Twice the Temptation

by Beverley Kendall

  Then she thought it would simply be easier to avoid his calls. That eventually he would lose interest and all his stalwart avowals of love would wither away like an unattended garden deficient of water and sunlight.

  That also proved not to be the case as she’d learned three days after Nicholas returned from his stay in London with his cousins. That afternoon, she’d gone into town, visited her aunt at her shop, and purchased a gown she didn’t need. The whole excursion had taken three hours, more than time enough to test even Lucas’s patience. Or so she’d thought.

  Catherine had been dismayed to find Lucas in the drawing room playing with her exorbitant nephew. According to Nicholas, his mother was upstairs taking care of the baby and his father had yet to come home since he’d gone out that morning.

  Five minutes later, Charlotte had returned to collect her son to wash up for supper. Finally alone, Lucas had turned to her and said, “Tell me and I won’t bother you again.” She hadn’t been able to utter the lie she knew she’d be forced to support with her actions.

  However, today she could and would. His presence was a constant torment and her nerves were frayed. She couldn’t stand it anymore. As much as she didn’t want to, she had to let him go. Her unwillingness and inability to do so only made things all that much more difficult. And she had to accept the fact that he wouldn’t make things easy for her.

  There was also the matter of Alex. Lucas arrived whether the day was dreary or fine and braved her brother-in-law’s cold silence and taciturn disposition. It pained her to watch the two men she loved dearly so at odds.

  Catherine exhaled slowly when Lucas strode into the drawing room.

  He greeted her with a bow. “Catherine.”

  “I don’t love you, Lucas and I would like for you to stop calling,” she blurted out before she lost her nerve.

  At the sudden explosion of words, Lucas froze practically mid-stride but his expression was eerily blank. The ensuing silence was suffocating. Several seconds elapsed before he resumed his course toward her.

  “Say it again,” he commanded and for the first time he didn’t sound as confident as he usually did.

  “I do not love you and I want you to stop this. It’s time that you—we both moved on with our lives.” After her impassioned plea, she steeled herself for his response prepared that this wouldn’t be the end of it.

  And it wasn’t. A moment later, his mouth was on hers, his hand gripping her waist, pressing her against him. Catherine fought the yearnings that pummeled her, resisted the need to open her mouth to his probing tongue and return his desperate kiss as if her entire existence depended on it. She had to keep reminding herself of the futility of a match between them. So she remained impassively still in his embrace. A swell of sadness came over her and with it tears she could not stop from flooding her eyes and spilling down onto her cheeks. Onto his.

  That bit of wetness must have had a jarring effect on him for he went as still as she, his hands cupping her cheeks and his forehead pressed against hers. She felt his harsh breaths on her lips as he tried to gain control of himself. Slowly he dropped his hands from her face and stepped back. His expression wounded her more than a crippling physical injury ever could. In his hazel eyes, she saw a mixture of pain and defeat.

  He’d finally accepted his fate. A future that would not include her.

  The sense of relief she should have felt evaded her. At last she’d finally convinced him that her lie was the truth, and for that she endured a searing pain in her chest that she knew couldn’t be lessened with time or distance.

  He ran his hand through his hair and let out a heavy sigh. “So this is the end?”

  Catherine swallowed past the lump in her throat and nodded numbly.

  “Then I shall take my leave. Goodbye, Catherine,” he said with a shallow bow. “I wish you well.”

  Catherine turned from him quickly. Her heart thumped to the sound of his footfall exiting the room. She remained in that precise spot long after she heard his carriage depart. She didn’t leave the room until tears stopped bathing her face.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Crippled by misery so dark and bottomless, Lucas had yet to set foot outside his flat since he’d returned to London two days ago.

  She’d done it—had done what he’d not thought possible. And in such a way that he didn’t question her sincerity. As shaky and tearful as she’d been, the tone of her voice, the stiffness of her body when he’d crushed her to him in all his lovesick desperation, she hadn’t relented. She truly had wanted him to stop. And he’d kept his promise, retreating to London that same night.

  Now he had no idea what he would do. His life had come to a standstill. Unbelievable as it would seem, he hadn’t planned for a life without Catherine at his side. Not since he’d set his mind to marrying her. He still couldn’t imagine one without her in it.

  From where he sat slumped in his most comfortable armchair, which didn’t feel all that comfortable now, Lucas looked slowly around the study. A walnut desk sat between the two windows facing the back. Stacked on it were financial papers for the steel plant and alongside it, two business ledgers.

  At two in the afternoon, the curtains were drawn—he hadn’t been able to tolerate the brightness of the sun. The room currently suited his mood, gloomy and dim, the gas lamp, its only source of light.

  The sound of the door opening brought him straight up in the chair. He angled a look over his shoulder.

  “I expected a heartier welcome than this,” Patrick, his younger half-brother, announced as he walked into the room.

  Lucas bit back a groan. Damn. He’d completely forgotten his brother was arriving today.

  Shooting to his feet, Lucas advanced toward him, hand outstretched in greeting. “Damn, is it that time already? For some reason I had my mind set that you were to arrive the week after.” Well not precisely but then he wasn’t going to let on he’d forgotten he was coming altogether.

  After a warm handshake and a thump on the shoulder, Lucas stood back and appraised his brother. The journey hadn’t left him worse for the wear. The light-gray traveling suit he wore appeared as crisp as if Sumner, his brother’s valet, had set a pressing iron to it not long ago.

  Patrick, certainly by English standards, would be considered the handsomer of the two with his blond hair, blue eyes, and ready smile. At twenty-five, he had more ladies pursuing him than he could count. But his brother had recently become engaged to a lovely English girl. They’d met the past year when Miss Eleanor Shipley and her mother had spent the winter in New York.

  “How was the voyage?” Lucas asked, motioning for him to sit. He then walked over to the windows and drew the curtains. Bright light suffused the room and had him squinting.

  Patrick sank into the chair Lucas had just vacated with a weary sigh. “Too damn long. I sure as hell could never be a sailor or anything of that sort.”

  Since his youth, Patrick had suffered from seasickness. His willingness to travel on a ship for twelve days was a testament to his devotion to Miss Shipley. He was completely besotted with the girl.

  “Have you been to see Miss Shipley as yet?”

  A light lit his brother’s eyes at the mention of his beloved. “I called there first thing after the ship disembarked. After, I stopped at the townhouse to see Caroline and Lydia. I take it our mother has found more pleasing accommodations?”

  Lucas grunted. “You know Mother.”

  When they were young, she’d left the care of her children to their nannies and governesses. When Lucas was old enough to care for himself—at the age of thirteen in her estimation—that had made him old enough to help care for his younger half-siblings. So he’d grown up being mother, father, and older brother to them.

  “And how is the lovely Miss Shipley?” he asked.

  “Beautiful and as happy to see me as I was to see her.”

  Lucas gave a rueful smile. At least one of them was happy. “Good.”

  “You were right,�
�� his brother said, all of a sudden his tone serious.

  “In regard to what, might I ask?” These were not words he was accustomed to hearing from Patrick. During his most trying years, it had been quite the opposite.

  “When you told me I was too young to marry. Susanna Glenross wasn’t the right woman for me and you could see that. In the end, you undoubtedly stopped me from making one of the biggest mistakes of my life.”

  Inwardly, Lucas cringed at the undeserved praise. Not that he disagreed with what Patrick had said. Miss Susanna Glenross had been completely wrong for him. As an English servant who’d come to New York for a job as a companion to an aging socialite, she’d wanted a way out of a life of servitude. Lucas’s money would have comfortably paved the way.

  Patrick had eventually discovered that he’d mistaken infatuation for the English woman for love. But it had been an entire year before his brother had spoken a civil word to him, for Lucas had been vocal in his opposition to the relationship. Indeed, he’d spent endless weeks trying to talk some sense into his then nineteen-year-old brother who’d been hell bent on marrying her.

  “More important, I’m happy you found someone more suited to you. I don’t take Miss Shipley as the flighty sort.” And her family’s fortune wasn’t all smoke and mirrors. At the onset of the courtship, Lucas had had them thoroughly investigated. None hid the dire state of their accounts quite like the aristocracy. Too often, grand estates, an army of servants, and the best garments money could buy—or in these cases, an excellent line of credit could procure—gave a convincing impression of prosperity and wealth.

  Patrick nodded, a smile edging the corners of his mouth, something he was more prone to do of late. Their past acrimony was thankfully behind them. Lucas detested when he was at odds with members of his family, with the exception of their mother. That was a common occurrence.

  Neither men spoke as his brother idly scanned the room. “So are you going to tell me why I found you sitting here in the dark?” Patrick asked, his gaze directed at him now.

  Lucas groaned inwardly, rubbing his hand over his face.

  “Does it have anything to do with a woman?”

  Lucas hadn’t told his brother about Catherine but Patrick had correctly guessed that his return to England this time was more than just a business trip and to play escort to their sisters. Lucas was going to confirm it when he’d properly introduced his siblings to Catherine. But there was no point in hiding the truth now. His brother would discover soon enough.

  “There was a woman but as it is, she refuses to marry me.”

  “She refused you?” his brother asked, his tone one of bewilderment.

  Lucas pushed forward in his seat and braced his forearms on his thighs. “That she did.”

  Patrick’s expression was rapt. “Does such a female exist in the civilized world?”

  Lucas emitted an irritated sound and rolled his eyes. His brother was a fine one to talk. “You remember Charlotte Rutherford, do you not?”

  Patrick accompanied him only a handful of times when he’d called on her. His sisters had been more frequent visitors as evidenced by their eagerness to see her.

  His brother nodded.

  “Yes, well she has a twin. An identical twin, Catherine. But, as I said, she’s refused me.”

  His brother threw his head back and guffawed. For the life of him, Lucas couldn’t find anything the least bit amusing in that.

  “A twin?” Patrick choked on his laughter. “And an identical one at that? Dear God, do not tell me they look exactly alike. Please tell me there are some appreciable differences between them.”

  “What the hell do you think identical means,” Lucas replied irritably. “Of course they look alike.”

  His brother merely smiled, unruffled by the insult. “Yes well, despite what you may think, I’m not a fool. What I’m trying to ascertain is how strong is the resemblance they share. Should I be able to tell them apart?”

  It further irritated Lucas to answer him honestly. “Not on sight, I imagine. But you would once you heard them speak. Their voices are different.”

  “Was there not a time when you were quite taken with Mrs. Rutherford?”

  Ignoring the question, the answer to which had landed him with a resounding crash in his current situation, he said instead, “She is now the Marchioness of Avondale. She is married to her son’s father.”

  Confusion clouded his brother’s eyes and Lucas shook his head wearily. “It’s a long story and at present, I’m not inclined to recount it.”

  “Well as Mrs. Ruth—er, the marchioness is taken, marrying her twin sister won’t be too much of a hardship, am I right. She was a beauty.”

  “Good God, not you too.”

  Patrick’s head pulled back. “What the hell did I say?”

  “You implied that the two are interchangeable. That Catherine is nothing more than a substitute for her sister, who is now out of my reach. That is far from the case. Charlotte and I have never been more than friends.” It was like trying to swim against the currents of a riptide.

  “But when you told me about her—”

  “That was over five years ago when we first met. We have never been more than friends. Good friends, but friends nonetheless.”

  Chastened, Patrick nodded and ran his hand over the back of his neck. “And she is firm in her refusal?”

  “I’ve spent the past several weeks attempting to change her mind but she remains unyielding.”

  “Did she give you a reason for her refusal?”

  “For the same damn reason you just stated.”

  Dry amusement lit his brother’s eyes. “What did you do, tell her you rhapsodized about her sister when you two first met?”

  Something resembling guilt must have shown on his face because Patrick’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. “God, you didn’t do anything that asinine did you?”

  “Good God no. Her brother-in-law told her that I’d asked Charlotte to marry me and I had no idea she had told him. Suffice it to say the man despises me. Has since the moment we met.” A meeting Lucas wouldn’t soon forget. He’d been surprised the marquess hadn’t physically thrown him from his home as much as he’d made his displeasure at Lucas’s presence there obvious.

  Patrick’s head hit the padded back of the chair with a soft thud. “But you just said that you and the woman were merely friends.”

  The past few days had been trying enough therefore the very last thing Lucas needed was to be interrogated and subtly rebuked by his younger brother. Abruptly, he pushed to his feet. “I’m weary of this topic. Why don’t you go to your room and rest? Tomorrow I’m certain Miss Shipley will expect you to call on her the moment calling hours commence.”

  His brother gave an exasperated sigh and stood, his hand going to his throat to loosen his necktie. “You know you should learn to take your own advice,” he grumbled as he followed Lucas to the door.

  Lucas paused and shot him a glance over his shoulder, brow creased. “And what was that?” Patrick certainly couldn’t be making comparisons between Catherine and Miss Glenross.

  “When Susanna left without a word to me, you told me to move on with my life. You begged me to forget her. Perhaps you should do the same as it’s clear from what you’ve told me, the lady doesn’t want you.”

  Lucas’s jaw locked, his chest squeezed, caught in a tidal wave of hurt. His brother was right. Far be it for him to remain where he wasn’t wanted. Catherine didn’t want him. Caroline was not going to marry Billings. He no longer had a reason to stay. Indeed, perhaps it was time to return home.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Lucas’s mother owned a townhouse on Queen Ann Street near Cavendish Square in London. She’d inherited the residence upon the death of her second husband ten years ago. Back then, there hadn’t been money for the upkeep or the repairs required. The house had fallen into disrepair, but that matter had been rectified three years later when the steel plant had turned its first significant profit. By
then the repairs and upgrades needed had made it necessary to gut the house almost completely.

  The result was a more spacious interior with larger rooms, higher ceilings, new hardwood and marble floors throughout the second floor, and modern conveniences the best of which being cold and hot running water. His mother had presided over the decorating and favored the rococo style thereby full use had been made of gold and pastel-like colors. The furniture was ornate yet elegant, each room a visual feast.

  It is there Lucas found himself the following morning to call on his sisters. In his pursuit of Catherine and while mourning the loss of her, he’d been neglecting them. Today he’d come prepared to make things right.

  “Lucas we weren’t expecting you. Did Mother send you?” Caroline asked as she descended the stairs to where he’d been waiting the last ten minutes in the entryway impatiently tapping his hat against his leg.

  “I have no idea where our mother is. She doesn’t keep me apprised of her comings and goings.” Their mother had returned from Devonshire the prior week only to disappear three days later, no doubt with a young gentleman. Young and winsome were her preferences these days.

  “Thank goodness,” she breathed, splaying her hand against her chest. “I thought she’d sent you to take us to yet another one of those tediously boring operas. You know, she threatened to force us to attend three more performances before she left.”

  “Did she happen to say where she was off to this time?” he asked, only mildly curious as to what she was up to now. Her prolonged absences never ended well.

  Caroline sent him a look as if to say, Surely you cannot be serious.

  “Yes, I rather thought not. In any case, I didn’t come by for that. I need to speak with you and your sister. I will be in the parlor waiting. Tell Lydia not to tarry. I’d like to get this done before nightfall.” He started down the hall.