Tempted

by Rita Thedford

  Seventeen

  While Park sipped his drink, he watched, amused, as Edward, Lord Stanhope, wrestled open another bottle of port. Already, two empty bottles lay like dead soldiers on the litter-strewn floor. Edward's lips were pursed with drunken effort, his face flushed from the over-abundance of drink.

  "Need some help, friend?” Park drawled as he set down his glass and gathered the cards that lay scattered upon the table.

  "I have it,” Edward mumbled as he managed the task. With an unsteady hand, he poured another drink, only grunting as the heavy red wine splashed like blood over his white shirtfront. He drank thirstily and sighed. “Ahh. More port?"

  Shaking his head, Park held his fingers over the top of his goblet. “No, I'm afraid one must keep a steady head on his shoulders if he is to win against you."

  Edward laughed loudly. “Whist has always been my game. Keeps me living in the lap of luxury. Note the princely accommodations."

  Edward's words were in jest considering the state of his paltry rooms in the Stephen's Hotel. The Bond Street establishment, which served as quarters for army officers or bachelors-about-town, was a far cry from the lovely townhouse he had once owned.

  All of society knew how far he had dropped from his elevated status as a wealthy man. It was a well-known fact he lived off his winnings at the gaming tables.

  None of that mattered to Park. His fact-finding mission tonight required he suffer the man's company and already he tired of Edward's whining and complaining about his loss of stature.

  As he rambled on incoherently, Park fingered the thin scratch along his cheek and cursed Beatrice Fitzgerald for putting it there. Furious with him, furious with the failure of her son, she'd lashed out upon news of the Duke of Haverton's nuptials.

  Married over a week now, Christian and his bride wallowed in their wedding bed while Park had been left to seduce Bea out of her wild raging. Their plans irrevocably altered, he worked like hell to pacify her, to convince her of another plan.

  The bitch!

  He absently nodded at something Edward said while his mind raced over details of their new venture. If Christian were to die before Elizabeth conceived, the dukedom and all the riches associated with the title would be his for the taking.

  On the odd chance Christian's murder failed, there was always blackmail. If his suspicions were true, Elizabeth was a thief. What would Christian give to keep her pretty neck from stretching on the gallows?

  "She should have been mine!” Edward lurched from his chair, knocking it over. Lost in his own intrigues, the outburst surprised Park.

  "The bloody bitch should be in my bed. Instead I got myself tied to that insipid twit, Charlotte. I'm glad I killed her,” Edward raged.

  "I am quite sure she deserved it,” Park murmured, staring absently into his empty goblet. “You did push her down those stairs, did you not?"

  "Damned right! Do it again, too, if I had the chance. Elizabeth, haughty bitch that she is, ruined everything, though. I could have made another match. Found another heiress, but no, the foul temptress made me a pariah in society! Should have killed her just as I murdered that ever-cowering sister."

  "Did you try?” Park arched a blond brow, marveling at the stupidity of any man who got in his cups and blurted out his deepest secrets. How easy it was to manipulate Edward!

  "'Course, I did. I ain't stupid, you ken. Tried twice, but failed both times. Both times that uppity Duke was there to save her. Now they have married, and my life is still ruined. Even revenge has been denied me."

  In amazement, Park watched Edward sink further into sniveling despair until at last, the man passed out from drink. Finally, as his rumbling snores filled the room, Park rose.

  What a foul, disgusting, and stupid man!

  Dragging Edward from the chair to his bed was a hellish task, yet Park accomplished it in record time. Brushing his hands together, he ran his gaze over the room till he found Edward's writing desk in the corner.

  It was as good a place to start as any other. There had to be some kind of record, something in writing, that linked Elizabeth to Edward other than old family connections. After the incident at the Cock and Bull, Park had mulled over a number of possible scenarios and both he and Beatrice believed there must be some bit of evidence they could use to hurt the newlyweds. Blackmail was a dangerous game, and one must be certain, or nearly certain, of the facts.

  "Ah, my beauty, come to me,” he whispered as he lifted a leather-bound volume from the bottom of Edward's desk. Taking up a brace of candles, he set it on a small table near the fireplace and sank into a tattered wingback. Shutting out the snores coming from Edward's bed, he thumbed through the vellum pages until coming to a series of dates last summer.

  Reading the pages, he marveled at the nastiness of the man. For a certainty, he loved rough sex and apparently delighted in revisiting those times within the pages of his journal.

  At last, Park came upon an entry detailing his robbery at the hands of a terrifying highwayman. He read the slobbering rendition of the manner in which Edward was rendered a cripple and studied the puckered pages that had, no doubt, been damaged by tears of self-pity.

  Much to Park's delight, Edward had even made a list of what had been stolen that night. Money, a silver-flask, and a gold pocket watch were mentioned. Hmm. Raised stars lined with tiny diamonds adorned the top, he wrote. Inside, was an inscription from his dead wife.

  Grinning at his find, Park tore the pertinent pages from the book and replaced it in the desk. Half his work was done, he reasoned, as minutes later he stepped into his coach. The watch was key. If Elizabeth had been exacting revenge for the death of her sister and had, in fact, taken the watch, she would still have it considering it's sentimental value. All he needed now was proof that Elizabeth Delaford possessed that particular watch.

  Grinning, he tapped the roof of the carriage to signal his driver and within seconds was en route to see his mistress.

  * * * *

  Deep in the night, Beatrice leaned on one elbow and pressed her naked breasts against his chest, smiling. “Such good work, darling,” she crooned, as her hand trailed beneath the white sheet. Taking him in her hand, she gave Park a slow smile. “If this is all true, then we shall be quite rich from this bit of blackmail. Although, it is too bad that I cannot expose the wretch and his snobbish wife."

  She sighed deeply, then to Park's dismay, released his rapidly hardening erection. Sitting up, she tossed her mussed hair over her shoulder. “But what shall we do about Edward now?"

  Park looked at her and shrugged. “Kill him, I suppose."

  "Really?"

  "Oh yes, darling. In a more sober moment, he might come to realize that I have merely used him for information. It would work to our advantage, too, should Elizabeth be blamed for his murder since their animosity is well known. Yes, he must die."

  A slow grin spread over Beatrice's face as she clutched her hands to her chest. Suddenly looking like a young girl, she clapped her hands and bounced excitedly. “Oh, please, Park! Let me do it! I want to kill Edward. Please, say yes! It shall be such fun!"

  * * * *

  The morning sun softly filtered through a web of gauzy lace and the scent of chocolate wafted sweetly through the room as Elizabeth stretched, smiling. Opening her eyes to the new day, she slowly turned from stomach to back knowing that Christian was already gone.

  After only a week of marriage, she'd already learned a number of things about her husband. He preferred the left side of the bed, drank copious cups of coffee each and every morning, and he was an early riser. Sitting up and drawing the sheets over her naked bosom, she smiled at the sight of his robe tossed carelessly over her nightgown at the foot of the bed.

  Was this what marriage was all about? Yes, she supposed sharing the daily habits of life was a huge part of the mystery. Odd how such tiny things seemed to make her feel closer to him. Although he'd already gone downstairs for the day, his presence was all around her. His empt
y coffee cup sat on a table by his favorite chair. The razor that he used at least twice a day lay companionably beside her silver-backed brush. The room even smelled of Christian. The air, the linens. Even her skin bore the mark of him. Sensual and masculine.

  Gazing at his pillow, still bearing the indentation where his head had lain throughout the night, she lifted from its surface a blood-red, long-stemmed rose. It had become his habit to leave such tokens each morning. In his heart beat the soul of a poet, and she couldn't help feeling that she was privy to a very special secret. With his rake's reputation, the entire polite world would be shocked at the extent of his romantic ways.

  She rose from the bed, shivering, and drew on her nightgown just as Pandora came in and softly closed the door. she grinned. “Ah, good morn, m'lady. I see you have received another gift from your bridegroom."

  Gently brushing soft, rose petals against her lips, Elizabeth inhaled the fragrance. “Yes, it is lovely, is it not?"

  As Pandora poured her a cup of chocolate, Elizabeth sat at her vanity and began to draw a brush through her tousled hair. “Mmm. Thank you, Pandy,” she said, as her maid set the steaming cup before her. It was hot so she took a careful sip. “Would you care for some?

  "No, m'lady, but thank you. I took a morning cup with Rawlins in the kitchen earlier."

  Elizabeth lifted a brow and gave Pandora a careful look. “You have been spending a great deal of time with Christian's man, have you not?"

  To her great surprise, the ever-practical Pandora blushed wildly from neck to forehead. Elizabeth couldn't help it; she laughed out loud. “I knew it! “Tis something in the air, I suspect. Lately, both of us run about with ridiculous grins on our faces. I should not be surprised if we began to skip, rather than walk about like grown-up ladies."

  Pandora's hand covered her mouth as she stifled her own giggle. “Love is grand, m'lady, and for a certainty, your handsome duke loves you. And if the look in your eyes is any barometer, I should say you feel the same."

  A feeling of unease raised chill bumps along her arms, and Elizabeth leaned closer to the mirror to study her eyes. “Does love make one look different, do you suppose? Or is this all just a beautiful illusion, one that a magician might conjure for a night's entertainment? I truly feel changed, Pandora, but I do not trust this feeling. Is there something wrong with me that I have trouble believing in happiness?"

  Pandora patted her shoulder and sighed. “Sooner or later we must all believe in something. The world is not the terrible place you think it is despite what happened to Lottie. There are good people in the world and the Duke is one of them."

  "I pray you are correct, Pandy. Lest you forget, I have been wrong before."

  Later, as she dressed for the day, Elizabeth lifted the lid of her black velvet box and drew out the gold, engraved pocket watch. The diamonds, twinkling like Christmas candles upon a tree, brought to mind the sweetness of her sister. Lottie had loved, had trusted, and what had it gotten her but the grave!

  Replacing the watch and snapping the lid in place, Elizabeth drew in a deep breath. What was wrong with her? Since marrying, her days had been filled with sunshine and teasing. Her nights were suffused with passion and warmth. She would not let herself become a whiny sort of female who was never happy with what life had given! Resolving to put a happy face upon the day, she drew in a deep breath, and went downstairs.

  * * * *

  After the delivery of important papers from his estate in Sussex, Christian poured over a report from his solicitor and struggled to find interest in the problems of crops, tenants, poachers, and a million other things associated with the running of a large property. It was, of course, the last thing he wanted to do today.

  Memory of days and nights past curled through his brain like warm, sweet honey. Leaning back in his chair, he laid his head against the back and closed his eyes. Leaving his bed this morning had been nearly impossible. Did being married mean being a slave to emotion, to sexual need? He'd always been a man who needed his pleasure with an immediacy that bordered on obsession. How could it be that, with no more than a few words spoken, his heart, body, and soul belonged wholly to another? And it did.

  Elizabeth was everything he wanted in a wife and more. She was passionate ... Lord, yes, she was! But she was also intelligent and witty, and possessed a bright and fiery spirit. Somehow, she'd managed to wind herself around his heart like a beautiful vine, and he would not have it any other way.

  Finally setting aside the papers for another time, Christian rose and, leaning against the doorframe, stared out at the dew-dappled garden. Perhaps a picnic luncheon was in order for his bride today. They could ride out to Charlotte House for a long overdue visit then stop on the way back to London. They could dine and perhaps make love beneath some ancient oak.

  "One can only imagine what has put that wicked grin upon your face,” Stephen drawled from the study entrance. He walked into the room, dressed casually, yet impeccably, in buff trousers, dark blue coat, and brown riding boots. His black hair had been recently trimmed, Christian noted, as Stephen doffed a dark beaver hat and hung it near the door.

  "Good morning, Stephen. What brings you about so early?"

  "Business, I fear. Business of the vilest sort. Seems I am bound to pay my debts and, in the paying, lose a magnificent hunting lodge,” he said with a grimace. Sprawling unceremoniously in a plush leather chair, he withdrew a document from his breast pocket. “My deepest apologies for intruding so soon after your wedding, but I felt it best to settle things between us."

  Seating himself again, Christian saw in Stephen the same cool demeanor, yet tempered with a softness he'd not noticed before. Something was different about him. Once again, Stephen seemed the carefree boy he'd known years ago. Whatever had occurred within his life had made an obvious impact. Christian waved away his words just as a below stairs maid brought in tea and biscuits.

  "What change has come over you?” he finally asked.

  Stephen's high cheekbones took on a red cast. “I met someone. Not long after you began courting your Elizabeth, she drifted into my life and nothing has been the same."

  "Never say you are in love?"

  "I am, though I would never have believed it. I intend to marry the lady if she will have me."

  Christian knew Stephen lacked fortune and desperately needed it to maintain the Darlington estates. “An heiress?"

  Stephen shook his head with a faint smile. “Sadly no, but I find I cannot live without this particular woman."

  Admiration for his brother grew and this reason perhaps, prompted his next words. “How would you feel about traveling to the Orient to tend to some of my business ventures there? I find there are few men I can trust to deal with things fairly. If everything works out well, you could possibly invest and make a healthy profit."

  Shock registered briefly before carefully being masked. “Charity is not my way, Christian. You know this."

  "Please,” Christian said, holding up a hand. “Do not consider it such. We both have known for some years that we share a father. Manipulative beast that he was, he managed to do something right when he gave me a brother. It has taken me long to admit it, but I always hated being an only child."

  Stephen smiled faintly. “We do have that in common. Perhaps, it is not too late to begin again. Let me think over your proposition. Much depends on whether or not the lady will agree to marry me."

  Christian's expression turned solemn. “Elizabeth does not have an inkling about our ridiculous bet. I would prefer we keep this a matter between gentlemen."

  "Certainly,” Stephen replied. “She is not a woman who would take this particular deed in stride. As proud as she is, she would, no doubt, pull a pistol and do you some harm. The bet was not well done of me. Of us. True gentlemen would never place a lady at the center of a bet. You were fated to marry her and worked much harder at winning her hand than I did."

  "You did seem a bit ambivalent."

  "Not ambivalent,
really. Elizabeth is a beautiful woman. Well-spoken and refined. She is a true diamond of the first water. It was just that after we made the bet, I met and fell in love with another. My heart was not involved with Elizabeth where, I suspect, yours was."

  Christian grinned wolfishly. “Most definitely. I am happy in my marriage."

  "And the title? I imagine all is yours, the title, properties, everything, now that you have married according to your father's will."

  "You mean marriage by midnight of my birthday? Yes, the old bastard got his way in everything, did he not? Elizabeth, of course, does not realize that haste in our marriage was imperative. She never shall, either. She would have difficulty understanding my deceit."

  "Indeed I would. I do."

  Christian bolted from his chair at the sight of his wife standing in the doorway, her face pale. “Elizabeth!"

  Stephen stood as well and after a quick look between the newlyweds, tossed the deed to the hunting lodge upon Christian's desk. Making a brief bow, he excused himself, brushing past Elizabeth on his way out the door.

  Christian didn't know what to say.

  Riveted by her stricken expression, he took in the way her hands shook. Moving slowly around the desk, he stepped toward her only to halt as she held up a hand.

  "A bet? You made a bet as to who would win my hand?"

  He gritted his teeth, felt a small tic begin to jerk in his jaw. “Yes."

  She stood in silence, damp eyes mirroring her hurt, and he wanted to weep along with her.

  "Then I was to be a prize brood mare for one of you? How foolish I must have seemed to you,” she said softly, her voice trembling. “I even let you kiss me on the first night we met. I must have seemed a weak-spirited cow to you."

  "No, I—"

  "Silence!"

  Quiet fell as he watched her expression change from hurt to one of fury. No, the hurt was there, buried somewhere behind that cool look of disdain. Tears floated across stricken violet eyes; her lips, still swollen from last night's love play, were compressed tightly.