptoe to place a soft kiss on his cheek. He closed his eyes, overwhelmed, desperate for her to move her mouth the scant inch across his skin to his lips. "Goodnight, mon contrebandier." She turned away from him and walked to the door, turning just before she reached to open it. "I think perhaps you should know ... I agreed to let the duke call on me."

  Alex stood alone in the dark as she closed the door on him, and he knew he had to make a choice.

  Chapter 26

  "Wherein plots are hatched in many quarters, the past causes tears, and events unfold."

  Céleste regarded herself in the looking glass and then glanced over her shoulder at Henri. Sitting on the bed, nursing baby Elizabeth, she looked the picture of contentment and Céleste bit back a surge of jealousy. She truly did love Henri like a sister and would never for a moment begrudge her a moment’s happiness. But oh how she envied her. Hers and Lawrence's marriage seemed to be everything that she could only dream of.

  Perhaps sensing her train of thought Henri looked up and smiled at her.

  "Oh, Céleste, do you have any idea how very lovely you are?" she said sighing.

  Céleste snorted in a manner that would have made Aunt Seymour give her a severe scolding.

  "For all the good it 'as done me," she replied with a grimace.

  "Come now," Henri said with a reproving tone. "You said yourself he was quite clearly out of his mind with jealousy last night, and even Aunt Seymour thinks you have swayed him."

  Henri took a moment to disengage her daughter from one breast and transfer her deftly to the other. Despite the fashion for wet nurses, Henri had been adamant that no child of hers was going to be farmed out to be fed by another. Once again Céleste repressed a swell of longing, as she considered what a child of Alex's might look like. She forced the image away before she became maudlin and ruined all the preparations for the night by doing something as foolish as crying.

  "How is Aubrey?" she asked. "He didn't call today I think?"

  "No," Céleste said, scowling. "He didn't, the coward. But I shall get 'im back for 'is lack of backbone."

  Henri giggled and shook her head. "Oh, poor Aubrey. Really you are asking a lot of a man who isn't desperately in love with you to stand up to Alex."

  "Bah!" She waved a hand, dismissing that as a reasonable argument. "Aubrey is supposed to be my friend, my brother almost, if 'e will not help me who am I supposed to turn to? I would help 'im if the situation were reversed."

  "Yes," Henri replied nodding at her. "I believe you would and damn the consequences."

  "Voila!" she replied, smoothing down the soft drapes of her gown. "And that is what a true friend does."

  "Well looking as you do tonight, my dear. I really think you need help from no one. In fact I may even be moved to pity Alex. The poor devil doesn't stand a chance with you looking like an angel ready to fall at any moment."

  Céleste brightened at her words, turning this way and that in front of the mirror once more. It was a deceptively innocent gown. White Bengali muslin with all over sprigged Broderie Anglaise and a cotton bodice, it looked almost demure at first glance, but the fabric was very fine indeed and the fit was such that it made much of her figure, especially the generous swell of her breasts. Her hair had been artfully arranged and decorated with pearls that shimmered in the gold tresses.

  "Oh, I 'ope you are right, because I don't know what to do for the best. Sometimes I think I should just throw myself at 'im?"

  Henri gave a dark chuckle and nodded. "Oh I know exactly, I promise you. In fact ..." she said with a sly look in her eyes. "With that in mind I have a gift for you."

  "Oh?"

  Getting up Henri placed her daughter carefully in the middle of Céleste's bed and cocooned her with pillows so she couldn't roll off in her sleep. "Wait there," she commanded and ran from the room, reappearing moments later with a large flat box. Laying it down on the edge of the bed she gestured for Céleste to open it.

  Céleste lifted the lid and gasped, drawing the gossamer-like material from the box she looked at Henri in stunned silence.

  "It's a nightdress ..." Henri said helpfully, grinning at her. "Sort of."

  Céleste, who had spent a fair amount of her life in a whore house, was utterly scandalised, and more than a little thrilled. "But it's ... it's ..."

  "Totally indecent, yes I know," Henri
said, smothering a giggle. "But I figured if you didn't have a proposal by the end of the evening ... well ... this might tilt those scales in your direction."

  "Tilt them?" Céleste murmured in something close to awe. "I think they would collapse in shock." She looked up at Henri with a considering expression. "This is yours?"

  Henri nodded. "Yes. I didn't wear it the night I seduced Lawrence but to be honest the dress I wore wasn't much less revealing. However, if Alex catches a glimpse of you in that ..." She shrugged. "You can't fail."

  Céleste hugged the practically transparent garment against her before throwing her arms around Henri. "You are the most wonderful friend."

  "Sister," Henri amended. "If you wear that tonight I'm certain of it. I certainly hope so anyway," she said, a little frown of worry etched between her eyebrows. "I mean I really shouldn't encourage you I know, and if it was anyone but Alex ..." She smiled and reached out, taking hold of her hand. "Oh, good luck, my sweet girl. I do hope everything works out as it should."

  Céleste nodded and gave her fingers a squeeze. "Moi aussi," she agreed.

  ***

  Alex stood at the bottom of the stairs and waited for the ladies to appear. Aunt Dotty was chaperoning tonight as Seymour had pleaded a headache and had complained that the theatre was far too hot and noisy for her to cope with. Likewise Henri was tired from her evening at the ball and Lawrence had expressed a wish for his wife to stay at home with an expression that Alex understood only too well.

  Alex couldn't blame Seymour for her absence however. The Theatre Royal on Drury lane was showing a production of Betram, or, The Castle of St. Aldobrand with their celebrated Shakespearean actor Edmund Kean in the title role. The place was bound to be packed to the rafters and as it was unseasonably hot for spring the place would be unbearably stuffy.

  Alex was not a particular fan of the theatre at the best of times, but the idea of being in a secluded and dark space with Céleste for hours, and only Aunt Dorothea for safety, was making him uneasy. Poor Dotty was notorious for dozing off within the first half hour of any performance and not stirring until someone gave her a hard shake. As a chaperone she was laughable and he wondered that Seymour hadn't cancelled the evening entirely. If he was any kind of gentleman he would have done it himself. But then he wasn't, that was the whole problem, he reflected as thoughts of being alone with Céleste in the dark, and yet surrounded by hundreds of people, made his blood thrum with decadent ideas.