Silver-Tongued Temptress

by Sara Ackerman

  “We were out there looking for you, but the remaining gunpowder caught, the ship exploded, and we had to return to shore.”

  “By the time you had people searching, I was on the other side of the explosion, floating away on the current to Herm.”

  “And here you are.”

  “Luka found me. He pulled me out of the water and brought me here.”

  “Luka as in your childhood sweetheart?”

  “As in not my husband.”

  “You married him while stranded here?”

  “No, but I did in a dream.”

  He’d ignore her ramblings about dreams for now. There were other more important details to discover, like what had this man done to his woman all these months. “After abandoning you a decade previous, he saved you?”

  “He and his grandmother. When I awoke, I didn’t remember anything from the last ten years. I was eighteen again and married to Luka. My memories stopped the night before he left me, and for whatever reason, he never corrected me.”

  “Did the blackguard take advantage of you? I’ll run him through, if he did.”

  “He didn’t. I—” She shook her head and turned her face away from him.

  “Tell me.”

  “Once I had regained some strength, I repeatedly threw myself at him, convinced we were married. He refused each advance, showing more restraint than I did, and prevented me from doing something to cause us both regret.”

  “Seeing him hasn’t resurrected any tender sentiments, has it? You won’t mourn him again?”

  “Beatrice!”

  “Speak of the devil,” she said.

  “The man himself?” Thomas asked, squinting to see this man who once held his beloved’s heart. “I can’t make out much in the darkness.”

  “He’s coming from that way,” she said, and jerked her head toward Luka’s approximate location. “I’m over here, Husband,” she called.

  Thomas smirked. “Even I recognize the bite in your tone. He’d have to be an idiot not to hear your displeasure.”

  “Oh, he’ll know, all right. He is going to get a piece of my mind.”

  “Tris,” Luka cried, and Thomas burned with jealousy upon seeing Beatrice’s unguarded reaction to this man’s arrival. Peace. He brought her a measure of peace Thomas had never been able to provide. It was soon gone, though, and anger twisted her classic features to a rage-filled mask of pain and betrayal. She stood, crossed her arms, and waited. Thomas leaped to his feet and joined Beatrice, offering her what comfort and protection she’d allow him.

  Luka appeared from the gathering darkness and sprinted the remaining distance between her in seconds, gathering her in his arms. “I’ve been looking for you all day. Where did you go?”

  She wiggled out of his arms and took a step back. With hands planted on her hips, she lowered her eyebrows and pursed her lips to scowl at him. “Of what concern is it to you? We’re not married. In fact, you left me at the altar some ten years ago. Any obligation or sense of duty dissolved the night you abandoned me.” Thomas placed a comforting arm about her shoulder.

  Luka leveled a hostile glare at him. “Who’s this?”

  Bea hissed a warning. “None of your business. You have long since ceased to have an opinion on my life and my relations.”

  “I’m Lady Beatrice’s friend and companion, Thomas Wickes. Since The Stallion sank, I’ve been searching for her all these months.”

  Luka crossed his arms over his chest. “I fished her out of the water and brought her here to be tended. Had I known she had someone waiting for her, I would have left word last I was in Guernsey.”

  “No matter,” Thomas said. “I’m here now.”

  “Good. You’ll be able to help her fill in some of the blanks surrounding her accident and any prior events.”

  Thomas increased his grip on Beatrice’s shoulder, a silent warning for her to guard her secrets around this man. Though they may have once been betrothed, this man, this Luka, didn’t need to know what had happened to her on the ship. Beatrice patted Thomas’s hand and squeezed his fingers, telling him she needed no such reminder. He removed his hand and said, “Yes, we’ll have to talk, but first, my lady, shouldn’t you go inside? It must have been a trying day for you, becoming lost, rediscovering your memories. A good night’s rest is what the doctor ordered.”

  “I agree with him,” Luka said, and grabbed her arm. “You’ve had a rough day. Best you go inside. I’ll fetch you supper once you’re settled.”

  A scowl marred Bea’s face, and she crossed her arms over her chest. “I will go to bed when I decide to. There is much yet to say.”

  “And it can wait until tomorrow, Tris.”

  “I agree,” Thomas said as he grabbed her other arm. “You are looking a bit peaked, my dear. You should go to bed.”

  “How dare you dictate to me, Thomas,” she said. “You waltz in here almost three months after my accident and presume to command me?”

  “Waltz?” he asked, hard and defiant. “I spent those months combing the islands for you, most often by myself as I mucked through untamed wilderness on Guernsey and her surrounding islands. As for waltzing in here, it took me five hours to row from the mainland to Herm. I hardly call hours of rowing a pleasant evening in a ballroom.”

  “Yet it took you three months to come here. Did Herm even cross your mind, or were you too focused on your other interests to come find me?”

  “Finding you has consumed me since the night you disappeared.”

  “Why didn’t you come here? This is the most likely location for the currents to take me. Perhaps you weren’t searching as diligently as you claim.”

  Now it was Thomas’s turn to splutter. Luka’s muffled snort of laughter angered Thomas and drew Bea’s attention.

  “As for you, you spineless, weak-willed seducer of young girls’ innocence!” Luka’s laughter ceased, and he scowled at her. “I cleaned your damned fireplace, cooked your meals, and mended your socks and drawers. My memory was gone, and you took advantage of me. You could have treated me with kindness, but instead you tormented me. I passed many a sleepless night worrying I had disappointed you, when all along you were laughing at me, reveling in my ineptitude.”

  “Come on, Tris. You put me in a difficult position. Try to look at it from my perspective.”

  Bea raised her hand to stop his defense.

  “I am through with both of you, and now I will go back to the house because I am a bit tired. I will get my own food tonight, and I will put myself to bed when I am good and ready.” She turned on her heel and stomped across the sand to the cottage, the slam of the door’s wooden plank a thunderclap of foreboding and retribution yet to come.

  Chapter 20

  London, England, May 1810

  Beatrice was furious. Through clenched teeth, she smiled and feigned interest in Lord Smith’s lengthy narrative on the merits of raising lambs versus pigs as he twirled her around the ballroom floor of her sister’s betrothal party. Country lords should not come out of rustication. This one, especially, and his incessant chatter about his sheep proved his heart remained in Northumberland. And with his livestock. Rumor had it, though, Lord Smith was on the prowl for a new wife, his previous one having expired after the expulsion of their third child. A braver woman than she was needed to take on the man’s brood and his ovine companions. Hence her ire. Her talents were better employed at subterfuge and misdirection, not engaged in idle conversation with a sheep farmer, of all people.

  Thomas Wickes would explain his purpose in requesting she entertain Lord Smith. If I ever find him. She scanned the ballroom again, searching for a familiar set of broad shoulders and gray eyes, but there was no sign of the man. Bea conceded defeat. Despite his height, Thomas blended into a crowd like a master pickpocket. He’d announce himself when he was ready.

  Whereas I am all too ready for this dance to finish. I swear, if he tells me about spring lambing— She suppressed a shudder.

  “My lady, are you
well?” Smith asked. “You trembled.”

  The sheep farmer was observant as well as enamored of farming. Lovely. “I grow fatigued, my lord. The heat is stifling tonight, and the ballroom grows stuffy.”

  “By all means let us retire from the dance floor.” He propelled her away from the crowds to a bank of chairs near the open balcony. Once seated, he said, “Allow me to fetch you some refreshment, my lady.”

  With her faithful companion occupied, Beatrice debated escaping but stopped herself when she recalled her objective. She was to stay with Lord Smith until the supper waltz, and she mustn’t fail. To do so was to admit she wasn’t ready to progress to more difficult and demanding tasks. She owed everything to Thomas. Disappointing him was not an option. No, she’d stay with Lord Wooly, to prove to Thomas Wickes she was more than prepared to engage in this new assignment. Years of training and preparation would be wasted if she fell asleep before Lord Smith shared his secrets with her, though. Why does the man have to be so dull? Thirty long minutes stretched before her.

  “Here you are, my lady,” Smith said as he returned with two glasses of punch. Seating himself next to her, he offered her a glass, which she sipped, studying the man over the crystal rim.

  Of above-average height, he was solid and fit, though he was no young dandy. Medium-length brown hair silvered at the temples, and kind brown eyes crinkled when he smiled or laughed. With a strong nose and patrician features, his looks were a testament to some distant Roman relations. His mouth was lush, full, and out of place on his classic features. He was not bad to look at, but handsome was too generous a word and ugly too severe. She found him interesting. There were worse men with whom to pass a half an hour.

  “I must admit, Lady Beatrice, I was surprised to receive your introduction. We don’t exactly move in the same circles.”

  Gaining an introduction with Lord Smith had worried her until she recalled that, as the sister of the bride, she’d be in the receiving line with the family. A discreet word to her mother, and Beatrice secured a lengthier introduction than was normal. His surprise at her interest was evident, for Beatrice moved in the highest of circles within the ton. Even her turbulent marriage and the resulting scandal when she shed her husband’s name had done little to dampen her reception with the haute monde. Lord Smith, however, came to Town but rarely, and when he did, stayed to the shadows or the game room. Tonight, she had ensured he’d spend at least some of his time with her by requesting a dance with him. Though he might take no pleasure in balls and wish for the company of his furry, ovine companions, he was polite enough to acquiesce to her request. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” she said and removed her fan from her wrist to wave in front of her flushed cheeks.

  His teeth flashed white in the soft glow from the wall sconce. “I’m sure you do, though let’s not argue.”

  “Is it so difficult to conceive I might find you attractive and wished to be introduced?”

  He laughed, a great barrel-chested laugh which had her smiling in spite of herself.

  “Look at you, and then look at me. I beg no false praise; I am simply pointing out the obvious.”

  She closed her fan with a snap and tapped him on the forearm. “Beauty can be as much a curse as ugliness, though you are far from homely, Lord Smith, and you know it, too.”

  A ruddy flush tinged his cheeks, but otherwise, he ignored her compliment. “How do you mean?”

  He’s modest. Why this information surprised her, she couldn’t say, so she stored it away for further examination at another time. “People look at me and make certain assumptions. Men in particular have one idea in mind when they call or pay suit, while women take an almost immediate dislike, fearing any association with me will show them in an unflattering light. It’s lonely.”

  “I never saw it in those terms before. You have experienced much loneliness, my lady.”

  It was a statement, so much worse than had he asked her. A question was laughed away or avoided. Fact was not easy to dismiss. His shrewd deduction hung between them, and once again she was taken by surprise. He proved to be more intuitive and empathetic than she had credited him for. Because he’d cut through much of her posturing, she decided to be truthful.

  “I’m a person the same as you or anyone else, longing to make a connection. Few take the time to get to know me, and so I am labeled and placed with those who are like me. It’s discouraging.” A servant walked by, and Beatrice placed her empty glass on his tray, her melancholy stronger now she had told this stranger such a revealing part of her personality. She was lonely, yet so was he.

  “We are not at all dissimilar. Perhaps I asked for an introduction because I saw in you a reflection of what is inside me, someone who is a little lonely and out of place. Perhaps I wished to see beyond your public mask and discover your true self. Can you imagine a situation such as I’ve described?”

  He took her gloved hand in his to brush a soft caress over her knuckles. “You honor me, my lady.”

  Bea squeezed his hand and stood. “It is warm. Could I interest you in a stroll through the garden?”

  She took Lord Smith’s arm, and they descended the stairs leading into the gardens. The terrace was a-twinkle with flickering torches lining the groomed walks. The scent of gardenia and orange blossom bushes, wheeled out from the green house earlier in the day, wafted on the breeze. Flowers bloomed from every plant and bush until the garden seemed like a carpeted wonderland. “How do you find our small piece of paradise? Does it compare to the gardens bordering your estate?”

  “It far outshines mine. My mind has been preoccupied as of late, with concerns about the farm and my own offspring taking most of my concentration and time. I fear the gardens have fallen in disrepair since my wife’s passing.”

  “My condolences on your loss, my lord. Raising three children and managing such a huge enterprise as your farm must be overwhelming at times, and all without the support of a mate.”

  “I admit it is, though the children haven’t complained. My parents have come to stay for the duration, until I find a wife. Their presence has been soothing.”

  “Family can be so comforting during difficult times. Do you have siblings?”

  He hesitated, and her intuition flared. I’ve hit a sore spot. He avoids my gaze and has refused to answer my question. Wickes’s odd request for her to engage the man held its first glimmer of interest, and she cautioned herself against rash behavior.

  “I have two sisters, Lord Smith. Amelia is younger by almost three years, and Evelyn, whose betrothal ball this is, is the youngest by five years. But I ramble. This must be public knowledge,” she said, hoping if she talked about her family he’d be more inclined to share about his.

  “I understood you to be the oldest, my lady, though your sisters’ ages in relation to yours was unknown. How could I not have heard of the three Westby sisters? Even in the wilds of northern England your beauty is as lauded as is the unfortunate curse which has plagued you three since your childhood.”

  “Our beauty is lauded? How delightful!”

  He led her to the lit gazebo. “Ah, so we are going to ignore the entire subject of the curse?”

  “There’s not much to tell. My father wished to punish us for a lie we told, so he hired a gypsy woman to curse us. His intent was to make us suffer for a couple of days before telling us it was all a hoax. Little did he know we would believe such a fool notion.” Beatrice walked the perimeter of the gazebo and paused to twine her finger around some creeping ivy climbing the gazebo’s latticed sides. “My sisters abide by the curse’s constraints.”

  “Not you, though.”

  “Not I. Of the three of us, I find logic and reason eclipse superstitious belief.”

  “You say your father did this to you and your sisters? Even as angry as I’ve been at my children, hurting them in such a heinous manner has never crossed my mind.”

  Beatrice rejoined Lord Smith where he had taken a seat on a bench. “You are a better fa
ther than mine. Relations are much like eggs. There’s a rotten one in every bunch.”

  “They can be disappointing.”

  “We have an uncle on my mother’s side whom no one speaks of. Bad business during the war. He backed the wrong side. We’re not to talk of him.”

  “Why did you?”

  “To show you many people have disappointing relations, yet here we are in a fragrant garden on a warm spring evening enjoying ourselves. Disappointing relations aside, their decisions cannot stop our amusement unless we let them.”

  “Mine could prove disastrous for succession should anyone find—” He shook his head. “Never mind, my lady. As you say, it is a beautiful evening, and I’m a fortunate devil to have the loveliest of ladies gracing my side.”

  “You flatter me, sir, in the same breath you insult me. Am I such an empty-headed bundle of fluff you would not trust me to protect your secrets as I trusted you to protect mine? For I assure you, were my uncle’s exploits to be made public, we would be ostracized from polite society.”

  “I meant no offense—”

  “But you did offend. By valuing my physical appearance and denying the use of my considerable intellect, you relegate me to a position of window ornamentation—pleasant to behold but useless, nonetheless.”

  “Apologies, my lady. My wish was not to offend but to spare your sensibilities. My brother and the problems he has caused are not worth your notice.”

  “They are if it continues to trouble your mind. Come, my lord. You have become too accustomed to guarding your thoughts. Allow me to ease some of your burden. Even if there is nothing I can do, sometimes sharing one’s problems can lift their heaviness.”