Tempted

by Rita Thedford

  When his mother lived, the Duke and Duchess had hosted elegant parties there, where the setting gleamed with crystal and gold. Society's most affluent would gather together while he, a mere lad, hid himself in corners and beneath balustrades to watch.

  One day, his own children would discover those same hiding places and watch England's most grand at their charming best. If they were cunning, as he had been, they would soon discover the polite world was not quite as polite as it might seem.

  During those hours spent ogling the dance floor, he'd noted the attentions his father gave other women. It was there, too, where he first perceived his mother's loneliness. He'd vowed early in life to be a different sort of man and, perhaps because of this, Christian treasured loyalty and honesty above all traits.

  Musing, he idly ran his hand over a cool marble column. Perhaps his admiration of loyalty was one of the reasons his interest in Elizabeth Grayson had turned from desire to obsession in the course of one evening. Loyalty to her dead sister shone with a zealot's light in her eyes, and she practically quivered at the injustice that allowed Stanhope to get away with murder.

  "She's taking over my every thought,” he whispered. His voice came back to him in echoes, making him feel lonely, restless. Frustrated, he glanced toward the seldom-used formal parlor at his left. With long strides, he moved farther inside, intending to douse the tiny flames in the wall sconces.

  Decorated by his mother years ago, the lovely room featured vibrantly hued Aubusson carpets and Hepplewhite furnishings. Rare paintings by masters such as Johannes Vermeer and Sandro Botticelli assumed places of honor along with landscapes by several unheralded English painters whom his mother had fancied. Since her death, the room had seen little use, as the men of the family seldom entertained.

  When he took a wife, perhaps the room would finally see some use. Did Elizabeth enjoy entertaining, he wondered, as he plunged the room into darkness. Possibly not considering her wildcat disposition. In the midst of his all-consuming obsession, a slight smile graced his lips as he recalled the nettles and burrs that seemed, thus far, to stick to her persona.

  Untying the ribbon from his hair, he shook it loose, absently rubbing his fingers over his scalp. Rolling his head upon his shoulders in an effort to relax, Christian let his eyes make a broad sweep of his home and possessions. He envisioned Elizabeth as his Duchess, imagined her here. Though really too soon to visualize such things, he could almost see her moving elegantly along the grand staircase, directing staff or lounging in dishabille in the master suite.

  She belonged here in this graceful home, as she would belong in his other seven estates. They were scattered throughout England, rich in land, minerals, and tenants. A bountiful legacy for any man. The legacy was worth any price ... even marriage.

  Rubbing a hand over his bleary eyes, he was grateful that his man, Rawlins, after bidding him a hasty good night, had left him to his musings. He wanted nothing more than a bit of peace after a night of dealing with crowds and questions.

  After his hasty departure from tonight's affair, he'd called for his carriage and retired to his club. Hoping to gain a hint of gossip about the lady, he drank enough brandy to sink a small ship and lost a bundle at cards, which was a rarity. His mind wasn't on the game, but centered on a certain lady who wore the face of an angel and had the tongue of a viper.

  Christian smiled. The chit was challenging, he'd give her that. Seldom had a woman given him such difficulty. Tonight, at any given time, he could've called to his side any number of women. Young or old. Yet the difficult Elizabeth seemed to thrive on aggravating him.

  Once ensconced within the club, he should've known he would be thwarted in his quest. Instead of discussing the current crop of eligible beauties, his cronies focused their attentions instead on a certain bandit at large in the area. The criminal, it seemed, preyed on Lords of the Realm, the untouchable members of the ton.

  The Raven Rogue apparently had begun his career as a highwayman in the English countryside, but during the Season, reappeared in town, jumping from dark alleyways rather than rushing out from wooded copses.

  Having seen the worst of the docks of Hong Kong, Christian lost interest in the gossip. Bandits and highwaymen? Christ! What a lackluster group of milksops to waste time even discussing such a trivial thing.

  Leaving the now dark rooms, Christian strode down the hallway and entered his study. The male lair of countless ancestors was an appealing blend of darkness and light. French doors led to a marbled terrace and roses bloomed in a profusion of riotous colors just beyond. Thick rugs, in hues of burgundy and green, cushioned furnishings that were massive but delicately carved pieces of mahogany. Studded leather offered a combination of comfort and practicality and added an earthy scent that mingled subtly with cigar smoke and roses.

  Bless Rawlins! Christian smiled faintly at the cheery fire left by his man. In anticipation of Christian's return and knowing his employer's habits, perhaps Rawlins knew that tonight, at last, his master might seek his own bed rather than the sweet, welcoming thighs of some beauteous widow or courtesan.

  Even a certified rake such as he required sleep on occasion, but Christian wasn't entirely certain rest would come easily. His prey had somehow managed to put his mind in a quandary that wouldn't be satisfied until he had her safely wedded and bedded. Not necessarily in that order.

  Removing his coat and cravat, he tossed both haphazardly over the back of the sofa and poured himself a dram of brandy from the heavy crystal decanter on his desk. Tossing it off with quick precision, he poured another and took it to one of the two large wing-backed chairs in front of the fireplace.

  Pensively he stared into the red-orange glow, listened to the sizzle and pop of wood, and sipped. Sprawled thus, lost in planning his courtship, he started briefly at the sound of the door to the terrace closing softly.

  He smiled. “Oh, it's you, my dear.” He lifted his crystal snifter in cordial invitation. “Care to join me?"

  An Li moved gingerly, quietly, into the room, and once more Christian was moved by her fragile delicacy. She shook her head, sending her long, luxurious hair into a sinuous dance. It was inky black, like his own, and fell in a river of light to well past her hips. Glorious stuff, that hair. Almost as glorious as her gentle heart, he couldn't help thinking.

  Wearing a vibrant robe of gold and scarlet silk, she moved silently on bare feet to sink onto the floor just inches from his legs. An Li's eyes, wide and black, with the prominent slant of the Orient, gazed calmly up at him as she draped an arm over his thigh and smiled sleepily. The gesture of familiarity was normal between them, as they were the best of companions.

  "How was your out evening, my lord?"

  He laughed and held her small, pointed chin with his fingers. “My lord? Have I not told you that I cannot bear formality between us, love?"

  She simply gazed at him before nodding. Then she asked her question again.

  "Intriguing, I suppose,” he finally answered. Stroking her hair, Christian gazed into the fire. “Successful as well."

  "Then wedding hunt must be good? You find beautiful woman this time, yes?"

  "Without a doubt. Elizabeth Grayson is a lovely young woman of good family. She has dark red hair and violet eyes."

  "Red hair on head? Oooh.” An Li's eyes turned wistful. “Wish I to have red hair. How lovely."

  "Oh, no you don't. You're as beautiful as any woman I've ever seen and you possess the sweetest heart."

  An Li's head sagged at his words. “No! I am whore. No more than that. Not never."

  Sometimes An Li broke his heart.

  Without another thought he bent and lifted her in his arms, where she cuddled like a small child. “Shh, darling, none of that,” he crooned, wishing he had the words to ease her.

  Christian had met her in Hong Kong where An Li was the slave of a wealthy merchant named Wang Xi Chang. As a baby, she'd been sold by her family to the Chinese despot who turned her into an object of sexual
pleasure when no more than ten years old. By age seventeen, she'd seen the worst of humanity.

  Business brought him to Chang's palace. The trading of jade artifacts and silks had made the obese and obscene man quite wealthy. Christian disliked him on sight. Later, he'd been escorted to his room and had almost drifted off to sleep when An Li entered. Barely a woman, she'd been sent to service him.

  Old scars of abuse marred her lovely back, and her liquid onyx eyes were the saddest he'd ever seen. Almost childlike in manner, An Li touched something deep within him, and his chivalrous nature rose strong and determined.

  The next morning, he left Chang's palace with the promise of silks, jades, and one small slave girl.

  An Li was so fragile to have endured so much. The degradation she'd suffered was such that they had become friends, but never lovers. Despite her past, she retained her sweet nature, though on occasion she struggled with a lack of self worth. She believed herself unclean, though Christian strove constantly to disavow that notion.

  "Talk something else please?” she said at last. “Tell me of beautiful party, pretty dresses."

  Christian smiled and told her the fairytale of ballrooms and chandeliers. He told her of the ladies he'd seen and how they'd danced with suitors. Touching on the subject of her first inquiry, he spoke of Elizabeth Grayson.

  "These people sound so fine.” An Li sighed. “Like fancy story. I should like ... but no. Not good for An Li to be among English. They do not like my eyes or my skin."

  "For a certainty, that is their loss. Many people in many countries exhibit prejudice. England is perhaps worst of them all."

  Suddenly she grinned up at him. “This true. An Li is good friend. This their lose."

  "Loss."

  "Aye. Their loss."

  Christian's smile faded as he looked at her. “Are you positive you wouldn't like to visit one of my country estates? I know how you love the outdoors. You are so isolated in London."

  "You would be too lonely and so would I. I have been too much think. You must marry. This I understand, but what wife think of An Li? Will she send me back to Chang?"

  Christian thought of Lady Grayson and realized how little he knew of her. It shook him to his toes to imagine her a heartless, judgmental woman. Recalling her vulnerability in the garden, however, heartened him. The woman had feelings. But how deep did they run?

  "Never,” he vowed suddenly. “I would never marry a woman who could not accept our friendship."

  "But this woman of red hair? You want her?"

  "Yes, more than anything, but not at your expense. Rest easy, An Li.” Cuddling her against his chest, he closed his eyes as the snap of raw firewood sputtered in the silence. Yes, he realized, there was much to learn of Lady Grayson, but tomorrow was soon enough to begin inquiries.

  As the coziness of Christian's study enveloped them, he sipped his brandy and listened to the sound of An Li's steady breathing.

  Realizing she slept, he smiled and set down his empty glass. Gently, he stroked her face. “An Li? Wake up, love. Let me take you to your bed."

  Helping her up, he carelessly draped his arm around her waist and led her upstairs. Stopping outside her door, she looked at him through sleepy eyes.

  "Good night, dear one,” she said with a quiet smile. “Dream sweet dreams of red hair. An Li prays she deserve you."

  Christian bent low to press a kiss to her forehead before she went into her room.

  Making the long trek from the east to the west wing, he went to his chamber and sighed with pleasure at the comfort the room provided. Stripping to the skin, he fell into bed, knowing he would need a clear head on the morrow.

  Anticipation speared through him as he closed his eyes and blood coursed hot, burning within him. Thinking of full lips that curved delightfully around venomous words and violet-blue eyes that glinted wickedly in the night, he smiled. Elizabeth would be deeply chagrined to know Christian Delaford liked nothing better than a challenge.

  * * * *

  When Elizabeth entered her parents’ sitting room, Millicent Grayson lay prostrate across a silvery-green brocaded chaise, clutching a cool cloth to her eyes. “Megrims again, Mother? Shall I fetch you something? A fresh compress, perhaps? A brandy?"

  Millicent smiled and gave a trilling little laugh. “Goodness me, love, the megrims seldom bring me low these days, but when they do, I am quite prepared to deal with them.

  "They are not so bad as they once were.” She frowned a bit, then flashed a quick, naughty grin. “A brandy might not be amiss. Medicinal purposes, you ken."

  Elizabeth chuckled at her mother's bawdy behavior and poured a dram from a decanter that rested on a small table near the fireplace. She knew very well her mother was prone to tipple on occasion. That and a penchant for gambling with friends were her only vices.

  During the years since Lottie's death, Millicent had become quite lonely due to the solitary behavior of her husband, who mourned in silence behind the locked doors of his study. Lack of interest in his family had, perhaps, caused his wife to find what pleasures she could elsewhere, and Elizabeth found she could not berate her mother.

  Smiling, Elizabeth delivered the drink and settled herself at the foot of the chaise where Millicent reclined. Though deeply disturbed by the evening's events, Elizabeth struggled to keep her expression clear. She must tell her mother about Edward and the scene he'd caused. But the Duke? Well, he would remain her secret for now. She simply could not have her marriage-minded mama planning a wedding. Elizabeth fought down a shudder.

  Millicent took her hand and smiled. “So tell me, my darling, how was the affair? Splendid, I expect."

  "Perfectly. Though I wish you had been able to attend with me, Mother. You should get out more."

  "Balderdash! Parties are for the young, and you, my dear, should be seen, great beauty that you are. I suppose you danced every dance with the handsomest young men of the ton?"

  The Duke's too handsome face floated through her memory. In truth, she'd danced with only one sinfully handsome man, but her mother needn't know that. She shook her head. “Not necessarily, Mother. You know, of course, how I feel about marriage. Despite your meddling, I will not submit."

  "Stubborn chit, but well, I still adore you.” Millicent sighed theatrically, and Elizabeth could not help the surge of love that shook her. She dreaded the telling of the horrific confrontation with Stanhope, but knew it necessary. Her smile faded as she took a fortifying breath.

  "Edward came to the party, Mother."

  Millicent gasped and clutched at her daughter's hand, all color draining from her face. “Never say it!"

  "I must. Please try not to let it upset you, but it is true. He attacked me verbally in the nastiest manner and was carted from the place. Nevertheless, the damage was done. Gossip will be rife tomorrow, so I felt I must warn you. Papa, too."

  "Will we ever be rid of that odious man? My poor Charlotte. Could I but take your father's pistol and shoot him in the heart. Alas, he has no heart and he has broken mine. Yours and your father's as well."

  "I know, Mama.” Elizabeth wiped the tears from her mother's plump cheeks. “Perhaps one day, someone will do us the great honor of ridding the world of Edward. Sadly, we must wait for retribution."

  Millicent rose and set aside her brandy and compress. Drawing a deep sigh, she pulled herself up to her full stature, which was petite at best. “I must visit with your papa, Elizabeth. He should be informed of this at once.” Moving to the closed door leading to the bedchamber she turned, her hand at the doorknob, and smiled sadly. “I am pleased that you went out, my dear, but utterly saddened that Edward managed to ruin the evening for you."

  Elizabeth sighed. “It does not matter, Mama. There will be other parties."

  Watching her mother leave, she doused the lights and went seek her own bed. Once inside, she leaned against the door and sighed, noting her night rail spread upon the bed and the covers drawn down. Pandora stood watching intently.


  "Did ye tell er, m'lady?"

  "I had to, Pandy.” Seating herself at an antique vanity table, Elizabeth began to pull the pins from her hair. “Reading dreadful gossip in The Times does not go well with one's breakfast, I fear. There was no choice."

  "Well, at least the gossip shall not be all bad,” Pandora said with a wink. “Word should also be about regarding your dance with the famous Duke Haverton. It will be noted, of course, that he danced with no one else."

  Elizabeth stuck her nose in the air as her maid drew a large brush through her hair. “I shall never let you come with me again. Your eyes are far too keen."

  For lack of a proper chaperone, Pandora accompanied her mistress to her entertainments. To Elizabeth's chagrin, Pandy often escaped from the servant's domain to peer out at the guests and blatantly spy upon her. “Mmm. That they are, m'lady. Keen enough to notice the bonny Duke watching you all night."

  Elizabeth gasped. “Never say it! Women are mere playthings to a man like Christian Delaford."

  "Aye, but he is sinfully good looking. Ooh, that tight bum! Made me want to reach out and give it a pinch, it did."

  Elizabeth laughed. She couldn't help it. “Enough. Please. Tight bum, indeed! Stop being incorrigible and tell me what gossip you gleaned tonight."

  With swift efficiency, Pandora put away the elegant evening gown and drew the night rail over Elizabeth's head. “Well, Lord Bailsworthy attacked the family governess and she, no more than one and twenty. Got her with child and cast her out, he did.” Pandy sniffed, affronted. “Miss Kathleen is with her da and mum, but cannot stay there as they have no notion that she is with child. Surely, they will toss her out when it becomes known. And that fine lord kicked her out without a reference or a farthing, the bloody bastard!"

  Elizabeth sighed. “Bloody bastard, indeed. Well, I see now that I need to call on Lord Bailsworthy one fine evening very soon."

  "Tomorrow should be a clear night,” Pandora said. Already her eyes gleamed with wicked delight. “Word has it the young lord nightly visits the hells. The Bloody Cock and The Thorn and Thistle are his favorite haunts."