Temptation & Twilight

by Charlotte Featherstone

  You have a way with me, a way that no woman has ever come close to. The rage only grew with them. Never sub- sided. I never watched a storm while with them. That was a private indulgence. I would stand at my window, or wander around the garden, watching the sky, thinking of you. Thinking of how I had ruined it all and wishing upon those storm clouds… If I could only have one more chance…”

  “Iain,” she whispered, unable to find the words, unwilling, perhaps, because she did not want to argue, or put an end to this moment. Yet she didn’t feel she possessed the strength to withstand any intimate discussions. Thankfully, he did not press, but he did shift closer, shielding her body from the wind with his broad shoulders.

  “It’s a full moon tonight,” he murmured. “The silver glow makes the snowflakes glitter, and the wind makes them swirl as though they were white orbs dancing in the night. The sky is white now with the heavy blanket of flakes raining down upon us. When you tilt your head up, it’s blinding. You have to blink so fast to keep snowflakes from falling into your eyes. It’s like powdered sugar being poured through a sieve.” She could see it so clearly in her mind, visualize the very spot where they were sitting, and how the storm was going on around them, two figures sitting side by side in the dark.

  “Is your hair white with snow?” she asked.

  “Why don’t you see for yourself?” He gave her no time to protest, but reached out and slowly drew off her gloves until her hands were bared to the chill wind.

  “I have waited for this, Beth, this moment,” he whispered as he took her hands in his and brought her fingertips to his mouth, kissing each fingertip before placing her palms on either side of his face. “When Sussex, Black and I returned from the East, I watched you as you did this—touched Sussex, then Black. And I waited, holding my breath, barely able to control my feelings, waiting to feel your touch on my face. But you did not. You made a polite enquiry after my health and left me standing alone by the hearth. And, then, the other afternoon with Sheldon, you touched him, and I was alone, and apart again.

  Remembering what it was like to await your touch, and then never to feel it. Beth,” he whispered as he moved closer to her, “won’t you touch me? See me?” Her hands moved, unbidden. She had not commanded them to, but they were suddenly reaching for his hair, which was damp and heavy with snow. The wind took strands of it, blowing it forward, over his brow. She followed the melting flakes, revelling in the thickness, the softness of his hair, which he wore long. She had loved to run her fingers through it before. Tug at it in mounting pleasure. Snuggle into it in the shared intimacy of their loving.

  Moving her hands down his neck, she explored the lean cords of his throat, the jut of his Adam’s apple, and the skin of his cheeks, covered with the first dusting of a night beard. Then upwards, until she reached his forehead, felt the strong brow, the silky eyebrows, which she knew were black. His eyes were closed and, hands trembling, she allowed her fingertips to skate over his lids.

  “Beth.” She felt his hot breath on the exposed skin of her wrists. Heard the agony and pleasure in his voice over the quiet wail of the wind.

  His cheeks were chiselled, his jaw strong and angular.

  She wanted to feel his lips, but didn’t dare. She tried to pull away, but he reached for her, pressed her fingers to his mouth and forced her to seek the courage to touch him there. His lips were soft, his mouth lush, causing memo- ries to return, of kisses, deep and slow and consuming.

  Of his mouth traversing her body, learning her, discovering her. How they’d curved in a masculine smile when he’d looked down at her after piercing her maidenhead.

  He was as beautiful as she remembered. His features formidable. Masculine. “Beautiful fallen angel,” she whispered, not intending to give voice to her thoughts, to the memories she had of them. But he heard her, and wrapped his cold fingers around her wrist, holding her hand to his mouth. He kissed her, breathed against her, and she felt with her free hand that his eyes were pressed shut. He wasn’t looking at her. Could he not bear to? Or was the moment too powerful, too overwhelming, that he had to close his eyes in order to savour every nuance of her touch?

  He was so beautiful. Always had been. And fallen so far from grace and honour. He was looking for redemption, she knew. And she was dangerously close to giving it to him.

  “Beth, what do you see?” She felt his lips tremble beneath her fingers.

  “I wish… I wish I could see the lies in your eyes,” she answered, giving voice to the truth, and her fears.

  “They were there before, and I didn’t see it, even though I possessed sight.”

  “No, Beth.”

  “They’re there now, I’m sure. Carefully concealed by your words, the press of your lips against my hand. But if I looked deep within, I would find them. Wouldn’t I?”

  “There are no lies. Never again. I vow it.” How she wanted to believe him. How little it would take for her to do so. “You wanted to know what I saw, Iain? I saw a beautiful liar. You always were, you know.”

  “You wouldn’t see lies, Beth. You’d see hopeful dreams.

  Wishes. Perhaps even a prayer. But no lies. Just naked honesty, and stark need. A very deep regret, and the hope of forgiveness. The dreams of a fallen angel, as you call me, trying to find his way back to heaven. Which for him was always in your arms.”

  She sensed his desperation, and she tried to move away from him, to put space between them, but he would not allow it. “Give me a chance to earn your forgiveness.

  To make you forget the past.”

  “How can I when the past has shaped me into what I have become? I can’t forget it, Iain, because to forget it makes me vulnerable, makes it too easy for me to slip back into being the creature I was—naïve and foolish.”

  “You were never those things.”

  “Yes. I was.”

  “Look beyond that, Beth. See me with your other senses. They will confirm what I’m telling you. They will show you what your eyes cannot. That I am a man desiring change. A man who wants to find himself, to give himself to you.”

  “I don’t want to look, Iain. I don’t want to see you.”

  “I know you still do. During the nights, when you’re alone, you see me. See what we were to each other. I think you even see into the future, and that sometimes you see me in that future.” He clasped her hands in his, his large palms swallowing hers up. “I want to make you see past my betrayal, Elizabeth, to the truth of what we had. Of what we still have. The feelings are still there, they just need a chance to come out of the suffocating darkness we’ve both buried them under.”

  It would be so easy to place her hand in his and allow him to take her upstairs, undress her, caress her.

  Tempt her.

  “You ask for too much, Iain,” she murmured. “More than I can give.”

  “Do I?”

  Movement against her made her pause, made her stiffen as she felt him press forward, felt his body shift until his back and shoulders were pressing indecently against her belly and his head was turned, the curve of his cheek lying on her lap.

  “Can you give me this, Beth? Just one moment to lie here and close my eyes, and feel you beneath me, soft and curved?”

  “And what would you find?” she asked, her voice little more than a breathless whisper.

  “Solace.”

  Closing her eyes, she bit hard on her lip, trying not to weaken against that one word. There had been no hesitation when he said it. It was as if he’d known it—what he’d desired all along, a feeling of tranquility. Peace.

  Rightness.

  Her hand hovered over his head, her fingers itching to touch, to run her fingers through his hair, which would be damp with snow. What picture did they make, seated on this bench, a tempest of white swirling around them as he laid his head in her lap?

  “Do you believe a mere mortal can change, Beth?” Whatever he was once is not the man he is now…

  Lucy’s words came rushing back, and Elizabet
h bit her lip, forcing herself not to answer in haste.

  “Or do you believe that he is forever condemned to be what he was, what he allowed himself to be?” Yes… The word hovered on her tongue. Yes, you are condemned. A soul cannot change. But, then, if that were the case, she had to be honest and say that if one could not change, if one was condemned by previous actions and reputation, then she would forever be that naive, foolish girl. Not the woman she prided herself on being now.

  “Beth,” he whispered, then said nothing more, but reached for her hand and brought it to his hair. Unbidden, her fingers went into the wet strands, stroking and clutching as the sounds of the storm swirled around them.

  Such a strange place and time for this, but then, their relationship had never been predictable, or what one would deem acceptable. He had always been wild, half-tamed, always thumbing his nose at the rules and proprieties.

  It was what she had loved best about him, his ability to surprise her, to make her forget the world they inhabited and the expectations that world had for them. He had tempted her, taken her from her angelic pedestal and made her feel mortal, and womanly. She had only ever been herself—her true self—with Iain. Only he had the ability to set her free.

  So it should not surprise her that they were seated on a garden bench in the midst of a snowstorm, the wind howling a lamenting, sorrowful sound as Iain placed his head in her lap, and her fingers attempted to give him what he desired—solace and peace.

  Why she should give it to him, she had no clue. He deserved nothing kind from her. No words of forgiveness, no easy acceptance. And yet, she thought, as her fingers left his hair and trailed over his forehead, it would be all too easy to offer him that—and more. All too easy to find herself loving him again. Once more, she scoffed.

  Had she ever truly stopped loving him? Or had she just buried those feelings, making herself believe that she was stronger than that, and would not be such a ninny as to continue to love a man who had ruined her. Who had been so cruel and careless with that love.

  Reaching for her hand, he brought her fingertips to his mouth, placing a long, reverent kiss on them.

  Silly, silly fool, she whispered to herself, he knows all the ways to make you weaken, to make you capitulate.

  And when you have done so, when you have surrendered your soul, and your self-respect, when you have submit-ted to him, what then? What solace will he provide you?

  What peace and tranquility will you find with him?

  Temptation was fleeting. A visceral force that came, overwhelmed, then dissipated. Shame, however, was never spent. It only grew, engulfed, encompassed, destroyed. And this, Elizabeth knew, she must never forget.

  Leave him now, the voice inside her warned. Run before temptation can claw at you. Flee before he can melt that iced corner of your heart where your love for him could so easily become thawed, and revived. And perhaps it was already too late, she thought, as she listened to the wind, felt the snow hit her cheeks. Despite the snow and the wind and the cold, she was already melting.

  As if he knew the turn of her mind, he rose from the bench, captured her hand in his and brought her up to stand before him. “The storm is quickly approaching. It’s time to go in. But, Beth,” he murmured against her ear, “the night is far from over.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  THE TEA WAS WARMING, infusing her with some much needed strength. Outside, the wind howled, fierce and low, rattling the windows, while inside, the fire in the hearth crackled. On the opposite side of the salon, Iain sat, no doubt studying her from beneath his long lashes.

  Elizabeth could see him, sprawled, most likely, in a chair, with his boots crossed, his hands folded across his abdomen. She’d been relieved when he had not taken the spot beside her on the settee. She was still discomposed by their intimacy in the garden. He had made her want things she had scarcely allowed herself to think of, let alone believe in.

  “Staff have prepared a room in the guest wing, my lord, and Charles has set out a nightshirt belonging to His Grace. I hope it will do for the night,” Maggie said as she poured the tea. “It’s snowing something fierce out there. Why, Charles says it’s impossible to see more than a foot in front of you. Impossible to ride home tonight. The roads are as slippery as an icicle. We could not in all conscience allow you to make your way home tonight in this blizzard. There’s no telling what might happen to you.”

  “Thank you, Maggie. Although I think I might know someone who is not feeling quite as generous as you, and would have no qualms about sending me out into this weather and my certain doom.” How correct you are, Elizabeth wanted to answer sharply, but she held her tongue and took a sip of her tea instead.

  She heard the passing of china, followed by the creak of Maggie’s knees as she curtseyed to Iain. She left them then, with a comment for Lizzy to call when she was ready to prepare for bed. The word made her blush, made her think unseemly thoughts, and how once she had imagined what it would be like to be Iain’s wife, and await him in her bedchamber while she prepared for bed.

  The door clicked shut, and Elizabeth occupied her time with sipping her tea, while listening to the rhythmic sway of the pendulum of the mantel clock. The silence was heavy, uncomfortable. She had no knowledge if Iain felt the same way, or if he sat quite at ease. Either way, it didn’t matter. She would not stay here in the room with him.

  “I think I shall retire,” she said suddenly, unable to stand the proximity. “It’s been a long day.”

  “I’ll escort you to your room.” Strange, how she felt oddly deflated that he had not opposed her idea, or attempted to make her stay a bit longer. He seemed almost…relieved that she was leaving him. After those moments in the garden, she had expected more from him, at least somewhat of an argument.

  Shrugging off the disconcerting notion, Elizabeth rose and smoothed her palms down her gown. “There is no need to trouble yourself. Finish your tea. I’ll ring for Maggie.”

  “It’s never any trouble to escort you to your chamber, Elizabeth,” he drawled. He was back to using her proper name. No more Beths whispered in his seductive voice.

  Reaching for her hand, he did not place it on his arm, but threaded his fingers through hers, holding them clasped in his. He was tugging her along, and she followed him, willingly. Their pace was slow, unhurried.

  His fingers clasped hers tighter as they ascended the stairs, him in front. In her mind she counted the stairs, all thirty-seven of them, ensuring she would know when she arrived at the top, so she would not make a spectacle of herself and trip, or worse, bash into him.

  Once there, he pulled her along, then slowed, coming to a stop before her chamber door. Raising their clasped hands, he pressed his lips against her knuckles. “Good night, Beth,” he murmured. “Dream of me, hmm?” Before she could answer, he opened the door. “Maggie, your mistress is here. She wishes to retire for the night.” With a curtsey, Elizabeth murmured, “Good night, my lord,” and promptly shut the door behind her.

  “I DO HOPE HIS GRACE is safe at an inn this night,” Maggie muttered as she set to undoing Elizabeth’s gown.

  “Frightful weather. Can you hear it beyond the window?

  The wind howling like some demon beast in the night.”

  “It does sound mournful, doesn’t it?”

  “Aye. And you always did have a strange fondness for beasts,” Maggie teased, “and for healing their damaged souls, or at the very least trying to.”

  “Whatever do you mean?” Elizabeth asked. Her comment was much too close to what she and Iain had talked about outside. But Maggie had no knowledge of their past. Couldn’t possibly suspect that there was anything between them.

  Maggie decided not to answer, but instead talked of much safer things. “Well, I daresay you enjoy this weather, but only because you’re in here, tucked warmly at home, not out braving the elements. I’m glad his lordship chose not to travel back home tonight, even if it’s only a few blocks away. Imagine the horses, how they would su
ffer in this weather. Not to mention how they would manage the icy roads, pulling that great hulking carriage of his.”

  “Yes, you’ve explained that already,” Elizabeth muttered. “The weather is a convenient excuse for you to extend an overnight stay to Lord Alynwick.”

  “You can’t send his lordship out into weather such as this!” Maggie exclaimed as she did away with Elizabeth’s corset. “You’d never forgive yourself if some harm came to him.”

  “No, of course not,” she murmured as Maggie slipped Lizzy’s night rail over her head. “Besides, the weather is so terrible that there isn’t a soul or carriage in sight.

  No one will know or even suspect that his lordship has stayed the night.”

  “Let us hope not.”

  “Well, I’m sure the weather will be all cleared up on the morrow. These storms never last more than a night.

  It’s only November, after all.”

  “Indeed.”

  “Shall I brush out your hair now?”

  “No, I’ll do it. You go to bed, Maggie. You’ve had a very long day. I’m not quite ready for bed yet.”

  “You’re certain?”

  Lizzy couldn’t help but smile. “I can brush my hair, I assure you.”

  “Well, all right, then,” Maggie said, but there was a strange quality to her voice. “Sleep well, Lady Elizabeth.” When the door clicked shut behind her companion, Elizabeth made her way to her dressing table and sank onto the cushioned chair. Running her fingers over the table, she felt the hand mirror, the brush and comb all aligned before her. To her right was a box that housed her hairpins. For long minutes she sat silently staring at a mirror she could not see. Outside, the storm raged, and she listened, allowing her thoughts to settle into a semblance of calm.

  The room was warm, the fire burning brightly on the hearth. Even from here she could feel the heat of it, the flickering flames, and envisioned shadows dancing on the walls. Skimming her fingers over her nightgown, she realized that Maggie had put a fine lawn garment on her. It had a lace yoke and delicate ribbon work. Strange for a night like this, when a snowstorm whirled outside.