One Night of Temptation

by Burke, Darcy

  Only he wouldn’t. Of that he was completely certain.

  He glanced toward the window, not that he could see anything for it had grown dark while they’d eaten dinner. He took another drink of wine, wishing he could return to the warm feelings of a few minutes ago, before thoughts of the future had poisoned the present.

  She yawned.

  “Are you tired?” he asked, hoping she wasn’t. If they only had this night, he wanted to enjoy every moment of it.

  “No. Too much wine and brandy and ale, I think. It’s quite early for me.”

  Because Society events didn’t start until later and lasted well past midnight. He was suddenly fascinated with learning what Lady Penelope did to pass her evenings. “What would you be doing if you were at home?”

  She cocked her head to the side. “Any number of things. We would go to a ball or a series of routs or perhaps a dinner party.”

  “What happens at a rout?” he asked. She made a face, and he laughed. “That doesn’t recommend the event.”

  “It’s mostly an excuse to see and be seen.”

  “I thought that’s what the park was for.”

  She gave him a serious stare that was contradicted by her sardonic tone. “Yes, but at a rout, you’re in evening clothes. So it’s an entirely different opportunity to see and be seen.”

  “Indeed, that’s incredibly different.” He laid the sarcasm on extremely thick and was rewarded with a brilliant smile. “Do you dance at a rout?”

  She shook her head. “You pay your respects to the host and hostess, you do your seeing and being seen, and you go to the next one.”

  “That sounds rather…boring. Sorry.”

  “Don’t apologize. You are correct. But then, most of it is boring.”

  Nothing she’d said so far that day had been so pleasing. Well, almost nothing. “Does that include balls? I’ve never been to one.”

  She gaped at him in surprise. “Never?”

  He reconsidered. “Does an assembly count?”

  “I should think so. It’s not all that different from a private ball.” She picked up her wineglass. “Though I suspect the refreshments are not typically as good. One thing you can almost always rely on at a ball is delectable food. Hostesses often try to outdo each other when it comes to decorations, music, and food.”

  “I see. Do your parents host balls?”

  She swallowed a sip of wine and let out a harsh laugh. “Goodness, no. They’re too cheap. Though they’re happy to partake of others’ largesse.”

  “I presume you spend most of a ball dancing?”

  “Yes. That is a young lady’s primary occupation at a ball, particularly if she’s on the Marriage Mart.”

  He recalled her saying she danced, but not whether she liked it. “Do you find that part boring?”

  “It depends on my partner. Do you like to dance?”

  “I do, actually, though I’m not very good at it. I enjoy the music and the carefree joy it brings. In some ways, I suppose I like watching people dance as much as doing it myself, maybe even more.”

  She gave him a sly look. “What about the waltz?”

  “I haven’t ever done it. Have you?”

  She nodded. “It took me three visits to Almack’s to obtain permission.”

  He stared at her. “It requires permission?”

  “The patronesses must grant it.” She rolled her eyes. “Almack’s is its own special hell.” She clapped a hand over her mouth as her eyes widened.

  Hugh chuckled. “No need to apologize. I’ve heard much worse, as you can imagine. Indeed, I’ve been known to use the word hell in my line of work.” He winked at her.

  Her eyes lit with mirth, and she dropped her hand to the table. “I’ll show you how to waltz if you like.”

  While he hadn’t waltzed, he was aware of the dance and knew it involved touching each other in ways that seemed rather intimate. He probably shouldn’t, but the chance to hold her was too tempting to refuse.

  He rose and moved around the table to offer her his hand. “Will you dance with me?”

  She slipped her fingers along his, and he helped her to stand. “It would be my pleasure.”

  Her amber eyes glowed in the light from the candles on the mantel and the lantern on the table. His hands practically ached to hold her.

  He squeezed her hand. “The pleasure will be mine.”

  Chapter 5

  Penelope welcomed the heat of his hand as it spread through her, bringing a delicious awareness. She looked up into his captivating gaze and completely forgot what they were supposed to be doing.

  “I’ve no idea how to begin,” he said. “And we don’t have music.”

  Waltzing, right.

  “I’ll hum,” she offered.

  He arched an auburn brow. “I’m so intrigued by this entire endeavor. I think I shall be eternally grateful that I encountered you on the street today.”

  She giggled. “I hope this lives up to your expectation.”

  “It already has.” His eyes shone in the candlelight, and her heart skipped. “It’s quite exceeded it, actually. I’d planned to spend my evening catching up on correspondence. I’m afraid I owe both my sisters letters.”

  “Well, we’ll see if waltzing with me trying to hum a tune is truly more entertaining—I’m not convinced.” Her lips curled into a half smile. “Ready?”

  “No!” He laughed. “I’ve no idea what to do.”

  She was completely distracted by him. “There are a few variations. You can either clasp my waist with one hand or both.”

  “If I only use one hand, what do I do with the other?”

  “We clasp hands,” she said. “As we are already.”

  He squeezed her hand again. “Since we’re already halfway there…” He placed his free hand on her waist. “What do you do with your hand?”

  “I place it on your shoulder.” She rested her hand on his coat. The fabric wasn’t as fine as the garments worn by the gentlemen she typically danced with, but the fit was superb, and he was every bit as handsome. No, he was more so. In fact, he was the handsomest man she’d ever met. And it wasn’t due to his alluring eyes or charming smile or athletic frame. Well, not entirely. His confidence and strength—and kindness—made him incomparable.

  “Now, I’m ready,” he said.

  She thought of a tune and began to hum, then abruptly stopped. “I forgot to tell you what to do next. Mostly, you just guide me around the dance floor in a sweeping circle in time to the music. Sometimes, it’s actually quite dizzying.”

  He glanced about the small chamber. “I’ll need to be careful not to steer us into the chair. Or the bed.”

  His mention of the bed sent a flush of heat through her, and she lowered her gaze to his cravat.

  She began to hum again, and he started to move. He led them toward the fireplace and past it into the corner. With nowhere to go, he stopped and pivoted. “This doesn’t seem quite right.”

  Another giggle threatened, but she kept humming. He recovered, guiding them back toward the table. “The sweeping circle you described sounds elegant and intoxicating. I’m guessing this is much less so.”

  She couldn’t contain her laugh this time. “Stop. I’m supposed to be humming.”

  “And you’re quite good at it. I have no musical skill whatsoever. If you’d asked me to hum, it might have sounded like an animal dying.”

  She laughed again and stepped on his toe. Her gaze flew to his, her eyes widening. “Sorry!”

  “I deserved it. I shouldn’t keep provoking your laughter.”

  “Please don’t stop.” She grinned up at him, unable to recall the last time she’d had so much fun. In fact, she wasn’t sure she recalled a time ever. Certainly not like this. In the arms of a man who made her feel special.

  “I want to try to make this a bit more dignified. Please continue with the music.”

  She started to hum once more, and he began to sweep her in small circles about the room. T
hey couldn’t move as quickly as on a wide dance floor, but that was better, for she didn’t become dizzy at all. Or maybe that was because her gaze was locked with his, and she was utterly lost in his embrace.

  After some time, he slowed. “You stopped humming,” he said softly, drawing her closer.

  Her chest lightly grazed his. The contact made her want to weep with joy. She’d had very little human contact—no touching or hugging. The poor cat who lived in the mews was the sole recipient of Penelope’s physical attention because she was the only one who allowed it.

  But this was something different. Something more. She longed to slide her hand up his neck and clasp the back of his head. There, she could feel his warmth. And if she moved her fingers forward along his neck, she could feel the beat of his heart.

  His hand curled around her waist, pulling her closer, his hand splaying against her lower back. She let her hand do as she wanted, finding the heat of his neck and the curl of his hair above the collar of his shirt.

  He pulled her hand against his shoulder, then let go. But only so he could touch her cheek, his fingertips grazing her flesh.

  She parted her lips, desperate to feel his mouth on hers. She’d never been kissed, never wanted to. Right now, however, she feared if he didn’t kiss her, she might die.

  The sharp knock at the door pushed them apart, and once again they were saved by an interruption. Strange, but she didn’t feel saved. She felt disappointed and frustrated.

  “I’m here for the dishes,” the feminine voice called through the door.

  Mr. Tarleton unlocked the door and stood there while the young woman who’d propositioned him earlier gathered their plates onto a tray. She left the wine bottle and glasses.

  With a lingering stare at Mr. Tarleton, she quit the room, and he closed the door firmly behind her.

  “We should sleep,” he said, sounding gruff and not looking at her.

  No, they should finish what they’d started. Dissatisfaction roiled through her. If only the maid hadn’t arrived just then!

  If she hadn’t, what might have happened? Did Penelope really think that a rector would throw propriety completely out the window—it was scandalous enough they’d spent so many hours alone and would spend the entire night that way—and kiss her?

  She’d certainly wanted him to.

  “I would offer to step into the hall to give you some privacy, however I pledged to remain with you.” He looked away. “But perhaps you need a moment…”

  Yes, she did need to take care of delicate needs, though she didn’t plan to undress. That seemed an endeavor that would only heighten her desire.

  Desire?

  Yes, that was precisely the right word.

  “What about you?” she asked.

  He frowned but still didn’t meet her eyes. “I don’t want to leave you.”

  She sent him wry look. “What would be the alternative? I presume you need, er, a moment to yourself too.”

  He cracked a smile, and she relaxed slightly. “You have a point. Lock the door behind me, and I’ll be back in a trice.”

  She nodded, and he left. As she locked the door, she wondered if he’d go visit the serving maid.

  No, silly. He said he’d be back in a trice.

  She might be a virgin who’d never been kissed, but she was educated enough to know that coupling took more than a trice.

  Crossing back to the table, she finished the rest of her wine, then took care of her needs. A few minutes later, he returned with a knock. “It’s Hugh.”

  “Hugh again?” she said, unlocking the door.

  He was smiling as he came inside. “Very funny.”

  “You started it. Should I call you Hugh?”

  “Probably not.” He sounded regretful. “But I wouldn’t complain if you did.”

  “Then while we’re here, you must call me Penelope.”

  He tipped his head to the side. “May I call you Pen?”

  Her nurse had called her that until her mother had forbidden her from doing so. Then she’d only done it in private. Until the day she’d been caught, and Mother had terminated her employment.

  Penelope felt deliciously defiant. “Please.” She realized he was carrying a blanket. “Did she forget to bring that up when she collected the dishes?”

  “Yes. I think she wanted me to have to find her.”

  “So she could proposition you again.”

  He shrugged. “I found Con instead.”

  She was inordinately pleased by this, but didn’t say so, of course. “Did you tell him she behaved inappropriately?”

  Hugh laughed. “Con would hardly care, nor would he try to stop her.” He went to deposit the blanket on the chair.

  Penelope moved to the bed and folded back the coverlet. She sat down on the mattress.

  “Do you need help with…your clothing?” He didn’t meet her gaze again.

  “No, I’m going to sleep like this.”

  “With your boots on?” he asked, glancing toward her feet.

  “You have your boots on,” she said.

  “I planned to remove them.”

  “Then I’ll remove mine.”

  He sat down, and they both set to peeling away their footwear. He placed his boots beside the chair, then stood.

  “Where are you going?”

  “I thought I’d put out the lantern and the candles. Actually, I think I’ll leave one candle lit, if you don’t mind.”

  Relief coursed through her. It wasn’t that she minded the dark. But this was a strange place, and the light, though meager, would make her feel more comfortable. “I appreciate it. Thank you.”

  She climbed beneath the covers as he extinguished all the flames but one. Then he sat in the chair and situated the blanket over his lap.

  She frowned, thinking he looked terribly uncomfortable. “I feel bad you’re sleeping in the chair. You should at least put your feet on the bed. I insist.”

  “If you insist.” He got up and moved the chair closer to the bed, then propped his feet up on the end.

  “Much better.” She lay back and pulled the covers up to her chin. Closing her eyes, she tried to calm her racing mind.

  When she’d embarked on this scheme, she’d hoped the night would pass quickly. She’d never imagined she’d meet a man who would make her wish for time to stop.

  In fact, she wished they could go back in time and kiss as they’d intended. Would he want that too? She feared she would regret that missed kiss for the rest of her days.

  The thought filled her with sadness. The emotion mingled with dread as she contemplated tomorrow. It wasn’t just the idea of returning home. It meant this magical night would be over.

  “I wish I’d spent time talking with you when I visited the church,” she said into the near darkness.

  “I wish you had too. I regret avoiding all of you. Well, maybe not all of you.”

  She smiled but kept her eyes closed. “I regret not bringing books. I’m still going to try to get you some.”

  “I appreciate that.” The silence grew, and she wondered if he’d fallen asleep. Then he said, “You’re not at all what I thought.”

  Delightful warmth unfurled inside her. “I’ve never met anyone like you.” He made her feel so safe and…valued.

  Yes, she wanted more time. With him.

  “I’m sorry you may not be in London much longer.” It was as if he’d heard her thoughts. “I would have looked forward to you visiting the church.”

  Her chest pinched. “I would have liked that too.”

  “But I know that wouldn’t be best for you. Your parents sound rather difficult.”

  What an understatement. “They’re worse than that.” She surprised herself by saying that out loud. “Don’t worry about me,” she hastened to add. “I’ll be fine. I concocted this crazy scheme to change my fortune, and I’m hopeful it will work.” It had to.

  Silence reigned once more, but this time, she was certain he was still awake. She fe
lt strangely attuned to him.

  “I hope you’ll be happy in Lancashire,” he said.

  The sadness surged within her once more. They were talking as if she were already gone, as if they didn’t still have a night before them. But what could she mean to do with that night? She might be tempted—and she was—to kiss him, but then what?

  She allowed the fantasy to take hold. She could kiss him, hold him, invite him into her bed. But he was a man of honor, a rector, a man in need of a wife.

  What if that could be her? The idea of being a rector’s wife rooted and grew. She imagined helping him with his parishioners, joining him when he visited their houses, when he tended to those in need.

  Cold reality iced over her. As if she’d be allowed to marry someone like him. Her parents would likely find that worse than being ruined.

  Not for the first time, Penelope wished she’d been born someone else. Someone who could marry whom she wanted. Someone who could love and be loved.

  Someone who could be happy.

  “Good night, Pen.”

  “Good night, Hugh.” She rolled away from him and squeezed her eyes more tightly closed. The future she’d hoped would be brighter had just dimmed.

  Chapter 6

  A pounding on the door roused Hugh from sleep.

  “What’s wrong?” Pen’s worried voice brought him fully awake.

  “I’ll find out.” Wiping a hand over his face, he rose and reached for his waistcoat, which was draped over the back of the chair. Pulling it on, he buttoned it on his way to the door.

  Con stood in the corridor, wearing a concerned expression. “There you are. I was worried when you didn’t answer next door.” He inclined his head toward the room Hugh was supposed to be occupying.

  “Change of plan,” Hugh said. “The fight was unsettling.”

  Con nodded. “Someone came looking for her. Someone in a red vest.” He gave Hugh a knowing look.

  Damn. If he was wearing a red vest and asking about Pen, it was a Bow Street Runner, which meant her family was searching for her. Hugh tensed. “Where is he now?”